Outsider

OUTSIDER

Sara Craven

Her own father had sold her out!

When Natalie Drummond s father was told by the doctor to "take it easy,"

she expected him to give her a full partnership in his Wintersgarth training

stables. After all, she'd been running it successfully while he was in the

hospital.

But when he came home her hopes were completely dashed--he had sold the

partnership to Eliot Lang, the handsome notorious playboy of the horse

racing world.

Despite the immediate and unwanted attraction Natalie felt for Eliot, her

resentment at her father's betrayal continued to grow. Especially when Eliot

seemed to think that she was part of the deal!

OUTLINED on the hillside against the morning sky, horse and rider looked as

if they had been carved from stone. Only the errant breeze, ruffling the

mare's mane, and blowing a tress of copper hair across the girl's cheek,

revealed that the silhouette was composed of flesh and blood.

Below, in the valley, it was business as usual at the Wintersgarth racing

stables. From her eyrie, Natalie Drummond could see the second string

going out for exercise. It was a world in miniature, operating as if by

clockwork. She drew a swift, satisfied sigh.

My world, she thought. My world as it's never been before.

She would have been down there, riding out with the horses, under normal

circumstances, but today she had begged off, told Wes Lovett the head lad to

handle the exercising himself. She was too excited, too much on edge to be

around highly strung and volatile thoroughbreds. Some of her unease would

undoubtedly have communicated itself to them, and caused problems.

She ran an affectionate hand down the mare's neck. Whereas dear old

Jasmine, of course, was too mature and too equable to care, she thought,

smiling, as she glanced at her watch.

It was time she was getting back. They might already have phoned from the

clinic to say her father was on his way back, and she wanted to be there when

he arrived. It would probably be tactful to change out of her riding gear too,

she acknowledged wryly. They would have a leisurely lunch to celebrate the

fact that Grantham Slater's heart attack had only been a mild one—a

warning shot, Doctor Ellis had called it—and that he was home and safe

again, and afterwards, when he was feeling warm and mellow with her

stepmother's incredible cooking, she would talk to him about what the

consultant had said.

I can do it, she thought, as she turned Jasmine on to the track which led back

to the stables. I've proved I can over these past weeks. Grantham can't just

dismiss me as an office clerk any more.

Somehow she would make him see that his absurd prejudice about making

her his full partner had to be abandoned.

The consultant had been forthright when he'd talked to Beattie and herself.

'He's made an excellent recovery.' He flicked his pen against the blotter on

his desk. 'But, inevitably, there are going to have to be some changes in his

regimen, changes which he won't like. He's a determined man, and a

successful one—a brilliant trainer of steeplechasers, they tell me. Well, I'm

not suggesting he retires, but he has to find a way of taking life very much

more easily than he has been doing if he wants to avoid a recurrence of his

problem.' He looked at Natalie. 'You're his only child, Mrs Drummond?'

She nodded. 'My mother died when I was small. She was expecting another

baby, but there were complications.'

'But you do work for your father?'

'Yes, but up to his illness, I was only a secretary. I did the correspondence,

manned the phone, and did the book-keeping and accounts.' She looked

down at her hands, tightly clasped together in her lap. 'Grantham's

rather—old-fashioned. He's never allowed me to be involved in the training

side at all. He never even encouraged me to ride—I had to have lessons at

school.' She gave a constricted smile. 'But you can't be born and brought up

in a racing stable without absorbing a certain amount of expertise. I've

managed to put mine to good use while my father's been ill.'

He smiled at her. 'I'm sure you have.' He turned to Beattie. 'And you, Mrs

Slater. Are you involved in the running of the stables as well?'

If she hadn't been so worried, Natalie could have collapsed in gales of

giggles at the look of sheer horror on Beattie's face. Her stepmother .was a

warm and lovely lady, but she regarded all horseflesh with acute misgivings,

and never went anywhere near the stables if she could help it.

Beattie accompanied her husband to race meetings, knowing that her

elegant, expensively clad presence beside him was an affirmation of his

prosperity, but she usually stayed away from the paddock.

Now she said weakly, 'I'm afraid not. Do—do you think I should be?'

'I think someone will have to be,' the consultant returned. 'It's essential that

your husband starts to share some of his responsibilities.' He looked again at

Natalie. 'It would seem, Mrs Drummond, that you're in the ideal position to

do this—your family commitments allowing, of course.'

Natalie lifted her chin. 'I'm a widow,' she said quietly. 'Apart from Beattie

and my father, I have no family. I'll be glad to do whatever I can to help

Grantham.'

'If he'll let you,' Beattie observed frankly as they drove home.'"If" is right,'

Natalie agreed, her fine brows drawing together as she slowed for a traffic

light. 'Ever since they allowed him access to a phone, he's been calling Wes

with instructions each morning.' She grimaced. 'Fortunately they've

invariably been the same instructions that I'd already issued, so Wes just

agrees to everything—and on we go.' She sighed. 'One of these days I'll have

to tell Grantham I've been running things while he's been away, but I'm not

looking forward to it.'

'I don't suppose you are.' Beattie was silent for a moment. 'I've never been

able to understand why Grantham keeps you chained to that office desk.

Doesn't he realise you have the same feeling for those four-legged monsters

that he has himself?'

'He knows.' Natalie let out the clutch and they moved off again. 'I thought at

first when he refused point blank to let me work with the horses that it was

just plain sexism. He's never employed girls in the stables in any capacity,

after all. But it seems to go deeper than that.' She paused. 'I hoped—when I

married Tony—that his attitude might soften, but he seemed more

determined than ever to keep me out of things. It took me quite a while to

realise that he saw in Tony the son he'd always wanted— an heir apparent

for Wintersgarth. All I was needed for was to—carry on the succession.'

'Nat, my dear!' There was shock as well as compassion in Beattie's soft

voice.

'Do I sound bitter?' Natalie asked ruefully. 'Well, I was, even after Tony was

killed. Father seemed to blame me for not being pregnant.' She forced a

smile. 'If I'd been a mare, I think he'd have sold me.'

'Or found a better stallion,' said Beattie thoughtfully.

Natalie nearly stalled the car.

'Or even that,' she agreed, her voice quivering a little. 'As it is, there's no one

left but me, and somehow I have to persuade him to make the best of it, and

take me into full partnership. My God, good women trainers aren't exactly

unknown in steeplechasing! And I could be good—I know it.' She sighed. 'It

isn't my fault I was born female.'

Beattie shot her a dry look. 'Some people might regard it as a distinct

advantage.'

'But then you're prejudiced,' Natalie returned affectionately.

The memory of the exchange made her smile as she rode Jasmine sedately

under the archway into the stable- yard, glancing around her as she did so.

Everything as far as she could see had been honed to its usual pristine state.

The boxes were gleaming, the gravel had been raked, and there was a busy,

excited hum round the place.

All the lads, she knew, were looking forward to seeing her father restored to

health, and back where he belonged. Grantham Slater had the reputation of

being a hard man in many ways, and an exacting employer, but he was also

fair, and paid good wages for good work.

'We know where we stand with the boss,' Wes had once explained it simply

to her.

Well, the boss would have nothing to complain of when he did his round at

evening stables, as he undoubtedly would, thought Natalie as she rode

Jasmine into the second, smaller yard and dismounted.

Beattie was talking optimistically of persuading her husband to take it easy,

but Natalie was sure he'd have other ideas.

She led Jasmine into her stall and began to unsaddle her. It had done her

good to ride out, helping her to get things into perspective, see how best to

tackle her father.

He was a logical man, she thought, as she began to brush Jasmine down.

When he realised how well she'd coped in his absence, he'd change his mind

about having her as a partner. Besides, what real choice did he have? For

once in his life, Grantham Slater would have to bow to circumstance, instead

of bending it to his will as he usually did.

'Excuse me, Miss Natalie.' The voice behind her made her jump. She'd been

too preoccupied with her own thoughts to hear Ben Watson's approach. 'Mrs

Slater's been on the phone, asking for you. I can finish off Jasmine if you

want to get up to the house.'

Natalie forced a smile. 'It's all right, I'll see to her myself, thanks.'

Watson lingered. 'I thought you might be in a bit of a hurry. It's a great day,

after all.'

She nodded, and concentrated her attention on Jasmine, hoping he would

take the hint and go. She'd no idea why she didn't like Ben Watson. He was

quiet and polite, and Wes had no complaints about his work, but there was

something... something about the way he looked at her which had made

Natalie wish more than once that she was several inches taller, and a couple

of stone heavier, and looked like one of the horses. At the same time, she

told herself she was probably imagining things. His attitude to her was

always respectful—even deferential.

I've just taken agin him, she thought ruefully, and knew by the sudden

slackening of some inner tension that he had departed.

When she got to the house, Beattie was rushing into the dining room with a

vase of flowers.

'Would you believe it?' she flung at Natalie. 'Grantham's just rung to say he's

invited two extra people to lunch. Bang goes our quiet family party!'

'Oh, Beattie!' Natalie was taken aback. 'That's too bad of him, it really is!

Did he say who they were?'

Beattie flapped an agitated hand. 'Well, there's Andrew Bentley, for

one—and he did mention the other name, but I've forgotten.' She paused. 'I

just hope there's enough food.'

Natalie sent her an affectionate grin. 'Of course there will be. Judging by last

night's preparations, you could feed the entire membership of the Jockey

Club, if they turned up, let alone Dad's solicitor and some unknown quantity.

Is there anything I can do?'

'Not really.' Beattie secretly revelled in domestic crises, her stepdaughter

suspected. 'Although—darling, you might put on a dress.'

'I'd already planned to.' Natalie grimaced. 'I don't want to give Dad any cause

for complaint, today of all days.'

She was thoughtful as she went up to her room. It seemed odd that Andrew

Bentley was coming to lunch on Grantham's first day out of the clinic. Was

he coming as legal adviser, or family friend? she wondered. If it was purely

a social visit, then Liz would probably be coming with him, and that would

explain the extra person. But that can't be, she thought rather restively.

Beattie and Liz are friends. She wouldn't forget the name of Andrew's wife,

no matter how much of a flap she was in.