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  “No, you won’t. Dave can do it,” Mel said and turned toward the little groom who looked as if he too was very pleased with something.

  Chapter Six

  True to her word, Mel won the ladies’ five gaited class on Royalty’s Dreamer.

  The next afternoon, Jake relaxed in a director’s chair near their rented stalls. Resting his hands behind his head, his long legs stretched out in front of him, he had a good view of the woman who caused fierce tremors to his pulse. Perspiration beaded her upper lip. Dressed in a formal white shirt with sleeves rolled up to the elbow and wool Kentucky jods, Mel had to be hot. Her glorious auburn hair was severely pulled back into a bun at the nape of her neck, emphasizing her high cheekbones and firm jaw line. Stubborn jaw line, he amended his drifting thoughts.

  Her distracted gaze caught his and held until he winked. She stiffened, and he acknowledged her uneasiness with a nod. She presented him with her back, continuing to help Cory dress for her afternoon equitation class.

  Talk about mother hens. Jake had never seen so many at one time. Pop, Mel and Vanessa crowded around the little girl, all of them getting into each other’s way. He had never taught youngsters, so this whole process held his undivided interest.

  “Quit wiggling,” Vanessa scolded, her mouth full of bobby pins. She was trying to capture Cory’s a hair into a bun similar to Mel’s. That hairstyle and traditional attire—black paddock boots, wool jodhpurs, matching saddle coat, vest, conservative tie, black gloves and topped by a derby—were requirements in the horse show ring. However, Cory’s sandy hair was finer than Mel’s and not a bit cooperative.

  “Hold yer horses, darlin’,” Pop joined in. “Yer almost done.”

  Mel sprayed the child’s hair, the hiss of hair spray plastering every strand in place. Vanessa held out a hair net.

  “Shoo. That stinks,” Cory complained about the spray, but held still until Mel and Vanessa finished putting the hair net on her head and adjusting her derby.

  The three “mother hens” had slowly transformed the rambunctious nine-year-old into a mirror image of an adult rider. Mel pinned a fresh red rose on Cory’s lapel, much as he had done for Mel the night before. Standing side-by-side, the two of them were mirror images.

  As Cory came up to Jake and stood for inspection, he felt a sudden twist of nerves in the pit of his stomach, something at odds with his nonchalant demeanor.

  “Looking good,” he drawled. “Question is: can you ride?”

  “Damn straight!” Cory responded, her chin high, a gleam of humor in her eyes.

  “Cory!” Vanessa, Pop and Mel chided all at once.

  Jake laughed. “You guys are insufferable. You’ll make this child a bundle of nerves. C’mon Cory, let’s go find your horse.”

  Jake captured the little girl’s hand and then swung her onto his shoulders. The echo of her laughter sounded down the quiet barn shed row.

  Vanessa and Pop followed them with Mel tagging along in the rear. Her ankle wasn’t so painful, but her awkward limp gave her an excuse to dawdle. Seeing Jake and Cory together tugged at her heart. Had she been wrong to separate them? For once, she felt regret, not just guilt. Had the decision she’d made as a frightened teenage girl been the right one?

  Mel reached the make-up area in time to see Jake warm up Cory’s horse. Five minutes before the call to the class, Dave held the gelding’s head while Jake lifted Cory into the saddle. The little nine-year-old looked so grown up and beautiful. Having a hard time swallowing, Mel watched her from a distance.

  “Chin up!” Jake called to Cory.

  “Get those heels down, child,” Pop ordered.

  “Hands up!” Vanessa added her instruction.

  Although it was just a walk and trot class for her age group, the way the adults were acting, Mel thought, it might as well be the World’s Grand Championship. The class was called. Cory asked the horse to pick up his trot and rode into the arena. Mel followed everyone, and as the gate was shut, nuzzled in on the rail for a good view.

  “You’re mighty quiet,” Jake commented, coming to stand by her side.

  Mel shrugged. “Not much to say.”

  “Just nerves. I know how it is.” Jake’s arm brushed hers, but he didn’t seem to notice. “Change diagonals and show that horse!” Jake shouted as Cory passed by their spot on the rail. “She’s doing great,” he said under his breath.

  Mel’s stomach was in knots. Literally sick, she clutched the wooden rail, her gaze fixed on one horse and one small rider. She’d taught youngsters all during her career. She’d worked at horse shows with many little girls and anxious mothers. This one was different. This time she was the nervous mother, and it was a petrifying experience.

  As the thought crossed her mind, Mel glanced up at Jake. He watched the riders intently, a small movement in the muscle of his jaw. Suddenly she felt very sad. They could have been a family. Her heart seemed to collapse within her breast and she fought back tears.

  Everyone thought the tears she shed were tears of happiness when Cory won her first blue ribbon.

  * * * *

  Mel couldn’t sleep. Pop’s snoring was one reason. To save money, they shared a motel room at the Campbell House near the horse show facilities. Yet the second more pressing reason for her wakefulness had to do with Jake and Cory and the mess Mel realized she’d made of her life. We could have been a family. Her mind replayed those words like a child repeated a favorite song.

  She slipped on a t-shirt, light-weight jumper and sandals. The clothing barely touched her skin, a great relief from the wool riding suit and tight-fitting boots she wore while showing. Letting her breath out in a long sigh, Mel picked up the door key and fled the sonorous confines of her room.

  The long hallways were dim and quiet. With only a slight limp, she padded down her hall and turned the corner, the lobby a bright beacon in the distance.

  “Mel!”

  Glancing back, she saw Vanessa coming up quickly behind her. Great. She wanted a little solitude.

  “Hi, Vanessa,” she said as her childhood friend and employer joined her. They continued toward the lobby.

  “I just got Cory to sleep. Now I can get that drink I need,” Vanessa announced. “Join me?”

  It was more of a command than a question. “Sure. Pop’s snoring was keeping me awake.”

  Vanessa cast a sympathetic look her way. “Wondered what you were doing out so late. You and Pop keep early hours.” They went into the motel bar. “We need to celebrate anyway. Cory’s blue ribbon thrilled me to death.”

  “She sure did a great job.” Mel climbed onto the bar stool.

  “What will it be?” a glum-looking waiter asked.

  “Give me a Maker’s and water.” Vanessa turned to Mel. A diamond ring on her finger sparkled in the garish light of the bar. “This is on me.”

  “Just a Coke, please.”

  “Be right up.”

  “She was so excited,” Vanessa said, the scent of her perfume almost overpowering.

  Mel knew Vanessa was talking about Cory. If it hadn’t been for the heaviness of her heart, she would have been excited too. Her daughter had ridden almost perfectly. Cory had talent. It ran in the family.

  “I put the ribbon on the pillow beside her head or she wouldn’t go to sleep.”

  The waiter brought their drinks. Removing the paper from the straw, Mel toyed with it a moment before putting the straw into the glass. I should have been the one to put Cory’s ribbon on her pillow. She lowered her head and sipped the cold, effervescent liquid.

  “Remember your first blue ribbon?” Vanessa picked up her drink.

  “Yes,” Mel murmured, her gaze far away. “We were mighty young.”

  Mel briefly considered her childhood, but her thoughts returned like a boomerang to her later screw ups and blunders. Her heart lurched in her chest. We could have been a family. Mel’s gaze fell on the soft drink glass, wet with condensation. Her languid fingertip trailed a droplet of water.


  Vanessa spoke again, catching Mel’s attention. “I was so upset when my mother and father adopted Cory.” She glanced at Mel. “Being an only child too, you know how it is. I’d been the center of their life for so long.” Mel heard a trace of self-deprecating humor in her voice. “You get used to being spoiled.”

  “Mm, I know,” Mel mumbled to keep up her end of the conversation, her mind numb.

  “Now I am grateful for that child. She’s filled such a void in my life after my parents’ deaths.” Vanessa sipped her drink again.

  The fuzziness in Mel’s brain focused. She straightened up and drew a deep breath. She realized now that she had never gotten over giving up Cory. Never. It had been like an irritating gnat, always there, always annoying. There was a void in her life as well, and it had nothing to do with her failed marriage or disappointment in love.

  As she sat in the over-crowded bar on a rigid stool, she wanted Cory back.

  Going still, hardly breathing, Mel felt the texture of her skin prickle with a strange heat. She felt her face flush. Why now? She’d never wanted her daughter back before. It had been so tough, and all these years she’d been so filled with guilt. Guilt for getting pregnant in the first place, guilt for not telling Jake, guilt for lying to Pop. Mel thought she’d come to terms with her emotions, but here they were, bubbling up into her present like an unwatched pot.

  What had changed? With slow reflection, Mel understood one big difference. She had changed. She’d finally gotten up enough gumption to get rid of Lenny. Pop had scared her with his heart attack. It frightened her to think she might have lost him. Finally, Jake Hendricks had slipped back into her life like some insidious serpent.

  Jake—with his burning blue eyes and strange, appealing dimple. Jake—exasperating but exciting, a splendid figure on the back of Dreamcatcher, athletic and sexy. Mel’s body responded even though the man was not there. Warmth shoved its way upward, suffusing her whole being with a curious glow. She remembered the roughened palms of his hands and the rhythmic rise and fall of his chest as he carried her. She remembered all of him and longed for him like a woman should long for her husband.

  The thought stopped Mel’s breath. She confronted the idea of Jake as a husband, and her breathing started again, coming in slow, strained jerks.

  “Why, how do you do, Miss Noble?” a jarring voice snapped Mel back to her surroundings.

  She turned to find a large man with a ponderous belly hovering by Vanessa’s side.

  “Mr. Bishop.” Vanessa remarked politely.

  “Fancy meeting you here. May I sit down?”

  Vanessa nodded her head, and the man lumbered onto the empty bar stool. Mel noticed Vanessa’s fingers tighten on her glass.

  Vanessa turned to her right to acknowledge Mel. “Mr. Bishop,” she said, “may I introduce Melody O’Shea. Mel, this is Kyle Bishop, owner of Bishopgate Realty.”

  “Melody O’Shea? Any relation to the famous horse trainer?”

  “Yes,” Mel replied. “My father.”

  “Mel works for me now and she’s one of my best trainers.”

  “Vanessa, you flatter me,” Mel said with a laugh.

  “Not at all.” Vanessa glanced her way. “You saved several of my horses from that horrible fire.”

  “Ah, yes. I heard about that. I’m so sorry,” Bishop murmured politely, and then turned to the waiter to order a Bud Lite.

  “Mel, Mr. Bishop has offered me a considerable sum of money for Royalty Farm,” Vanessa remarked dryly, and then lifted her glass to her lips.

  Mel glanced at her employer. She felt an odd tension. Something was going on between Bishop and Vanessa, but it was hidden just under the surface. This must be the realtor Jake and Pop were so worried about, the guy with his sights set on building another subdivision.

  “I didn’t think the farm was for sale,” Mel said.

  “Ah, that’s what Miss Noble tells me,” Bishop answered with a grin. “I can’t convince her running a horse farm alone is not the job for a beautiful woman.”

  “Well, what kind of job is a beautiful woman supposed to have?” Vanessa asked, her words dripping sarcasm.

  Mel tried not to smile. Vanessa was on the warpath, and she silently cheered her on.

  “Any job a beautiful woman wants,” Bishop said with a gleam in his eyes and an ingratiating smile on his face.

  Mel stopped her mouth from dropping open. The guy had not realized his error. As she settled onto her stool and eyed Vanessa, waiting for her next move, fate saved Bishop.

  “Ah, my drink is here, and so are my dinner companions.” With a nod to the waiter to keep the change, he scooped up his bottle and climbed to his feet. “Do we still have an appointment next Thursday, Miss Noble?”

  “Yes, but it’s a waste of your time, Mr. Bishop.”

  “Ah, we shall see, now won’t we? Just give me a chance to explain my proposition,” Bishop said and turned to Mel. “Nice to meet you Miss O’Shea, or is it Miz?”

  “It’s Mel.”

  “Good night to you, Mel.” He nodded. “Miss Noble.”

  Mel watched his exit with relief. “What a weasel. He makes my skin crawl.”

  “Mine too.” Vanessa shook her head in apparent disbelief. “Kyle Bishop doesn’t know what century he’s living in.”

  “That’s for sure. You’re not thinking of selling Royalty Farm, are you?”

  “No!”

  Vanessa’s reaction was a little too quick and sharp for Mel’s comfort. They remained quiet for a time, and Mel toyed with her straw.

  “Had you heard that Jake was working at a farm in Altadena when the training barn burned?” Vanessa asked as she swirled the ice in her glass.

  “If memory serves, Jake’s first job in California was in Altadena. That was ten years ago. What does that have to do with the fire at Royalty Farm?”

  Vanessa shot Mel a look. “A few owners were talking about it last night at the show. I overheard them.”

  “What are you suggesting?” Mel’s gaze never left the gleam of Vanessa’s diamond ring. “That Jake had something to do with our barn fire?”

  “I think it’s interesting Jake was at another farm that had a barn fire.”

  “I don’t think Jake had anything to do with the fire,” Mel replied, beginning to grow angry. “What would his motive be?”

  “To make himself look good when he wins the World’s Grand Championship.”

  “Oh, give me a break.” Mel rolled her eyes toward the ceiling. “Competing in the championship was Pop’s idea. The thought never crossed Jake’s mind.”

  “Are you privy to his thinking?” Vanessa asked, and took another sip of her drink.

  “No.” Mel shook her head. “I made that assumption from the way he behaved afterwards.”

  “You know what they say about people who assume?”

  Mel caught the catty implication and frowned. She was reminded of their childhood. When they had played together too long, they had gotten tired and started throwing their toys at each other. That’s when their mothers had stepped in and separated them.

  Not having a mother to do the honors, Mel pushed her glass back and stood. “I don’t think your speculations are worthy of comment,” she said. “Unless you have firm facts, you shouldn’t gossip about your own trainer. For one thing, it’s bad for business. Thanks for the drink, but I need to get some sleep.”

  As she left Vanessa with her mouth open, Mel’s pulse began to gallop. She’d never talked to Vanessa that way. It felt really good. Letting out the anger instead of allowing it to simmer was something she’d learned to do only recently. Chin jutting forward, shoulders back, she stalked through the bar and sought sanctuary in the darkness beside the motel swimming pool.

  The night air was close and damp. The heat sucked the breath from her lungs, but Mel welcomed it after the coldness in the bar. Flopping down in a lounge chair, she stretched out her legs, pulling the skirt up to her thighs. In the distance, thunder grumbled. Lightening f
lickered all around—sharp sparks darting here and there like a dog on a scent.

  Really, Vanessa was amazing. To think Jake was somehow involved in the barn fire, after all he had done to save those horses. Vanessa hadn’t been there. She hadn’t seen his horrified eyes or felt his strong hand that had propelled her out of the inferno.

  “It’s going to rain.”

  Mel wrenched upward when she heard Jake’s voice. She glanced over her shoulder to see him approach and tugged down her skirt. As he sat in the lounge chair beside her, Mel slumped back and said, “It doesn’t take a brain surgeon to figure that one.”

  “Testy tonight, aren’t we?” Jake stretched out and put his hands behind his head. “What are you doing here?”

  “Trying to find a little peace and quiet.”

  “With a thunderstorm coming? You have a strange sense of peace and quiet.”

  “And you have a strange sense of what it means to mind your own business,” Mel shot back.

  Jake just grinned which angered her more. Thankfully, he had the grace to remain silent. The only noise was the distant thunder and the remote sound of music and laughter from the bar. Overhead, the erratic natural light show played its frenzied game.

  “I can’t seem to get that fire out of my mind,” Jake said after a while. “Who thought we’d make it to Lexington after what happened?”

  “We’ve got Pop to thank for that,” Mel murmured, fighting her physical awareness of the man by her side.

  “You’ve got to admit, Pop’s a cagey old cuss.” Jake dropped his hands down and folded his arms over his muscular chest.

  Mel glanced his way, envisioning the many times they had stretched out together in the hay loft, talking, touching and kissing. She frowned at her line of thinking and at the overt response of her body as she felt herself grow hot. It was easier to allow her anger to flow—less threatening, easier to contend with than emotions she had no business feeling.

  “I still can’t believe someone deliberately set that fire.” Jake turned his gaze to her, and they connected for one intense moment.

  “The police are trying to find out who did it.” Mel had trouble dragging her gaze away.