Ty grinned when she read these last items. It seemed Bubba was getting into the spirit of the endeavor. Well, if Southwind’s manager wanted additional help and fancy logo baseball hats, that’s what he’d get. Ty only wished Steve would prove equally enthusiastic.
Emma loved to draw, which was fortunate. It allowed Ty to begin telephoning, drafting letters, and tracking down Vicky Grodecki as well as other editors at various horse journals. She was sure at least one of them would be interested in doing a piece on Steve and Southwind. As Emma sat on the floor, filling page after page with colorful slashes, dots, and cyclone-like spirals, Ty jotted down notes, dialed numbers, and mulled over what she considered her greatest challenge. In essence, it was a marketing problem. What sort of lure could they use to entice people to Southwind so that they could see firsthand what a beautiful farm this was, what great facilities Southwind boasted, and, most important, what an outstanding trainer Steve was? Printed articles and photographs, the kind of publicity magazines and papers provided, weren’t enough. They needed more, something special. Ty sat in the armchair, mulling over possibilities, discarding one after another, staring down at Emma’s strawberry-blond ringlets, noting absently how the red highlights in the two-year-old’s hair reminded her of the golden strands in Cantata’s mane. She paused, inspiration a tingling electricity flowing through her veins. That was it!
Steve had been terrific coaching her on Macintosh and Cantata. Imagine the number of people who would give their eyeteeth for that kind of personalized instruction from someone like Steve. If she could get Steve to offer a weekend clinic where riders could board their horses at Southwind, during which they’d receive three days of lessons and coaching, working on the flat as well as over fences, horse people would be scrambling to sign up.
The idea of a clinic had a second advantage, too, Ty realized, becoming increasingly excited. Not only would people be beating down Southwind’s gates for a chance to rub shoulders with a rider as great as Steve Sheppard, but once they saw how fantastic a coach he was, they’d want to stay on permanently. But that wasn’t all, she thought, a smile growing on her face. Steve could use the clinic as a kind of admissions test: only riders with whom Steve felt he could really work would be invited to board their horses at Southwind, to train and show with Steve. An effective way to weed out potential headaches like Allegra Palmer. And by now, Ty understood Steve well enough to realize he’d be much more cooperative if given control over the decision process. With a triumphant grin, Ty tossed her pen into the air and sprang if not nimbly, then enthusiastically, from the chair.
“Emma, love, I’ve got it! This is cause for celebration! What do you say we go get you a big cup of milk?”
“Orange juice!” Emma countered.
Ty considered. It wasn’t milk, but at least it was good for her young goddaughter. “Okay, orange juice it is, and I’ll make a huge cup of coffee. Black, with loads of sugar, ’cause I deserve it!”
Scooping Emma into her arms, they left artwork, displaying Emma’s talent with colors, scattered over the living room floor and went off in search of vitamin C and caffeine.
The slow, steady drip of the coffeemaker had finished, its glass pot filled with dark brew, the aroma of which wafted through the warm kitchen. Emma was busy guzzling orange juice from the spout of her plastic cup, her legs scissoring back and forth against the smooth wood of the kitchen chair, and Ty’s mind was busy working out details. There were twenty box stalls in Southwind’s barn, three of them occupied. That left room to accommodate seventeen horses. Good. Too big a clinic, and the riders wouldn’t receive the kind of personalized attention from Steve that would make an event like this special, alluring.
Ty had just lifted the coffeepot to help herself when the front doorbell rang. Probably Bubba with more items for his wish list, thought Ty with a smile.
“Hey, Em, let’s go open the door. Yes, you can bring your juice. Coming,” Ty called, raising her voice in the hopes it might carry sufficiently. She bent slightly and hefted Emma onto her left hip, keeping a wary eye on the juice cup, which was listing rather alarmingly toward the front of Ty’s button-down shirt. “On second thought, let’s leave the juice.”
The front door opened to reveal, not Bubba Rollins, but Sam Brody. “Sam!” she cried in surprise. “What are you doing here?”
“ ’Morning, Ty.” Sam grinned, his eyes meeting hers briefly, before settling on the cherubic face of Emma. Ty caught a flicker of emotion in Sam’s tawny eyes as he gazed at the toddler, who, in turn, was staring back at him with open curiosity.
“Come on in, Sam.” Ty stepped back, her free hand ushering him inside. “Emma and I were just making coffee. Emma, honey, this is Sam, an old friend of your mommy’s and mine.”
Sam appeared astonished when Emma immediately stretched out her arms upward and diagonally, their goal the corded column of Sam’s neck. Recovering himself, Sam quickly grasped Emma.
Well, isn’t this interesting?
thought Ty, amused, watching the pair now that she and Sam had finished performing the exchange of Emma’s outstretched body. Emma was running her palms up and down Sam’s bristled jaw, the golden-brown stubble apparently fascinating to the toddler. Even more interesting was her ex-bodyguard’s reaction. For a second, while Emma’s tiny hands went about their sensory exploration, Sam had stood, apparently frozen in shock. Then suddenly, with a grin that brought to mind a Barbary pirate, Sam had ducked his head, planting his mouth against the side of Emma’s neck and had blown an outrageously loud strawberry against the toddler’s soft skin. Emma had shrieked in delight, her hands fisting into Sam’s short dark hair. Pumping her sturdy little body up and down in his arms, Emma demanded, “Again, again!”
Four wet strawberries later, the three of them were seated around the kitchen table, Emma bouncing happily on Sam’s knees, Sam seemingly totally at ease in his role as Emma’s newest plaything. Ty placed a cup of coffee before him. “ Congratulations, Sam,” she laughed, “Emma’s taken a shine to you.”
“Great kid. Obviously has excellent taste in men. I take it Lizzie’s somewhere nearby, too?” His voice was casual.
Ty nodded. “She and Emma arrived earlier this morning. Lizzie’s looking at some ponies out in Amagansett. I imagine she’ll be back soon. So what brings you out here? Getting visits from my two closest friends on the very same day is nothing short of amazing. Wonderful but amazing.”
“No, we didn’t plan it,” Sam said with a smile. “Pure coincidence. It’s been years since I’ve seen or talked to Lizzie.” His left hand ruffled Emma’s curls, as cautiously Sam brought the coffee cup to his lips, avoiding Emma’s squirming body.
Ty was right, Sam acknowledged. Emma did resemble-her mother. Sam could picture Emma in fifteen years’ time, effortlessly dazzling the entire male population, and a fiercely intense need to protect filled him. Similar to the one he’d experienced when he’d received a matted photograph in the mail, announcing Emma’s birth. The picture had shown a tiny baby, wrapped in a light pink blanket, sleeping peacefully. What had held Sam spellbound, as he battled emotions, was the image of Lizzie. Lizzie, all grown up, that incredible reddish-gold hair cascading down her shoulders, its ends brushing Emma’s blanket. She’d been smiling, but her smile hadn’t quite erased the sadness shadowing her eyes. Eyes Sam remembered as always being so full of life, mischief, and joy. Emma bounced, hard, bringing Sam abruptly back to the present.
Forget it, Brody,
he said to himself.
It
ain’t going to happen. Never in a million years.
“She probably doesn’t even remember me.” he added, not realizing he’d said the last aloud.
“Oh, I can assure you Lizzie remembers you, all right. It’s not as though you’re an easy man to forget. Are you going to tell me why you’re here, or am I supposed to guess?”
“If you did, you’d only get it half right. That means I’d better tell you—wouldn’t want your grade average to drop,” Sam teased, grinning at Ty’s narrowed glance. “Main reason I’m here is as a favor to another friend of mine. He’s got a great-aunt living alone out here, in Georgica. Ninety-something and still going strong. But Alex worries she’s too isolated living with no relatives nearby. He asked me to install a security system in her home, one that’s hooked up to the police as well as to his office in Manhattan. But the only way he could persuade her to allow me to set it up was if I agreed to give her private lessons on this computer he bought for her. Mrs. Miller wants to visit museum Web sites, download information, go into chat rooms, all that jazz, but she keeps getting lost in the Web. Spent yesterday afternoon and evening with her. An insatiable woman, Mrs. Miller,” Sam finished, his grin even broader.
“You do that sort of thing?” Ty would have thought this kind of work would be peanuts to him. Sam’s company, Securetech, in addition to having a contract with the government, was also consulted by some of the country’s biggest corporations.
“As a favor to Alex Miller, yeah.” Miller had been one of Securetech’s principal and earliest investors. A financial wizard, he had a nose for sniffing out young, developing companies. Alex Miller’s interest had given Sam’s fledgling business a crucial boost during those tumultuous early months. Now Securetech set the standard by which other companies in the security field measured themselves. That Ty didn’t recognize Alex’s name didn’t surprise him. Unlike her father, Alex Miller preferred to work behind the scenes. His name rarely hit the headlines, making the influence he wielded all the more impressive.
“I’ve also got some information for you about your father,” Sam continued, getting back to the reason for his unexpected presence. “As I thought, someone’s accessed every bit of financial information available about you. I followed the cookie trail, and it went back to Crane, Adderson and White. Your father wouldn’t want it to lead back to his own company. Time to figure out when he’s going to strike and what tactic he’ll choose.” Sam would have said more, but Emma abruptly surged to a stand, weaving as she tried to balance on his muscular thighs, effectively bringing Sam and Ty’s discussion to an end. Sam’s hands automatically spanned Emma’s waist, supporting her, her eyes now almost on level with his. Cornflower blue met amber gold as child and man solemnly took each other’s measure.
“Hey, squirt.”
“Hey, Sam,” Emma’s high-pitched voice returned. “Emma needs to go potty.”
Sam’s mouth quirked. “Awfully glad you decided to share this with me. You want Ty to take you?”
“No, you!” Emma bounced on his legs for emphasis. Sam glanced over at Ty, who shrugged and smiled.
“Use the one next to my bedroom. It’s upstairs, take a right, second door on your left.” Sam nodded, rising, Emma perched on one forearm.
“Okay, off we go. Want me to carry you, Emma?”
“No, I wanna walk!” Emma declared, sliding down Sam’s rock-solid body fireman fashion. It was a long trip. Then tugging Sam’s fingers, she led the way out of the kitchen. Alone, Ty took a deep, steadying breath. Sam’s news concerning her father was the figurative equivalent of the antidote being almost as poisonous as the venom itself. She shouldn’t be surprised. After all, her father had been trying to control her life for as long as she could remember. That she was twenty-five years old would hardly be reason to stop. What caught Ty unawares was the pain and how it sank its barbs into her heart. She’d truly, foolishly, believed herself past the point of caring what her father did. When the front door opened, voices in the entry signaling the return of Steve and Lizzie, a new concern superseded all others, her father’s machinations included. Sam, Lizzie, and she. In the same place. With Steve. Oh, please, God, not today!
Ty shot up from her chair by the kitchen table. “Hi,” she called out, a minor feat, considering that panicky foreboding leached her mouth dry, making her tongue seem two sizes too big.
“Hi.” Lizzie breezed in, shucking her jacket, Steve following close behind. “Where’s Em?” Lizzie inquired, looking around.
“Um, upstairs.” Ty motioned vaguely with her hand.
“Conked out, huh?” Lizzie nodded sagely. “All this excitement must have got to her. Emma’s such a great napper,” she said, pride lacing her voice. “Steve, do you mind if I use the phone?”
“Go ahead, there’s one by the sofa in the living room,” he replied, all the while looking at Ty.
“Thanks. I’m going to try and reach Catherine’s parents, see when they can arrange to come out and try out the ponies at Damien’s. They’re going to flip over the little Dartmoor pony I rode, Fly, though I’ll do my best to have them think in the long term, in which case Sassafras is the better choice. Mmm, is that coffee I smell? Save me a cup, would you? This shouldn’t take long.”
Before Ty could stop her, before she could figure out how to inform Lizzie that Emma was most definitely
not
napping. That Sam was there. Sam, whom Lizzie hadn’t seen in years . . . Sam, who right now was upstairs earning his stripes as Emma’s new best friend. Lizzie was gone, leaving Ty and Steve. She gulped. “Hi, how’d it go?”
“Fine. I like your friend. You okay? You seem a mite shaky.” Actually, she looked terrific, if a trifle pale. She’d changed into an azure blue shirt, the vee offering a tantalizing glimpse of skin he’d been thinking about far too often. Her blue jeans were ancient, decades olderlooking than she, white with age, frayed at the hems, and tight enough for him to have his fingers itching. Yeah, she looked great. Casually devastating.
Steve hadn’t been alone with Ty since this morning, since the mind-blowing-back-walking session, and as much as he truly did like Lizzie, he wanted her gone. He hungered for a chance to taste Ty’s lips again, to explore that silky-smooth flesh with his hands. To possess. But it wasn’t about to happen with her best friend in the next room and a two-year-old asleep upstairs.
“Uh, what are you doing?” Ty squeaked, her voice no longer hers to control. His hand was around her arm, just above her elbow.
“Taking you into the kitchen so we can have a cup of coffee together. Like I said, you look a little shaky.”
Liar, you’d use any excuse to touch her.