Deception (2 page)

“Can they?”

Richard shrugged. “Mobile is the bastard child of Alabama, meaning we aren’t fairly represented in contrast to Birmingham and the northern portion of the state. There’ll be a big effort to put a Mobile boy in that seat. Clay’s is an old Mobile name, one with a lot of background. Through the years his family has accrued significant personal debts from influential people. He might be able to generate the necessary funds to buy enough television time. He’s a handsome man. The women will all vote for him.”

“I refuse to rise to that sexist bait. Besides, I’d rather hear about Clay Sumner than reduce you to a mass of quivering corpuscles on the barn floor.”

A tiny furrow marred Richard’s face. “Clay’s a good businessman, Connor, as far as I know. He’s been through some hard times.” He patted the horse’s neck. “Really hard times. That does things to a person, and as I said, I haven’t been around him in a long time. I’m glad to see he’s riding again. He’s always loved horses, and I was sorry when I heard he’d given them up several years back. From what I hear, those children need some attention and discipline. This looks like Clay’s way of reaching out to them.”

“You think he’d be okay to work for?” It was a damn tempting offer. As Richard had so succinctly pointed out, she was more than ready for a change, and this Mobile job combined the elements of change, challenge, and money.

“I think Clay would honor his word.” He hesitated. “I’ve never heard anything bad about him as a lawyer or in any business dealing. He does his homework for his clients, and he appears in court well prepared and ready to fight.”

“You’re saying he’s a man of integrity.”

Richard swallowed. “I don’t think you could find a better man to work for, and I know he cares about his children. Just don’t …” he stopped.

“Don’t what?” Connor zeroed in on the uneasiness in Richard’s manner.

“Don’t get involved with him on a personal level, if you know what I’m saying.”

“Richard, you of all people should know I’m not in the habit of forming casual relationships, especially with my employers.”

“Wait a minute.” He frowned in exasperation. “I didn’t mean to imply anything. It’s just that Clay is a very handsome man. Before he married, he seldom had to do more than arch an eyebrow at a woman. He just has that kind of appeal. And, well, there’s been talk through the years about women. Harsh talk, Connor.”

“Afraid I’ll go down to the conservative South and besmirch my reputation?” She tried to lighten the mood. Of all the things she’d ever expected of Richard Brian, worrying about someone’s sexual behavior wasn’t one of them. It was touching, in an odd sort of way, that he cared that much for her.

Richard looked at her for a second, and he didn’t smile. “I’m not worried that you’ll be tarred and feathered as a loose woman, Connor, although Mobile hasn’t progressed much beyond that kind of behavior. There’s something odd about Clay and his personal relationships. If you take the job, just teach the kids to ride, and train his horses. Save your money and then get the hell out of there. Mobile isn’t the place for you, and Clay Sumner isn’t someone you want to be involved with.”

“If I take the job, I’ll remember that.” She cut the comedy from her tone. She put her hand on his arm and squeezed. “You’re a good friend, Richard. Thanks for the recommendation, and the warning.”

“This could be your ticket to the farm you always wanted, Connor. It’s a great opportunity. I think you’d be a fool to turn it down. Just get in, get your money, and get out. Come back this way.”

She shook her head with a rueful smile. “I couldn’t afford two acres and a rickety shack here. No, if I go to Mobile, I’ll probably stay in the South somewhere. Land prices are at least within reason.”

“You’ve given this some thought, haven’t you?”

“I’ve thought about nothing else since I got the offer two days ago. I’m weighing the options, but I haven’t decided.”

“Didn’t you say you had family down toward Mobile?”

She shook her head. “None living. My mother’s family lived around there briefly a hundred years ago, but they didn’t stay. I don’t think anyone is left.”

“Watch out, there might be a few round-headed cousins with pink eyes living out in the swamps. Back off in those woods, people have strange family relationships. Family is real important. Real, real important. And
real
close.” The devil glinted in his eyes, though he kept a straight face.

“Thanks. What a pleasant thought.” She rolled her eyes. “Now let’s get on with your lesson if you want to impress Penny Marshall with your equestrian skills.”

They were almost at the jump field when a tall, slender man in riding breeches hurried to Connor.

“The Houston brat is in the stall with Copper. She’s going to get her face bitten off.”

Connor looked up at the friendly warning from Jake Elton, another trainer at Pacific Heights Stables.

“Thanks, Jake.” Connor motioned Richard up on the horse. “Warm up. I’ll be there in a moment.” She turned her steps toward the west wing of the barn. Prescott “Pebbles” Houston was a spoiled bitch, and one of Connor’s students who drove her to the brink of her patience.

Connor slowed her steps as she approached Copper’s stall. She could hear the horse shifting from side to side, trying to avoid the ten-year-old nuisance.

“Stand still, dammit,” the child ordered. There was the sound of hand meeting hide as Pebbles slapped the fidgeting animal.

Connor stepped silently to the stall door. Pebbles Houston, her blond hair carefully pulled into a chignon at the nape of her neck, was standing on a crate in the middle of the stall, determinedly yanking hair from Copper’s mane. The child was a perfect miniature of a grown woman, an expensively outfitted one. Only the expression on her face, which registered childish petulance and bad temper, revealed her youth, and her arrogant stupidity. The horse, untied and nervous, shifted away, his neck arching as he prepared to bite.

“If you don’t stand still,” Pebbles hissed at the horse, “I’m going to …”

Reaching one slender arm over the stall door, Connor clamped her fingers on the child’s shoulder. “Prescott! Watch out!” With a surge of adrenaline, she lifted the child out of the horse’s reach.

A squeal of fright escaped the girl, and she pulled free of Connor’s grip. Her expensive leather boot slipped in a pile of fresh manure, and Pebbles’ bottom immediately followed.

“Oh, shit!” The child’s wide blue eyes, full of shock that rapidly changed to anger, locked onto Connor’s. “I’m going to tell my mother on you. She’s going to make sure you get fired. You scared me.”

“Get out of Copper’s stall and call your mother. You won’t be having a lesson today,” Connor said calmly. “If I catch you in a stall with any horse for any reason ever again, you won’t be taking lessons here at all. I can’t afford an injury caused by stupidity.”

“You don’t own Pacific Heights. You can’t act like this.”

“Go, Prescott,” Connor said with forced calm. “It’s dangerous to enter a horse’s stall. Any horse, but especially Copper’s. If your mother wants you injured, possibly scarred, you can do it at another stables. And I plan on telling her this myself. Now go home.”

She opened the stall door and held it. The child, a compact bundle of anger, stormed past her.

“You’re going to be sorry,” Pebbles threw over her shoulder as she ran toward the barn door, her tan riding pants stained in a most embarrassing place.

Connor quickly checked the horse. The job offer from Mobile, Alabama, sounded better and better.

“Don’t jump, Connor girl,” she said softly, imitating her father’s tone and the best advice he’d ever given her. “Take it step by step.” She sighed, thinking of his most recent actions. “Yeah, Dad, you’re a fine one to talk,” she answered herself. Walking quickly, she went to the ring where Richard was trotting his mount around in figure eights. She put the future and the past completely out of her mind and focused on her work.

Three hours later, Connor had taught her last lesson, checked the horses that were under her care, and climbed behind the wheel of her vehicle. She took the winding road out of Topanga Canyon, trying to convince herself that the wildness of the land still held her heart. Instead of going home, she took the coast road toward the public library. Within forty-five minutes she had every scrap of information the library had acquired on the Alabama coastal city of Mobile. As an aside, she also picked up a book on how to trace family trees. If she went to Alabama, she’d be a stone’s throw from the little Mississippi town where her great-great-grandmother had begun her life as an American citizen.

“I’m not jumping, Dad,” she whispered to herself as she opened the first book. “I’m definitely testing the water with a toe.”

When she had a mental picture of a small city with a hot, lush climate, she picked up the contract that had come with the fifteen-thousand-dollar check. If she took the job that Clay Sumner, Esquire, offered, she’d make forty-five thousand dollars in less than a year. She’d live and eat free, with a housekeeper and grooms and a virtual mansion to live in. She could bring her own horses and stable them free.

And in return for such largess, her duties would include buying two horses and two ponies and training them, and teaching Clay Sumner’s two children to ride each afternoon. Each afternoon after school, she corrected. Which meant she’d have all day to ride her own horses and to begin her dream of acquiring breeding stock.

She closed the library books, picked up her contract, and felt her pocket again to make sure the check was still there. Clay Sumner called it an advance.

Connor Tremaine called it a chance at a dream.

“Out, Cleo.” Connor urged the black mare down the ramp. “Good girl,” she said, as she tied the mare’s lead rope to the trailer hook and opened the left trailer door.

“Out, Tinker,” she urged. The second horse stepped backward down the ramp and Connor secured her lead rope, too. Only then did she take the time to fully examine her surroundings.

A long drive shaded on both sides by huge oaks had led her to the front of the big barn. The house was located nearly two hundred yards to the west, tucked behind a pecan orchard and a garden. She’d caught a glimpse of the three-story structure with the wide, inviting windows and the peaked roof. White and elegant, it rose from the lush vegetation that surrounded it, giving the impression that it watched the land that spread out before it. At the moment, though, the barn was foremost in Connor’s thoughts. She’d driven for six days, and she and her mares were tired and sore. Cleopatra and Tinker’s Damn needed a turnout and a chance to roll and limber up.

Connor visually checked the area for some sign of life. There was no one about, no one to greet her. For the millionth time, doubts about her decision to come to Mobile squeezed at her chest. The step she’d taken was irrevocable. She’d quit her job and cashed the fifteen-thousand-dollar check to make the trip south. Since her father had taken his last bit of horse luck to Australia nine months before, there was nothing left in California for her to return to. She was on her own.

The September sun was warm on her back as she stood before the big stone barn. After days of endless driving with sharp eyes turned to passing barns and homes, Connor was aware how unusual the stones were. Most of the older buildings in the South appeared to be made of wood. The sandy soil didn’t produce the stones necessary for such a structure. Many of the newer homes were brick, but stone was almost nonexistent. The barn reflected a sturdiness from another time, another place.

“My ancestors had the stones brought down from the Tennessee mountains.”

The deep, educated voice behind her made her start. She swung abruptly to face a tall man, his face shadowed by the late afternoon sun. Although she couldn’t see his features, she could read his stance, the casual way he held his athletic body. After Richard Brian’s description, Connor had no doubt who this was.

“You’re early,” Clay Sumner continued, unaware of the start he’d given her. “I meant to be down here sooner, to open the barn and all, but I was delayed in town. A client.” He shrugged. There was no hint of apology in either his tone or his posture.

Connor knew he was sizing her up, assessing her. He had her at a disadvantage, and one she felt was deliberate. She could make out only the shadow of his face and the enormous house behind him, peeking through the trees and borders of shrubs. The darkness of his face, the intensity of the light, was disorienting.

“Ms. Tremaine, is something wrong?” There was the hint of a challenge in his voice.

“It was a long drive.” Connor found her voice and her composure. Clay Sumner was not a man she wanted to catch her off-guard.

“I’m looking forward to seeing you work. Richard Brian said you could control a horse with a tone of voice. He said you were the best trainer alive with difficult horses—and children, and as we both know, Richard isn’t easily impressed and even less inclined to flattery.” Clay Sumner stepped around her and walked toward the barn door. “I had a little trouble finding the key. I’m afraid the barn has been locked for several years.”

When Clay passed her and moved to the door, sunlight struck his shoulders and head. He was lean and fit, with thick blond hair that had a tendency to curl at his collar. Small lines were trapped in the perfect tan of his face around his eyes and mouth. In contrast to his talk about clients and work, he was dressed in jeans and polo boots.

“Richard’s a good friend. I think a lot of him,” Connor said. An unusual tightness made her clear her throat. Clay was staring at her, watching her lips and eyes. She met the challenge in his gaze and her thoughts stopped. His direct blue eyes never wavered. They spoke of secrets, of time hanging still outside the window of a large, airy room, of gauzy curtains blowing inward over a bed. In total confusion she dropped her gaze.

“Nice mares.” Clay motioned Connor toward the barn. “Off the track?”

“Santa Rosa. They didn’t have the temperament to run.” She would never, never accuse Richard of exaggeration again. Clay Sumner’s stance and demeanor conveyed power and a raw sensuality that he made no effort to conceal, a passion artfully overlaid by propriety. He was a man she reacted to in a disconcerting way.