Deception (3 page)

“Breakdown?”

The word startled her. She’d lost the thread of their conversation. “Oh, the horses, not exactly, but if I hadn’t gotten them, they would have.”

An amused look touched his features and disappeared. The unpleasant thought crossed Connor’s mind that he knew his effect on her and might be enjoying it.

Clay pulled a key from the pocket of his jeans and picked up the heavy lock that hung from a rusted hasp. “Just a moment, and I’ll have the barn open. I’m afraid we aren’t fully prepared for you.”

A flash of anger surfaced. Connor started to comment, but bit back the remark. Clay Sumner had known she’d arrive today—he’d known it for several weeks. Why in the world hadn’t he sent someone to open the barn? He hadn’t made the first effort to prepare for her arrival, and her mares had had a long and exhausting trip. She felt the sting of disappointment that she’d driven so far, expecting more.

“I considered letting the foreman open the barn, but I wanted to do it myself,” Clay said. “I had Old Henry and Jeff pull down the paddock fences and rebuild them. I meant to take care of the barn, but …” He let the sentence drift into nothing.

For the first time, Connor noticed that his hands weren’t quite steady as he fumbled with the lock. It was so unexpected, and so uncharacteristic of the powerful man who stood before her, that her angry thoughts stopped abruptly. He’d built a new paddock but hadn’t opened the barn. Well, she’d heard enough from Richard Brian to know that Mobile was rife with the eccentric rich, and Clay Sumner definitely fell into that category. Richard had laughingly called him “old Mobile, in a state of grace achieved through clinging tenaciously to the kudzu vine and the tit of an incestuous social order.” The description hadn’t bothered Connor a bit, at the time. She’d chalked it up to Richard’s never explained bitterness about his hometown. In the nearly three years she’d known him, he’d never made a positive remark about Mobile, Alabama.

At last the lock opened with a snap. Clay pushed the door with his shoulder, spilling the late afternoon light into the dim interior of the barn. For a second he seemed to hesitate, and then he walked boldly inside.

Connor, only a few steps behind, stopped at the sight of the interior. It was a magnificent structure built to withstand time and weather. Heavy timbers, rough-hewn and indestructible, supported the roof, arching over head in a high peak with a loft on either side. The center aisle was wide and spacious. Sets of cross ties, each held to a timber by a wrought-iron horse’s head, hung at intervals. She counted the stalls, twenty in all, ten on each side, with what was apparently a spacious tackroom on the left and a feed room on the right.

“It’s beautiful,” she said, taking in the craftsmanship that was evident in minor details. The stalls were solid wood, carefully fitted to the height of a big horse’s shoulder. Decorative wrought iron separated each stall, giving each horse protection and yet allowing each animal to see around the barn. The smell of saddle soap and leather still lingered in the air, mixed with mold and dust. “This must have been a showplace at one time,” she said.

“Yes.” Clay walked to a stall and slid the bolt on the door. “Jeff’s the foreman, for want of a better term. He’ll bring in some shavings and prepare the bedding. I’ll have hay delivered by tomorrow, and feed. The stalls have automatic waterers, but I’m afraid they’ll need to be cleaned.” He walked from the stall in a long, hurried stride. “The paddocks are behind each stall. As I said, I’ve had one completely repaired, and the others will be done as we need them.”

“Why did you close the barn?” Connor looked at the beauty of the building. It was almost a sin to lock it away.

“My wife … reacted negatively to horses.” Clay turned to look at her directly. His face was expressionless, but his voice was sad. “She had an abnormal dislike for them. I quit riding when I realized how much it upset her. Then, later, I closed the barn.” He walked to the north door, unbolted it from the inside, and threw it open.

Connor blinked against the brightness. Clay stood silhouetted in the open door, a study in darkness and light, sinister and yet strangely tragic. He stepped toward her and shattered the image.

“Let’s give your mares a chance to shake out the kinks,” he said, walking past her as he went to the trailer. “I’m sure they’d like a romp.”

Before Connor could agree or disagree, he had Cleopatra’s lead line and was walking her toward a stall. He took the mare through the stall and out into the sunshine. Connor followed with Tinker. When both horses were in the paddock, they took off the halters and let them go. For several minutes the horses ran and bucked, delighted to be able to move their stiff muscles.

Pleasure touched Connor’s face, softening the squareness of her jaw and touching her blue-green eyes with a warm light.

“You really care for those animals, don’t you?” Clay asked. “That’s a good sign.”

His voice was almost a physical sensation. Yes, he’d be very effective pleading to jurors, or voters. “Cleo and Tinker are the beginning of my future. I bred Cleo to a warm blood before I left Malibu.” She gave him a smile. “I paid for the breeding with your money. I couldn’t afford the stud fee before.”

“You’re obviously hoping for a foal with jumping ability.”

She nodded, her gaze returning to the frisking mares. “Her first. She’s got the blood to produce runners. Tinker, too. That’s my goal, eventually. For now, a jumper is a good start.”

“They’re two exquisite animals.” He hooked his boot on the rail and his leg brushed hers. “I’ve always had a theory about women and horses.”

“Oh?” Connor’s muscles tensed. How many times would she have to endure this old saw?

“Men are never as good as women on a horse. Most men.”

Startled, Connor swung around to face him fully. She waited for him to continue.

“Men try to dominate the animal. It becomes a struggle between master and subject. Women, or the good ones, anyway, find that perfect level of partnership. The female rider tries to complement the horse.”

“The best riders of both genders do that,” Connor said.

“A lot of men make the same mistake in their personal relationships. They try to dominate the woman. And then again, there are women who like to play that trump.” His lips twiched up in a smile. “Have I shocked you?”

“Not at all,” Connor answered, “except with your ideas. I’m afraid Richard led me to believe you Alabamians were just beyond the Neanderthals. Now I find an enlightened …” she let am impish smile tickle her own lips, “specimen.”

Clay’s laughter rang out against the barn. “Do you fence, Ms. Tremaine, other than verbally?”

“Oh, let’s just say I keep in practice with all necessary sports.”

“We’ll continue this later. Right now, though, I’m sure you want to see your living quarters. The house has a wing with suites, a bedroom, bath, and sitting room. I’ve put you there so you can have some privacy. Let Willene know what you need and she’ll take care of you.” He smiled again. “Welcome to Oaklawn, Ms. Tremaine. It’s going to be a pleasure working with you.”

In that moment Connor pushed her doubts to the back of her mind. “Thanks. I’d like to settle in and … clean up.” She’d been about to say “bathe,” but it seemed such an intimate word. Clay Sumner made her self-conscious. Even as she lifted her hand to brush back her auburn hair, she was acutely aware of her gesture. In the tick of a second, she looked at him and then away.

Connor stumbled. Her hands caught at the paddock fence just in time to save herself from a fall. Had she imagined that jolt of sensuality? Clay Sumner was undoubtedly the best-looking man she’d ever worked for. She’d known plenty of attractive men, but none had carried such potent desire in a single glance.

Well, good-looking bosses were no problem for her, because that’s what they stayed, the boss. It was one of the few rules her father had taught her, and it was a valuable one. The place you earned your bread and the place you took your pleasure were separate. A woman who forgot that rule could end up hungry. And if she were ever tempted to forget the rule, she had Richard’s warning about Clay.

“Your bags have been taken up, and Jeff will park your rig and return the truck to the house. Your suite is upstairs. The downstairs section isn’t in use now. It’s actually a suite that I keep for the children’s grandmother. When she comes to visit, which isn’t often, she hates … to climb the stairs.” His smile was slightly strained, but he recovered. “After Richard’s detailed and very complimentary description of you, I didn’t think you’d mind a few stairs.”

The warm September sun had finally calmed the horses. They paced the fence, sniffing and examining their new surroundings.

“Not at all,” Connor answered. “I’ve always wanted an upstairs bedroom.” It was an inane, if truthful, comment. She turned to look at the house. She could clearly see the two big windows on the third floor. As she watched, a shade was drawn. The house seemed to wink at her. A chill brushed her shoulders, causing the skin to dimple in the old, familiar pattern of goosebumps. She shrugged the silly feeling off. “It’s a lovely house. I’m looking forward to my stay here.”

“Did you sign the contract?” Clay asked softly. “After all,
I am a
lawyer.” He leaned against the fence, obviously intending to wait. “We insist on the neat and tidy.”

“Of course.” She moved toward the Chevy. She’d had to trade the Trooper to get something big enough to pull the horses. “The papers are in the glove compartment. I’ll get them.”

Walking to the truck, she felt as if he watched each step, each swing of her arm. She got the papers and turned back to find that he hadn’t moved. He was staring directly at her.

“When will I meet the children?” She took her emotions and the situation firmly in hand. There was nothing wrong with Clay Sumner; the problem was in her overactive imagination and her overstressed brain. She was letting her imagination run away with her. She proffered the contract as she approached.

Clay took the papers and started toward the house. Connor fell in beside him, taking in the immaculate grounds. A multitude of exotic-looking shrubs lined the white shell drive, and she tried to find familiar foliage as she listened to Clay talk.

“Danny and Renata will be out tomorrow, on Saturday,” Clay said. “I thought you’d like an evening to learn your way around the house. I’ve hired Willene to come each day, and Sally will help her clean. If you can’t find everything you need, ask Willene. She’s worked for us for years, on and off.” He slowed his pace, feet scrunching in the shell drive. “She’s a bit of a character, but I think you’ll enjoy her company. The children adore her.”

As they approached the house, Connor was conscious of how large it was. A porch extended on three sides, wide and inviting, with rocking chairs, two hammocks, and different groupings of furniture. There was the feeling that at any moment the doors would open and a party would spill out onto the lawn. Balconies extended from second- and third-floor rooms, and flowering vines trailed over the wooden bannisters.

“Does anyone stay over at night?” Connor stopped and looked up. The third-floor blinds were now closed, as if the house slept in the late afternoon sun, or else pretended to. The thought was so unexpected and macabre that she took a half-step toward Clay.

“Jeff stays in an apartment over the barn on occasion. He’s my main farmhand right now, and there are times when he needs to be here. Willene has accommodations near the kitchen. She can stay at Oaklawn, if she chooses, but her home is only a half mile away.” He looked at her. “Are you concerned about staying here alone?”

“No,” Connor hesitated even as she spoke. “It’s a big house. And old.”

“Lots of creaks and moans,” he said. “The children used to laugh and say the house was haunted.” He stopped abruptly, turning his gaze back through the pecan orchard to the barn. The slate roof was black against the sky. “At one time they loved it here, very much. Lately, they spend all their time at the house in town, but there was a time when they couldn’t wait for the weekends so they could stay at Oaklawn. I’m hoping that learning to ride will renew their interest. Oaklawn is their heritage.”

“I’ll bet they have plenty of adventures here,” Connor said with a sigh. The house was big and a little intimidating, but the estate was beautiful, gracious. It would be a fairyland for children to run and play in.

“When I was a child, this was my favorite place in the whole world. There’s a real sense of history here. My family helped settle the area, and Oaklawn was the site of their first home,” Clay said. “Anyway, Willene entertains the children and spoils them rotten. She tells them stories and stirs them up.” His hand brushed Connor’s shoulder as he guided her forward. “I’m sure they’ll be staying here often, especially on the weekends. When they stay, Willene will certainly stay. And I’ll be here on occasion. You aren’t afraid, are you?”

“I’ll be fine,” Connor said, realizing she must sound like a teenage ninny. It was just that even though the house looked so beautiful, it exuded something else. “New surroundings are always a little unnerving.”

“Old houses always carry a past.” A frown ridged his forehead. “I’m afraid you’ll find that the past is often more important than the present in Mobile. More important and never dead.” Anger edged his voice. “Even at Oaklawn.”

“The talkative Richard Brian said the city has almost an ancestor worship. Of course, Richard tends to exaggerate—at least, I always thought he did.” She watched a smile replace Clay’s frown.

“It isn’t that bad,” Clay said. When he looked at her, his blue eyes were mildly amused. “Richard didn’t fit into the round hole his parents had prepared for him. He should have been a doctor … or a lawyer.”

“Like you?” She was curious about Clay’s relationship with Richard. They’d been friends, but she’d picked up on an element of discontent in Richard’s silences. He’d said only that he and Clay had taken separate paths. He’d found Mobile stifling, and Clay had flourished. But Connor suspected it was more than that. Clay had gone the professional route, and Richard had followed a creative dream. Clay was top dog in his own small pond, and Richard was still swimming upstream in Hollywood.