Long years of familiarity allowed Smitty to speak her mind. “No you won't!” Smitty snapped as she tugged at the yellow-leather vest stretched tight across her chest. “If you stay here on this farm twenty-four hours a day, there is no way in hell you are going to find such a man. You know what else, Nealy Coleman Diamond Clay? You wouldn't know what the hell to do with a
real
man. So there.”
“You're a wiseass, Smitty. I have more important things to think about than getting a
real
man in the sack. I'm going upstairs to take a nap.”
“That's probably the smartest thing you've said since coming back from New Jersey. What should I tell Mr. Bell if he calls again?”
“He won't call. It takes a certain amount of energy to pick up the phone and dial a number, and he's not willing to expend that energy.”
“You're a rip, Nealy.”
“Among other things. Thanks for getting the poinsettias. They really perk up the kitchen. If I'm not up by five, will you wake me, Smitty?”
“Sure, kiddo. By the way, with all the excitement going on around here I forgot to tell you I hired on four brothers. Do you remember Scully Mitchel?” Nealy nodded. “Well, he croaked the day after Christmas and his sisters are selling everything off. The boys are looking for work. Nice young men. Nick knows them. Fully licensed. They know how to work hard. I hired them on and gave them a raise in the bargain. All four of them will give you an honest day's work for a day's pay. They start tomorrow or the next day. Soon as they finish up for Scully's sisters. You okay with it?”
“More than okay. My shoulders feel lighter already. Thanks, Smitty.”
Smitty's brow furrowed in worry as she watched Nealy's retreating back.
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In her room with the door closed, Nealy walked over to Maud's old rocker and gently lowered herself into the softness of the cushions. She was tired, but she wasn't sleepy. She just wanted to sit and think about what she'd just done. She wished she could cry. Why couldn't she? When was the last time she'd really cried? She couldn't remember. Maybe when her dog Charlie died, and then Stardancer. Maybe. Why couldn't she remember? Did she cry when Maud and Jess died? She couldn't remember that either.
Her arm reached out to the day-planner Smitty had given her a year ago. She tried to write in it each night, but for the most part she forgot or was too tired even to pick up a pencil to jot down a few notes. Every damn day of her life was the same, so what was the point of making entries that said the same thing over and over again? There were no surprises, no events, nothing out of the ordinary. Maybe Smitty was right. She needed a life outside of the farm. Interests, hobbies. The thought made her throat muscles tighten.
Nealy's gaze swept across the room to the pictures on her dresser. Her gaze lingered on a picture of Hunt and Nick with their arms around each other, big smiles on their faces. She remembered vividly the day Smitty had taken the picture. She'd been about to join her husband and son when Nick said, “No, Mom, this is just me and Dad.” There was no picture of her with Nick. No one had ever asked to take one. When Hunt died, she'd gone through all the photos and brought this one into her room. Nick had one in his room. She wondered if Nick had taken his picture with him. Of course he had. It was one of his most treasured possessions.
Before she could stop to think, Nealy dropped the daily planner on the floor and bolted out of the room and down the hall to her son's room. Her hand trembled so badly she could barely open the door. Her heart beating trip-hammer fast, she stepped over the threshold and took a deep breath. What had she expected to see in here? The room was neat and tidy just like Nick himself. A young man's room done in earth tones. Once it had been a little boy's room. Even back when he was a little boy she had never come into the room unless she was invited. It was Hunt and Nick's domain. There were no pictures anywhere. Where were all the baseball bats, the mitt, the skis? Where were the posters young men always hung on their closet doors? Maybe inside.
Nealy reached out to open the closet door. Two flannel shirts on hangers. A pair of old boots, the heel loose on one. There was nothing on the overhead shelf. She slid one of the flannel shirts off the hanger and brought it close to her face. It smelled like Nick, clean and crisp. She peered again into the depth of the closet. Of course there was no baseball bat or glove. Nick never had time for extra activities. All he did was work and read and study. And if she'd had her way, he wouldn't have read or studied at all. Because . . . because . . . she'd wanted him to be like her, not like Hunt. And to that end, she'd worked him like a mule, the same way Josh Coleman had worked her. What kind of mother did that make her? Not a very good one. Where had she lost her way? Was it when she married Hunt? She wasn't a good mother, and she hadn't been a good wife either. She felt dizzy with the thought.
Emmie. Emmie was different. All those years when she couldn't talk, all those years of coddling her were different. Different because Emmie was different. Nick had been a sturdy little boy and an even sturdier teenager. And he was a hard worker. Because she made him work. Someday Blue Diamond Farms would be his and Emmie's to run. They had to be prepared to run it the way she'd had to learn. She could never have progressed to where she was now if she'd gone to college. And because she didn't go to college, she'd always felt inferior to Hunt. Had she taken that and dumped it on Nick and Emmie? Of course she had.
Hunt overrode her so many times when it came to Nick. He home-schooled him a lot. A quick study, all Nick had to do was show up and take a test. And he always passed. She knew that because Smitty told her, not because Hunt and Nick did.
That was when she trenched in and made Nick work harder. She knew now that Emmie had carried half his load just so he could study. Just the way her brothers had stepped in to help her when she lived at SunStar Farms. She knew that, too, because Smitty told her. Long after the fact.
Nealy dropped her head into her hands. This was all because of what happened with that hateful old man Josh Coleman back in Virginia. He'd left a mark on her soul, and she didn't know how to erase it. God help her, she was just like him.
Her single-minded goal in life had been to tie her children to her so they would never leave the farm the way she'd been forced to leave SunStar Farms.
She wasn't fit to carry the name of Mother.
She knew she was going to cry when she felt the hot tears behind her eyelids. With her son's shirt pressed to her cheek she let the tears flow, red-hot against her cheeks. Her shoulders shook, and her body trembled. “I'm sorry, Nick. I'm so very sorry. Forgive me, Emmie.”
Nealy closed the door behind her and walked back to her room, the shirt clutched tightly in her hands. This time she locked the door behind her. Still crying, she climbed up onto the big four-poster and curled into a tight ball. She was asleep within minutes, her dreams full of sorrow and regrets.
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“Nealy, it's six o'clock. Wake up, kiddo.” Smitty was banging on the door.
“I thought you were going to wake me at five. We'll be eating dinner when Clementine gets here,” Nealy muttered as she stuffed Nick's shirt under her pillow. “I just want to wash my face and comb my hair. I'll be down in a minute. What's for dinner?”
“Thornton Chicken frozen potpies. I made a salad,” Smitty called through the door. “Ruby and Metaxas are in the kitchen. He says he's going to find us a housekeeper who can cook. I don't think he likes Thorntons, and Ruby is having peanut butter and jelly because she won't eat chicken. Shake it, Nealy. Dover and I have plans to take in a movie this evening.”
“Okay. Okay. I'll be right down.”
Nealy looked at her reflection in the bathroom mirror. She looked haggard and old, and her eyes were red and puffy. Everyone was going to know she'd been crying. According to Smitty it wasn't such a terrible thing to cry. The only problem was, she didn't feel one bit better.
She sighed. Life would go on regardless of how she looked or what she did.
4
Nealy stood at the kitchen sink, her hands in soapy dishwater. A long frond from the fern hanging over the sink tickled her ear. She gazed out the window at the steady drizzle that would, according to the weatherman, turn into an all-night hard rain. She shivered inside her wool sweater.
Her hands fumbled in the soapy water for the plug. The dishwater gurgling down the drain sounded ominous to her ears. She could have loaded the cups and silverware into the dishwasher but felt the need to keep herself busy so she wouldn't think. It wasn't working. Maybe after the meeting with Clementine Fox she would drive over to Emmie's house. Maybe. She knew she wouldn't do it because going to Emmie's house, seeing her things, would only make her feel worse than she already felt. It would be better if she sent Smitty, but even that could wait till tomorrow. She'd burned her bridges and had to live with her loss. For now anyway.
A smile tugged at the corners of her mouth. Emmie with a baby. She was going to be a grandmother. Would Emmie send pictures from time to time? She hoped so, but she doubted her daughter would want to share her precious child with someone like her.
Someone like her.
The words danced around inside her head. What was wrong with her? Why couldn't she have called her children into the kitchen and said something like, “Listen, I'm sorry I've been so hard on you. You're now free to do whatever it is you want to do with your lives.” Why couldn't she have done it like that? Maybe someday she would come up with an answer that she could make sense of. Then again, maybe she would never come up with the answer.
Nealy dried her hands and stood at the counter watching the fresh coffee dripping into the glass pot. Clem might want a cup. She grinned. Clementine Fox, according to Metaxas, was the best damn lawyer in the country. A real kick-ass attorney who didn't think twice about taking on the big boys and coming out a winner.
Clem liked bourbon straight up the same way Smitty did. Nealy opened the cabinet and brought down a bottle of hundred-proof bourbon and a squat glass with a turkey on the front. It belonged to a set of bourbon glasses Danny Clay, her father-in-law, had given her one year. There were six, and so far none had broken. She closed her eyes and conjured up a mental picture of Danny. She should call and tell him about Nick on the off chance her son hadn't gotten around to calling his grandfather. She was about to reach for the phone when the back door opened and Clementine Fox blew into the kitchen with a strong gust of rainy wind.
Nealy blinked. How could anyone look so ravishing, so elegant, so professional in a rainstorm? She eyed the shimmery pink raincoat in awe. Even the attorney's umbrella was of the same shimmery pink material. The briefcase in her hand was a Gucci. It looked new and crisp, just the way the raincoat and umbrella looked.
“I'm dripping all over your floor, Nealy,” Clem apologized, her voice calm as usual. “If that's coffee I smell, I'd like a cup.”
“No bourbon?” Nealy asked in surprise.
“Not tonight, honey. It's bad out there, and I don't need liquor running in my veins if I'm driving. Just coffee, no cream or sugar. Where is everyone?” she asked hanging her raincoat and hat on the rack by the door. She walked over to the sink and plopped the pink umbrella against the side.
“Smitty said she was going to the movies with Dover. Ruby and Metaxas are down at the barn. Nick and Emmie have moved out to experience life on their own. End of subject, okay?”
Clem's expression remained passive. “Okay with me, Nealy. I'll just leave the papers that concern Emmie, and you can forward them to her. It seems a set was sent to her, but she hasn't responded. It really doesn't have anything to do with you, but Emmie is going to have to get off the stick and make a decision here.”
“What papers? What are you talking about?” Nealy asked, setting a cup of coffee down in front of the attorney.
“The papers regarding your . . . ah . . . father . . . Josh Coleman's farm that Emmie signed off on for your brothers. The papers were never filed in a timely manner. The attorney, according to his son, suffers from Alzheimer's and simply forgot. The papers have to be redone. Emmie has to sign again. If she doesn't, the farm is up for grabs. It is very complicated, Nealy. If it isn't done properly, I don't think I have to tell you the Colemans will be right there, pen in hand. Right now your brothers are considered squatters by the Colemans, and they want that farm. We go to court in two weeks.”
Nealy blinked and shook her head to ward off a wave of dizziness. She slumped into a straight-backed chair across from Clem and gulped at the hot coffee, sorry she hadn't put a jolt of Jess's favorite bourbon in it. There wouldn't be a problem if she could call Emmie and tell her to hop in the car and come right over, but Emmie was gone. “I thought you said their lawyer wanted to sit down and work something out. Are you saying that offer is off the table?”
“It was never
on
the table, Nealy. It was just something Valentine Mitchell said in passing. Let me remind you, Valentine Mitchell is the
legendary
Valentine Mitchell. The one who used to make the headlines once a month. The Colemans of Texas were her biggest clients, and she let the world know it. They dragged her out of retirement to handle all of this. The Colemans never okayed the deal. They want SunStar Farms, and they want those horses. It's the only thing that can save them if you prevail and take Sunbridge. We need to get our ducks in a row here, Nealy.”
Nealy leaned forward, eyeing the lawyer narrowly. “What horses are you talking about, Clem?”
Clem stared at Nealy over the rim of her coffe cup, then slowly lowered it to its saucer. Her facial expression was that of someone no longer sure of her position. “For starters,” she said, keeping her eyes on Nealy, “the horse you rode to victory in the Belmont. I can't remember its name. And all the other horses at SunStar.”
Nealy felt her body grow still. “My brothers don't own any horses. The day I left for New York to ride in the Belmont, my brothers sold off all the horses. Every single one. They're just being boarded at SunStar Farms. Guess no one told you that, huh?”
“No, I guess no one did,” Clem snapped, pulling a legal pad and pen out of her briefcase. “Do you want to tell me how that happened? If it's true, it's a good thing for you, but it is something I should have known about. I think you just won this case.”
Nealy smiled.
“I need the particulars,” Clem said, pen poised to write.
“That's easy enough. Metaxas bought the horses. My brothers filed the papers the day after the Belmont, before there was any lawsuit. It was all legal. I didn't know anything about it till after the race. I think he paid a whopping five bucks for each horse, so there is no money in the coffers for the Colemans to take. And, Clem, read my lips, they aren't taking my brothers' house, either. It will be over my dead body. You need to call your opposing counsel and tell them that. I suggest you do it now, so I know what's going on. We don't have a lot of time if we're going to court.”
Clem scribbled on the legal pad and then threw her pen down on the table. “If you have any more little surprises you haven't shared with me, now is the time, Nealy. You're taking this all very well, so that tells me there are other surprises.” Her face was stony cold, her eyes narrowed slits.
Nealy fiddled with her spoon. “I have one more,” she said quietly. Clem crossed one shapely leg over the other and sat back. “Not to change the subject, but what does a pair of shoes like that cost?”
“Five hundred and sixty dollars,” Clem replied without blinking an eye. “What's the other surprise, Nealy?”
“I bought up all of Riley Coleman's loans. I paid two points above what the bank was charging. They couldn't wait to take my money. I did it over the phone, wired the money to cover all the loans, and got the papers the next day by overnight mail. It didn't even take twenty-four hours. I can boot Riley Coleman's ass out of Sunbridge in minutes. I know how the game works. I might look stupid, Clem, but I'm not. I take care of my own.”
“And you would do that?” Clem asked tightly. “Boot him out?”
“In a heartbeat. Now, where do we stand?”
Clem picked up Nealy's pencil, which had rolled across the table, and snapped it in two. “I don't know. I really don't know. It's raining in Texas. Actually, it's been raining for ten straight days. Their drought is over. The Japanese stock market is healthy again or appears to be healthy. Throw those two ditties into your equation before you make any rash moves.”
“You're copping an attitiude with me, Clem. Why is that?”
“It's the nature of the beast. When I came into this, I admired you. Right now I don't much like you. Don't worry, that won't color my defense. I guess I was hoping it wouldn't get down and dirty. That's always wishful thinking on my part when I get involved in a case.” She stood up and smoothed down the tight-fitting cranberry suit over her hips. “There's no guarantee Val will be home to take my call.”
“Try,” Nealy said, the single word edged with steel.
Clem reached into the side pocket of her Chanel handbag to withdraw a small black Palm Pilot and her cell phone. She punched in the numbers and waited. “It's her answering machine,” she said, covering the phone with her hand. “Do you want me to leave a message?” Nealy nodded. “Val, it's Clem Fox. I need to talk with you. Give me a call,” she said, rattling off the hotel number as well as her room number. “I should be there in, say, an hour. We're having some real bad weather. Kind of like what you are getting there in Texas. I'll wait for your call.”
“Do you want me to fix you a thermos with coffee, Clem? It really is bad out there.” Nealy stood up and tugged at her jeans, smoothing them down over her hips. For the first time she realized she and Clem were about the same height and weight. But that was where the resemblance ended. For one crazy moment, she tried to imagine what she would look like wearing Clem's cranberry-silk suit and lizardskin shoes. The first word that came to her mind was ridiculous. But not as ridiculous, she thought, as what Clem would look like wearing her jeans and boots.
Clem walked over to the coatrack. “No thanks. I don't have that far to drive to my hotel.”
“I'm sorry if I disappointed you. I can't be anything but what I am. I wish I could be more refined, more feminine, more like you, but that's not who I am. I feel, I hurt, and I bleed. My family is all I have. They belong to me. I appointed myself my brothers' protector, and I'll use any means available to me to see to it that no one takes away what belongs to them. They started this. For God's sake, I didn't even know we
had
a family until all those Colemans and Thorntons showed up at SunStar Farms.” She let her breath out in a
swoosh.
“If I could have just one wish, it would be that none of this had ever happened. But it did happen, and I have to deal with it.” She looked Clem straight in the eye. “If you want out, I'll pay you off, and you'll never hear from me again. It's your call.” She inched her way around the attorney to reach for her yellow slicker on the coatrack. “It's pretty nasty out there. You might want to consider spending the night. You can take the room at the top of the stairs on the right. Think about it before you head out into that mess. I'll say good night. I want to go down to the barn.”
“Nealy . . .”
Nealy shrugged into her slicker as she stared down at the attorney's pricey shoes. “Yes?”
“A few minutes ago when I said I didn't like
you,
what I meant was I don't like what you're doing. When this first started you said it wasn't right for family to sue family. I felt the same way. I never had a family, Nealy. I grew up in one foster home after another. All those people wanted was the money the state paid them for my keep. I was lucky if I had enough to eat most times. I was married for a short while to a real louse. He believed I should work and he should gamble. That ended real quick, so I never got to have a family of my own.” She set her cup down on the counter. “I try, with my clients, to make things come out right for their families. I can't stand to see a family torn apart. What I'm trying to say here is sometimes life isn't fair. Look, you have money to burn. Literally. And yes, you busted your ass to get here just the way I busted my ass to buy these shoes on my feet. I didn't step on anyone, though. All I did was work my ass off. You don't need that Texas spread. In your heart you don't want it either. I understand you going to the wall and fighting with your last breath for your brothers, but you don't have to destroy the Colemans in the process. That isn't who you are, Nealy. At least I don't think it is. You don't have to be like your father. What he did was unconscionable. Don't compound it.”
Nealy snapped up the front of her slicker. “Thanks for your vote of confidence. To me, there's nothing more important than family. I've made mistakes. Everyone makes mistakes. It's what you learn from those mistakes that counts. Not having a family of your own should make you understand where I'm coming from. One more time, I did not start this. You can't blame me for a drought in Texas or the Japanese stock market sliding downward. When things like that happen you don't pull the plug and go after someone else's home and threaten to take away their livelihood so your good life can continue. I would never do something like that, and I won't tolerate someone else doing it to my family. Like I said, I take care of my own. I don't expect anyone else to do it for me. I really have to get down to the barn. See you, Clem. I really like those shoes and that rain gear. You look good.”