The Kill (33 page)

“Speaking of riding,” Smitty said, “I got a bunch of hounds I need to hunt. Any decision on when we’ll meet?”

Margaret nodded. “Wendy and I discussed it with Abigale, and she agrees that a hunt before Richard’s service is appropriate. Hounds will meet at Dartmoor Glebe at ten Monday morning. Richard’s service will be at four o’clock that afternoon. The hunt will be private. Members only. But the service will be open to the public.”

“Will Doug make it back by then?” Smitty asked.

“Hopefully. They’re on a flight from Sydney that gets in early Monday morning. I’ve asked him to lead the second field if he’s not too exhausted from the trip.”

“That’s good. It wouldn’t seem right, Doug not being here.” Smitty’s voice broke and he turned away, patting the fender of the Gator. “Guess if we’re all finished, I’d best be getting this loaded up.”

Manning said, “Come on. I’ll drive the Gator and meet you at the parking area, give you a hand hooking up the low boy.”

“Thanks. Much appreciated.”

Manning helped with the trailer hookup and watched Smitty drive the Gator onto the low boy. “You’re going to need the Gator tomorrow; why don’t you just leave it here overnight?”

Smitty winked at him, then spoke with an exaggerated drawl. “Why, Mastah, it wouldn’t be fittin’ for you to drive all those VIPs around in this tomorrow, looking like it does. I’ll be giving it a good washing when I get it back to the kennels.”

“That’s funny, Smitty, and, by the way, thanks for standing up for me with Mother. I really appreciated you trying to convince her to let me be an outrider.”

Smitty chuckled, gripping Manning’s shoulder and squeezing it a couple of times. Then his smile flattened and he pulled Manning so close he could see the white stubble on Smitty’s chin. “I know it’s gotta be tough as hell on you right now, son. It’s a real big pair of boots you’re stepping into. But you’re going to do just fine. I imagine you’ll feel a right bit better on Monday after you lead the field for the first time.”

“You mean
if
I lead the field on Monday.”

“Why wouldn’t you?”

“Mother may have other plans.”

“Hogwash. You’re the master, aren’t you?”

“Yeah, so I hear. Obviously in name only.”

Smitty’s eyes crinkled into a kind smile. “Margaret’s just trying to keep things together right now. Once we get past the races and Richard’s service she’ll step back.”

“We both know that’s not true, Smitty. Mother doesn’t trust me enough to back off an inch. Maybe I can’t blame her. But I don’t know how long I’ll be able to stand this benign dictatorship. I don’t mind riding a difficult horse, but I’d rather not do it with someone else holding the reins.”

“I hear ya,” Smitty said, his head jiggling up and down like a bobble-head doll’s. “I’ve been in your shoes and it ain’t much fun. But she’ll come around. In the meantime, just keep reminding yourself that Richard believed in you enough to leave the hunt to you. That ought to count for something.”

Yeah, it would
, Manning thought,
if Mother hadn’t told me Richard was about to change his will
.

M
argaret barely gave Manning a fleeting glance when he opened the passenger door of her truck and climbed in. Her attention was on Thompson, who stood outside the open driver’s window, one arm braced against the door.

“Make sure you bring the checkbook tomorrow,” she said.

“I’ve already written the checks.” Thompson patted his breast pocket. “I’ve got them right here.”

“That’s fine, but bring the checkbook anyway. I’d like to present the donation check to the environmental council at the conclusion of the races tomorrow.”

Thompson gaped at Margaret. “We never write the check to the charity until we’ve done a final accounting of revenue and expenses.”

“I know that’s how we’ve done it in the past, but I’d like to present a check tomorrow in honor of Richard. Surely you already have a pretty good feel for the bottom line.”

“Yes,” Thompson said slowly. “But I’m not sure all the online payments have been credited to our account. This is the first time we’ve used this merchant services vendor. Besides, you know the gate proceeds can vary wildly depending on the weather.”

“It won’t vary that much. We have a good forecast for tomorrow.”

“I don’t want to argue with you, Margaret, but that’s not best accounting practices.”

“To hell with best accounting principles. We’re not some Fortune 500 company. You know Richard always made up the difference if there was a shortfall in race revenue and the numbers didn’t justify the amount of donation we wanted to make. So I’m saying that this year we should go ahead and write the check. We’ve got plenty of money in the bank. We’ll sort out the accounting later.”

“Okay,” Thompson said coolly. His expression made it obvious that it clearly was not. He took a step back from the truck. “I’ll bring the checkbook. See you in the morning.”

Margaret rolled up the window and cranked down on the gearshift. She eased off the brake, glancing at Manning as she turned to look out the rear window to back up. “What’s so amusing?” she asked.

Manning shook his head. “Nothing.”

She pursed her lips as she stomped on the brake and threw the truck into drive. “Do you find it humorous that Thompson takes his position as treasurer so seriously?”

“No, Mother. I was just wondering when you’re going to start including me in conversations about the future of the hunt.”

“I didn’t realize I wasn’t. Or that you cared, for that matter.”

“How could I not care?”

She arched an eyebrow, as if that was a question that didn’t need to be answered.

He said, “The board elected me master, right?”

“You know it did.”

“Right. And Richard left the hunt assets to me. With the challenge to see if I could make a go of it.”

She shoved the gearshift into park and turned to face him, her expression a mixture of confusion and curiosity. “Go on.”

“How can I do that if no one lets me make decisions?”

“You can make deci—”

“No.” He shook his head. “You haven’t asked my opinion about a single thing. No one has. You decide everything like I’m not even there. Like I inherited some title that doesn’t really mean anything.”

A faint smile tugged at Margaret’s lips. “It hasn’t even been forty-eight hours since the reading of Richard’s will.”

“Yeah, I know that.”

“So, what did you expect? Would you rather we’d just dumped the hunt, the races, everything, in your lap? Left you to sink or swim? When you have no experience running anything?”

Anger gripped Manning’s chest and pounded in his temples. She didn’t get it. Probably never would. He looked out the window. “Forget it. Sorry I brought it up.”

“No, I will not forget it,” she snapped. “You started the conversation, so let’s finish it. Tell me how I should handle it?”

“Just give me a chance, Mother. At least act like my opinion matters.”

“It isn’t just about you, Manning. It’s about honoring Richard’s memory. About ensuring that the hunt and the races live on long after him, in a manner that would make him proud.”

“Despite his bad judgment in leaving the hunt assets to me.”

“That’s not what I said.”

“You didn’t have to,” he replied quietly.

“
Y
our mother was uncharacteristically quiet this evening,” Abigale said as she drove the Subaru away from Margaret’s house. “Is everything all right?”

Manning shrugged. “We had a slight difference of opinion this afternoon.”

“About?”

A hollow laugh caught in his throat. “Me.”

Damn it
. Why couldn’t Margaret cut Manning some slack? Abigale glanced over at him. “You okay?”

“Better now that I’m with you.” Manning knocked his knuckles against the passenger window. “Hey, pull over here.”

“Into the orchard?”

“Yeah.”

Abigale stopped the car but didn’t pull off the gravel drive. “It’s late, Manning. You should go home and get some sleep. Tomorrow’s going to be a long day.”

“No way I’d be able to sleep right now.” He ducked his head and looked at the sky through the front windshield. “Come on. There’s a full moon.”

Manning opened the door before she could object and grabbed an armful of polar-fleece horse coolers from the backseat. “Just pull off the drive.”

He waited for her by the edge of the orchard. When she reached his side, Manning laced his fingers through hers and tugged her into the first row of trees. The full moon bathed the orchard in a soft glow. Neither of them spoke as they stumbled over roots and dodged low-hanging branches. They both knew where they were heading.

“It’s a little overgrown,” Manning said when they reached their spot. “But it still has a clear view of the sky.”

He dropped the coolers on the ground and shook one to unfold it. Abigale grabbed the other end and helped him spread it across the high grass. “Margaret just had these all washed for tomorrow, you know,” she said.

“Good, then we won’t get covered with horse hair,” Manning replied, grinning. He pulled her down beside him on the blanket, grabbed a folded cooler and propped it under her head as a pillow, then flung the remaining one over them as a cover. He slid his left arm under her neck and drew her close to him, gently encircling her with his cast. “There.”

Abigale nestled her cheek against his solid chest muscles and gazed at the stars in the washed-out sky. She’d always liked the orchard best when there was a mere sliver of a moon. When the stars twinkled like diamonds against a velvet heaven. But tonight she loved the way the moonlight spilled down on them. She tilted her head so she could see Manning’s face and traced her fingers along his jaw. The stubble of his whiskers tingled along her fingertips. She closed her eyes, inhaling fresh air, overripe apples and musky leaves, and listened to the beat of his heart.

“Are you warm enough?” Manning asked.

“It’s perfect,” she whispered.

Manning looked down at her, his eyes dark as the night sky. “Yeah, it is,” he murmured, tangling his fingers in her hair as he pulled her lips to his. His kiss was insistent, demanding, as if he needed to lose himself in her. She felt the world sink away until there was nothing left but his mouth on hers, his body, hungry, pressing her against the ground.

“
A
nd the flag is up!” the race announcer barked. Eight sleek, prancing, well-muscled thoroughbreds lunged forward, like arrows shot from a bow, and thundered past the stewards’ stand.

Manning leaned close to Abigale and removed a pair of binoculars from around his neck. He raised them so she could look through them. She adjusted the focus, fixing the lenses on the turquoise and yellow silks of the jockey atop What A Day, the horse she’d picked to win. Manning slid his left arm around her waist and kept his right hand on the binoculars.

The loudspeaker above their heads blared with the announcer’s quick drawl. “Executive Girl leads over the first of thirteen fences, followed by Silent Song. What A Day moves into third place as they round the first turn.”