Heiress (34 page)

"Don't tell me you're still hungry," MacCrea mocked.

"For food," she retorted. "Dessert comes later."

"Now that's a proposition if I ever heard one." he chuckled as his glance strayed from her. "It looks like I'm about to have competition. Who is he? An old flame of yours?"

Abbie turned, expecting to see someone she knew, but she didn't recognize the man in the dark cowboy hat banded with silver conchos. Yet he was grinning at her like a long-lost friend.

"Hello, there. Remember me?"

"No, I don't think so." Abbie stared at him, searching for some resemblance to anyone she knew.

"Ross Tibbs. I sing here in the lounge. We met—" He stopped, uncertainty flickering across his face. "You're not her, are you? Across the room, I thought for sure—Man, you look enough like her to be her twin."

"Well, I'm not," she replied stiffly, fully aware that he must have mistaken her for Rachel.

"I'm sorry. I know I probably sounded like I was giving you the oldest line in the book, but you really do look like this lady I met named Rachel."

"Don't worry about it, Mr. Tibbs. It's happened before." She was thinking about her father when she said that, remembering how many times he'd stared at her with that strange look in his eyes. . . as if he was seeing someone else.

"I can sure understand that," the singer replied, smiling ruefully. "Again, I'm sorry I bothered you, Ra—" He caught himself and laughed self-consciously. "I guess I can't call you that, can I?"

"The name is Lawson. Abbie Lawson."

"Say, you wouldn't happen to be related to the Lawsons that have that Arabian horse farm outside of Houston?"

"Yes. River Bend is owned by my family." But only for a little while longer, she remembered, feeling again the emotional tear over losing it.

"I've been by the place a time or two. You've got some beautiful horses there. Didn't I see a notice somewhere that you're having an auction to sell them off?"

"Yes. Next week." She didn't even have to close her eyes to see River Breeze's name on the list.

"I might see you there," Ross Tibbs declared. "I always wanted to own an Arabian. Not that I could afford one, no matter how cheap they might sell. But a man can dream." As the waitress arrived with their drinks, he stepped to one side. "Listen, I. . . won't bother you any longer. If you get a chance after dinner, stop by the lounge and catch my act."

"We'll see," MacCrea inserted.

"Enjoy your dinner," he said, moving away from their table.

Aware of the way MacCrea was quietly studying her, Abbie tried to shake off her brooding thoughts. Forcing a smile, she lifted her glass to him. "Since this is supposed to be a celebration, don't you think we should drink to your success?"

"I do." He touched his glass to hers.

Abbie took a sip of her bourbon and water, then cupped the moist sides of the glass in both hands. "You know, you still haven't told me any details about how this all came about—or who all you're dealing with. I know you met with Lane last week. Did he set the whole thing up?"

For a fraction of a second MacCrea seemed on guard, his glance sharp, then the impression was gone. "Yes, he was involved in it from the start."

"Maybe I was wrong about him," she conceded absently.

"What do you mean?"

"He was trying to find some way I could keep my filly, but she's being sold with the rest. I questioned how hard he really tried to help, but, considering what he's done for you, maybe there wasn't any way he could arrange for me to keep River Breeze."

"So what happens now?"

"I don't know." Abbie shook her head, frustrated by the blank walls that seemed to surround her. "I'm not sure I can afford to buy her. A filly always brings more than a colt, unless you have an outstanding stallion or show prospect. And with her looks and bloodlines, she's bound to bring anywhere from ten to twenty thousand dollars—maybe more." She tried to smile. "We'd better talk about something else. This subject is too depressing."

"Did I tell you my regular toolpusher reported back to work the first of the week? He's on crutches, but he gets around pretty good. Which means I won't have to be on the site twenty-four hours a day."

"I like the sound of that already."

Chapter 20

"What do you mean, she wants to come to the sale?" Abbie demanded, trembling with anger. "She—"

Lane held up his hand to stop the tirade. "Before you fly off the handle, remember that this auction is open to the public. She has every right to come if she chooses to do so and you can't stop her. I am only advising you of her plans because I hope to avoid any ugly scenes such as the one that occurred the last time she was here."

Recognizing that he had a valid point—it was a public auction—Abbie made an effort to control her temper, but she was almost choking on her own gall. "Why? What possible reason could she have to come to it?"

"She's interested in buying some horses," Lane replied.

Everything went still inside her. She was afraid even to draw a breath. "Which ones?"

"She didn't say."

What if one of them was River Breeze? Her anger turned ice-cold. For the first time since Lane had announced Rachel's plans to attend the sale, Abbie was thinking clearly, sharply, her mind racing swiftly to find some way to keep her filly from ending up in Rachel's hands.

"I'd like to know what you're going to do, Abbie," Lane said.

For a split second, she thought he was asking about the filly, then realized he was referring to Rachel. "Like you said, Lane, it's a public auction. Just tell her to stay away from my mother and me. Is there anything further we need to discuss?" she asked, an icy calm dominating her attitude.

"No, I think we've gone over everything."

"Good. I have work to do." Turning on her heel, Abbie pivoted away from him and walked briskly toward the stables. She had an idea, but she was going to need help to carry it out.

She found Ben in one of the foaling stalls, doctoring a minor cut on the foreleg of a young stud colt. "You are a clumsy boy," Ben said to the colt, the soothing tone of his voice belying the chiding words he spoke. "You must learn not to run into things or you will hurt yourself very badly sometime."

"I need to talk to you, Ben," she said when he released the colt. The horse charged across the large box stall to hide behind his mother, then peeked around her rump to eye Ben warily as he moved to the door.

"That one is what your father called an accident waiting to happen." Ben stepped unhurriedly out of the stall and slid the door shut. "Always he is cutting and scraping himself."

But Abbie wasn't interested in discussing the accident-prone colt. "We only have four days before the auction. Lane just told me that the grooms he hired will be arriving the day after tomorrow. Before they come, I want to get River Breeze out of here."

"Get her out of here?" His gaze narrowed sharply. "What are you saying?"

"I'm saying I don't want her anywhere on the farm when they arrive."

"What is going on in that head of yours?" Ben asked suspiciously.

"I've thought it all through," Abbie said. "When the Germans invaded Poland at the start of World War Two, what did you do? You evacuated all the horses from the stud and tried to find a safe place to hide them. That's what I want to do with River Breeze. If she isn't here, she can't be sold at the auction."

"It is not the same, Abbie. There is no war. If you would take the filly from here, you would be stealing her. That is wrong."

"Wrong. How could it be wrong to steal my own horse? And River Breeze is mine. You know that Daddy gave her to me, regardless of what the ownership papers say," Abbie reasoned, maintaining her calm. Anger never got her anywhere with Ben.

"This is true," he admitted reluctantly, still troubled by her proposal.

"Then how can I be accused of stealing my own horse?" She could tell he was wavering. "I need your help, Ben, but I'll do it alone if I have to."

"Where will you take her?" he asked gruffly.

"To Dobie's. He's already said I could keep her in his barn once we move. Momma has already taken some of our things over to the house. We can simply tell him that we want to bring River Breeze over there now so we don't have to deal with moving her later. He doesn't have to know anything different."

"You would lie to him?"

"No. I simply wouldn't tell him the whole truth."

"What do you think you will accomplish by doing this?" Ben tipped his head to the side and watched her closely.

So far he'd been satisfied by her answers, but Abbie knew this one was critical. On it, he would base his decision. If she didn't obtain at least his tacit approval, she doubted that her plan would succeed.

"I'll buy time," she said. "You know that I don't have much hope of outbidding anyone at the auction. If I can keep her hidden until after the sale, maybe I'll be able to buy her on terms. Or maybe we'll make enough money off the sale to pay off the creditors and she won't have to be sold. Don't you see. Ben, I have to take the chance that there will be a way?"

There was a long pause before he answered, as if he were mulling over all her arguments in his mind. "We should move her tonight. . . after it is dark."

Relief broke the iron control she'd exercised over her emotions. Abbie threw her arms around him and hugged him tightly. "I love you, Ben. I just knew I could count on you to help me."

A crescent moon hovered above the eastern horizon, a curved blade of silver against a midnight sky studded with stars. Beyond the pool of light cast by the tall yardlight next to the broodmare barn, a dark-colored pickup truck with a two-horse trailer in tow was parked.

Ben stood in the shadows of the vehicle, holding the lead rope attached to the filly's halter while Abbie smoothed the navy-blue horse blanket over the filly's back, concealing the silvery coat that stood out so sharply against the night's darkness. She fastened the belly strap and loosely buckled the chest strap, then drew the top of the blanket up to the arched crest of the filly's neck and fastened it securely under the throatlatch. The filly nosed Ben's shoulder as if seeking human reassurance about this unusual nighttime activity.

"That night we left Janow under the cover of darkness, the horses seemed to understand the need for silence, as this one does," Ben recalled, speaking in a hushed voice; "We left at night so the German Luftwaffe could not observe our flight. Mr. Rhoski, the manager of Janow, led the way in his carriage. Then my group, we followed with the stallions, riding one and leading another. After us came the mares, foals, and other young horses, most of them tied to carts carrying fodder for the march, pulled by the half-Arabians at the farm. It was a sight to see, Abbie. Two hundred fifty of Poland's best Arabians streaming out of Janow to be swallowed by the night.

"All along the road that night, we met hundreds—thousands—of our fellow countrymen from western Poland, fleeing from the Germans. They told us of the bombings by the Luftwaffe of the highways, the planes diving and shooting their machine guns at the people trying to escape. We did not go near the highways, but stayed on the country roads. When dawn was near, we hid the horses in the forests. We hid there all day. I was tired after traveling all night, but I could not sleep. I kept listening to the roar of the German planes, wondering if they would see us in the trees. When darkness came, we marched again, but that night the stallions were not so eager to travel. They did not prance and push at the bit as they did when we left Janow. I think they knew that the road to Kowel was a long and dangerous one—and that they would need all of their great stamina and courage to reach the safety on the other side of the Bug River."

"All set. We can load her in the trailer." Abbie patted the filly's withers and stepped back. Cloaked in the dark horse blanket, River Breeze blended in with the shadows, only her silver-gray head and tail visible against the darkness. But in the dark trailer, that little bit of white would barely be noticeable.

"Open it and I will lead her in." Ben shortened his hold on the lead rope.

As Abbie stepped out from behind the trailer and moved to the tailgate, a pair of headlight beams laid their long tracks on the winding lane. "Wait," she whispered to Ben, her nerves screaming with tension as he started to lead the filly out from the shadows. "Someone's coming. Stay there until I find out who it is."

"Maybe it is Dobie come to find out why we are so late." The filly pricked her ears at the sound of a running engine and Ben cupped a silencing hand over her muzzle.

"Maybe." But the vehicle didn't sound like Dobie's truck. Her mouth felt dry and her palms sweaty. Abbie tried to summon some saliva as she stepped away from the horse trailer and wiped her hands on the hips of her jeans, waiting for the vehicle to come under the tall yardlight next to the house. "It's MacCrea." She hadn't been aware of how scared she'd been until her knees almost buckled with relief when she recognized his truck.

"Do you realize you were supposed to meet me almost two hours ago?" MacCrea slammed out of the truck. "I couldn't figure out what happened to you, whether you'd had an accident, your car broke down, or what. Then I call the house and your mother says you're still here."

"Something important came up and I. . . forgot. I know I should have called you. I'm sorry." There wasn't anything else she could say.

"You forgot? Well, thanks a lot." He stopped inches in front of her, his hands on his hips in a gesture of anger and disgust. Then he shook his head, as if unable to believe any of this. "This happens to be a first, you know. I've never been stood up before. Naturally you would be the one to do it."

"I didn't do it on purpose. I honestly forgot."

"What came up that was so important?" he demanded.

Abbie was conscious of Ben standing only yards away in the shadow of the horse trailer, holding River Breeze. "One of our horses went down. We were afraid it was colic."

The filly picked that moment to snort. Abbie stiffened as MacCrea glanced toward the horse trailer. "Did you hear that?"