Heiress (51 page)

"How does he stack up against Windstorm?" She was beginning to feel the strain of her daughter's weight on her arm and hip. She swung her to the ground to relieve the pressure. "Just stand here for a while," she told Eden when she started to protest.

"Some will think his neck is too short." Ben shrugged. "Others will think sixteen hands is too tall for an Arabian. Some will not like Windstorm because he is a gray."

"I know." Abbie sighed. In the end, it all boiled down to opinion. And nobody knew whose was right.

"Mommy, can I go watch television over there?" Eden pointed to a booth across the way where a television was playing back a tape of that particular farm's stallion.

Abbie hesitated, then decided there wouldn't be any harm in it. Eden would be close enough that she could keep an eye on her. Besides, it might keep her active daughter entertained for a little while. "All right, you may go over there and watch it. But no farther, do you understand? And don't bother anybody, either."

"Yes, Mommy," she promised solemnly, then took off at a run.

Abbie watched to make sure Eden did exactly as she had promised. Once Eden had plunked herself down on the carpeted floor in front of the television set, Abbie felt sufficiently assured that she turned back to Ben, dividing her attention between him and the blood-bay stallion in the stall.

"I've heard Sirocco's disposition isn't all that good." Abbie knew that anyone who'd seen how gently Windstorm behaved with Eden, a five-year-old child, couldn't question her stallion's temperament.

"I wonder what this one knows about being a horse. What has his world been? Horse trailers, stalls, lunging at the end of a rope, and being paraded around an arena with people all around him whistling and shouting. When do you suppose he ran free in a pasture the way Windstorm does when he is home? Or when has anyone ridden him across the country just for the fun of it, the way you do with Windstorm? Always for him, it is shows and training. Would you not get sour, too?" Again Ben shook his head. "I do not blame the horse for being ill-tempered. I have never yet seen a show horse that was not a little bit crazy in the head."

"That's true." Although she didn't have Ben's years of experience, Abbie had seen some horses, mostly fillies, that had come off of successful careers in the show arena. They'd been around people so much they couldn't relate at all to other horses. Some had even been terrified when they were turned loose in a pasture with other horses.

"Somewhere is that stallion they imported from Russia this winter. I want to see him, too." Ben turned to survey the other booths down the line.

"I think it's on the other side, about three down. I'll get Eden and meet you there."

But Eden wasn't ready to leave. Before Abbie could insist on it, a couple who had purchased one of River Breeze's foals saw her and stopped to show her the latest pictures of the filly, now a classy-looking two-year-old, entered in the Futurity Filly class at the show. It was a proud moment for Abbie, since it meant two of her mare's offspring would be competing at Scottsdale: Windstorm and this filly, Silver Lining.

"Where's Ben?" Eden wanted to know.

"I thought you were watching television." Abbie frowned, surprised to find Eden at her side.

"Ahh, it's a rerun," she complained.

"Do you remember my daughter, Eden? These are the Holquists, Eden. They bought that filly you used to call Pepper, remember?"

"Yeah. Hi. Where's Ben?"

"He's looking at another horse."

"Can I go find him?"

"No. You stay right here." Abbie ignored the face Eden made to protest the order and resumed her conversation with the Holquists, knowing their success with this filly made them likely candidates for the purchase of a future foal. "I'm planning to have her bred again this spring. We tentatively have her booked with a son of Bask, but Ben wants to look at that new Russian stallion they've imported before we commit ourselves."

"There's Ben. I'm gonna go see him." Eden dashed off before Abbie could grab her.

"I don't know if it was such a good idea to bring her along or not," Abbie sighed as she watched her daughter disappear in the crowd, not altogether certain that Eden had seen Ben, but trusting that she had. "She's been like this ever since we arrived."

"There's so much excitement and so many things to see, you can hardly blame her," Mrs. Holquist replied.

"I suppose not. There's one consolation in all this, though. She will go right to sleep tonight."

The woman laughed. "She probably will. I just wish I had half her energy."

"Me, too." Abbie thought she recognized Ben at the far end of the row, but with so many people wandering about, she couldn't get a long enough look at him to be sure. "I'd better go after my daughter. We'll catch you later, maybe when we come by to see your filly."

"Good luck."

"Thanks. Same to you," She hurried off to search for her elusive daughter and Ben.

MacCrea walked into the long barn and paused to look around. Idly he started down the wide corridor, joining the meandering flow of people that hesitated here and stopped there. Oddly, MacCrea felt in no hurry to reach the booth and find Lane Canfield. He wondered at the impulse that had brought him here. His meeting with Lane hadn't been dictated by necessity. He could have postponed it for a couple of weeks, even a month with no harm done, but that would have meant meeting Lane in Houston. Maybe that was what he had wanted to avoid. It had been nearly three years now since he'd been back. Sometimes it seemed a lot longer—and sometimes it didn't seem long enough.

Someone bumped against his shoulder. "Sorry."

"It's okay." MacCrea paused, but the man walked on. He felt something pull at the pant leg of his jeans. Glancing down, he saw a little girl looking up at him. Her eyes were big and blue. . . and held the faintest shimmer of tears.

"Mister, can you see my mommy?"

"Your mommy." MacCrea was surprised by the question.

"Yes. You see, I'm afraid she's lost," the little girl explained with a worried look.

"It's your mother who's lost. For a minute there, I thought it was you," MacCrea said, amused by her unusual view of the situation.

"No. I left her over there when I went to see Ben." The little girl pointed to her left. "Only I couldn't find Ben, and when I went back, Mommy wasn't there. Can you help me find her?" Again she tilted her head way back and turned those round blue eyes on him.

Of all the people walking around, MacCrea wondered why on earth this kid had picked him to help her. What he knew about kids wouldn't fill the container for a core sample. But he couldn't resist the appeal of those beguiling blue eyes. He crouched down to her level and tipped his hat to the back of his head.

"Sure, I'll help. I always was a sucker for blue eyes." Smiling, he tweaked the end of her button nose, then scooped her into the crook of his arm and straightened, lifting her up with him. "We'll see if we can't find someone to make an announcement over the loudspeaker. How does that sound, midget?" He looked at her, conscious of the small hand that rested on his shoulder. She gazed back at him solemnly.

"I'm not a midget. I'm a little girl."

"Is that right?" MacCrea replied with mock skepticism. "How old are you?"

"I'm five-and-a-half years old."

"What's your name?"

"Eden. What's yours?"

"MacCrea Wilder," he answered, amused by the rapid comeback.

"MacCrea is your first name?" She frowned at him as he walked toward the barn's main entrance to look for an official of the horse show.

"Yup."

"That's a funny name. So is Eden, though. My daddy says it's the name of a garden and it's a silly name to give a girl. Mommy says I shouldn't listen to him."

"Well, I agree with your mommy. I think Eden is a nice name for a girl."

"Do you really? Mommy says people say things sometimes just to be nice, but they don't really mean them."

"Your mother sounds like she's a very smart woman."

"She is. Smarter than my daddy, even."

"And I'll bet that's really saying something."

"Naw." Eden wrinkled her nose. "My daddy doesn't know anything about horses. He's nice though."

"That's good."

"Where do you suppose my mommy is?" Eden half turned in his arm to look behind them.

"I have the feeling she's probably frantically looking for you."

"Maybe we should go back and see if we can find her." She squared around to gaze at him earnestly.

"I think it will be quicker and easier if we just have her paged over the loudspeaker and let her find us." Feeling her intent stare, MacCrea glanced sideways at the child. "Something wrong?"

"How come you have a mustache?"

"I suppose because I didn't shave it off."

"Does it tickle?"

"I've had a few girls tell me that it does."

"Can I see?"

Surprised by the request, MacCrea stopped. He wasn't sure whether to laugh or not as he looked at the bold little mite in his arms. He could see she was totally serious. "Go ahead." He shrugged.

He watched her face as she tentatively reached out to touch the ends of his mustache. It was a study of concentration and intense curiosity. Then he felt the faintest sensation of her small fingers moving over his lips as she ran the tips over the bluntly cut hairs of his mustache. A smile of amazement broke across her face as she pulled her hand back.

"It did tickle a little, but it was kinda soft, too. How come?"

"I don't know." MacCrea frowned. "Tell me, are you always like this with total strangers? Hasn't your mommy ever told you that you shouldn't trust people you don't know?"

"Yeah," she admitted, unconcerned. "She says I talk too much, too. Do you think I do?"

"Far be it from me to contradict your mother," he said dryly.

"What does 'counterdick' mean?"

"It means telling someone the exact opposite of what someone else has told him. In other words, if your mother told you something was good and I said it was bad, I'd be contradicting her. That wouldn't be nice."

"Oh," she said with a long, slow nod of her head, but MacCrea doubted that she'd actually understood.

He shifted his hold on the child, boosting her to ride a little higher within his encircling arm. "Come on. Let's see if—"

"Eden!" The frantic call came from behind them.

"Wait," Eden ordered as she looked back. "There's my mommy!" Turning, MacCrea spotted the slim, dark-haired woman just breaking free of the crowd. When she saw him, she stopped abruptly. A kick of recognition jolted through him. Abbie. For an instant he forgot everything, even the child in his arms, as he stared openly, drinking in the sight of her after all these years—two months over six, to be exact.

He was surprised to find she had changed so little in all that time. She wore her dark hair shorter now, the ends just brushing the tops of her shoulders. Even though the voluminous folds of her split riding skirt disguised the slimness of her hips, the wide belt that cinched her small waist revealed that she had retained her shapely figure. And her eyes still held that blue fire that he remembered so well. If anything, the years had added a ripeness and strength to her beauty that had been missing before.

The shock of seeing him had drained the color from her face. MacCrea watched it come back in a hot rush. "Where are you taking her? What are you doing with my daughter?" Before he knew what was happening, she was grabbing Eden out of his arms and clutching her tightly.

"I didn't know she was your daughter." He was still slightly dazed by the discovery. "I suppose I should have guessed when I saw those blue eyes."

"We were going to have the man call your name over the loudspeaker, Mommy," Eden said, momentarily claiming Abbie's attention. "I'm so glad we found you. I was starting to get worried."

"She thought you were lost," MacCrea inserted, feeling the impact of her glance as it swung again to him. God, but he wanted to hold her again. He didn't realize how much until this very minute, when the ache was so strong, he actually hurt inside. But her wary look made him hold himself back.

"Why didn't you stay with me the way you were told? Then none of this would have happened," Abbie scolded, her accusing glare indicating very clearly that it was this meeting with him that she wished had never happened.

"But when I couldn't find Ben, I came back and you were gone," Eden asserted, pouting slightly at Abbie's censure.

But Abbie wasn't interested in her explanation. "Why was she with you?"

MacCrea exhaled a short, laughing breath. "It wasn't my idea. She came to me. I don't know why. Maybe I looked like someone she could trust."

"Unfortunately she's too young to know any better." The bitterness in her voice dashed any hope MacCrea had that time might have altered her opinion of him.

"His name is MacCrea. Did you know that, Mommy? It's a funny name, but I like it. He thinks my name is nice, too. Don't you?"

"Yes." He found perverse satisfaction in knowing that Abbie's daughter liked him.

"Why are you here?" A second after she asked the question, Abbie glanced in the direction of the River Bend display, guessing the answer. The line of her mouth thinned even straighter. "Somehow I doubted that you had acquired an interest in Arabians."

"We have an Arabian stallion," Eden told him excitedly. "He's the most beautiful horse ever. Would you like to see him? His name is Windstorm."

"Yes, I would, Eden." Accepting the invitation, MacCrea smiled lazily in the face of Abbie's grim, angry look.

"I'm sure Mr. Wilder has better things to do than look at our horse, Eden. He's a very busy man."

"But he said he wanted to," Eden insisted, then smiled proudly. "It isn't nice to counterdick someone, Mommy"

"You mean contradict," Abbie corrected automatically.

"That's what I said. Counterdick."

"She's a clever girl. . . just like her mother," MacCrea observed. "Where is this horse of yours, Eden?"

"He's in a different barn. We'll take you there, won't we, Mommy?"

"Maybe another time, Eden." Her glaring look warned MacCrea not to insist. "Right now we have to go find Ben. Mr. Wilder understands. Don't you, Mr. Wilder?"