Heiress (58 page)

Turning, she glanced at the door to Ben's room, fear knotting her throat. She couldn't face Ben yet—or Eden either, for that matter. She needed some time alone to think this whole thing out.

The next morning, before first light, they checked out of the motel and drove to the showgrounds. By the time a red sun peeked over the eastern mountains to cast its eye on the city of Phoenix below, Windstorm was loaded in the horse trailer and they were on their way out of town.

For the first hour, Abbie kept one eye on the road and one on the side mirror, half-expecting to see the reflection of MacCrea's rented car coming after them. She didn't draw an easy breath until they crossed the state line. As she relaxed slightly, the tension easing from her neck muscles, a small foot pushed itself against her thigh. Smiling, Abbie glanced down at her sleeping daughter, curled up in the middle of the seat with her head pillowed on Ben's leg.

"She's so tired," Abbie said absently. "I knew she would be, getting up that early this morning. At least we won't have to hear her ask every five minutes, 'How much farther do we have to go?'"

"We did not leave so early because you wanted her to sleep," Ben stated. "You thought MacCrea would come back this morning."

"I wasn't sure. I couldn't take the chance." She paused. "He says he wants her."

"What did you expect?"

"I don't know," she admitted. "I never thought he'd find out."

"What will you do now?"

Abbie shrugged. "Maybe he'll change his mind. Why should he care anyway? He doesn't even know her. He can't possibly love her. Most men would be glad to let someone else take care of their child. They don't want the responsibility—financial or otherwise. Maybe after he has time to think about it, he'll feel that way, too, and forget all that stupid guilt."

"Guilt?" Ben frowned at her. "Over what?"

"He claimed he felt guilty because he wasn't there when she was born and a lot of other nonsense like that. I'd really rather not discuss it, Ben," she insisted impatiently, but the denial was no sooner out of her mouth than she remembered the other things MacCrea had said, specifically that whole argument they'd had over her father and Rachel. It had gnawed at her off and on all night long. "Ben. . . do you think Daddy loved both me and. . . Rachel?"

"Yes."

"But. . ." Abbie was thrown by his matter-of-fact response. "He gave her so much more than I ever got. How can you say that?"

"If you have a horse that is strong and one that is weak, to which one would you give more grain?"

"The weak horse, naturally."

"Correct."

Was he saying that Rachel was weak? Abbie wondered. She had started out with less and therefore received more? She realized that MacCrea had said almost the same thing, but in a different way. Was it possible she had been wrong to resent Rachel all this time?

Chapter 39

As an airliner rumbled down the runway for takeoff, the thundering of its jet turbines shaking the air, a black limousine drove onto the concrete apron and stopped next to the private jet emblazoned with the logo of Canfield Industries. The driver stepped out and quickly opened the doors for his passengers.

Ross Tibbs climbed out first, then turned to help Rachel. When she placed her hand in his, his fingers closed warmly around it. He made no attempt to conceal the adoration in his look, and she felt a little tingle of excitement that he would show his feelings so openly with Lane standing only a few feet away. It was so reckless and daring of him that, even while it made her afraid, it also made her glad.

"What did I tell you, darling? Perfect flying weather," Lane declared, coming around from the other side of the long car to join her, followed by MacCrea. "Just look at that blue sky. And the pilot promised it's going to be like this all the way to Houston.

"I'm glad." But she almost wished it would cloud up and rain so she would have an excuse to stay behind—and steal a few more moments with Ross.

"Rachel is a white-knuckle flyer, I'm afraid," Lane said, smiling at her with an amused tolerance that she recognized too well. From the very beginning of their relationship, his attitude toward her had always been vaguely patronizing. Over the last few years, she'd grown tired of it.

"That's hardly true anymore, Lane." But she knew she was wasting her breath. He simply refused to recognize that she had matured into a sophisticated, worldly woman. He continued to play a fatherly role—that is, when he condescended to spend any of his precious time with her at all.

"I'm not the best of passengers either," Ross said, "so you're not alone in that, Rachel."

"I am not afraid of flying." If he started treating her like a child who needed her fears dispelled, Rachel swore she'd scream.

"In that case, if we ever fly anywhere together, you can hold my hand." As Ross gave her fingers a little squeeze, Rachel suddenly realized that he still held her hand. She darted a quick look at Lane to see if he had noticed, but it was MacCrea, standing slightly behind him, who appeared to be watching them with speculative interest. Rachel wondered how much he knew—or guessed.

Before Rachel could respond to Ross's comment, the pilot joined them. "All your luggage is aboard, Mr. Canfield. We can leave whenever you're ready."

"Thanks, Jim. We'll be right there," Lane said as the limousine driver closed the trunk and quietly took up his post by the door.

"I guess we have to leave. Ross, thank you for everything." Rachel pressed her other hand on the one still holding hers, then impulsively kissed him on the cheek. In a way, she didn't care whether Lane thought she was being too familiar or not. There was a little part of her that even hoped he'd be jealous.

"It was all my pleasure. You know that, Rachel." Reluctantly, Ross released her hand.

"You will stay in touch." Hearing the earnest plea in her voice, Rachel tried to cover it. "You know how interested I am in your filly."

"I'll keep you posted on her progress. I promise."

"Ross, let me add my thanks to Rachel's." Lane held out his hand to him. Ross hesitated a fraction of a second, then shook it. "We really appreciate the lift to the airport. I just hope it wasn't too much of an inconvenience for you."

"Not at all."

"If you're ever in the Houston area, give us a call. You know you're welcome at River Bend anytime."

"I just might take you up on that invitation," Ross declared, his glance skipping briefly to her. "It's been a long time since I visited my old stomping grounds."

After MacCrea had added his good-bye to the others, there was no more reason to linger. As she walked with Lane to the steps of the plane, Rachel felt torn. She waved to Ross one last time from the doorway of the private jet, then entered the plush cabin and took her usual seat. Once she had her belt fastened, she leaned back in the velour-covered seat and sighed wistfully.

"Something wrong, dear?" Lane inquired.

"No, nothing," she denied quickly, then saw he wasn't even looking at her. Already his briefcase was open on the tabletop in front of him and a sheaf of documents was in his hands. "I'm just tired, that's all. The party broke up so late last night. . ." She paused, suddenly noticing the way MacCrea was watching her. "I don't know whether I should even talk to you, MacCrea. You never did come back last night."

"I was detained."

"I don't suppose I need to ask by whom?" The mere recollection of that whole scene with Abbie last night made Rachel prickle with anger. God, how she hated, loathed, and despised that woman.

"No, you don't."

"What did you two talk about?"

"That, Rachel—to put it as politely as I know how—is none of your damned business." He wasn't in any mood to parry her questions about Abbie with nonanswers.

"MacCrea, you wouldn't be so foolish as to have gotten involved with her again? After the way she and that little brat of hers behaved last night, I don't—"

"Leave Eden out of it, Rachel," he warned.

She drew back slightly, her eyes widening at his threatening tone. "I never realized you were so sensitive about such things." Her curiosity was piqued.

Irritated with himself for arousing it, MacCrea pushed out of his seat. "Maybe I just don't like the way you and Abbie drag an innocent child into your petty feud. Excuse me. I think I'll sit in the back. I'm not exactly good company this morning." He moved to one of the rear seats in the cabin and strapped himself in.

Within minutes the private jet was airborne and streaking eastward. For a time, MacCrea stared out the window, watching the gray track of a highway below. Somewhere down there on one of those roads was Abbie. . . with his daughter. His daughter. He had a child. She was a part of him, his own flesh and blood.

He recalled the first time he saw her, a midget-sized blue-eyed beauty seeking help to find her lost mommy. At the time he'd wondered why she had picked him out of that whole crowd of people. But it was only right since he was her father. Instinctively she must have been drawn to him. Abbie could deny it all she wanted, but there was a bond between them.

But what was he going to do about it? What should he do? All night long he'd wrestled with the problem, but he was no closer to solving it than he had been twelve hours ago when he'd left Abbie's motel room.

"If you have any feelings for her at all, you'll stay away." That was the last thing Abbie had said to him. MacCrea wondered if she was right. If he tried to assert his paternal rights, what would that do to Eden? How much would that hurt her? She was a smart little kid, but there was only so much a five-year-old could understand.

But how could he walk away? He couldn't turn back the clock and forget last night had happened. He couldn't pretend Eden didn't exist. He lifted his gaze to the stretch of blue Texas sky above the horizon—a sky almost as blue as her eyes. He pictured her in his mind: the mischievous glint in her blue eyes, the rosy-cheeked innocence of her smile, and the bobbing swing of her dark ponytail. Damn, but she was a cute little mite, MacCrea thought. Almost immediately he could see Abbie's face next to Eden's, the same blue eyes, the same dark hair, but with a look of fearful wariness—the look of a mother willing to fight to keep her child from harm. He couldn't blame Abbie for wanting to protect Eden, but, dammit, what was he supposed to do? She was his daughter, too.

Chapter 40

In the distance, a Caterpillar continued to growl over the former hayfield, its blade scraping away the thick stubble and taking the top layer of soil with it as the machine carved out the dimensions of the oval training track being built on the site. A quarter-mile away stood the Victorian mansion of River Bend, within easy sight of the track and vice versa.

When she had chosen the site, Abbie knew that Rachel would think she was building it there to antagonize her, but she had chosen that particular parcel of land because it was relatively level, well-drained, and far enough from the creek that it wouldn't flood in heavy rain. The track's proximity to River Bend was purely accidental, whether Rachel wanted to believe that or not.

As the compact car pulled out of the yard with the reporter for one of the major Arabian horse publications behind the wheel, Abbie sighed wearily. "I don't know about you, Ben, but I feel like I've put in a full day. Lord knows she has enough material to write several articles."

"Eden is home. There goes the school bus," Ben said.

"I think I'll go meet her." She started down the lane at a fast walk.

Ever since MacCrea had discovered that Eden was his daughter, Abbie had become overly protective and possessive of Eden, wanting to know where she was and whom she was with every minute. It had been almost ten days since MacCrea had found out about Eden. As yet, she hadn't seen or heard from him. She wanted desperately to believe it meant he was going to stay away.

Ahead of her, Abbie saw the reporter's car swing to the right-hand side of the lane to make room for an oncoming pickup truck. She didn't recognize the truck, but the pigtailed little girl waving gaily at her from its cab was definitely Eden. As Abbie waved back, she glanced at the driver. She suddenly felt icy-cold all over, as if a blue norther had swept in and chilled the air thirty degrees. She stared at MacCrea as he slowed the truck to a stop. The very thing she had feared the most had happened; MacCrea was here and he had Eden with him.

"Mommy!" Eden poked her head out the cab window. Abbie forced her legs to carry her over to the passenger side of the truck. "Look who came to visit us."

Her throat paralyzed by fear, she couldn't say a thing as she stared past Eden at MacCrea. "Hop in," he said.

With numb fingers, she opened the door and climbed into the cab. Eden scooted into the middle to make room for her and started chattering away like a magpie, but Abbie didn't hear a word she said. She thought she had prepared herself for this eventuality, but now that it was here, she wasn't sure what to do.

"Mommy, aren't you going to open the door?" Eden demanded impatiently. In a daze, Abbie realized the truck had stopped moving. They were parked in front of the house. As she stepped down from the cab, Eden was right on her heels. "Come on, Mommy. I promised MacCrea I'd show him my pony."

Abbie reacted instinctively. "First you have to change out of your school clothes, young lady." She pushed Eden in the direction of the house.

"Aw, Mom." She hung back, digging in her heels in protest.

"You know the rule, Eden." The crunch of gravel warned Abbie of MacCrea's approach as he came around the front of the truck.

"I know," Eden mumbled, then abruptly spun around to gaze earnestly at MacCrea. "It won't take long. I promise. You'll be here when I come back, won't you? You won't leave, will you?"

"No. I'll be here." His low-pitched voice came from a point only a few feet to her left. But Abbie wouldn't turn her head to look at him as Eden broke into a smile and ran for the house.

Abbie stood rigid, the banging of the back door reverberating through her heightened senses like a shock wave. She was afraid to move, afraid she might say or do something rash as she felt MacCrea's attention shift to her. She tried to ignore him, but just knowing he was looking at her made her aware of the wisps of hair that had worked loose from the sleek bun at the nape of her neck during the gallops on Windstorm for the photo session. The high collar of her blouse suddenly felt tight around her throat, the black jacket and gray riding pants too constraining.