Heiress (69 page)

"Mommy?" Alex appeared, moving slowly down the wide aisle between the box stalls, cautiously looking to the right and left. "Are you here?"

She wanted to pretend she couldn't hear him, to slink into the far corner of the stall and hide from him—from everyone. But she knew she couldn't do that.

"Yes, Alex. What is it?" she demanded, her voice tight and choked from her recent cry.

At first he didn't know which stall her voice had come from, then he saw her. "There you are." He trotted eagerly to the webbed gate, trying to hide the sheet of paper in his hand behind his back. "I've been looking everywhere for you."

"If it's time for lunch, tell Maria I'm not hungry," she retorted sharply, impatient to be rid of him and be alone again. It was too difficult trying to hide all the hurt and pain she felt. She remembered the terrible agony of all his questions during the flight home: Why did Sirocco die? Why did he break his neck? Why did Mommy race him? Why was Mommy crying? Why did she love Sirocco? Why, why, why. She couldn't bear the thought of going through that ordeal all over again. Lane should be here to answer his questions the way he had on the plane.

"It isn't lunchtime yet. At least, I don't think it is. I brought you something." Stretching, he reached over the webbing, all smiles and eagerness, as he held out the paper he'd been hiding behind his back. "It's for you. I wanted to wrap it in pretty paper with a bow and everything, but Mrs. Weldon said we didn't have any."

Another present, Rachel thought bitterly. Why were they all trying to buy her? "I don't want it."

His smile faded abruptly. "But. . . Daddy thought—"

"Daddy was wrong! I don't want any presents! Not from you. Not from anyone. Do you understand?" She was too blinded by the angry tears that scalded her eyes to see the stricken look on his face. "Go. Go back to your daddy. I don't want you here!"

Whirling around, she sought the comfort of Simoon's warm body. Distantly, she heard the sound of his racing footsteps as Alex ran from the stall, the paper fluttering into the stall to land on the bedding of wood shavings.

She was alone with her horses again, and that was the way she wanted it. She didn't need anybody. And she spent the next hour trying to convince herself and them of that.

When she heard footsteps in the brick aisle approaching the stall again, she railed silently at the world for not leaving her alone. She saw Lane come into view, his leonine mane of silver hair distinctly identifying him as he glanced anxiously around.

"Alex?" he called.

Rachel nearly laughed out loud. She should have known he wasn't worried about her. He only cared about his son. She shrank back against the wall, trying to make herself small, hoping he wouldn't see her. But the movement seemed to draw his attention. He turned and looked directly at her.

"Rachel, have you seen Alex? Lunch is ready. But when Maria called him, he didn't answer."

"I don't know where he is," she replied flatly, her voice sounding as dull and dead as she felt inside.

Lane frowned and stepped closer to the stall. "But he must be around here somewhere. One of the grooms said he was positive he saw him come—What's that?" He stared at something on the stall floor. Reluctantly Rachel moved around to the other side of the mare to see what he meant. A paper crumpled in the center by a hoof, lay among the shavings. Rachel saw it, but she made no attempt to retrieve it as Lane unhooked the gate and entered the stall. "Isn't that the picture of Sirocco that Alex drew for you?"

I guess." She shrugged as he picked up the paper to look at it.

"Then he was here? He brought this to you?" He glanced at her questioningly, seeking confirmation.

"Yes." She stared at the paper Lane held, resenting all that it represented "I told him I didn't want it. I thought he took it with him."

"You what?" Lane glared at her in cold, disbelieving anger "How could you do that? He made this for you!"

"I don't care!" she hurled angrily. "Why should I? All my life people have given me presents, thinking that would make up for everything. Well, it doesn't! It never has."

"My God, Rachel, he's just a child. He wanted to do something that might make you feel better. Are you so wrapped up in your own self-pity that you can't see that we hurt because you hurt? This was more than a child's drawing. It was his way of letting you know he cared!"

Never in her life had Rachel ever seen Lane so angry. All his angry words hammered at her like blows to the head. For a second, she thought he was actually going to strike her. She shrank from him, cowering a little.

"I didn't know," she said faintly. "I thought—"

"You thought," he repeated harshly. "You thought only about yourself. I wonder if you ever think about anybody else." He left her standing there, still reeling from his angry condemnation.

As MacCrea drove past the massive white pillars that marked the entrance to River Bend, he glanced at the clock on the car's dashboard. He was five minutes late for his one-thirty meeting with Lane. As he sped up the wide driveway, he noticed two, no, three men, spread out in a line, walking through the pasture on his left. Initially it struck him as strange, then he dismissed it, deciding they were probably trying to catch one of the horses.

When he pulled into the yard, he saw Rachel come riding in astride the dappled gray mare she frequently rode. The horse's neck was dark with sweat. MacCrea frowned, wondering what Rachel was doing out riding in the heat of the day like this. . . and those men in the pasture. . . something was wrong. Quickly, he turned away from the house and headed for the barn, arriving just as Rachel dismounted and handed the reins to one of the grooms.

As he climbed out of his car, MacCrea caught the last part of the question she asked the groom: ". . . seen anything?" The groom responded with a negative shake of his head and led the horse away.

"What's going on?"

Rachel turned with a small start, a frantic look on her face. "MacCrea. I didn't know that was you."

"Where's Lane?"

"He's out with the others, looking for Alex. He's disappeared. Nobody's seen him since before lunch. We've called and called but"—she paused, drawing in a deep shaky breath—"I'm worried that. . . something's happened to him. I'll never forgive myself if it has."

MacCrea started to tell her that he thought he might know where Alex was. After all, the boy didn't know Eden wasn't living at the neighboring farm anymore. But there was the chance he could be wrong. If he was, telling Rachel his suspicion would just stir up more trouble. It would be better to check it out himself.

"He'll turn up."

"I hope so," she replied fervently.

"If you see Lane, tell him I'll be back later."

"I will." She nodded.

But MacCrea doubted that she would remember, as he walked back to his car and climbed in.

Abbie carried the last box of their belongings out of the farmhouse and stowed it in the backseat of her car. Pausing, she wiped the beads of perspiration from her forehead and glanced at the rental van parked in front of the broodmare barn. Two of the grooms were systematically going through the barns and loading up all tools, tack, implements, and equipment they found. From the looks of it, they were almost done.

Dobie was out working the fields. With luck, she'd be packed and gone before he finished. She hadn't seen him and didn't want to. Telling him she was sorry again wouldn't undo the damage she'd done to all their lives.

Hearing the sound of a car's engine growing steadily louder, Abbie turned to glance down the driveway. When she recognized MacCrea's car, she frowned in surprise. What if Dobie saw him?

She tried to hide her concern as she walked over to him. "What are you doing here?"

"I was hoping to find Alex. You haven't seen him, have you?"

"Alex? No. Why?"

"I just came from River Bend. They're turning the place upside down looking for him. Nobody's seen him since late this morning. I thought. . . he might have come over here to play with Eden."

"We've been here nearly all day. Besides, after the heavy rains the other night, the creek between here and River Bend has been running bank full." The instant the words were out, Abbie felt a cold chill of fear. "Mac, you don't think he would have tried to cross it. I know he's only a little boy, but surely he would see that it's too dangerous."

Looking grim, MacCrea opened the car door. "I'd better go look."

"I'm coming with you." Abbie hurried around to the other side.

MacCrea drove out of the yard onto the rutted track that led to the lower pasture and the creek. When they reached the gate, Abbie hopped out to open it, then scrambled back inside after closing it behind them.

"There's a natural ford right along there where we usually cross." She pointed to a section of the tree-lined creek just ahead of them.

Short of the area she'd indicated, MacCrea stopped the car. "Let's get out and walk."

The blue sky, the bright, shining sun, and the rain-washed green of the trees gave a deceptive look of peace and quiet to the scene. But the stream was no longer a narrow rivulet of water trickling slowly over its bed of sand and gravel. The runoff from the recent heavy rain had turned it into an angry torrent. Its roar almost drowned out the sound of the two slamming car doors.

Linking up in front of the car, they paused to scan the shaded bank and the swollen creek, its dark waters tumbling violently down the narrow channel, hurling along branches, dead limbs—anything that got in their path.

"Where do you think he is?" Abbie was more worried than before. "He has to know they're looking for him by now."

"Let's hope he just doesn't want to be found."

"He wouldn't have tried to cross that," she insisted. "He's too timid." She couldn't find any consolation in that thought as she stared at a section of the bank on the opposite side that had caved in, undermined by the tremendous onslaught of water.

"We'd better split up and cover both sides." MacCrea headed for the creek's natural ford.

"Be careful," she urged.

Pausing, he smiled reassuringly at her, then waded into the rushing stream, picking his way carefully. At its deepest point, the water came up to his hips. . . well over a little boy's head. As she watched him fight to keep his balance in the strong current, she realized that Alex wouldn't have had a chance if he'd fallen in.

Safely on the other side, MacCrea waved to her, then looked around. Cupping his hands to his mouth, he shouted, "I found some tracks! He's been here!" He gestured downstream, indicating they should start their search in that direction.

Abbie was more worried than before, aware that MacCrea had chosen this direction thinking that if Alex had fallen in, the raging torrent would have carried his body downstream. His body. No, she refused to think like that. Anxiously she scanned the bank ahead of her, keeping well away from the edge as she moved slowly along, paralleling MacCrea's progress on the other side.

Thirty feet downstream, she spied something yellow caught in a tangle of debris by the opposite bank. "MacCrea, look!" She pointed to what looked like a piece of clothing and unwillingly recalled that Alex had a jacket that color. She held her breath, wanting to be wrong, as MacCrea worked his way to the spot and snared the yellow item from the trapped debris with a broken stick. It was a little boy's yellow jacket.

"Alex!" Abbie called frantically. "Alex, where are you?" She hurried along the bank, mindless of the thickening undergrowth that tried to slow her, now doubly anxious to find Alex. The roaring creek seemed to laugh at her as it rolled ahead of her, a churning, seething mass of water, silt, and debris.

She thought she heard a shout. She stopped to listen, then noticed that MacCrea wasn't anywhere in sight. Had she gotten ahead of him in her search? Hastily she backtracked.

"Abbie!" MacCrea waved to her from the opposite bank holding a muddy boy astraddle his hip. "I found him!"

She started to cry with relief and pressed a hand to her mouth to cover the sob. Alex was all right. He was safe. Finding a place to ford the stream, MacCrea carried the boy across. Abbie waited tensely on the opposite side, not drawing an easy breath until they were beside her. "Where did you find him?" she asked as MacCrea set him down.

"He was hiding in some brush."

Abbie stooped down to look for herself and make sure he was all right. Up close, she could see the streaks on his grimy cheeks left by tears. "We've been looking for you, Alex. We thought. . .” But she didn't want to voice the fear that was still too fresh. Smiling, she lifted the brown hair off his forehead, damp with perspiration, and smoothed it back off his face. "We'd better take you home."

Abruptly he pulled back. "No. I don't want to go there."

"Why?" Abbie was taken aback by his vehemence. "Your mother and father will be worried about you. You don't want that."

"She won't care," he retorted, tears rolling down his cheeks again. "She doesn't want me. She told me to go away. I did and I'm never going back!"

"Alex, I'm sure she didn't mean it."

"Yes, she did," he asserted, then, as if it was all too much for him to bear alone, he threw himself at Abbie and wrapped his arms tightly around her neck to bury his face against her and cry. "I don't want to go back. I want to stay with you and Eden."

Moved by his wrenching plea, Abbie glanced helplessly at MacCrea. MacCrea crouched down beside them and laid a comforting hand on Alex's shoulders as they lifted spasmodically with his sniffling sobs.

"That's not really what you want, Alex," he said. "Think how much you'd miss your father."

"He works all the time."

"Not all the time."

"He could come see me when he doesn't," Alex declared tearfully, obviously having thought it all out.

"Oh, Alex," Abbie murmured and hugged him a little tighter, feeling his pain. "I'm sorry, but it just wouldn't work."

"But why?"

"Because. . . you belong with your mommy and daddy."

"Come on, son. I'll take you home." But as MacCrea tried to pull him away from Abbie, Alex wrapped his arms in a stranglehold around her neck.