Amanda (18 page)

“We can’t let him do it,” Reece said.

Grooming a nervous young horse, Sully looked at his brother and said, “Lower your voice.”

Reece made an impatient sound, but kept it low; the excitable filly had already tried to kick him when he’d merely walked past her, and the way she was looking
at him now made him decidedly wary. He didn’t have Sully’s inborn knack of gentling horses—the opposite, if anything; he seemed to make them as jumpy as they made him.

“Just how do you propose we stop him?” Sully asked.

“There has to be a way we can do it. You know as well as I do that he means to cut us out, probably all the way.” Reece moved restlessly, but kept his distance from the young horse. Standing in the doorway of the tack room, he fiddled with a bridle hanging on a hook, and absently drew a finger across a dusty shelf holding brushes.

Sully dropped the brush he was using into a carrying tray and looked at his older brother, one hand still stroking the horse. “He could leave everything to a home for aged cats and we couldn’t do anything about it. Besides, if you’re surprised he means Amanda to inherit, all I can say is I’m not.”

“And it doesn’t bother you? Come off it, Sully. This is me, remember? I know how badly you want Glory. Even if you think you could stand her running things around here, what happens if she decides to sell out? You couldn’t afford to buy the house
or
stables any more than I could afford the rest. We could both be out on our asses watching strangers here.”

“She wouldn’t sell Glory. Nobody would.”

Reece uttered a short laugh. “Just because you think Glory is the center of the universe doesn’t mean everybody else believes that. Even if she is the real Amanda, she hasn’t been anywhere near this place in twenty years—and I very much doubt that Christine offered any glowing recommendations. To our dear
cousin
, this place is no more than a cash cow.”

Sully picked up another brush and continued grooming the horse, his gentle hands and low voice in
stark contrast to the black scowl on his harsh face. “I don’t believe that. Not if she has a drop of Daulton blood in her veins.”

“Yeah, well, I say she doesn’t.”

“The DNA tests will tell us that.”

Reece shrugged. “Maybe—and maybe not. If you’ll remember, we were warned the test might not be conclusive no matter who she is. And in case you haven’t noticed, the old man isn’t waiting for the results. He’s changing his will now.”

“It isn’t a done deal, not yet. Walker’s bound to drag out the paperwork as long as he can; he’s no happier about it than we are.”

“And in the meantime—what? We wait for providence to step in and cause sweet Amanda to trip and fall down the stairs?”

“Very funny.”

“Then what? Jesse hasn’t changed his mind about anything since he initially took Nixon’s part in Watergate, and he didn’t change his mind about
him
until after the resignation. He won’t change his mind about her, or his will, not without a hell of a lot of proof she’s a phoney. And once he signs the will, we’re out. I told you what I heard outside Jesse’s study last night; breaking the will in court will be next to impossible if he writes all those damned letters and talks to everybody in the county.”

“I’ve never known anybody to keep Jesse from talking,” Sully said without much humor. “And it’s a federal offense to intercept the mail.”

“Be serious. We have to stop this.”

Finished with the grooming, Sully stabled the young horse in silence, then went past Reece into the tack room to put away the tray of brushes.

“Well, say something,” Reece ordered angrily.

“What the hell do you want me to say?” Sully was
no less angry. “I know damn well I can’t persuade Jesse to change his mind, and I seriously doubt you can. So? If you have any bright ideas, I’d love to hear them.”

“Maybe we should look at the problem from a different angle,” Reece said. “If changing Jesse’s mind won’t work, then we concentrate on Amanda.”

“And just politely ask her to give up Glory and the business when she inherits?”

“Don’t be a fool. We have to find a way to prove she’s a liar and a cheat.”

“We don’t know that she is,” Sully pointed out dryly.

“Oh, come on—you don’t really believe she’s the real Amanda? Appearing out of nowhere after twenty years and conveniently just before the old man cashes in his chips? For God’s sake, look at her. There isn’t a Daulton on the entire family tree who was under five foot eight, male or female. She didn’t get that pale skin from the Daultons, and Christine turned brown if you just
mentioned
sunlight.”

“I don’t remember,” Sully said.

“Well, I do. Besides, it’s obvious in the painting and in all those photos Jesse has. No, our little pretender is not who she claims to be.”

“You can’t know that, Reece.”

“Can’t I? Have you noticed that she’s a southpaw?”

Sully frowned. “No, but so what?”

“Amanda was right-handed.”

Sully’s frown deepened. “Are you sure?”

“Positive.”

“And nobody but you noticed?”

Reece shrugged. “Apparently nobody’s thought of it—probably because everyone’s attention’s been on the so-called science of the DNA test. I only remember
because there was a lot of rain that last summer, and Amanda was always off in a corner somewhere drawing horses. Right-handed.”

“So tell Jesse that.”

“And listen to him call me a liar? it’s no proof, and with my luck nobody else will remember either way since it was so damned long ago. But I remember, and I know she’s a phoney. If she slipped up on that point, there are bound to be others. All we have to do is find them.”

“Even if we do, what makes you think Jesse will care?” Sully’s voice was impatient. “he’s running out of time, and he wants Amanda back so bad that she could probably explain away anything we came up with. And if you alienate Jesse, you’ll be worse off than you are now. I say let it alone, Reece. Don’t make Jesse choose, or you’ll lose.”

“I haven’t busted my ass all these years trying to please Jesse to watch it slip away now,” Reece said. “If you won’t bother to try, I’ll do it myself. I’ll do whatever it takes to protect my interests.”

Sully followed his brother from the tack room and to the end of the barn hall, and stood there for a moment watching Reece stride off toward the house. Then, swearing under his breath, he turned toward barn three and tried to turn his thoughts to the yearling that was next on his list to be handled today.

He didn’t look back, and so he didn’t see Ben Prescott come down the last few stairs from his apartment above and stand gazing after him.

Jesse was on the phone when Amanda came into his study late that afternoon. She responded to his immediate smile and beckoning fingers by closing the door
behind her and wandering over to study the painting of Brian, Christine, and Amanda Daulton.

A lovely little family. But not, it seemed, a perfect one. Christine had been restless for most of her marriage and possibly adulterous that last summer; Brian was apparently by turns neglectful and obsessively jealous of his wife.

As for Amanda … what did a child know? That beds were soft and food was good and parents were always there. That lightning bugs glowed after death. That summer smelled a certain way, and thunder couldn’t hurt you, and new shoes creaked when you walked. That there was no crayon to exactly match a clear summer sky. That butterflies would poise on your finger if you were very, very still, and that newborn foals wobbled comically. That crayfish could be caught by tricking them into scooting backward into a jelly jar. That nightmares weren’t real, even if they felt that way.

“She was a strong-willed woman, your mother,” Jesse said.

Amanda turned to look at him. “Then I come by it naturally, I guess. I’m stubborn, too.”

“I’d be very surprised if you weren’t, honey.”

She went across the room and sat down in a chair before his desk, her face grave. “We have to talk, Jesse.”

“About what?”

“About your will.”

“S
HE HASN’T,” SULLY SAID, “PUT A FOOT
wrong all night.”

“I’ve noticed.” Walker gazed across the tiled patio at where Amanda stood talking to the Reverend Bliss. The good reverend was, as usual, intent on saving a soul—whether or not it needed saving—and she was polite, gravely receptive, an abstemious soft drink in her hand and her simple summer dress not only flattering but also demure.

Her gleaming black hair was arranged in loose curls held off her face by one of the silk scarves she favored. The simple change in her appearance made her look eerily like the little girl in the portrait—but, of course, that had been her intention, Walker thought.

“Yeah, I’ve noticed you notice.”

Walker shifted his gaze to Sully’s face, met slightly
mocking gray eyes for a moment, but all he said was, “Is it my imagination, or is there some tension between her and Jesse?”

Sully accepted the deflection with a shrug. “That’s right, you haven’t been around this past week.”

“Jesse kept me buried under paperwork for that development deal.” Not for the first time, Walker wondered if he had been kept busy and out of the way just so Jesse didn’t have to argue with him about the new will. “What’s going on?”

“Hard to say.” Sully took a swallow of his drink and watched broodingly as Amanda was rescued from Preacher Bliss by Maggie and taken to meet the newly arrived mayor and his wife. “Neither of them has said anything that I’ve heard, and there’s been no open argument.
Very
unlike Jesse.”

“I’ll say.”

Sully shrugged again. “At a guess, our little Amanda has somehow backed Jesse into a corner. I don’t know what it’s about, but he’s so frustrated he can hardly see straight.”

Walker frowned. “That doesn’t sound likely.”

“Agreed, but it’s my guess. From what I can tell, he keeps trying to … persuade her in some way, and she’s refusing to do whatever it is he wants. All week long, he’s been stomping around the house glaring at everyone else while she’s kept to herself and out of his way. Out of everyone’s way, as a matter of fact.”

“What do you mean by that?”

“Just what I said. It’s been a fairly tense week for Amanda, I’d say. Not only is Jesse pissed off at her, but Kate gets a frozen look on her face whenever Amanda comes near and Maggie hasn’t gone out of her way to be friendly.”

“I see,” Walker commented, “that You’ve noticed quite a bit yourself.”

Sully’s smile was sardonic. “I’ve been running back and forth from the stables to the house all week. Who do you think the old man’s been taking out his temper on? Yesterday he called me up to the house just to spend half an hour roaring about why the training ring fence hadn’t been painted this year. And when Victor called to say he’d be delayed, guess who took the flak for it.”

Walker looked at him thoughtfully. The two men were standing near a long table at the edge of the patio where a dessert buffet had been set up, and no one else was near them. It had been Sully who approached Walker, evidently because he’d had things to say, but it was uncharacteristic of him to complain about his grandfather’s treatment of him, and Walker suspected Sully had something else on his mind—which he would get to when he was ready and not a minute before.

The party had been going on for more than two hours now; torches placed here and there brightened the twilight as well as warded off pesky insects, and the guests had spilled over onto the lawn and into the garden, many trying to make room for dessert by lazily walking off the thick steaks and roasted vegetables consumed earlier. The faint smoke and hickory aroma of grilled food continued to hang in the still air, along with the appetizing scents of fresh-baked pies, cakes, and cobblers.

There were still guests sitting at the tables scattered around the patio, talking in small groups or else just listening to the pleasantly muted sounds of the band from Nashville. Muted because Jesse disliked loud music, and so had placed the band on a platform off to the side and forbidden amplifiers. This was not a concert, he’d told them; they were not to drown out the
conversations of his guests or to wait expectantly for applause.

The band, extravagantly paid as well as lavishly housed and fed, hadn’t complained, and the guests obviously appreciated being able to talk without shouting. Some even danced to the slower tunes, turning the tiled area around the pool into a dance floor.

As for the guest of honor, she had indeed played her part to perfection. Greeting the guests at Jesse’s side, she had been friendly without gushing, deferring to Jesse in a pretty way not a whit overdone, and Walker had heard several people remark on how very much she (still) resembled the little girl in the famous painting and how wonderful it was for Jesse to have found his beloved granddaughter.

As far as the townspeople of Daulton were concerned, Amanda Daulton had come home.

And Amanda seemed completely comfortable in her surroundings. She was courteous and gracious to everyone, seemed flatteringly interested in whatever anyone had to say to her, and displayed a sweet, soft-spoken temperament that pleased everyone who spoke to her. She was even beginning to sound distinctly Southern.