Heiress (38 page)

"Mind if I join you?"

Startled to hear MacCrea's voice, Abbie sat up and brought her hands together, hiding the dirt clutched in her palm. "What are you doing here?"

"I had an errand to run in town, so I thought I'd stop by and see how the sale was going." He moved the riding helmet to one side and sat down next to her. "There's a lot of people here."

"Yes." Uncomfortable under his inspecting glance, she looked down at her hands.

"Are you all right?"

"I'm fine," she assured him with a quick nod. "Just tired, that's all." She said nothing to him about the dirt she held so tightly, doubting that he'd understand. From the little she'd learned about his childhood, she knew he'd never stayed in any one place long enough to form any deep attachment to it. He couldn't appreciate the strong bond she felt for River Bend, her home, her heritage.

Ben emerged from the stables and walked over to them. "I wanted to remind you that he will sell your filly after this mare leaves the ring."

"Thanks." Abbie pushed to her feet and headed directly for the sales ring. MacCrea walked with her, but she paid no attention to him. She worked her way through the crowd and reached the edge of the ring just as the auctioneer rang the hammer down, selling the mare and foal to the high bidder.

"The next filly to be sold—number twenty-five in your catalogue—was unfortunately injured in a freak accident two days ago," the auctioneer explained. "The veterinarian's report, which I have in front of me, states that both front legs were broken. Both have been successfully splinted and cast, and the veterinarian expresses a guarded optimism over the filly's chances of recovery."

Practically rigid with tension herself, Abbie closely observed the crowd's reaction to his announcement. Most shook their heads skeptically and a few turned away from the ring. No one appeared to be even slightly interested in River Breeze, not even Rachel, whom Abbie spotted standing on the opposite side of the ring, talking to Lane.

The auctioneer then went into a lengthy description of the filly's breeding, concluding with, "Regardless of this filly's injuries, I think you will all agree she has the potential to make an outstanding broodmare. Now what do I hear for an opening bid?"

Abbie held her breath as he and his assistants scanned the throng, but silence greeted them. Anxiously she waited until his second call for a bid was met with silence, then she signaled a bid of a hundred dollars.

"I've got a bid of one hundred dollars right over here. Who'll gimme two? Who'll gimme two?" The chanted call rolled off his tongue. As soon as it became apparent there were no takers at two, he halved it. "I've got one. Who'll gimme one-fifty? One-fifty?"

As MacCrea had predicted, no one wanted the injured filly. Within a scant few minutes after the bidding started, it was over.

"Breeze is legally mine now." Abbie turned to him, a smile lifting her tired features.

"So are the vet bills," MacCrea reminded her.

"I don't care," she declared, blithely defiant of such practical considerations. "She's worth it—and more." She still held the dirt in her hand, sweat turning it into a ball of mud. But she wouldn't let it go.

Chapter 23

All morning long, ominous gray clouds loomed over River Bend, casting an eerie half-darkness over the tree-shaded grounds. Distant rumbles of thunder, like deep-throated growls, threatened rain. The auctioneer's podium stood on the veranda of the great house, facing the striped tent that had been erected on the front lawn to shelter the bidders in case it rained.

All day long, Rachel had watched people traipsing through the house, faces peering out at her from turret windows, children racing around behind the second-floor parapet, and hands tapping at wood to check its solidness. But she had yet to venture inside herself. When she set foot inside that house for the first time, she was determined not to be surrounded by irreverent gawkers.

A hush settled over the crowd gathered under the tent as the auctioneer announced the next item to be sold: River Bend itself. Rachel felt her stomach lurch sickeningly. All this waiting, the tension, the uncertainty had worn her nerves raw. She glanced anxiously around for Lane and saw him talking with Dean's widow. Twice Rachel had seen her and that Polish stud manager who had worked for Dean, but she had yet to see Abbie on the grounds.

A boom of thunder reverberated through the air, chasing those on the outer fringes farther under the canvas roof. Behind her, Rachel heard a man say, "I wouldn't be surprised if that isn't R.D. up there, pounding his fist on a cloud. You know he's looking down on this—and not liking it one whit."

Just for an instant, Rachel took the remark as a personal slur against her, then reminded herself that the man couldn't know she intended to buy River Bend. As the auctioneer continued with his legal description of the property and its buildings, she tried to locate the man Lane had pointed out to her earlier—the one who would actually do the bidding for them. But she couldn't find him in the crowd. The last time she'd seen him, he'd been smoking a cigarette near the old carriage house that had been converted into a garage.

Panicking at the thought that maybe he didn't know the bidding was about to start, Rachel caught Lane's eye and signaled him to join her. She waited impatiently as he worked his way through the crowd to her side.

"Where's your man Phillips? I don't see him."

"He's on the far side of the tent. I saw him there just seconds ago. Stop worrying." He took her hand and gave it a reassuring squeeze.

"I can't help it." She held on to his hand, locking her fingers through his, today needing his strength and his confidence.

When the auctioneer called for the first bid, it started to rain—at first just making a soft patter on the tent roof, then turning into a steady drumming. The sky seemed to grow darker.

The woman in front of Rachel turned to her companion. "Let's go find Babs and tell her we're leaving," she said in a low, subdued voice. "I don't want to stay for this. It's like all of Texas is crying."

Rachel tried not to let the woman's comment demoralize her. Those were just rivulets of rainwater running down the windowpanes of the mansion, not tears. This was the moment she'd been waiting for all her life. . . even though she hadn't always known it. Nothing and no one was going to spoil it for her.

"I haven't seen Abbie," she remembered. "Is she here?"

"She didn't come today," Lane replied.

Finding out that Abbie had stayed away from this auction made Rachel feel that she'd won a minor victory. Her dream was well on its way to coming true, in a way she had never dared to imagine. Yesterday she had acquired three broodmares, all with foals at their side and checked in foal to Nahr El Kedar, increasing the number of Arabians she owned. And today, River Bend itself would belong to her. Now she would have that part of Dean's world that had always been denied her. She wanted to hug herself and hold on to that triumphant feeling, but she was too nervous, too anxious. Instead she gripped Lane's hand a little harder and listened to the bidding.

Higher and higher it went, finally narrowing the field to three bidders, their agent among them. When Rachel realized the price had climbed to over a hundred thousand dollars more than Lane had expected River Bend to sell for, she started to worry. Then the agent, Phillips, dropped out of the bidding. Pierced by a shaft of icy-cold fear, Rachel wondered if she had come this close, only to lose it after all.

"Lane, why isn't he bidding?" she whispered, afraid of the answer.

“He doesn't want to drive the price up more."

She realized it was some sort of strategy, but the suspense was almost more than she could stand. But when the gavel fell, knocking off the final bid, the auctioneer pointed to the baldheaded agent as the successful bidder. Weak with relief, Rachel sagged against Lane.

"Happy?" Lane smiled at her with his eyes.

"Not yet. I think I'm afraid to be," she admitted, aware that she must sound terribly unsophisticated to him, but it was the truth.

"Maybe it would seem more real to you if we went inside and looked around your new home."

"Not now. I'd rather do it later. . . after everyone leaves." She didn't want any strangers wandering through the rooms when she explored the house. She wouldn't feel that it really belonged to her if they were there.

"If that's the way you want it, we'll wait."

Late that afternoon, the last of the cars headed down the long driveway, carrying the auctioneer and his staff. The rain had stopped, but drops of water continued to plop down from the wet leaves of the giant trees in the yard. Overhead the clouds lingered, forming a charcoal-colored canopy over River Bend.

Nervous and excited, Rachel felt as giddy as a teenager as she waited for Lane to unlock the front door. When he held it open for her, she glanced hesitantly inside, in her mind seeing Abbie's apparition standing in the doorway, ordering her away.

But this was no longer Abbie's home. From now on she would do the ordering. Rachel walked inside to take possession of it. In the large foyer, she paused and gazed at the impressive staircase with its balustrades of ornately carved walnut. She tried to visualize Dean walking down those steps to welcome her, but the image wouldn't come.

Hiding the bitter disappointment she felt, Rachel followed Lane through the rest of the house, so huge compared to the apartments she'd always lived in. In every room, the wood of the parquet floors, the richly carved door and window moldings, the wainscoting, and the fireplace mantels gleamed with the patina that came from years of loving care. Yet the bare walls and windows seemed to stare back at her. With no furniture, curtains, or paintings in the house, their footsteps echoed with a stark, lonely sound.

"Once all the paperwork is finalized and you officially take possession, you can have an interior decorator come out," Lane said as they climbed the staircase to the second floor. "I'm sure there will be changes you want to make."

"Yes," Rachel said absently, but she doubted it would be anything drastic. She wanted to keep the house just the way it was. She planned to limit any decorating to choosing curtains, rugs, and furniture.

But when she entered one of the bedrooms on the second floor and felt prickles crawling up the back of her neck, she changed her mind entirely. She knew without being told the room had belonged to Abbie. Her Dior perfume still lingered in the air.

She crossed to the French doors that opened onto the narrow balcony within the parapet and pulled them open, letting the rain-freshened air sweep into the room. She paused there a minute, staring at the high limbs of the towering ancient oaks, some stretching out their arms so close to the house she had the feeling that she only had to reach out her hand to touch their shiny leaves. Drawn by the stillness, the peace of the view, Rachel wandered onto the railed balcony. Through the trees, she could see parts of the winding lane, the stable complex and paddocks, and the empty pastures.

As she leaned against the parapet, Lane walked up to stand beside her. "You haven't said very much."

She turned to face the house, half sitting and half bracing herself against the rail. "I guess I'm still finding it hard to believe this all belongs to me—to us," she corrected quickly.

"Yes, to us," he said thoughtfully. "I've been wondering. . ." Lane began, then started over. "Have you ever given any thought to making our partnership a permanent one?"

"What do you mean?" Rachel frowned. "I thought it was. All the documents we signed, didn't they—"

Lane smiled ruefully. "I'm putting it badly, I'm afraid. I wasn't referring to our business partnership. I meant you and me. I think you know that I love you, Rachel. But do you love me?"

"Yes," She thought he knew that. Lane Canfield was everything a woman could ever wish for in a man. He was so good to her and for her—not just because he was fulfilling her dreams, but because he'd made her feel that she was someone very special.

"Do you love me enough to marry me and be my wife?"

"Do I!" She nearly went into his arms, but she checked the impulse, suddenly wary. "You mean it, don't you, Lane? This isn't some joke, is it?"

"I couldn't be more serious." The gravity in his expression convinced Rachel of that. "I've never proposed to another woman in my entire life. You would eliminate a lot of the misery I'm going through right now by simply telling me yes or no."

"Yes." Gazing at him, Rachel wondered if he knew how much he had given her: first a belief in herself and her dreams, then River Bend, and now the respect and legitimacy of his name. No man had done so much for her before—not even Dean.

In the next second, his arms were around her and his mouth was on her lips. She reveled in the adoring ardency of his kiss, overwhelmed by the knowledge that of all the women he could have chosen, Lane Canfield wanted to marry her. At last she drew back a few inches to look at his face, so strong and good and gentle. "I do love you, Lane."

"I suppose we should make this official." He reached into his jacket pocket and pulled out a ring. Rachel gasped as fire leaped from the circlet of diamonds that surrounded the large sapphire. Lane took her hand and slipped it onto her ring finger.

"It's beautiful." The words sounded so inadequate, but she couldn't think of anything else to say.

"I've been carrying that ring around with me for the last two weeks, trying to convince myself that it wouldn't be a mistake to marry you. You deserve to be happy, Rachel. If you'd be happier with someone else. . ."

"No one could make me as happy as you do," she insisted, refusing even to consider the possibility. "I am going to be so proud to be your wife. Mrs. Lane Canfield. I love the sound of it."

"So do I. Now about our wedding. . ."

"We can fly to Mexico tonight and elope if you want." Rachel almost preferred that. She didn't want to be reminded that she had no father to give her away, no family and few friends to invite.

"No. I want you to have a wedding with all the trimmings. Nothing elaborate, you understand. Just a simple ceremony and a small reception afterward with a few of our close friends in attendance. I want you to come to me in a bridal gown all white satin and lace."