Love Is Elected (16 page)

Kara maintained a resentful silence. She made no move to pull out a chair.

Matt turned around and looked her squarely in the face. "I don't understand you at all," he said in exasperation. "One minute you respond like a woman and the next minute you're throwing a childish temper tantrum. What's the matter with you, anyway?"

"The matter with me?" Kara sputtered. "It's you who…"

But the dangerous look in his eyes made her stop her accusation in mid-sentence.

"I've had all of this I'm going to take today," Matt declared, enunciating every word carefully. "You're going to have some breakfast. Then you're going to go upstairs and get dressed in one of your new dresses. And then we're going to go to the Preakness together. Do you understand?" he commanded autocratically.

Kara nodded miserably, not trusting herself to speak. She knew now she understood Matt Jordan perfectly. He was out to take what he could get, from her and everyone else. And she was a fool to be in love with him. As soon as the campaign was over, she was going to end this charade and force herself to forget about him. But there was no escape for the moment. She would go with him to the Preakness. She would do what was required in public. But in private she would put her emotions on ice. She would build a cool wall of reserve around herself, a wall that Matt Jordan would not break through again.

Breakfast was a silent meal. And afterwards Kara went upstairs and took her time making her toilet and putting on a yellow cotton sundress with a matching jacket. White leather sandals and a small white purse completed the outfit. When she came downstairs again, Matt was sitting in the living room wearing a stylish but casual sport shirt and slacks.

Determinedly Kara forced herself to ignore his sensual attractiveness and look away. She would not let herself think about the feel of his muscular torso or the way he had pulled her to him and held her so tenderly the night before.

She and Matt did not speak to each other during the first part of the drive on the Baltimore Beltway toward Pimlico Race Track. But as they approached the congested area near the entrance, Matt began explaining about the race in the neutral voice of a tour guide.

"This is the one-hundred-seventh annual running of the Preakness. It's the second jewel of racing's triple crown—after the Kentucky Derby and before the Belmont Stakes," he offered.

Kara nodded.

"Have you ever been here before?" he asked casually as he pulled into the special parking lot reserved for VIPs.

Kara shook her head.

Matt turned to her with a quizzical expression. "Surely you're not going to be so childish as to give me the silent treatment all afternoon?" he queried.

"Certainly not," she snapped.

"That's better—I think," he replied mockingly.

She held herself stiffly as he helped her out of the car and led her up the concrete ramp to the track's main gate.

Kara looked up in surprise. Spread out before her in the spacious infield was what looked like a country fair.

At either end of the wide oval track were two bands—one playing popular rock selections and the other belting out country and bluegrass tunes. In between were blue-and-white-striped booths selling all kinds of food—roasted corn, crabs, fried dough, hamburgers, barbecued sandwiches and pit beef. Others featured various drinks—everything from colas and beer to black-eyed Susans, a mixed drink named after the Maryland state flower.

She could see thousands of spectators, making themselves at home for a day of partying at the races. Many had blankets spread on the grass. Some had brought their own picnic lunches and kegs of beer.

Part of the field had been roped off for lacrosse games. As they walked by they stopped for a minute to watch the teams tossing the small, hard ball back and forth with their sticks.

"When they show the Preakness on TV, you never see all this," Kara exclaimed, caught up in the excitement of the event in spite of herself.

"This is Baltimore's biggest party. By the time the day is over, there will have been eighty-five thousand people here," Matt replied, warming to the festive atmosphere.

"It doesn't seem that crowded," Kara commented.

"That's because the infield is so big. Actually this is the only day of the season they open it like this. Usually people sit in the grandstands, and we'll be going up there later to watch the Preakness. But there's a full bill of racing before the big event."

Despite her resolution of the morning, Kara couldn't help enjoying the lively goings-on. And why shouldn't I have a good time? she asked herself. I might as well get something positive out of being Mrs. Matt Jordan, she justified to herself.

She and Matt spent the morning strolling among the merrymakers. As they approached various groups, many in the crowd recognized Matt and greeted him warmly. But few were interested in a sober discussion of political issues.

"You don't seem like you're doing much campaigning," Kara teased.

Matt laughed good humoredly. "It's important for us to be seen here, Kara—you should understand that, since you recommended that I relate to the public—but most of those here are more interested in having a good time than getting involved in serious discussions."

Matt and Kara lunched on crab cakes, corn on the cob and beer. After they ate, he handed her a program. "It's a lot more fun if you place a bet on the Preakness," he explained.

"How do I pick the winner?" she asked, smiling mischievously up at him.

Matt chuckled. "If I could tell you how to do that, I'd be a billionaire. Just use your intuition. Then we can go stand in line at the betting booth."

Kara looked over the list of eleven horses. There was only one filly—Fool's Delight. The jockey would be wearing the buff and blue silks of a Kentucky stable. She decided to bet on the filly.

"You picked a fifty-to-one shot," Matt informed her. "If she does win, you'll be set up for life."

Kara giggled. "Maybe I'll have beginner's luck."

"Well, I'm going to bet on my mother's foal— Maryland Dancer—who has only slightly better odds," Matt replied. "Let's go over to the window now. It's a good idea to place your Preakness bet early. By the middle of the afternoon, the line will be half a mile long."

After they had placed their bets, they heard the loudspeaker announce the first race. Kara was surprised to see all the merrymakers drop what they were doing and rush to the railing to watch the horses run. Two minutes later, when the results were announced, they all resumed their activities on the infield as if there had never been an interruption.

Kara turned to Matt quizzically. "What was all that?" she asked.

"Just the attendees taking a small intermission for the race. Actually, the preliminary races are only a minor part of what Preakness day is all about."

"Are all horse races like this?" she asked.

"Hardly. Most of the people here today are once-a-year racing fans. They're mostly interested in the celebration and having a good time, and the races are just an added bonus."

As they walked along the field, Kara almost tripped over a couple who had shed much of their clothing and were sunbathing on a blanket on the grass.

"This certainly is informal," she observed, averting her eyes in embarrassment. She felt herself flushing as she recalled vividly how Matt had disrobed her the night before.

"You should have been here a few years ago when streaking was popular," he replied easily, not seeming to notice her discomfiture.

The afternoon flew by. And before Kara knew it, the Preakness was being announced.

"We'd better get up to the grandstands," Matt told her, taking her elbow and walking her quickly across the field. "They'll close off this section once they start raking the track, and we don't want to be stuck over here."

In the grandstands, Kara and Matt found their seats in the booth that had been reserved for party officials.

"Where's Uncle James?" Kara questioned. "I don't see him anywhere."

"Your guess is as good as mine," Matt replied laconically.

"Are you sure he's really supposed to meet us here?" Kara persisted. "Or did you just tell me that to get me here?" she added suspiciously.

Matt shot her a look of annoyance. "Are you questioning my integrity?" he asked in a low voice, trying to keep the argument private.

Kara gave a mirthless laugh. "Integrity," she retorted. "For someone who admitted to using me for his own purposes, you're a fine one to talk about integrity."

"You may be taking advantage of your uncle's absence as an excuse to start an argument, but I'm not playing your game," Matt informed her. "If you're not going to watch the race, at least let me see who wins."

Kara looked at Matt questioningly. How could he concentrate on something as unimportant as a horse race with so much strain between them?

Suddenly all the emotions he had aroused in her this morning came flooding back. It was all she could do to force herself to stay seated next to him.

She had played into his hands again today, she realized. Matt had made no secret of the fact that he wanted her to be two things as a wife—a showy political possession and a willing bedpartner. Well, in the last twenty-four hours he had certainly gotten what he wanted, she told herself grimly.

She was only vaguely aware of the horse race, as the people around her sprang from their seats for a better view. But her own thoughts about the hopelessness of her marriage kept her from getting caught up in the excitement.

It was only after the eleven horses had finished and she heard the announcer give the final standings that the voice from the loudspeaker was able to penetrate her haze.

Her horse, Fool's Delight, had come in last.

How appropriate, Kara thought. I should have known that fools never win. She tore the ticket she was clutching into a dozen pieces.

"We might as well leave," she heard Matt saying. And obediently she stood up. But just as they reached the aisle, a short, bald man in a brown suit came rushing up to Matt.

"Mr. Jordan?" he asked breathlessly.

Matt nodded.

"I have an important message for you," he said, handing him a folded slip of paper.

Matt thanked him and opened the note. His eyes scanned the words quickly and a dark frown spread across his features. Then he turned to Kara.

"It's your uncle," he said gently, putting his arm around her shoulder. "He's had a heart attack. We've got to get to the hospital right away."

Kara sat frozen in shock in the Porsche's front seat while Matt threaded his way through Preakness traffic toward Johns Hopkins Hospital. The car crawled at a snail's pace. Every block seemed to take an hour to traverse. Crowds of festive people lined the streets, and open automobile windows invited joking back and forth. But what had seemed fun and exciting during the Preakness festival was now nightmarish and grotesque to Kara.

She couldn't believe that her uncle was critically ill. She tried to picture him lying helpless in a hospital bed, but the image wouldn't materialize. He had always seemed so strong and unassailable.

"I can't believe this is real," Kara said aloud. Matt, somber behind the wheel, turned and looked at her sympathetically.