Deal Me In

She handed him his favorite stuffed pony and he snuggled into his blankets. “G’night, Mama.”

By the faint glow of his nightlight, she neatly folded his clothes into a suitcase. While she worked, the last moments between her father and her uncle played in her mind. Luther had said he was sick and tired of dealing with the mistakes his daughter made of her life and trying to explain to his congregation how a supposedly God-fearing child could grow up to cast such a shadow of shame over her family name.

Sometime, years ago, her father had stopped thinking of Molly as an individual and began to see her as an extension of her mother. Two women whose identical sinful natures conspired to ruin his life and reputation. That was sad, but Molly couldn’t do anything about it. Maybe she was too much like her mother. And maybe she wanted to be.

She closed Sam’s suitcase and filled a box with his favorite toys. Thinking he was asleep, she tiptoed to the door. “Mama?”

She looked back at the bed. Sam lay perfectly still, but his voice was hoarse with a little boy’s determination. “I think I’ll wait and see if Grandpa writes me first.”

“That’s fine, sweetie.”

She left the room more convinced than ever that she and her son were two people very much in need of an adventure.

CHAPTER THREE

BRADY HUNG HIS HAT on a hook in the mudroom and left his boots by the back door. After washing his hands at the utility tub, he went to the kitchen where he snuck up behind Ruby, the woman who’d been the family cook since he was a boy, and kissed her warm brown neck. She swatted at him. “I knew you were back there,” she said. “You can’t surprise me anymore. Not since you’ve grown four feet and put on a hundred pounds.”

He laughed. “I guess a six-foot-three man has lost some of the upper hand when it comes to surprise attacks.”

She tried not to smile. “You wash those hands?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“You hungry?”

“You need to ask?”

“Go on in the sunroom. Your daddy wanted lunch in there today. I’ve got it set up on the buffet.”

He went down the hallway past his father’s study, a guest bathroom and the formal dining room and entered the cheerful six-sided glassed-in area his mother had designed when the house was built. She referred to it as the conservatory and filled it with hanging ferns and philodendron, but everyone else called it the sunroom.

Marshall set down his newspaper and looked closely at Brady. “Late night?” he said.

“You could say that.”

“Did you win at least?”

“Came out okay despite having a lot on my mind.” He glanced at his father’s plate and the remains of something once smothered in gravy. Another test for Brady’s arteries, but whatever was in the chafing dish smelled too good to pass up. He headed to the buffet table. “I’m guessing stew,” he said.

“Ruby’s specialty. And mighty tasty.”

Brady ladled two helpings onto a plate, picked up a couple of biscuits from under a cloth napkin and chose a seat across the table from his father. “Where’s Mom?”

“Still sleeping, I guess,” Marshall said. “I was beat when we got home from Henley’s last night and turned in early. Angela was still in the den. I don’t know what time she came upstairs.”

Brady was sorry to hear this news. Before he’d left for the poker game, he’d come to the house to tell his mother about Amber Mac. It was after dark and he’d found her in front of the television. She was staring vacantly at an old black-and-white movie and he saw a drink in her hand. It only took a minute for him to realize she’d obviously started drinking at the cocktail hour and had continued with rum and Cokes well into the evening. Her interest in the new colt had been cool at best.

“Are you still having the hoedown on Sunday?” The annual event, which began at Cross Fox twenty-nine years ago to celebrate Marshall’s thirtieth birthday had become a Carrick family tradition. Brady figured his dad might cancel the party if Angela wasn’t up to hosting.

Marshall furrowed his brow. “Of course. Folks expect it. Besides, a man can’t stop living just because…” He never finished his thought and instead went to the buffet, filled a bowl with peaches and poured heavy cream over the top. “Are any of your friends from the poker game coming?”

Brady had invited Blake, Cole, Jake and Luke, the four regulars on Texas Hold ’Em nights. “Yes, they’re coming. Along with their girlfriends and wives.” Marshall knew Blake’s wife, Annie. She was a reporter for the River Bluff newspaper and expecting their first child. And Brady figured his dad would remember Rachel Diamonte, a former River Bluff prom queen, who’d recently come back to town. She and Jake had a history to mend, but since he’d hired her to renovate the bar they’d worked out their differences and were planning a future together. But he’d never met Tessa, the new love of Cole Lawry’s life.

“So Jake’s coming to the party?” Marshall said.

“Yep. Mom’s just going to have to accept that.”

“It’ll be all right. Your mother likes Luke, at least. There’s no better people than that whole Chisum clan.”

They ate in silence until Marshall scooped the last of the fruit from his bowl. He sat back. “Did you time those three-year-olds on the half mile this morning?”

“Sure did. Jodie’s Girl cut five seconds off her previous time. I breezed the two stallions with her, but they didn’t improve. In my opinion, though, Jodie’s ready for a claiming race.”

Marshall nodded. “She’s a good strong filly. How’s Amber Mac today?”

“Seems okay. I’m going to feed him when I’m done here.”

“Not too much. He’s not showing hog fat, but we’ve got to trim him down anyway.”

“I know, Dad. We talked about this. I won’t overfeed him.” Brady sopped up a pool of gravy with a biscuit. “At breakfast I went over the vet reports on him again. His vaccinations are up-to-date and his vitamin regimen seems appropriate for his age and weight.” He pushed his plate back and stood. He shouldn’t have to prove himself to his father every time they talked, yet he constantly felt the need to. “I’ve got to go, Dad. See you later.”

Marshall picked up his paper and resumed reading.

Brady returned to the mudroom for his boots and hat. He left by the back entrance and headed across the two hundred yards of lush green lawn that separated the stables from the house. He regretted not taking the golf cart…his knee was acting up. But he believed in the old-fashioned theory that pain can be walked off. Dodger, the family’s Jack Russell terrier yapped at his heels. “Where did you come from? I didn’t see you begging for scraps at lunch.”

The dog alternated between scuttling on his belly and nipping at the hem of Brady’s jeans. “Calm down. And stop that barking. We’re almost at the stables. You’re supposed to be a horse’s companion, not his biggest aggravation.”

They reached the stalls and Brady told Dodger to stay put, out of sight of Amber Mac. Predictably, the terrier didn’t pay any mind. Instead, he scratched at the bottom half of Mac’s door and resumed yipping. Amber Mac reared, hitting his rump against the back of the stall.

At the sound of laughter behind him, Brady whirled around. Dobbs picked up Dodger, set him in the yard, put his hand up in front of the animal’s face and said, “Stay!” Dodger didn’t move and Brady experienced renewed admiration for the trainer. And a bit of jealousy.

Dobbs walked over to him. “That’s what comes from a dog not knowing his place in the scheme of things around here,” he said. “In the daylight, that crazy pup is out here at the stables, then come evening, Angela gives him a bath in perfumed shampoo so he can sleep on a velvet pillow at the foot of her bed.” Dodger hadn’t moved, but was panting with excitement, probably anticipating his next opportunity to sneak back to the stalls. “You don’t know where you belong, do you, boy?” Dobbs said. He clucked his tongue a few times at Amber Mac and coaxed the animal to the door. “He’s acting skittish. I think it’s more than Dodger bothering him.”

“He’s probably hungry.” With a slow, deliberate motion, Brady lifted his hand to stroke the thoroughbred’s nose. “Time for lunch, fella.”

Mac jerked his head out of reach.

“Okay, so we’re not best friends yet.”

Dobbs handed Brady a feed bucket. “He’s only getting a pound of oats,” Dobbs said. “He’s been on grass and doesn’t need any more than that.”

Brady poured the oat pellets into the feed bucket. The horse immediately began to eat.

“Let’s leave him be,” Dobbs said, motioning for Brady to follow him. “Don’t get discouraged. This is only his first full day at Cross Fox. He needs a good week or two to adjust to his new environment, even if these are the luxury accommodations.”

Brady stopped halfway to the house and looked back. Dobbs turned to see what had caught his eye. The stables, built of brick and pine, stretched in a U-shaped arc with a stone statue of a thoroughbred in the center. Dutch doors opened onto each twelve-by-twelve stall. In the summer, when temperatures soared above ninety degrees, fans circulated continuously, keeping the horses cool and flies at bay.

Two full-time grooms cleaned brushes and kept the horses’ coats glossy. A pair of stable hands washed feed buckets and mucked stalls twice a day. An industrial washing machine was constantly running, keeping blankets, bandages and wraps sanitary. The Cross Fox gardener manicured the lawn around the stable until it resembled a putting green and kept oak planters in front of each stall. This month they were still filled with the brilliant red poinsettias of the holiday season. Marshall spared no expense.