Kentucky Heat Read online

  “You have Gabby. That’s a miracle in itself,” Nick said, reaching for the thick ham sandwich Emmie had made for him. He wolfed it down. He grabbed the second one and ate it just as fast. He munched on sour pickles until the coffee was ready.

  “I wish we had more time to talk to each other,” Emmie said wistfully as she cleared off the counter.

  “It’s just a little longer, Emmie. Just hang on until I finish, okay. Listen, maybe I don’t tell you often enough how much I appreciate you being here. We’re family. At the moment, all we have is each other. We need to stick together.”

  “I know, Nick.” Hoping to delay him just a minute longer, she asked, “I hardly ever see Hatch. How is he?”

  “That’s one busy guy. He’s here, he’s there, he’s everywhere. What’s really amazing is the guy gets everything done and done on time. I’m a slug compared to him. I have to get to work. It’s late, Emmie, you should go to bed.”

  “I will as soon as I finish cleaning up the kitchen. Will you be here for breakfast? If you don’t have to leave early, I can make you those blueberry buttermilk pancakes you like so much.”

  “Sorry, Emmie, I have to be in the office by seven. Sleep in. I can grab some sweet rolls and coffee when I get to the office.”

  Emmie looked around the tidy kitchen before she scribbled a note to herself and left it by the phone. Call Hatch, ask him to go to lunch. Remember to take the latest pictures of Gabby to show him.

  She poked her head into the dining room for one last look at Nick. He was bent over a thick law book, a yellow legal pad next to it. She crossed her fingers and smiled. Nick would do well. When you put your heart and soul into something, it had to work out well.

  Upstairs, she crossed her fingers again. Please, don’t let Hatch be busy tomorrow. Please.

  Across town, Hatch Littletree popped two bottles of beer and carried them out to the balcony. He set one on the little round metal table and kept one in his hand. Tonight was another one of those nights when his memories wouldn’t allow for sleep. His shoulders slumped as he stared off into the dark night, the stars above twinkling down on him.

  He thought about his dead wife and son because no matter what he did, they were always with him in his mind. Would it always be this way? Was it that way for Nick and his mother when Hunt Clay died? Maybe for Nick, but not for Nealy. Hunt said Nealy had fallen out of love with him. Then he’d gone on to say he doubted if she ever loved him. Death was always hardest on those left behind. Don’t go there, Hatch.

  The big Indian had never listened to his conscience, so why should he start, he thought. Life was a bitch sometimes.

  He flopped down on one of the chaise longues and stretched his legs out in front of him. He blinked when he realized he was barefoot. He didn’t remember taking his shoes off. Ah, one of those little mysteries of life that would never be solved.

  He gulped at the beer in the bottle. Once, after his wife and son died, he’d consumed twelve bottles of beer in a little less than an hour. The alcohol had not dulled his brain one bit. If anything, it intensified his rage and grief. Don’t go there either, Hatch. The past is gone; you can’t bring it back.

  His eyes burned unbearably. “I need a goddamn life is what I need.” He choked up with the words. Like it was so easy to do. Just go out on the street and say, “Hey, do you want to be my friend? I need a life, and in order to have a life I need friends and people around me. I need someone to hold and someone to love. I need someone to care about, and I want someone to care about me.”

  He switched his mental gears and was that skinny, raggedy-ass kid, back on the reservation, running wild. The good old days when he was young, dumb, and stupid. He roll-called his life until it brought him back to his chair on the balcony.

  It was a good life, and he wouldn’t change even one day of it, right up until the day the hospital called to tell him his wife and son were dead.

  You’re going there again. I told you not to go there, an inner voice warned.

  Maybe he needed a cause, a project. Nick was a cause of sorts. Maybe a payback to his friend Hunt. Whatever it was, it was coming to an end. Nick was only a year away from taking the bar. When Nick passed, and he knew the kid would pass, Hatch would be at loose ends again.

  He thought about Emmie and her little girl. A smile worked its way to his lips. He loved holding the little one in his arms. Loved the feel of her and the way she smelled, all sweet and powdery just the way his son had felt and smelled. You aren’t supposed to go there, you dumb schmuck.

  “Then where in the damn hell am I supposed to go?” he cried in a tormented voice.

  Try Kentucky, the inner voice suggested. Go there and make peace with Nealy Clay for her kids’ sakes. Call it a mission. Bring her up short. Tell her how wonderful her kids are. Tell her how she screwed things up. Tell her life is too short and tell her she’s in danger of losing her children altogether if she doesn’t do something.

  Yeah, right, like I’m an authority and she’s going to listen to me. Hunt told me many times she hated my guts.

  So charm her. You’re good at that. Nothing ventured, nothing gained. What’s wrong with trying? the voice inside his head pressed.

  Hatch stared down at his toes. He wiggled them to have something to do.

  He leaned his head back into the soft padding on the chaise. Within minutes he was asleep.

  He woke with a start at six o’clock when his cell phone rang. He mumbled a greeting. “Emmie! What’s wrong? Is the baby all right? Lunch? Absolutely. I’ll meet you at Carson’s at twelve sharp. I’ll look forward to it, Emmie. Thanks for inviting me.”

  Hatch was on his feet a second later, stretching his arms upward to follow his gaze. “I’m definitely taking this as a sign that I’m to go to Kentucky.” He waited to see if a lightning bolt would descend in either acceptance or rejection of his idea. When nothing happened, he marched into the house and headed for the bathroom.

  “Look out, Nealy Clay, here I come!” He whistled. A sure sign that something in his world was coming up right.

  8

  It was a beautiful day, Nealy thought as she hooked the heel of her boot on the board fencing to stare about her. She liked this time of day just after the sun came up when the dew sparkled on the bluegrass and the farm took on life. She liked it almost as much as she liked the end of the day when the sun set, especially when she knew the day had been a productive one.

  Today, though, she was off her feed. She knew why but didn’t want to think about it. Hunt had always said that was one of her main problems. She liked to shelve things and force herself to forget about them.

  She couldn’t forget this, though. It had been two and a half years since Emmie and Nick drove away from Blue Diamond Farms. There hadn’t been so much as a word from Nick. Emmie had sent a birth announcement and a newborn picture of the baby. Other than that, there had been no communication. She hadn’t heard one word from Nick. The birth announcement was of the drugstore variety, just a little fold-over card that said baby Gabriella Coleman was born on June 28 and weighed seven pounds nine ounces and was twenty inches long.

  Coleman. That had to mean Emmie divorced Buddy and took back her maiden name. She should have known that, but she didn’t. Did Emmie tell Buddy about the baby? Did she call the baby Gabby?

  When Emmie was seven, Maud had given her a doll that she christened Gabriella and proceeded to call it Gabby. That doll had been Emmie’s constant companion for more years than she cared to remember.

  Dover Wilkie approached. “Nice morning, Nealy. Whatcha doing out here by yourself?”

  “Thinking, Dover. Just thinking. I wish I had a cigarette.” She looked up at him from under the brim of her hat.

  “Thinking will get you into all kinds of trouble.” He shook loose a cigarette from his breast pocket and handed it over. “This is the only one you’re getting. You quit, remember? Besides, you’re in training.”

  “I know, Dover. Sometimes I just need a cigar
ette. I was just thinking that I don’t even know what my granddaughter looks like.” She inhaled deeply and blew out a long stream of smoke. “The way things are going I may never get an opportunity to see her.” A glazed look spread across her face. Up until now she’d been able to camouflage her feelings and her loneliness. She’d done it so well, she’d even camouflaged them from herself.

  The lines of concentration deepened around Dover’s eyes. “This is just a thought now, Nealy, but you could get up real early, get on a plane, go see that granddaughter of yours, say some pretty words, and be back here before the sun sets. If you want to, that is.” Dover fired up a cigarette and watched the smoke circle Nealy’s head.

  “Yes, I could do that, Dover. My heart and my gut tell me this isn’t the time.” Nealy stared out across the pasture. “What do you think of Shufly, Dover?”

  “Best horse I’ve ever seen. Perfect configuration. Perfect in every way. He’s just like his daddy but stronger and faster. I didn’t think that was possible, but he is. He’s not just Derby material, he’s Triple Crown material. We all know that. Beats the pure hell out of me how you’ve managed to keep this horse under wraps these past two years.”

  “I don’t mean how he looks. I mean, you know . . .”

  The farm manager smiled. “I’m not a trainer, Nealy, but I am a pretty good judge of horseflesh, and the most important thing to me besides a colt’s physical soundness is balance. If he’s got good balance, his racing motion will be fluid, which means his stride will be even when his hooves hit the ground. It’s just my opinion, but I think being fluid helps keep a horse sound. I’ve watched Shufly train, and he definitely has good balance. He also has a good, big eye. He’s curious about everything that goes on around him and he’s always bright-eyed and alert. In other words, he’s interested in life. And that’s a major asset.”

  Nealy took a deep breath. She trusted Dover’s judgment even more than her own. “Maud always used to say, and Jess agreed with her, that you keep the best close to your chest until the time is right.”

  “You aren’t going to enter Shufly in any prep races, then?”

  “I gave it a lot of thought and decided not to. It’s not entirely unheard of, you know. I figure he can race right here on the Blue Diamond track. That’s what it’s for.”

  “But he needs to know what it’s like to compete against other horses, Nealy.”

  “I know that. That’s why I bought a four-horse starting gate and had the track revamped. I’m going to start him out at six furlongs against Darcy’s Dream, our last year’s Breeders Cup winner. Then against Apache, who prepped in the Blue Grass Stakes last spring. Then . . .”

  “Okay, okay,” Dover said, holding up his hands to silence his boss. “I should have known you would cover all the bases. You always do.” He put his hand on her shoulder and followed her gaze to the pasture. “Just be ready for all the flak you’re going to get,” he warned. “They’re going to say you haven’t done enough with Shufly to prepare him.”

  “I’m well aware of that, and I’m also aware that’s not all they’re going to be saying.”

  “What’s that supposed to mean, Nealy?”

  “You know the Thoroughbred racing business as well as I do, Dover. It’s a man’s world. Once it becomes public knowledge that Shufly is going to be running for the roses, there is going to be a buzz of gossip about his breeding, how he trained, and . . .”

  “His jockey,” Dover finished for her. “You. A woman.”

  “That’s right. Me. A woman.” She offered up a sideways smile. “I thought I had loosened things up a bit with Flyby’s Triple Crown win, but I was just kidding myself. Someday things will be different, but I have a feeling that’s still a long way off. You know as well as I do that every farm owner in the state of Kentucky resents me. Smitty tells me what’s going on and who is saying what. They still, after all these years, refer to me as the stranger who stepped into the golden pile of horse shit. Every damn one of them wants to see me fail, and they want to see me fail because I’m a woman. That’s the bottom line, and don’t try to tell me different, Dover.”

  “Wouldn’t think of it, Nealy, girl. I suppose the positive side to all this is that Shufly will be the dark horse entry, which should give him some pretty terrific odds.”

  They stood in silence for a few minutes watching the grooms turning the horses out into the pastures. Nealy never ceased to be awed by the sight of a magnificent horse tossing its head and galloping from one end of the pasture to the other. There was something purely magical about it for her.

  “Listen, Dover, just between us, do you think I have the spit to pull this off at my age? I worry about that. My checking account statement says I’m a senior citizen.”

  Dover laughed so hard he started to choke. “Sometimes you are downright pitiful, Nealy. You’re in your prime. You still have what it takes and then some. I see you out there every day exercising Shufly and Flyby. You’re as alert and agile as a twenty-one-year-old. I mean that, Nealy, girl. Everyone on this farm says the same thing.” He patted her on the back. “I’m moving on here, and no more cigarettes. You hear me, Nealy?”

  “I hear you, Dover. Today is just a bad day. I’m going up to the house for some coffee and breakfast. Can I fetch you anything?”

  “Nope. Swear on Shufly you ain’t gonna smoke any more cigarettes.”

  “I swear, Dover. Get out of here before I kick you all the way back to the barn.” Nealy laughed.

  Nealy settled the Stetson more firmly on her head as she started the walk up to the house. Even though she was heading into the sun, she could see the outline of a man walking toward her. A giant of a man. She tilted the brim of the Stetson and squinted.

  “Hatch!”

  “Nealy, it’s good to see you again. It’s been a long time.”

  “You . . . you lost weight.” What a stupid thing to say, Nealy thought, clearly flustered.

  Hatch laughed, a great booming sound. “Hard work will do that to you. I forgot how great this place was. Of course I only saw it that once, and . . .”

  “A funeral isn’t the best time to pay attention to other things. What are you doing here? Are the kids okay?”

  “The kids are fine. In my wildest dreams I never thought Nick could do what he’s been doing. The firm pulled every string we could, and he did the rest. He’s acing everything. Works twenty hours out of every day. He expected it going in, and he buckled down. You can be proud of him, Nealy. He’s going to be one wild-ass lawyer. That’s another way of saying he’s a natural.”

  Nealy swirled her tongue around the inside of her mouth. “He was a natural with the horses, too,” she said quietly.

  “That may be, Nealy, but the kid loves the law. Just because you’re good at something doesn’t mean you have to love it. Hunt was the perfect example. He was a damn fine attorney but he loved horses more. I guess you’re wondering what I’m doing here.”

  “Kind of,” Nealy said. He looks great, Nealy thought. Her heart gave a little lurch inside her chest.

  “It’s like this. On the eve of my son’s first birthday, Sela and I were getting ready for bed and suddenly she started to cry. She said she would give everything she owned if only her mother, our son’s grandmother, could attend his first birthday party. I was thinking about that last night and realized you’ve never even seen a picture of Gabby except her birth picture.” He reached inside his coat pocket and took out a handful of snapshots. “I hope I wasn’t wrong thinking you would like to see what Gabby looks like. I can tell you all about her, too,” he said eagerly. “I’m her godfather. Well, actually Nick and I are both her godfathers. Emmie wanted both of us. Gabby has two godmothers, too.” He held out the pictures.

  A cry of joy escaped Nealy’s lips. “Oh, Hatch, thank you,” she said, rushing to him to put her arms around his waist and hug him. He smelled good, all clean and citrusy. Whoa, Nealy. Flustered with her actions, she backed up, and said, “Come up to the house and have
some coffee and breakfast. Listen, I . . . I am so very sorry about Sela and your son. I wanted . . .”

  “Shhhh,” Hatch said, placing his index finger against her lips. “It still hurts to talk about it. They aren’t here any longer, and life goes on.”

  He had his big hands on her shoulders, a gentle touch for a man his size. He looked down into her eyes, and something happened to Nealy Diamond Clay. Something so strange, so alien, so foreign to her she was unable to tear her eyes away. She saw herself drowning in his dark eyes, saw him pulling her free, then holding out his hand to her to lead her away. Hunt, his fist shooting in the air, stood on the sidelines.

  “What’s wrong, Nealy? Are you okay?”

  “I . . . ah . . . I don’t know. You have beautiful eyes,” she blurted.

  It was Hatch’s turn to look befuddled. The best he could manage to say was, “Do I now?”

  “I was jealous of you,” she blurted a second time.

  “I know,” Hatch said gently. “I was jealous of you, too. My partners, too. We wanted Hunt, and you snagged him away from us. It hurt. He was like a brother that deserted me. We all felt like that.”

  “All those years I worried that you would show up and drag him away. I spent a lot of time worrying about the wrong things. I often wonder if I had it to do over again if I would make the same mistakes. It wasn’t meant to be. I think Hunt realized that before I did. He had Nick for consolation. I had the horses. Not exactly the way it should be. This sun is hot, and it isn’t even midmorning. I hope you have time for me to show you around before you leave.”

  “I’ll make the time, Nealy. I love all this bluegrass. I’d like to see the colt. Nick talked to me about him. Is he a winner?”

  “Damn right he’s a winner!” Nealy said, opening the screen door that led into the kitchen.

  “Smitty, we have company for breakfast. Come out here, I want you to meet someone. Hatch, this is Matilda our cook and housekeeper. And this, you remember, is my right hand, Smitty. Matilda, Smitty, this is Hunt’s old friend, Hatch Littletree.”