Kentucky Heat Page 4

  “Hunt was right. I’m the best. I don’t believe in being modest. I’m so damn good at what I do I can hardly believe it myself sometimes. Your dad hated the law, but he would have made a damn fine attorney. I couldn’t believe it when he said he wanted to stay on the farm and work with horses. I don’t know if you know this or not, but during the last year of his life, he came out here and we hung out together for five straight days. He asked me if the job offer was still good, and I said yes. He said he had some things to work out first, and he’d let me know. He never did. I knew even then something was wrong, but I also knew better than to stick my nose where it didn’t belong. I wish I had. That hindsight thing, you know. So, Nick, how’s it going down on the farm?”

  Nick increased the length of his stride to keep up. “It isn’t. I got married last week in Vegas. That’s part of my problem. My mother . . . Can we talk about all that later? Tell me about my dad. How’d you all get to be such good friends? What was he like when he was my age? I know you and Dad were really close. I envy you that.”

  Hatch’s expression turned thoughtful. “We were all full of piss and vinegar back then. We were so high on life we thought we could fly. There wasn’t one ounce of fear in any of us. By us I mean Bode Jessup, your dad, me, and Hank Mitchum. We were supposed to be a four-man law office, but your dad bugged out. We kept an office for him just in case he ever changed his mind. None of us could bear to take on another partner, so his offices are still the way they were the day we started out. The door, our letterhead, our corporation papers still read, Littletree, Jessup, Clay, and Mitchum. When you were born, Nick, we set up a trust for you. Hunt didn’t want us to do it, but hell, we did it anyway. You’re old enough now so that you can start hitting it anytime you want. You do know about it, don’t you?”

  “No. Dad never said anything. Did Mom know? I guess my next question should be, why?”

  “Because it was the right thing to do. As to your mother, I don’t know, Nick. Probably not would be my guess. All the statements come to our office. I’d call Hunt after the first of the year and give him a rundown. I think he was embarrassed about it all and felt like he let me down by not joining the firm. Hell, Nick, life is to be lived, and I live every single minute of every day. I’m good to myself and to those I love. Hell, I’m even good to those I don’t love. Life is just too damn short to be unhappy. Hop in, kid. You hungry?”

  A plane passed overhead. Nick looked up to see the landing gear drop. He would have loved to learn to fly, but he’d never gotten around to taking flying lessons. He’d never gotten around to a lot of things he would like to do. His life had been horses and only horses.

  “No, not really. I’d like to see the office where . . . you know. Did you know about my dad’s affairs, Hatch?”

  “Yeah. He told me about them. It was like he needed a kind of absolution, and by telling me it made it all right. It didn’t, but that’s okay, too. One of my main rules in life is never to judge another.”

  Nick settled back in the comfortable seat of the Range Rover. “Nice country.” He found himself eager to see Santa Fe. He’d heard it was a quaint little town, catering to tourists looking for high-end jewelry, Western clothing, art, and furniture.

  “Yeah, it is. How’s the horse business?” Hatch cackled.

  “Pretty much as usual. Misty Blue dropped her foal night before last. I didn’t get a chance to see it but . . .” He sighed.

  Hatch slapped at his forehead. “That reminds me, I don’t think I ever told you, the partners, myself included, put down half a mil on Flyby at the Derby. With those crazy odds and your father’s hype, how could we go wrong? We did the same thing with the Preakness and the Belmont. We used the money to start your trust fund, kid. When your mother ran the Belmont the second time, we put down a cool mil and donated it to charity in your father’s name. We divvied it up among animal shelters where they don’t put the animals to sleep, battered women’s shelters, and children’s charities.”

  Nick’s jaw dropped. “Why?” he asked, awestruck. “Why didn’t you keep it, have some fun with it? At least a part of it.”

  Hatch bellowed with laughter. “We did have fun with it.” He glanced over at Nick. “What good is having money if you can’t do good with it? When we were in school none of us had a pot to piss in, and I mean that literally. One whole semester we lived on macaroni and cheese and mustard and ketchup sandwiches. The rich kids used to thumb their noses at our circumstances, but they damn well couldn’t thumb their noses at our brains. When you get, you gotta give back. The firm gives away more than it keeps. We do a lot of pro bono, too. I think that’s why we were put on this earth.”

  Nick screwed up his face and shook his head. “My dad said you were a crazy son of a bitch. He meant it as a compliment.”

  Hatch laughed, the car literally rocking beneath his solid body. “You look real miserable, kid. You wanna talk about it now?”

  Nick shook his head as he stared off into the distance, the hot, dry wind ruffling his dark hair. He focused on the scenery. He’d been born and raised in Kentucky. He hadn’t done much traveling, so the flora and fauna of New Mexico were completely foreign to him. The architecture, too. A lot of earth colors and red-tile roofs, nothing like Kentucky.

  They drove in companionable silence for several miles. Nick’s thoughts turned to his problem—his mother. He’d been thoughtless and irresponsible by not returning home on time. And he’d made it worse by getting married and telling her after the fact. But did his actions justify such a harsh punishment?

  “I need to talk to someone, Hatch.”

  “I’m as good as the next person. I shoot straight from the hip, Nick. Spit it out.”

  Nick sucked in his breath and then let it out in a long sigh. “It’s like this. I took a vacation, my first ever . . .”

  Twenty minutes later, Hatch swerved into the parking lot and screeched to a stop. “Great timing,” he grunted as he got out of the truck. “Let’s go inside where it’s cool and have a nice cold beer. I’ll show you around, let you see the suite of offices that were meant for your dad. When we started out we were in a two-room shack. This fine edifice,” he said, pointing to a large adobe-brick-and-glass building that was exquisitely landscaped, “is the result of a lot of hard work, brainpower, and believing in ourselves. Believe it or not, I do some of my best thinking while I’m talking. It’s an old Indian thing,” he said by way of explanation. “That’s some heavy-duty shit you just laid on me, kid. Come, I want you to meet Medusa. She runs this place.”

  Nick wasn’t sure what to make of Hatch. He hadn’t said a word the whole time he’d been telling him his sorry story and hadn’t said anything afterward either. It was as if he hadn’t heard a thing he’d said. Maybe his father was wrong, and Hatch wasn’t the right person to help him after all.

  “Dad told me about her. He said she was like Bode Jessup’s Mama Pearl. Once, when I was about eight and I was pestering him to tell me how many stars there were in the sky, he told me about Medusa and Mama Pearl. He said if he could have just one wish, it would be to have someone like that in his life. Grandpa, my dad’s father, loved him, but he was a hard man. I think Mom loved him, but she’s hard, too. He wasn’t a happy camper those last few years, but there was nothing anyone could do.”

  “Yeah, kid, he was unhappy during the last years of his life. We all tried to help, but happiness comes from within. There comes a point where you have to back off and hope for the best. All that other stuff, the outer trappings we think of as happiness, that’s just the frosting on the cake.

  “Medusa, I’d like you to meet . . .”

  “Hunter’s son. You look just like your father, young man,” Medusa said, holding out a birdlike hand with six silver bracelets on her tiny wrist.

  She wasn’t just a tiny woman, she was a miniature . . . of what, Nick didn’t know. Seventy-nine pounds tops. A tiny little lady with a smile as big as the world. Soft, brown eyes flecked with gold matched the lo
ng, thick braid that hung down to her waist. A cluster of tiny, silver bells hung from her ears. They hung around her neck and wrist, too. So, if they tinkled, how come he hadn’t heard a sound? He was about to look down to see if she had them on her ankles when she said, “No, I don’t wear ankle bracelets.”

  “You have to stop reading people’s minds, Medusa. You’re spooking this boy. One of these days you’re going to give us Indians a bad name.”

  “You look just the way your dad said you looked. He said you were prettier than the first foal born in the New Year.” Medusa smiled.

  “That was a high compliment coming from Dad,” Nick said softly.

  “I know that, Nicholas, and yes, at times we send up smoke signals. Mostly when I want to get Shunpus’s attention. He ignores the telephone, you see.”

  Jesus, he thought, she really can read my mind. Embarrassed, he concentrated on the bells she was wearing. Why didn’t they tinkle or give off some kind of sound?

  Medusa smiled. “They only tinkle when I want them to tinkle.”

  “Enough!” Hatch boomed.

  “Come with me, young man. I will show you your father’s offices. My best friend’s son here,” she said, pointing to Hatch, “has kept it like a shrine to what might have been. Would you like some coffee or a drink?”

  “I’d like a cold beer if it isn’t too much trouble.”

  Hatch’s right hand reached out. “Why don’t you just give me that folder you have and I’ll look at it while you’re perusing Hunt’s offices,” he said.

  Nick was awestruck by the lavishness that surrounded him. Everything looked and felt expensive. Hatch’s office was decorated in bright, primary colors with Native American art and artifacts covering the walls and furniture tops that carried through to the main lobby and various hallways.

  He moved in a trancelike state as he walked from room to room. In his father’s office he tried to picture his father behind the ornate mahogany desk, but the image wouldn’t appear behind his eyelids.

  “Your father wouldn’t have been happy here, Nicholas. These are just rooms. I wish Shunpus would let go of the past. For some reason he won’t allow himself to do that. Sometimes when he thinks I’m not looking, he comes in here and smokes a cigar and drinks a bottle of beer. I think he talks to your father’s spirit. We Indians do that, you know.”

  Nick turned around. “You seem to know everything, ma’am. Does . . . does my father answer him?”

  She smiled. Her smile was her best feature because it was so wide and beautiful and gentle at the same time. “I think Shunpus believes he does. That’s the main reason the firm has never taken on a new partner. There are spirits in here, Nicholas. Who they are, I do not know.”

  “Uh-huh,” Nick said uneasily.

  “Does the spirit world frighten you, Nicholas?”

  Nick whirled around to the sound of tinkling bells. He could feel his heart take on an extra beat. “Are you trying to tell me something?”

  Medusa smiled, but she didn’t respond to the question. “I will fetch your beer.”

  The offices were state-of-the-art, complete with the DVD wide-screen television, VCR, and a CD system. A bar was snuggled underneath the breakfront that housed the sound system, and it was stocked with every drink imaginable. Hell, he could have popped his own beer. Then again, if this was a shrine, maybe only Hatch was allowed to drink from the bar. For clients there was grape soda, snacks, potato chips, pretzels, and an assortment of See’s chocolates and gumdrops, all his father’s favorites.

  A huge round table held the latest law periodicals and a monstrous bowl of fresh fruit. He found himself grinning when he saw a copy of People magazine. Hatch did love Hollywood gossip, his father had said once. A sofa that looked comfortable enough to nap in and two deep, comfortable chairs flanked the round table. Nick tried them out, bouncing on each of them. Comfortable but not so comfortable clients would want to stay beyond a reasonable length of time. At six hundred bucks an hour, why would they even want to sit down? He laughed.

  Nick was still laughing when he walked the length and breadth of the new-looking office that still had his father’s name on the door. It was, according to the walk off, thirty feet by twenty-five feet. A monster room.

  He loved the rich paneling, the perfectly hung drapes, the matching fabric on the furniture that complemented the deep, chocolate carpet. The green plants added a human touch, as did the ornate and colorful fish tank in the corner. Hatch had deliberately put four fish in the tank. A tiny plaque glued to the side said, Bode, Hunt, Hatch, Hank. He stared at the fish swimming so gracefully in their tank.

  The bookshelves were elegant and matched the burnished paneling. It all smelled so new. So unused. Nick knew that had his father moved into these offices, he would have made a mess of it within minutes. A working mess that only he understood.

  Right then, right that very second, Nick wished with all his heart that he had gone to college as his father wanted him to do. “Go to college, son, get your degree, and then you can decide what you want to do.” He’d gone on to say there was a world beyond the farm and the horses. A world he needed to explore before he committed to a life of horse breeding.

  Nick squeezed his eyes shut as he tried to bring the memory into sharper focus. His father had looked so sad that day. His voice wasn’t like his usual voice either. It had been sad, too. Nick blinked the memory away.

  He stared ahead at a door carved into the paneling across the room. He was like a little kid when he stood before it, his hand on the brass knob. Inside was a bathroom so elegantly appointed he found himself sucking in his breath. A glass-enclosed shower, thick, thirsty-looking towels, a toilet raised off the floor. He bent over to peer under it before he gingerly sat down. The vanity basin with its walled mirror would be the envy of any woman. He preened in front of it, running his fingers through his dark curls. He looked down then and saw the yellow wall-to-wall carpeting. Hatch did love yellow according to his father. It had something to do with corn and reservations.

  A second door in the bathroom led to a closet that was bigger than his room and bath back at Blue Diamond Farms. Everything was built-in—shoe racks, drawers for everything imaginable. A chair, table, and lamp, and a small kitchen that was so perfectly camouflaged he did a double take. A hideout, for when his father didn’t want to sit in his office or maybe wished to hide from Hatch. The guy did have a wacky sense of humor. The same intricate phone system was on a long table with stacks and stacks of yellow legal pads. Cups of pencils, pens, trays of paper clips and rubber bands were neatly lined up. But it was the picture on the wall, blown up to ten times its original size, that made him double over and roll all the way across the room. Laughing and gasping for breath he finally managed to get up and salute the picture in the elegant gold frame. “Here’s to you, Miss Priceless,” Nick said smartly.

  The name Miss Priceless belonged to a duck. On a bet, Hatch had kept a duck egg between his thighs for five days. The morning of the sixth day, a baby duck broke its way through the shell and proclaimed Hatch as its mother. Hence the name Hatch. The story, the way his father had told it over and over, was one of Nick’s favorite memories.

  An identical picture was hanging in the attic back at the farm. His mother had refused to allow it to be hung in the house.

  “I miss you, Dad. Seeing all this makes me wonder if you made a mistake. In a way I can see you here, and in another way I can’t. Bet you never thought those guys would make a shrine to you. It must have been nice to have friends like that. Friends that would do all this in your memory. Guess you know I never had any real friends. No time. I feel close to you here for some reason. Back at the farm the feeling isn’t so strong.” Absentmindedly, Nick reached down for the beer that was sitting on a tiny white napkin. He hadn’t heard Medusa come in. Spooky.

  Beer in hand, Nick walked around to the back of the desk and sat down in his father’s chair. He wondered what it would feel like actually to be a lawyer sitting here
waiting for a client. “I can see you sitting here, Dad. I really can.”

  “It’s not too late, Nick. You can always go to college. Hatch and the others will help you. You wouldn’t have to sweat your ass off working and studying like we did. You could go first class, Nick. I bet if you went to school summers, you could ace the whole thing in half the time it took us.”

  Nick whirled around, his face a mask of panic. “Am I dreaming or did you just talk to me?”

  “What do you think? I like to mosey on over here every so often to see how the guys are doing. I get an itch in my git-along if you know what I mean.”

  “Yeah, yeah, Dad, I know what you mean. I miss you, Dad. Are you . . . you know, keeping up with what’s going on at the farm?”

  “Of course.”

  “Did I do wrong coming here? You said if I ever found myself needing a lawyer, this was the place to come.”

  “I did say that. Trust Hatch. I’m sorry I never told you about the trust fund those guys set up for you. I wanted to, but the time never seemed right. I want you to have it all, Nick, but I want you to earn it. You’ll know when the time is right to use it. The time has to be exactly right. Do you understand what I’m telling you?”

  “I understand, Dad. How much money are we talking about? Do you know?”

  “Of course I know. The last time I checked it was right around fifteen million. Hatch started it with Flyby’s winnings after taxes. Those guys are something else. The trust has been growing from the day you were born. Among other things, that big Indian has a streak of luck in him two miles long. Everything he touches turns to gold. He would have made an excellent stockbroker. By the way, that chair fits you perfectly. Better than it would ever have fit me.”

  Nick heard the tinkling bells and sat up. “I guess I fell asleep.”

  “I guess you did. Did you have a nice conversation with Hunter?”

  “Ma’am?”

  “Your father, Nicholas. Did you enjoy speaking with him?”