Courting Disaster. Kathleen O'Reilly
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clucked her tongue. “And now Uncle Hugh’s been driven to gambling…”
Melanie snorted inelegantly, a sound echoed by the mare behind her. “Grandpa isn’t driven to anything he doesn’t want to do. Elizabeth, do you remember when you were in bad financial straits and needed help? I tried to help, and what did you tell me?”
“I didn’t say anything,” lied Elizabeth.
Melanie glared, and Elizabeth felt a twinge of remorse. So Elizabeth repeated her words in a quiet whisper. “I said I didn’t want charity, not from my family, not from anybody. But this is different.”
Melanie nodded, in a completely annoying fashion. “And you made it all on your own, didn’t you?”
“Yes,” answered Elizabeth, wishing Melanie didn’t have to be so…right.
“So, why do you think the Prestons are any different?”
The Prestons. Elizabeth sighed, because there was that dividing line again, like the Mason-Dixon line, the Great Wall of China or the Berlin Wall, before they tore it down. The Prestons were her family, God bless ’em. Melanie’s momma and Elizabeth’s momma were sisters, but Elizabeth and Diane weren’t part of the inner circle. It wasn’t something that was rude or snooty or mean-spirited at all, but geographical instead. The Prestons lived right outside Lexington, and Elizabeth had grown up in Tennessee. Between the mad dash from one singing gig to another, guitar and singing lessons, and the odd jobs to pay the bills, it was only during the holidays that Elizabeth spent time with her cousins, and sometimes, on a rare golden occasion, a whole summer week.
Those hot summer days were the best, riding horses until she could barely walk, eating watermelon on the porch, Brent and Andrew trying to outwrestle each other, and giggling with Melanie over Robbie’s goofy little-brother antics. On those days, Elizabeth had watched her cousins with greedy eyes. She wanted that warm closeness of the Prestons. That after-dinner moment when two thousand conversations were all going on at once, and it didn’t really matter that nobody could hear a word. The Preston family kept together through thick and thin and that was all that counted.
Staying with the Prestons had once again reminded Elizabeth of what she had missed growing up. The grass was always greener, especially in Kentucky. She blew out a wistful breath.
A few feet away, the two horses were grazing under the scraggly canopies of the bur oaks that dotted the countryside. Melanie’s mount, Something to Talk About—now that was a true character. The gray was showing off and prancing around, as if he just knew people were watching.
Horses were the Prestons’ lifeblood, and now that blood was slowly being squeezed off. If the Prestons truly thought Elizabeth was just going to pack up her marbles and go home, they had another think coming.
“I have the means, you know it, and y’all are family.”
Furiously Melanie shook her head, short blond waves flying from the force. “No. I think it’s nice of you to offer, Elizabeth, but we’re not angling for handouts. We’re not that desperate yet. I don’t want to hear another word.”
“I want to help,” Elizabeth insisted.
“Elizabeth, you sing. You don’t know anything about horses or stables or financial matters. You help out by being here. Let somebody else take care of the rest.”
Elizabeth sighed, throwing a piece of grass at her cousin, wishing it had magical powers that could make her family see sense, instead of having Melanie look at her as though she were some space alien come down from Planet Helpless.
“I’m capable of doing a whole lot more,” she said, but her cousin went right on talking, as if Elizabeth hadn’t said a word.
“Yeah, like getting into car wrecks. I heard about your accident in front of the house. At first, I didn’t believe it was you. I mean, it’s not like you drive fast enough to do any damage to anybody, but then they said Demetri ran into you.” Melanie started to laugh, and Elizabeth could see no humor in this situation and thought it was downright…tacky to laugh at someone who had suffered such a tragic misfortune.
“It’s no cause for laughing, Melanie,” she answered, wounded, wounded to the quick.
“You don’t know,” answered her cousin, gasping between giggles.
“What don’t I know?”
“Demetri Lucas. He’s a race-car driver.”
Demetri Lucas. Race-car driver.
Oh, she didn’t want to know his name. She preferred to keep him as the hot-looking driver with the heavy hands and the lead foot.
A race-car driver, and didn’t that beat all? Elizabeth didn’t like car-racing. Cars were tools, a means to get from one place to another, not some durn-fool bleacher sport that took away good Sunday-afternoon television programming. “Driving cars. Now isn’t that the most useless pastime ever? I mean, why in heaven’s name does anyone want to zoom around that track, flying round and round, wheeling around the corners, and oh, Lord, I’m making myself queasy just thinking about it.”
Melanie stopped her giggles and her eyes got that sly little gleam that indicated she wanted to pry. “So what’d you think?”
“I didn’t think anything,” Elizabeth answered, lying through her teeth. “What’s there to think?”
“Elizabeth, you’re not blind.”
“And I’m not dumb, neither.”
Melanie nodded once, in that smug, supercilious way of people who know they’ve discovered the truth when someone doesn’t want them to discover the truth, because sometimes the truth is better left undiscovered. “He’s hot.”
“If you like that sort of look,” answered Elizabeth, idly strumming her fingers through the grass, because she didn’t usually go for the dark-and-dangerous look in men. Her normal type was clean-cut and upstanding. Men who took “no” for an answer and didn’t quibble.
“Every woman likes that sort of look.”
Elizabeth looked up and arched a brow, smug and supercilious, too. “Even you?”
“Oh, no.”
“Still nursing a hurt?” she asked, because Melanie had fallen for the wrong sort once. It seemed like every woman was destined to be a fool once.
Melanie shook her head. “Older and wiser, just like you, I bet. Are you still nursing a hurt?”
There was forgiveness, and then there was spotted-dog stupid. Elizabeth blew out a breath. She had been snookered once—and by the man who sired her—but now she was older and wiser, too.
Sadly she checked her watch and sighed. Playtime was over. She walked over to her mount, leaves snapping under her feet. Gently she rubbed the velvety nose, letting the mare know that even though she wasn’t as fast as the colt, she was still special to Elizabeth—especially since she was taking her back over the ridge to the stables.
“Courtin’ Cristy, you’re a nice lady, aren’t you?” she crooned, the horse neighing softly.
Melanie nodded. “She is, too. Not a mean bone in her body.”
“She should have a nicer name. Flower or Buttercup, with those flirty eyelashes of hers.”
Melanie shot Elizabeth a telling look. “I don’t name them. I just ride them. And speaking of which, I do have a job to do.”
Elizabeth took a last look at the long, sweeping valley. “Don’t remind me. I’ve got a meeting in the city tonight. Album covers. You would not believe all the hoop-di-do that goes into deciding what goes on a cover. I could tell you stories that would curl your hair.”
“You’re going to leave? I thought you were staying at the house until after the wedding?”
“I’ll