Something to Talk About. Joanne Rock
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don’t want to be the loser who can’t.”
“Son, if you think those girls see you as a loser, then you’re really missing the boat on understanding females.” Hell, even from a hundred yards away Robbie could still see his nieces’ matched heads turning around to look at the new kid on the block.
“It’s not about them.” Kiefer’s face flushed even deeper and Robbie figured if Amanda didn’t get riled about him hanging out with Kiefer this week, she’d definitely get mad when she found out Robbie had been sharing advice about women with a boy who hadn’t reached the age of interest in girls yet.
“Is anybody giving you a hard time at school?” Robbie would gladly put aside whatever awkwardness there might be with Amanda if Kiefer needed help with some snot-nosed bully.
“No.” Kiefer shook his head quickly and lightly twisted some of the horse’s mane around his finger. “But it’s tough being the new guy. I knew everyone at my last school. We surfed and skateboarded there. Here, everyone rides.”
Robbie considered the request, knowing he couldn’t do jack to teach the boy anything without his mother’s blessing. But Kiefer didn’t exaggerate. In Woodford County, the kids who didn’t own horses knew five other people who did. Growing up in this area meant you loved horses and basketball. It seemed genetically programmed.
“Have you asked your mother about some lessons?”
“She said I should join the stable’s riding club.” Kiefer looked up from his fascination with the horse’s mane. “But all the kids there already know how to ride.”
“Ah.” Robbie hated to wade into this any deeper, but then again, hadn’t he lived his whole life by jumping into challenging situations with both feet? “You think it might help if I talked to her about some private lessons?”
Kiefer’s face lit up so fast Robbie couldn’t help but smile even though he might have put himself on the warpath with Amanda.
“Would you?”
“I can’t promise how soon it will be, but I’ll try to track her down.”
“She has to go to the main house tonight,” Kiefer offered, hopping down from the fence. “I’m going to get my homework done in case she says we can start tomorrow.”
“Kief—”
The kid was honest-to-God already booking it up the path to his caregiver’s cabin, his backpack jouncing up and down as he ran. He turned and waved from about fifty yards away, his feet never slowing.
“Thanks, Robbie!” he shouted.
Something to Talk About danced sideways underneath him, impatient to begin while Robbie tried to figure out what he’d gotten himself into.
No doubt about it, he’d have to stop by the main house after work tonight. Kiefer Emory’s eyes had been too damn hopeful for Robbie to do anything but give it his best shot with Amanda. Kiefer didn’t know that Robbie’s least favorite place to hang out these days was the main house where his family congregated, united in their mistrust of him.
How fitting that prickly Amanda would be joining their ranks.
Since he’d moved out of the Preston family residence that week without a word to anyone, the evening promised to be interesting.
Chapter Three
Crap.
Robbie might have turned around before he got to the door of the main house if it hadn’t been for his memory of Kiefer’s face today. He knew what it was like to want to fit in so badly—a feeling he’d wrestled with where his brothers were concerned all his life. But he hadn’t expected to show up at the house while his family was entertaining. The cars in the driveway could have been the showroom for a high-end dealership or the VIP parking lot at Saratoga or Keeneland. His parents’ friends tended to be as wealthy as they were and could afford horses even more expensive than their cars—and that was saying something.
“Mister Robbie, we’ve been hoping you would join us.” Betsy Fuller, the Prestons’ household manager, held the door of the sprawling redbrick house wide, her simple dress more that of a maid than of a woman earning the fat salary Robbie knew she collected for running a property bigger than some country clubs.
It was part of Betsy’s charm that she’d never commented on family politics or Robbie’s long absences. She had open arms and extra place settings for anyone who showed up on the doorstep and it was one of the many reasons everyone adored her.
“I didn’t know they were entertaining tonight or I wouldn’t have shown up in work clothes.” Beyond Betsy, Robbie could see the candles lit throughout the downstairs, giving the place a festive look despite the heavy dark wood of the moldings and banisters, the rich burgundies and reds of the upholstered furniture. He knew all the guests would be out having cocktails on the veranda before dinner and he planned to make sure he avoided the family at all costs.
“If you hurry, you can change before they sit down.” She checked her watch to make sure and then winked at him. “I can usually talk Judge Parker into an extra bourbon before dinner.”
“Thanks, but I can’t stay. I just came to speak to Amanda Emory if she’s here.” He stepped deeper into the front hall, peering around as if she might come into view any second. “Have you met the new office manager?”
“Of course I have.” Betsy appeared mightily offended at the idea that she would ever be unaware of family business. “She’s out back with the family for cocktails, son. Now, why don’t you go upstairs and get dressed?”
Robbie had left some clothes here when he’d moved out earlier in the week, so technically, he could make an appearance. But damn it, he wasn’t going to play the family game of pretending he belonged here when they’d made it all too clear to him that he wasn’t good enough to take on a big role at Quest.
“No thanks.” He shook his head, regretting more than anything that he had to disappoint Betsy. She’d never treated him any differently than anyone else in the family. “Would you mind just letting her know that I’m here if I promise to have her back before you move into the dining room?”
If Betsy had an opinion on that, she kept it to herself, settling for a quick nod.
“I’ll pass along the message.”
She hurried off through the house while Robbie waited out front, the strains of a violin mingling with laughter from the veranda. His eyes went to the portraits of horses lining the walls. In other rooms, there were photographs and paintings of people. But here in the foyer there were horses dating back to Hugh Preston’s earliest days at Aqueduct Racetrack in Queens where he’d first studied horses and made his earliest bets. There was a photo of Hugh with Clare’s Quest, the little filly who’d brought his first big win.
Marching across the hunter-green walls were paintings of Old Barley, the stallion that had given Hugh a win at Saratoga to finance the family’s move to Kentucky, followed by more horses that had all added to a family fortune spread across two continents. There weren’t many portraits of horses from Robbie’s cousins’ farm in Hunter Valley, Australia, but there were a few. He looked at them now instead of thinking about Amanda Emory’s potential reaction to his visit.
“Robbie?”
Her voice surprised him, even though he’d been expecting her.
He turned to find a far more sophisticated woman than he remembered. Her pretty dark hair and eyes were the same, but the outfit she wore… Damn it, he had no business taking in the soft curves of her slender frame, but the simple strapless blue cocktail dress she wore seemed to demand it. She’d thrown a yellow lace shawl around her shoulders, but it didn’t hide much of anything. Another hint of lace peeked out below the dress’s knee-length hem, accentuating her legs and drawing his gaze much too low.
Hell.
“Sorry to