Chance Meeting (2 page)

“Gold Crest Farm,” Ty replied automatically, realizing a second too late that Lizzie was teasing, as if she weren’t perfectly aware he was still riding with that private stable in Southampton, even though the latest buzz was that Steve Sheppard had recently bought a farm in Bridgehampton, New York. She wondered whether he was planning to open a stable of his own soon. But Ty knew she’d never get the chance to ask him.

She knew it; the trouble was, Lizzie didn’t.

“For Pete’s sake, Lizzie, I hope you know this is not going to work. What’ve you been watching lately?

Marathons of
Miami Vice?
’Lose’ Sam, ‘shake’ him off? We’re setting ourselves up for a major grounding, and I’m not even going to mention how embarrassing it’s going to be when Sam catches us.”

Somehow, despite her objections, Ty found her feet moving in the direction of the bright blue row of plastic portable toilets. Lizzie had that kind of effect on people.

“Yeah, well, you’ll never know until you try, will ya?” Lizzie shot her a wicked I-dare-you smile and then, in a pathetic imitation of Groucho Marx, wiggled her strawberry-blond eyebrows exaggeratedly. “You know, Ty, sometimes a girl’s gotta do what a girl’s gotta do.”

Lizzie was totally ridiculous. Totally.

Laughter abruptly bubbled up inside Ty and erupted. She stood, clutching her sides, laughing hard enough that tears trickled from the corners of her eyes. Her braces flashed in the bright sunshine as she continued to laugh, heading off toward the toilets. This was just another reason she loved Lizzie Osborne more than anyone else in the whole world.

Lizzie’s incredible zest for life drew everyone in, Ty included. It enabled Ty to imagine that she, too, could do wild and stupid things, like any kid. Her life didn’t have to be perfect, deadly boring, something from the sterile pages of
Town and Country.

Lizzie was the best friend she could ever have. Had been, since that first day in third grade when Ty had come to the private girls’ school as a new student. It was a class in which all the girls had been together since kindergarten. Out of the seventeen pupils seated behind their plastic and metallic desks, Lizzie had been the only one to smile at her. She’d won Ty’s heart and steadfast loyalty when, in the middle of second period, while their teacher droned on about a multiplication problem Ty had already finished and checked by herself, Lizzie swiveled around in her chair and whispered to Ty, asking if she wanted to play jacks at recess. At Ty’s shy nod, she’d grinned and uttered, “Great!” loudly enough to receive a warning from the teacher.

When the bell rang for dismissal at the end of that first school day, the girls from her class watched the way hawks would a field mouse as Ty was greeted by a solidly built, forbidding man who was clearly much too young to be her father—they distinctly heard him address Ty as “Miss Ty“—standing beside a chauffeurdriven Rolls-Royce. The girls also noted the significant absence of a mommy or a nanny waiting to greet the new kid; they’d hung around just so they could peer into the open doors of the Rolls, the tinted windows previously having blocked their view. Every single suspicion they’d nourished throughout the day was confirmed. Ty was different. Ranks closed, excluding her from friendships or cliques. Given time, Ty might have been able to win those other girls over by inviting them to her house, but her father wouldn’t permit it. It had taken considerable courage to screw up her nerve to ask her father again and again over the following weeks. He never provided Ty with a satisfactory answer. Just: it was impossible, and she shouldn’t bother him right now, anyway, because he had some important papers to read, because he was waiting for a conference call or had an urgent meeting at the office, or because the helicopter was ready to take him to the airport where his private jet waited. Ty stopped asking, realizing her father’s response would never change. But she thought about it a long time, turning the problem over in her mind, and came to the conclusion that her father must not believe the other girls at her school were good enough for her. Even then, at age eight, Ty understood that
good
enough
meant, according to her father, having enough money. As Ty came to understand the extent of her father’s vast wealth, she realized, too, that if her father truly felt that way, then only about sixty families in the entire world were
good enough
to be considered friends of Tyler Stannard’s daughter. And not one of those other families had a daughter in Ty’s third-grade class. Luckily for Ty, Lizzie had never cared about any of that. She’d never been put off by the large, shiny black car that pulled up in front of the school steps every afternoon at dismissal. She didn’t think it unusual or creepy that Ty was never picked up by a family member. Nor did she appear offended or become standoffish when months passed and Ty didn’t invite her over after school or accept any of the invitations Lizzie herself extended. Day after day, Lizzie simply waved good-bye to her best friend, calling out cheerfully, “See ya tomorrow, Ty,” before skipping down the street, her mother’s hand clasping hers.

In the wake of her father’s refusal, Ty turned to Sam Brody, her bodyguard. It took quite a bit of hard campaigning before she persuaded him to discuss with Lizzie’s mother the possibility of an afternoon’s outing for the two girls.

Or perhaps it was eight-year-old Ty’s visible loneliness, her poignant need for companionship, which ultimately swayed Sam. Throughout that period, he watched the pattern unfold. Ty waving good-bye to the only girl who called out to her. Ty waiting beside the Rolls as Lizzie skipped down the street until at last she turned the corner and was out of sight. Only then would Ty reluctantly slide into the darkened leather and handrubbed mahogany splendor of the car’s interior. After he’d witnessed this daily drama repeat itself one too many times, Sam sided with Ty and became her ally. Willingly risking the wrath of

Tyler Stannard, should he discover what had transpired without his express permission, all so that Ty could spend some afternoons with her best friend, eating popcorn, working on homework together, and laughing hysterically over nothing at all.

Ty knew she owed Sam a lot, for he had recognized how important it was to have a friend who liked her for herself, rather than because she was Tyler Stannard’s only child. But the plan Lizzie was concocting right now was an entirely different matter. That Sam understood her need for friendship didn’t mean he was about to let her run loose over the Lake Placid show grounds, chasing after Steve Sheppard like some deranged fan.

Nevertheless, she was going to do it. Somehow, she’d reached the point where she had to test the strength of the gilded cage her father had constructed around her. Her father, the real estate king, who excelled at building things. She wanted to see whether she could break free, if only for a little while. Surely Sam wouldn’t be too angry.

Quickly, before she lost her nerve, Ty grabbed the metal handle on the molded plastic door of the portable toilet, resisting the urge to glance over her shoulder and see how far back Sam was standing, waiting. She opened the door wide, moving her body behind it so that she was blocked from view.
Yuck!
The stench of cherry-scented cleanser liberally mixed with fermenting urine assaulted her nostrils, about a hundred times more awful in this heat. She held her breath and pulled the door after her. Praying that Sam’s eyes had strayed momentarily as she’d stepped inside, she abruptly reopened the door, slipped out from behind it, and dashed around the back of the tall, rectangular toilet. Lizzie was already there, flushed with excitement.

“Quick, hurry! I saw which way they went!”

“This is crazy!”

“Yeah, isn’t it fun?” Lizzie grabbed Ty’s hand. Giggling, breathless adolescents, the two girls ran, weaving in and out of the tall metal alleyways of the parked vans.

2

“
U
h, Allegra, could you please hold on a minute . . .” Steve’s hands pulled at Allegra Palmer’s elbows, in the hopes of loosening her manacle hold. He stepped back, creating as much space as he could between himself and Allegra’s hungry mouth.

What was up with these rich girls? Allegra had pounced on him as soon as they reached the van. It felt as if she’d smeared crazy glue on top of her lip gloss. To make things worse, she had arms like an octopus on amphetamines. It was a bit scary, actually. He didn’t really want to be devoured in the back of a horse van, at least not by Allegra Palmer.

Christ, his pop had warned him to steer clear of rich men’s daughters. Especially if he happened to be working for the rich man. Those girls were always more trouble than they were worth. Even if Steve didn’t always take it, Pop’s advice was worth listening to. In this instance, Steve had recognized the wisdom of his father’s words and had been keeping a safe distance from Allegra for some time. Unfortunately, since returning home for summer vacation from her first year away at college, Allegra seemed even less perceptive than before she’d left. She refused to understand his polite refusals and gentle rejections for what they truly were: a complete lack of interest. It was a real problem. How did one come right out and tell the daughter of the man who was giving Steve a quarter-of-a-million-dollar horse to ride that she was becoming a royal pain in the butt and that all that suction-cup kissing and mad grinding of her body wasn’t quite the turn-on she imagined?

Steve hadn’t yet figured out the answer to that one.

Hell, he didn’t want to hurt her feelings. She wasn’t so bad, though definitely too pushy. And oversexed to boot. Generally, Steve didn’t mind oversexed. But he liked to be the one to choose. At this point he was feeling like a hunted animal, with Allegra hauling around an arsenal that would do Rambo proud. And now she was at it again. Relentless. She’d taken advantage of his momentary distraction to wiggle her way closer, her breath all catchy, her fingers moving up the sides of his polo shirt. She was planting little kisses along his jaw, her hands reaching around his neck, pulling his mouth down to hers. He stiffened, holding his neck rigid, but to his chagrin, Steve realized she’d backed him up against the inside of the van. Dear God, she was trying to have her way with him.

A burst of high-pitched giggles saved him. His only thought,
hallelujah!
Allegra heard them, too, spinning around to locate the source of uncontrolled mirth, no doubt ready to give someone utter hell. Two girls stood on the wooden ramp leading up to the van. Framed by the sun, only their silhouettes were distinct. Steve didn’t know whether he knew them; he was just damn glad they were there, for whatever reason. Allegra, however, didn’t share his point of view.

“What are you doing here?” she demanded shrilly. “Don’t you know this is private property? Who do you think you are, trespassing like this?”

Since first laying eyes on Steve Sheppard, Allegra had been making her attraction for him crystal clear. He was a real catch. All the girls in her set were after him. He was so handsome, with those amazingly bright blue eyes. And she loved how that strong jaw ended in a square chin; his lips curling so easily into a sexy grin. And then there was his thick golden hair. The fact that he’d recently cut it so it was cropped close to his head didn’t deter Allegra from fantasizing about running her fingers through it. Thoughts of Steve occupied Allegra for hours at a time.

A few months ago, she’d been flipping through a magazine and had come across photographs taken of Paul Newman when he’d been in his twenties. She’d been completely bowled over. Steve Sheppard could have stood as his double. And if that weren’t enough to set a woman’s pulse fluttering, Steve had a Kentucky accent and a dimple when he smiled that could cause a total meltdown. An entire year had come and gone, with Allegra virtually throwing herself at him. To no avail. It was supremely frustrating, the way Steve constantly brushed her off and avoided her. Today, however, represented a major breakthrough, finally getting him alone for long enough to prove just how exciting a woman she could be. She’d do anything for him, she wanted him so bad. Now two idiotic kids had burst in, ruining everything. Allegra wanted to spit, she was so mad.

At her angry questioning, one of the girls had frozen. The other seemed incapable of controlling her fit of giggles.

Actually, Ty hadn’t been laughing at all, but as her hand was clamped over her mouth, neither Steve Sheppard nor Allegra Palmer could tell. Ty had instinctively tried to hide her expression of astonishment, embarrassment, and, worst of all, envy. She was fourteen and had never in her whole life witnessed two people in the midst of an intimate embrace. Sure, she’d seen stuff happen in movies and on TV, but that was nothing like seeing the real thing. She was still somewhat stunned, dazedly wondering whether she, too, would behave that way, if given the chance—would she plaster herself recklessly against the body of a man, kissing and kissing and kissing? Her eyes strayed to Steve Sheppard, and she blushed hotter than the ovenlike air around her.

Allegra didn’t like being ignored. These obnoxious little twits still hadn’t answered her, and she hadn’t succeeded in scaring them away, either.