Kentucky Rich (9 page)

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Authors: Fern Michaels

BOOK: Kentucky Rich
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She couldn't do a thing but watch as the stallion raced across the fields, the colt a furlong ahead of him. She screamed for them to come back as she fought to control her anger.
She jerked to wakefulness instantly, aware that she'd just had a horrible nightmare. She rolled over in the darkness only to find herself pulled upright at the same moment the lamp on her nightstand came to life. “Emmie, what's wrong? Are you sick? What?”
The angels are here again. They're going to take Mr. Jess. They said Maud needs him.
“Emmie, you just had a bad dream. Come on, I'll take you back to bed. I'll stay with you till you fall asleep. It's been a bad day for all of us,” Nealy said. “I had a bad dream myself.”
No. It's not a dream, Mama. They're waiting for you. They said they can't take him till you get there. Hurry, Mama, they're waiting. We need to say good-bye to Mr. Jess. I went into his room. They came to get me, Mama. They woke me up.
Nealy sprinted down the hall to Maud's old room. The door was open, the lamps glowing softly. Jess was sleeping quietly in his bed. She heaved a sigh of relief. “See, honey, Mr. Jess is sleeping. Shhhh, we don't want to wake him.”
Emmie tugged at her mother's sleeve and then pointed upward to a beautiful golden glow directly over her head. Nealy sucked in her breath as she looked at first one lamp and then the other. There was no way either lamp could create the kind of glow she was seeing. She started to shake and shiver at the same time.
See, Mama. Aren't they pretty? Hurry, we have to say good-bye.
Nealy ran over to the bed and shook Jess's shoulder. When there was no response she shook him harder. Her fingers went to the pulse in his neck. Thin and thready, barely there. “Wake up, Jess. Oh, God, Jess, wake up. Please wake up.”
Say good-bye, say good-bye! He can hear you, Mama. They have him, Mama. He's laughing at me. He's waving good-bye. Look, Mama, he blew us each a kiss. Look, there's Miss Maud; her hand is stretching out to touch his. Good-bye, Mr. Jess.
“Good-bye, Jess,” Nealy wailed as she crumpled to the floor. “Emmie, go downstairs and fetch Carmela.”
From somewhere off in the distance Nealy swore she could hear the words, “Good-bye dear Nealy, good-bye.”
It was a small, private funeral, with just close friends and family. Maud and Jess were laid to rest alongside Maud's parents in the family cemetery, which was opposite the stallion cemetery. Four of Blue Diamond Farms' prize stallions rested there.
Nealy had been here with Maud and Jess to bury Wind Drinker, one of the farm's champion stallions, who had died at the grand old age of thirty. Maud said it was the most peaceful place on the farm. Her father and his father before him had planted oak trees that were as big and round at the base as the bourbon vats Kentucky was known for. Moss dangled from the branches, creating a shady haven for visitors. Iron benches fit snugly around the trees, affording those resting there a clear view of the wildflowers that bloomed in the spring and summer. Now, though, it was barren and dismal.
It would be up to Nealy to order the simple crosses to go over the graves. She would have to ask the stonemason to make sure they were the same as those of Maud's mother and father. Suddenly she wanted to run and hide from the world. She couldn't do that. She had responsibilities, and she had promises to keep. Tears rolled down her cheeks. She made no effort to stop them.
Emmie reached for her hand and used her left hand to point upward. Nealy raised her tear-filled eyes. The November sunshine was so bright she had to shield her eyes to peer through the trees. At the top of the tree line she thought she saw a wide band of gold that stretched from one end of the cemetery to the other. She looked down at her daughter.
It's the angels, Mama. A lot of them. There's one for you and one for me. They're our guardian angels. Can you see them, Mama?
“I wish I could, honey, but I can't. I can see the light, but that's all. Can you see Maud or Jess?” she whispered.
No, just the angels. They only came to tell us everything is all right and not to be sad.
“They told you that, Emmie?”
No, I can read their thoughts, and they can read mine. You believe me, don't you, Mama?
Did she? Was it wishful thinking on Emmie's part, or was it her way of coping with the loss of two people she loved so dearly? Yet, she'd seen the strange light twice. “Yes, honey, I believe you.”
When Nealy walked away from the cemetery, her eyes were dry. In her heart she knew Maud was in a better place, free of pain and misery, and Jess was with her. She had to accept it and move on from there. She thought about Carmela and some of the employees' wives back at the house, setting out food. She thought it barbaric that food and bourbon would be served after a funeral, but what did she know? She would suffer through it, and somehow she would manage. Right now, though, she needed to do something. “Emmie, go up to the house and see if you can help Carmela. I'll be up shortly.” The little girl nodded and scampered off in the direction of the house.
Nealy headed for one of the old barns. She stood looking at it for a long time before she made her way to the side door and opened it. Inside it was dry and moldy-smelling. Cobwebs and all manner of rodent life lived inside, she was sure of it. There was no electricity, but she could see the outline of her father's truck. Whatever had been wrong with it that day so long ago was still wrong. The tires were flat now, and it was more rusty than ever. It wasn't the truck itself she was interested in but the bucket in the back of it. She picked her way carefully through the gloom and peered inside. The dirt was still in the bucket. SunStar dirt.
So many times she'd wanted to ask Emmie if she remembered that long-ago day when they left SunStar, but she never had. She was always afraid to bring it up for fear Emmie might not have remembered, and then her words would trigger that hateful day. Yet she remembered Pyne giving her the penny. How strange. She remembered that clearly, and that was all that was necessary. She ran her hands through the dirt and felt surprised when she didn't feel any emotion at all. It was dirt. Pure and simple. She dusted off her hands and left the old barn. She didn't look back.
 
 
 
His name was Will Jenkins and he was Maud and Jess's attorney. She'd met him only once, years ago. His brother Lawrence Jenkins had handled the legal adoption. She hadn't known him well either.
“Would you care for some coffee, Mr. Jenkins?” Nealy said, ushering the old attorney into the library.
“I don't much care for coffee, but if you were to offer me some bourbon I would be amenable to that.”
“Make yourself comfortable. I'll fetch it. I don't know much about Maud's personal business, so I'm afraid I won't be of much help. However, I know the business records inside and outside. I can bring those books to you if you want them.”
“That won't be necessary. The bourbon is all I need. Don't actually need it. Want is more like it. Don't bother with the ice.” He was gruff and as taciturn as Jess. Cut from the same cloth, Maud would have said.
Nealy set the squat glass in front of the attorney and watched as he took a healthy swallow before setting it back on Maud's desk.
“Do you know why I'm here, Nealy?”
“Not really. I suppose it has something to do with the farm and Maud's and Jess's deaths. The doctor said he would bring the death certificates by later on in the week. I can bring them in to your office if you need them.”
“I'm here to read you Maud and Jess's will. Are you familiar with it?”
“No, sir, I'm not. I didn't even know they had wills.”
“They did. Since Maud died first, she left everything to her husband. Jess in turn left everything to you and Emmie. That's the bulk of it. You and your daughter are the legal heirs. There are bequests to Carmela and some of the employees. There are several foundations and trusts, but we can go into that another day. Everything here now belongs to you. This house, all the horses, everything. Everything is substantial.” Nealy stared at him blankly.
“Substantial,” the attorney repeated. Nealy continued to stare at him.
“What that means is you are a very wealthy woman. And so is your daughter. You really stepped into it, young lady, when they adopted you.”
Nealy bristled. “I don't think I like what you're implying, Mr. Jenkins. I didn't ask to be adopted. Maud wanted to do it, and so did Jess. It didn't matter to me. I would have loved them both no matter what. Maybe you had better clarify just exactly what substantial means.” She thought back to the conversation she'd had with Jess right after Maud had her stroke. Everything was to come to her and Emmie was what he'd said.
“Try this one on for size, young lady. How does forty-seven million sound?”
Nealy grew light-headed. “Dollars?”
“Dollars,” the attorney said smugly. “There's almost that amount again in the trusts and foundations. And that's after estate taxes are paid. You are one very lucky lady. I need you to sign some papers.”
“Not today, Mr. Jenkins. Leave them. I'll look them over and sign them when I'm ready to sign them. I'm in no hurry.”
“Probate . . .”
“I don't know what that is. Right now I don't care what it is. I don't want to be bothered with this right now. Everything is going to stay the same even if I do sign those papers, so there is no rush. I want to make sure I understand everything.”
“Wages, salaries . . .”
“I have a power of attorney where the business is concerned. There's enough money in the account to pay wages for five years. I'll see you out. I'll call you or drop off the papers when I get a chance.”
“This is highly irregular,” the old man squawked, his glasses jiggling on his pointy nose.
“Irregular or not, that's the way it is.”
“Don't you want the money?”
“Not really. All I ever wanted was for Maud and Jess to love me, and they did. Anything else is a bonus. No, I really don't care about it. Good-bye Mr. Jenkins,” Nealy said, holding the door open. She slammed it shut the minute the attorney was out on the big front porch.
Nealy leaned against the door. “It's true, Maud,” she whispered. “All I wanted was for you and Jess to love me and Emmie. You didn't have to do all this. You really didn't.”
She couldn't begin to imagine what the future held in store for her and her daughter.
8
Nealy jammed her hands into the pockets of her shearling jacket as she trudged across the frozen ground. She removed her right hand a second later to swipe at the tears rolling down her cheeks. Today was the one-year anniversary of Maud's and Jess's deaths. On top of that there was a full moon, and the horses were restless. And if that wasn't bad enough, a freak, freezing cold front had rolled across the entire state of Kentucky and was supposed to last another five days. Emmie was acting strange of late, and nothing in her own life seemed to be going right, either.
Things simply weren't working out. The first months after Maud's and Jess's deaths had been spent in shock. She'd not changed her routine, had done everything by rote, and then, when reality set in, had toughened up and tightened the reins on the employees. They resented her. She'd heard all the rumors, thanks to Wylie Carney and his father, Jack. Jack referred to her as the twit who stepped into the golden pile of horse shit. Wylie was insolent and hateful. He showed up for work when and if he felt like it. He was now on his third warning. One more false move, and she would have to exercise her authority and show him the road. But if she did that, Jack Carney would come down hard on her. He'd rally the other employees, and then she would have a revolt on her hands. Jess had had such faith in the man—faith she had yet to see justified. All she knew was that he was overpaid and underworked and condoned his son's bad behavior. It would all come to a head first thing in the morning. That meant there would be no sleep for her tonight.
Thanksgiving be damned. She thought about the dinner Carmela was preparing for Emmie and herself. She'd be lucky if she could force down a dinner roll. If only there was someone she could talk to, someone she could confide in, someone who would have the answers to all her questions; but there was no one. She was on her own.
She'd wanted to continue to be one of them, but it hadn't worked. It didn't matter that in her heart and mind she felt she knew more than they did. It didn't matter that she worked just as hard, maybe harder than any of the others. She was the stranger who had wandered in and not only stayed but ended up owning one of the most lucrative, most prestigious horse farms in the state of Kentucky.
There wasn't one man whom she could call friend or ally except maybe Danny Clay, and if Jack Carney rallied the men and there was a walkout, where would he stand? She had to admit she didn't know.
She saw her daughter running toward her, heard the horn on the minibus that belonged to the church signaling a pupil had been discharged from Bible class. She knew something was wrong by the way Emmie was running. There were tears on her daughter's cheeks. Emmie never cried.
“Whoa. Easy, Emmie. What's wrong?”
They came to get Buddy at church,
she signed.
His parents got killed. A big truck hit their horse van. It killed Blue Boy, too. You have to get Buddy and bring him here. Can you do that, Mama? It's Thanksgiving.
Nealy cringed. “Let's go into the house where it's warm so we can talk. I'll call the house. Of course we can bring him here. Who told you this, Emmie?”
Mrs. Adler. She was crying. The police called her. Hurry and call, Mama.
Nealy shrugged out of her jacket and hung it on the rack by the back door next to Maud's plaid lumberjack coat and Jess's denim jacket. She hadn't been able to bring herself to discard either garment. She probably never would.
Nealy dialed the number for the Owens farm and waited until the housekeeper picked up. She explained who she was and offered to pick Buddy up so he could be with Emmie. When she hung up the phone she said, “Mrs. Carpenter said it's okay to bring Buddy here. His uncle is on his way, but he lives in Ohio, so he probably won't get here till tomorrow. That's all I know, Emmie.”
Will he go away, Mama? Will they take Buddy away? Don't let them do that, Mama. Buddy's my friend. They won't want him because he can't hear. You want him, don't you, Mama? Why does everybody go away? Please, Mama.
“Honey, Buddy's family will make the decisions. I don't have any authority to . . . to . . . I can ask, but that's all I can do. Put your jacket back on and we'll drive over to the Owens farm and get him. Carmela, we're going to have another guest for dinner. Will you get one of the rooms ready for Buddy?” The housekeeper nodded.
 
 
Nealy stood outside the kitchen door, her heart thumping in her chest. Bitter cold air swirled about her. She was glad she'd put on long johns under her jeans. Her breathing was ragged, great puffs of air escaping her lips as she ran to the barns. Inside she stomped her feet, grateful for the warmth. She inhaled deeply before she felt her shoulders relax. Her watch told her it was exactly five o'clock, the time of day when the farm came alive. She thought about the children sleeping in the house. She thought about the tearful dinner the night before, and how Buddy had clung to Emmie for comfort. She squared her shoulders as she walked the length of the stallion barn. She nodded to Danny Clay and the other grooms before she checked on Stardancer. She pulled a wrinkled apple out of her pocket and held it out. “It won't be long now, Dancer. Come January you are going to be a proud daddy. Things are looking good. Dr. Franklin doesn't anticipate any problems.” The stallion nuzzled Nealy's neck and daintily pawed the ground. “This is not going to be a good morning. I'll be back a little later and work you myself.” The stallion snorted, picking up on her anxiety. “Behave yourself now till I get back,” Nealy whispered.
“It's five-fifteen, Danny! Get me Wylie's time sheet. Don't even think about giving me an argument.” The minute the big man slapped the time sheet into her hand, Nealy said, “I'm going up to the house, but I'll be right back. Pack up his gear and whatever else belongs to him. Tell Adam I want him to escort Wylie off the property when and if he shows up.”
“Nealy, do you know what you're doing? Jack isn't . . .”
Nealy's eyes narrowed. “Ask me if I care, Danny? Be careful, or I'll be asking for your time sheet as well. That goes for the rest of you. Now get a move on. These horses need your assistance.”
Nealy stomped her way to the house, her eyes watering with the cold. Inside she poured herself a cup of coffee and carried it to the office. Still wearing her jacket, she pulled out the payroll checkbook, computed Wylie's hours, and wrote out his check, along with a second check for two weeks' severance pay. She stuffed them in an envelope, folded it, and jammed it into her hip pocket. She was about to close the checkbook when she thought about Jack Carney. Jack would push her to the wall if she allowed it. Well, that wasn't going to happen. She sat down, pulled out the adding machine, and worked the numbers. Satisfied that she wouldn't be shortchanging the manager, she wrote out two more checks. Just in case. The second envelope went into her jacket pocket. It was a quarter to six when Nealy entered the barn a second time. She stomped her way past the whispering men, aware of their eyes on her back. She didn't stop until she was next to Stardancer's stall. She unlatched the gate but leaned against it. She had one ally. Dancer didn't like Wylie.
She waited, a smile on her face as Dancer nuzzled her neck.
Wylie Carney entered the barn at twenty minutes to seven, one hour and forty minutes late. A cigarette dangled from the corner of his mouth. Nealy watched as Danny Clay whipped it from his mouth and stomped on it. Smoking in the barns was reason enough for instant dismissal.
“Adam, give this to Mr. Carney and escort him to the road,” Nealy said, handing over the envelope containing Wylie's checks. “Make sure you lower the bar so he can't come back on Blue Diamond property. If you make me say it twice, you might as well join Mr. Carney. What's it going to be?”
“Do what the lady says. Don't make me drag you out of here, Wylie,” the big man said, his face beet red.
“I think we should call my father in here,” Wylie sneered. “Fetch him, Adam!”
Her arm on the stallion's gated door, Nealy took a half step forward. “There's no need to call your father, Wylie. Adam does what I tell him to do, not what you tell him to do. It's your choice to go quietly or not so quietly. Either way, your employment here has come to an end. You've got a week's wages and two weeks' severance pay.”
The sneer this time wasn't so pronounced. “I think my father will have something to say about that.”
“Maybe, maybe not. It's the way it is. Adam, show him the road.”
“What's going on here?” a deep voice boomed.
“This . . .
lady
just fired me, Pa. She's running me off. She can't do that, can she, Pa?”
“Not if she wants me to keep working here.”
Nealy whipped out the second envelope from her jacket pocket and handed it over. “No problem, Jack. Here's your check and your severance package. I was generous with you because Jess would have wanted me to. Clear out your gear and your belongings. You have one hour. Adam, see that it happens. Not one second longer.”
The farm manager stomped his foot like an angry child as he cursed everyone in the barn. “It's no more than I expected from a
woman.
Old Jess must be spinning in his grave.”
“I doubt that. He was the one who told me it might come to this. Don't go thinking you're not expendable, because you are.”
“Pa, are you going to let this . . . this
female
do this?”
“It ain't over till it's over, son.”
“You're using up your time. I'd hate to have you arrested for trespassing, Jack.”
The moment the barn door closed and the other grooms went back to work, muttering among themselves, Danny Clay walked over to where Nealy was standing. “Christ Almighty, Nealy, do you know what you just up and done? Now what's going to happen?”
“I just up and fired two pieces of deadwood. Look me in the eye, Danny, and tell me father and son pulled their weight. I have eyes, I've seen how you and the others covered for them, taking up the slack. All Maud or Jess expected from their employees was a day's work for a day's wages. They were good to all of you. Damn good, and you know it. The minute I took over this farm all I've had are problems, and you damn well know it. I get by on three hours of sleep because I walk these barns at night because I can't trust my employees. Jess wasn't thinking clearly that last year. If he had been, he would have seen what Jack was all about. If you have anything else to say, now is the time to say it. Until I can replace Jack and Wylie, things are going to be a little tense. You all might have to work more hours, but you will be compensated. I've been fair with you, and I expect you to be fair with me. The road goes both ways out of this farm.”
“This isn't going to be the end of it, Nealy.”
“This is the end of it, Danny. You probably don't know this, but Ann and Richard Owens were killed in a car accident yesterday. There's a brother coming from Ohio to see to things. The housekeeper seems to think he's going to sell off the Owens farm. Their people will be looking for jobs. So, you see, this
is
the end of it. Is there anything you want to add?”
“No,
ma'am,”
Danny said smartly as he offered up a sloppy salute.
Heart pounding, Nealy stared him down until he turned away. The stallion behind her whickered as she locked the gate. “I'll be back,” she whispered.
She knew their eyes were boring into her back as she walked from the barn, her head high, her back ramrod stiff. “It had to be, Jess. There was no other way,” she muttered.
 
 
Nealy looked at her watch at the same moment she closed the door to the office: 1:30. She ached from head to toe.
One of these days,
she thought,
I'm going to have to get more than three or four hours' sleep a night.
Even with a hot, fragrant bath she knew she wasn't going to be able to sleep. Warm milk with a shot of bourbon wouldn't work either. Maybe if she skipped the hot bath and took a brisk walk outside, even if it was just around the house, she might sleep better. On the other hand, maybe it wasn't exactly a prudent thing to do. While things had been quiet since she'd fired the Carneys, she knew in her gut that Danny Clay was right; she hadn't heard the last of Jack and Wylie. So far there had been no revolt, but morale wasn't high. She was seeing surliness and open defiance, two traits she refused to tolerate. All she had to do was weed out the instigators, and maybe things would get back to normal.
Outside, Nealy buttoned her jacket and waited till her eyes adjusted to the darkness before she lit a cigarette. She decided she was too tired to walk around the house. Instead she walked over to the split-rail fence and perched on the top rail to stare ahead of her into the darkness. She thought about the boy sleeping soundly upstairs and wondered what was going to happen to him. Things had moved quickly at the Owens farm where Peter Owens, Buddy's uncle, arrived to see to things. Ann and Richard had been buried, the horses sold off, the farm put up for sale. Emmie had been right when she said Peter Owens wouldn't want Buddy. He'd actually sighed with relief when she'd told him Buddy could stay as long as he wanted. He'd agreed that the special school the youngster attended was the best, and it would be a shame to uproot him. When she'd told him child support wasn't necessary, Peter had agreed to sign on the dotted line, giving her temporary custody of the boy. The word
temporary
had not been defined. Nealy hoped it meant till he came of age. Perhaps then she could legally adopt him the way Maud and Jess had adopted her and Emmie. The monies from the sale of the horses and farm would go into a trust fund for Buddy when he turned twenty-one. Peter Owens had left then, as quickly as he arrived, leaving behind a skeleton crew to see to things, men who had signed on with Nealy when the Owens farm was sold.

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