Regret Not a Moment (29 page)

“O’Neill will never get a chance to resurrect a farm like Willowbrook again. It is the challenge of his life. He won’t quit. Anyway,” she added in a tone of studied indifference, “worse things could happen.”

She made an about-face that was almost military in its stiffness. Reaching the door, she turned once more to her husband. “Incidentally,” she said coolly, “neither you nor anyone else
tells
me what to do. Do
not
use that particular phrase with regard to me again.”

It seemed on the surface like a gift, the deed to Willowbrook that John messengered from New York by airplane the morning following their quarrel. But in a moment of crystal-clear prescience, Devon had the sickening conviction that it signaled an unbreachable rupture in their marriage.

Sitting at the breakfast table with a glass of orange juice, she turned the document over in her hands and, despite her fears with regard to John, a feeling of elation soared through her at the thought that Willowbrook belonged to her—and only her. The deed gave her carte blanche to do with the farm as she wished, to take command with confidence that her word was the final word.

I’ll let John cool off for a few days, then I’ll fly to New York to try to work things out, she told herself. But now I’ve got to deal with Willy.

She tried to imagine the effect the change would have on the trainer. He had to be told that Firefly would now run in the Derby; more important, that Devon was now sole owner of Willowbrook. Would he quit? Devon wondered. What would she do if that happened? She was pregnant, but not due until Christmas. She intended to continue working until the baby was born. But could she handle the work load of the entire stable? She did not think so. All right then, who could she hire at the height of racing season? The best trainers already worked for people she knew. She did not think that Willowbrook Farm would attract the top talent for several reasons. Mostly because she was a woman owner who wanted a say in the day-to-day running of the operation, but also because the stable was far less prestigious, at this point, than those of many of her friends’. In addition, because the operation was smaller than others in her set, her trainer would win less money from prize purses.

She had to try to hang on to Willy, she realized, or risk losing the gains made so far by Willowbrook. With a new feeling of resolve, she threw on a pair of riding breeches and a plaid shirt and headed out the door, grabbing her hairbrush on the way. The car left a wake of dust as she sped down the drive, all the while using her free hand to brush her hair without even a glance in the mirror at herself.

Once at Churchill Downs, she set out immediately to find Willy, anxious to settle things between them as soon as possible. She found him standing with both arms on the white fence, one foot on its lowest rung, watching Fearless Leader be ridden by Jeremiah the wrong way around the track. It was always easier to control horses—prevent them from breaking into their fastest gallops—if they were guided around the track clockwise. Willy and most other trainers were against straining the delicate bones and tendons on a daily basis, preferring to exert the horses to the fullest on a controlled schedule.

Willy did not hear Devon approach, so when she spoke his name he turned with a startled expression on his face.

“We had better talk,” she said coolly.

He did not remove his arms or foot from the fence, and for a moment Devon thought that he would turn away from her, but instead he gave Jeremiah a signal to bring the horse in. When he was assured that the exercise rider had seen his signal, he pushed away from his perch at the fence and turned to Devon, his hands stuffed into the pockets of his baggy khaki trousers.

“I’m not sure what we have to talk about,” Willy replied with grim seriousness.

“Let’s go up into the stands,” said Devon, ignoring his remark.

Once they were seated, she began. She spoke bluntly, in part because it was her nature, in part because she enjoyed shocking Willy with her news. “Mr. Alexander is no longer owner of Willowbrook Farm.” Devon paused. “I am.”

A perturbed look came over Willy’s grizzled features as his mind processed the information. For a few seconds, he said nothing. Then he stood up. “In that case, I’ll pack my things and get out of here.” He looked toward the track where the Thoroughbreds pranced and galloped, their coats gleaming in the sun. He seemed to be looking for something, Devon thought, as his eyes scanned the distant figures. Then, turning, he looked toward the corral where hot walkers led the horses around and around until they were cool. A groom was performing this task for Fearless Leader. Willy’s eyes lingered on the duo.

Devon suddenly felt terribly sorry for Willy. Sorry for the misunderstandings between them. Sorry that they seemed unable to agree on how Willowbrook should be run.

“Willy…” she said softly. He turned cold eyes toward her and waited for her to speak. Her feelings of regret vanished at the look in his eyes. Still, her words were more gentle than she had planned. “I wish you wouldn’t leave,” she said stiffly.

Willy seemed to consider this a moment. His reply was less gruff than Devon had expected. “I don’t think I can work for you,” he said, straightforward as usual.

Devon realized that was at least one quality that she very much liked in Willy. “Why not? Because I’m a woman?”

“Maybe. Maybe because I never had someone interfere so much with what I was doing before.”

“But Willy,” said Devon, exasperated by his refusal to look at things in a new way, “my interference has in no way damaged you or Willowbrook. If you could just think of it as a collaboration —”

“Can’t do it,” Willy interrupted her, lifting his baseball cap off his head and smoothing his hand over his balding pate. “Look, you’re all right as far as women go. Maybe as far as owners go. But I can’t work in a place where any decision I make could be overruled by someone else. Mr. Alexander understood that. What I did—going to talk to him and all—wasn’t about you. It was about the promise he made to me when I came to work for him.”

“Okay. Now Willowbrook has a new owner. If you could just put aside, for a moment, your agreement with him and look at me as someone you have to negotiate with all over again. Forget about Mr. Alexander. Tell me what you want from me. I can’t abide by promises made by him, but I can abide by ones I’ve made.”

“You already broke one promise to me. Two, really, if you count the fact that you were with Mr. Alexander when he promised me a free hand.”

Devon flushed. She knew Willy would never respect her, never work for her, unless she admitted the truth. “I broke my promises. I knew nothing about racing when I met you, but as I became more interested, I wanted to have more of a say. You can’t blame me for breaking a promise made before I knew anything about what I was promising,” Devon insisted.

“I thought all you rich folks had this code of honor. A promise is a promise. The word of a gentleman.” He spat out the last words contemptuously.

“I like to think that I am a person of honor. But I’m not a saint and I guess all I can do is apologize. On the other hand, I’m firmly convinced that there are special circumstances here—”

“I don’t see it that way. About Firefly, you told me I would be the one to decide whether she ran in the Derby.”

Devon was silent. The conversation was getting them nowhere. Finally she said, “Look, let’s wipe the slate clean. I can’t offer you the final authority on which horses are run. I can only offer to delegate those decisions to you most of the time. But if I believe in a horse, and if I have plenty of facts on which to base that belief, there is no reason why I, as owner, should defer to you, as trainer. That was the case with Firefly. You can’t offer me any good reason not to run her in the Derby.”

“You gave your word,” Willy said.

“I trusted you to be fair,” Devon said, looking levelly into Willy’s eyes.

“You think I wasn’t?” Willy raised his voice. “You believe I’d sabotage a race just for pride?” He was outraged at the suggestion.

“If you didn’t think a filly could win the Derby, why did you make that bargain with me?” Devon countered.

“I thought she might be our best chance, but now I think that Fearless Leader would be. We’ve already gone over all this!”

Devon did not respond immediately. After a few moments of silence, she asked, “You believe that strongly in Fearless Leader?”

“I do!” Willy said, a frown of conviction on his face.

“Hmmm…” Devon had an idea. “Suppose… we run both horses in the Derby?”

“I already said that was a bad—”

“And”—Devon cut him off—“suppose I give you Fearless Leader and the entire purse if he wins.”

Willy’s mouth popped open in astonishment. Most trainers worked for others all their lives dreaming of the day that they could afford to own a top racehorse. Owning such a horse, however, was well beyond the means of most people. It wasn’t just the cost of the animal, it was its care, feed, and training. Then there was money needed for entering races, for silks, and for jockeys. Owning racehorses was a rich man’s hobby. Trainers who worked for the wealthy and also owned their own horses had to pay rent and board to stable their horses with their employers, or pay the same fees to a local racetrack.

Reading Willy’s mind, Devon added persuasively, “With the prize money, you could afford to buy your own farm.”

Willy looked at her shrewdly. “What would I do with one horse and my own farm? You know how expensive it is to have a racing operation. But if I had a prize brood mare…” He let the sentence linger between them uncompleted.

Devon pretended to consider this, but inside she was elated. He was going to stay, she thought. There was just one problem.

“The brood mare is reasonable, but if I give you one, then you have to agree that I never have to pay a stud fee to you for Fearless Leader. And—”

Willy grunted in disgust, sitting back down in his seat and crossing his arms.

“And,” Devon continued evenly, “I have the option on the mare’s third foal. That gives you at least three years to get going.”

“In that case, I want the option on Firefly’s first foal. You won’t need three years to get going,” said Willy, leaning forward and placing his hands on his knees.

Devon and Willy had never enjoyed each other’s company so much as at this moment. The horse-trading acted as a tonic to them both.

“Firefly?” Devon said mockingly. “You must think very highly of her.”

Willy snorted. “She’s the only decent nag you’ve got to offer at this point.”

Devon ignored the crack, secretly amused. “Fine. Just so you don’t say I broke my word, I have a few other conditions I want to discuss with you.”

“What else!” Willy threw up his hands, wondering just who was getting the best deal.

“If you win, I need you to stay on for one year. By then my baby will be six months old and I’ll be able to return to work full-time.”

Willy scratched one graying sideburn. “I believe I’m due for a raise.”

“Ten percent,” Devon offered.

“Hah! I can do better than that anywhere!” Willy scoffed.

“No one else will give you a Derby winner!” Devon responded in the same tone.

“Twenty percent,” said Willy.

“Too much. Fifteen,” Devon said crisply.

“Agreed.” A smile, barely discernible, played around Willy’s mouth.

“Now,” Devon said, taking a deep breath as she broached the most difficult topic, “about the day-to-day running of the operation…”

“That could be a sticking point.”

“I will never overrule—and have never in the past overruled—an order you give to one of the stable hands.”

Willy nodded in agreement, then waited expressionlessly for the other shoe to drop.

“But—”

“Ah, I knew there was one!” Willy looked away in exasperation.

“But,” Devon said, ignoring the interruption, “I am the boss. Your only boss for as long as you work for Willowbrook. I have the right to inquire about any matter as I see fit. And I am interested in the top horses. I will have a say in which ones we run and when we run them. You will ask my opinion and we will talk things over, and if we ever disagree, my opinion rules. I will, however, leave breeding decisions to you. I will most likely want to train at least one horse a season and I will use Jeremiah as my exercise rider. There’s no reason we can’t both use him,” Devon said.

“You sound like this is a permanent arrangement. It’s only for a year. Then you do whatever the hell you want.” Willy shrugged.

Devon narrowed her eyes. “You sound awfully sure of yourself,” she said in a low voice. Willy simply shrugged again. “Well, that’s good. Then you won’t mind teaching me everything you know about buying top stock. I’ll be with you at Keeneland and Saratoga for the sales. After all, if you’re not going to be around…”

“Surely you’ll hire another man,” Willy declared.

“I don’t know,” Devon said thoughtfully. “I think you may have been more trouble than you’re worth. Who says the next one will be any better?”

This time Willy exploded with laughter. Devon had never heard him actually laugh before. She was so happy that they had worked things out that she laughed with him.

Abruptly, Willy stopped. Putting his hands on his knees again, he leaned forward. “Okay, what if Firefly wins? Then what do you want?”

“I want you to stay on at Willowbrook for the same amount of time we’ve already discussed. That’s all. You can look for another job after that if you want.”

“Sounds okay,” said Willy, pushing himself into a standing position. “Well, then, if there’s nothing else, I’ll be getting back to work.”

“I’ll be going with you,” Devon reminded him.

“Yeah,” Willy mumbled.

“And I’ll have my attorney draw up our agreement in writing. He should have it to us by next week.”

Willy turned to Devon. “I always done business on a handshake. I don’t want no crazy lawyer-talk that you can’t make heads or tails of.”

“You trust me, then? Even after what’s happened?”

“You’re not a greenhorn anymore. You know what you’re promisin’. That’s good enough for me.”