Better now. By the way, Im kind of drunk.

And you drove here? Thats stupid and dangerous.

I know. Thats why Im confessing.

She stepped back to let him come in. I was about to eat?

You have enough for two?

Especially if it will sober you up. She shook her head. No more drinking and driving. You think you have problems now? Try adding a DUI to your list.

Youre right. He looked around, and then went over to her piano and rested his hand on the smooth key guard. God, nothings changed.

She cleared her throat. Well, Ive been busy at work"

Thats a good thing. A great thing.

The nostalgia on his face as he continued to stare at her antique tools and her hanging quilt and her simple sofa was better than any words he could have spoken.

Food? she prompted.

Yes. Please.

Down in the kitchen, he went right over and sat at her little table.

And abruptly, it was as if he had never been gone.

Be careful with that, she told herself.

So how would you like . . . She rifled through the contents of her cupboards and her refrigerator. . . . well, howd you like some lasagna that I froze about six months ago, with a side order of nacho chips from a bag I opened last night, capped off with some old Graeters Peppermint Stick ice cream.

Lanes eyes focused on her and darkened.

Okaaaaaaaaaaaaay. Clearly, he was planning on having something else for dessert" and as her body warmed from the inside out, that was more than all right with her.

Shoot, she so wasnt listening to common sense here. Getting rid of his wife was only the tip of the iceberg for them, and she needed to keep that in mind.

I think that sounds like the best meal in the world.

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Lizzie crossed her arms and leaned back against the refrigerator.

Can I be honest?

Always.

I know that Chantal got served with divorce papers. It was some- thing I walked in on. I didnt mean to see the deputy do the deed.

I told you that I was ending things.

She rubbed her forehead. About two minutes before that, she came to me to plan an anniversary dinner for the pair of you.

There was a quiet curse. Im sorry. But Im telling you right now, there is no future in the cards for her and me.

Lizzie stared at him long and hard" and in response, he didnt move, he didnt blink, he didnt say another word. He just sat there . . .

and let his actions speak for him.

Damn it, she thought. She really, really didnt need to fall for him again.

A s night settled over the stables, Edward found himself fall- ing into his normal evening routine. Glass of ice? Check.

Booze? Check" gin, tonight. Chair? Check.

Except when he sat down and faced all of those necessaries, he drummed his fingers on the armrest instead of putting them to use to crack the seal on the bottle.

Come on, he said to himself. Get with the program.

Alas . . . no. For some reason, the door out of the cottage was talking to him more than the Beefeater when it came to things he needed to open.

The day had been a long one, what with a trip to Steeplehill Downs to check on his two horses and make the call, with his vet and his trainer, that Bouncin Baby Boy had to be scratched because of that tendon problem. Then hed been back here, getting an assessment on five of his broodmares and their pregnancies, and reviewing the books and ac- counts with Moe. At least there had been good news on that front. For the second month in a row, the operation was not just self- sustaining, but pulling a profit. If this kept up, he was going to end those transfers { 222 }.

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from his mothers trust, the ones that had been providing a regular in- jection of cash into the business since back in the eighties.

He wanted to be totally independent of his family.

In fact, one of the first things hed done when hed gotten out of the rehab hospital was refuse his trust distributions. He didnt want to have anything to do with funds even remotely associated with the Bradford Bourbon Company" and the entire stock position of his first- and second- tier trusts was straight-up BBC. In fact, he hadnt found out about the transfers from his mother to the Red & Black until about six months in, and at that time, hed been barely waking up to life at the stables. If hed stopped them at that point? The operation would have gone under.

It had been a long time since someone with any kind of business acumen had been at the horse enterprise, and whatever his weaknesses were now, his knack for making money had remained unscathed.

One more month. Then hed be free.

God, he was more exhausted than usual. More achy, too. Or maybe the two were inextricably intertwined?

And yet he still couldnt pick up the bottle.

Instead, he got to his feet with his cane and gimped his way to the drapes, which had been closed since the day hed moved in. It was pitch- black outside now, only the big sodium lights at the heads of the barns throwing a peach glow against the darkness.

Cursing under his breath, he went to the front door and opened it.

Paused for a moment. Limped out into the night.

Edward crossed the grass on a ragged gait and told himself he was going to look in on that mare who was having problems. Yes. Thats what he was doing.

He was not checking in with Shelby Landis. Nope. He was not, for example, concerned that he hadnt seen her leave the farm all day and that meant that she probably had no food in that apartment of hers. He was also not, say, making certain that she had hot running water be- cause, after the twelve hours shed put in hauling wheelbarrows, sacks of grain that were the size of her truck, and itchy hay bales, she probably was going to be sore and in need of a good shower.

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He was absolutely, positively"

Damn it.

Without even being aware of it, hed gone to the side door to Barn B . . . the one that opened up to the office, as well as the set of stairs that would take him to her place.

Well, considering he was here already . . . he might as well see how she was doing. Out of loyalty to her father, of course.

He did not run a hand through his hair before he turned the knob"

All right, maybe just a little, but only because he needed a haircut and the stuff was in his eyes.

Motion- activated lights came on as he stepped into the office area, and all those steps to the old hayloft area loomed over his head like a mountain he was going to have to struggle to climb. And what do you know, his pessimism was well founded: He had to take a breather half- way up. And another as soon as he reached the top.

Which was how he heard the laughter.

A mans. A womans. Coming from Moes apartment.

Frowning, Edward glanced toward Shelbys door. Shuffling over, he put his ear to the panels. Nothing.

When he did the same to Moes? He could hear them both, the strong Southern drawls going back and forth like the fiddle and the banjo of a Bluegrass Band.

Edward closed his eyes for a moment and sagged against the closed door.

Then he picked himself up and caned his way down those stairs, out onto that grass, and back to his cottage.

This time he had no problem opening his booze. Or pouring it into his glass.

It was during his second serving that he realized it was Friday. Fri- day night.

Wasnt that a lucky draw.

He had a date, too.

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T W ENT Y- SIX.

S utton Smythe looked over the crowd that had filled the Charlemont Museum of Arts main gallery space to capacity.

So many faces she recognized, both those she knew personally and those she had seen on newscasts, on television, and on the big screen.

Many people waved at her as they caught her eye, and she was cordial enough, lifting her palm in return.

She hoped that none of them came up to her.

She wasnt interested in connecting over a kiss on the cheek and an inquiry about their spouse or an introduction to their escort of the night. She didnt want to be thanked, yet again, for her generous dona- tion last month of ten million dollars to kick- start the capital campaign for the museums expansion. She also didnt want to have to acknowledge her fathers permanent loan of that Rembrandt or the Faberge egg that had been gifted outright in honor of her dearly departed mother.

Sutton wanted to be left alone to search the crowd for that one face she was looking for.

The one face she wanted . . . needed . . . to see.

But Edward Baldwine was, once again, not coming. And she knew { 225 }.

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this not because shed been standing here in the shadows for the past hour and a half as the guests arrived to the party she was throwing on behalf of her family, but because shed insisted on seeing a copy of the RSVP list once a week, and then daily, leading up to the event.

He hadnt responded at all. No, Yes, I shall attend with pleasure, nor any No, I am sending my regrets.

Could she really be surprised?

And yet it hurt. In fact, the only reason shed gone to William Bald- wines party the night before was in hopes of seeing Edward in his own home. After he had not returned her calls for days, months, and now years, she had thought that maybe he would make an appearance at his fathers table and they could organically reconnect.

But no. Edward had not been there, either"

Miss Smythe, were ready to seat the guests, if thats all right with you? The salads are down on the tables.

Sutton smiled at the woman with the clipboard and the earpiece. Yes, lets dim the lights. Ill make my remarks as soon as theyre in their chairs.

Very well, Miss Smythe.

Sutton took a deep breath and watched the herd of expensive cattle do what they were told and find their places at all those round tables with their elaborate centerpieces, and their golden plates, and their en- graved menus on top of linen napkins.

Back before the tragedy, Edward had always been at these things: Shooting her sardonic smiles as yet another person glommed on to him to ask him for money for their causes. Asking her to dance as a rescue maneuver when she got cornered by a close talker. Looking at her and winking . . . just because he could.

They had been friends since Charlemont Country Day. Business competitors since hed graduated from Wharton and shed gotten her MBA from the University of Chicago. Social cohorts since theyd en- tered the charity- dinner circuit when her mother had passed and his had started to go to her room with greater and greater frequency.

They had never been lovers.

She had wanted to them to be. For as long as she had known him, it { 226 }.

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seemed. But Edward had stayed away, sticking to the sidelines, even setting her up with other people Her heart had always been his for the taking, but shed never had the guts to walk over that line that hed seemed so very determined to draw between them.

And then . . . two years ago had happened. Dear Lord, when shed heard about him heading off for another of those South American busi- ness trips of his, shed had a premonition, a warning, a bad feeling. But she hadnt called him. Reached out. Tried to get him to take more security or something.

So in some way, she had always felt partially responsible. Maybe if shed . . .

But who was she kidding. He wouldnt have stopped going down there for any reason other than bad weather. Edward had been a true competitor in the liquor industry, the heir apparent to the Bradford Bourbon Company not just by birthright, but by his incredible work ethic and savvy.