Showdown

  The crone looked at her watch and shook her head, clicking her tongue and staring at Milly like a plumber despairing at the state of an ancient, broken-down boiler.

  “Only two hours?” she said regretfully. “Ees not long.”

  “Katinka, you’re a genius,” said Todd, leaning forward and planting a kiss on her powder-encrusted cheek. “I know you can do it, my darling.”

  Milly watched as the old woman’s face flushed with pleasure at this endearment. Eeeeugh! Did she fancy him? Todd was old, but this creature was old enough to be his mother, if not his grandmother. Rank!

  “For you, dahlink, I try my best.”

  The grimace again.

  “You’re not leaving me here?” Milly clutched at Todd’s arm in terror as he headed for the door. She remembered the last time she’d been subjected to beauty treatments, the day of her coming-out ball in London. How horrific that had been! And something told her that this vile drag queen of a woman was planning something a lot more hard-core than just a blow-dry and a manicure.

  “Don’t be silly,” he said, prying himself free from her grip. “I have work to do. You’ll be fine. Have fun, and I’ll see you around five.”

  He returned two hours later to find a scowling, still slightly blotchy Milly waiting for him by the front desk.

  “That was fucking agony,” she complained, while he silently handed over his black AmEx to the busty nineteen-year-old who had taken over from the crone on reception. “I look like one of those spooky hairless dogs people carry around in baskets.”

  “No you don’t,” he said firmly. “You look a lot better.”

  He was right. Though her skin was still inflamed from her facial and all the waxing, her previously natural, bushy, Brooke Shields brows were now neatly arched and trimmed and her newly dyed black eyelashes gave a brilliant definition to the green of her eyes. When he took her hand, the skin of her palms felt smooth, with only tiny bumps where before there had been fully fledged calluses formed by long hours tugging on lead ropes and reins. And her broken, chewed child’s nails had been rounded, buffed, and polished in a natural, coral pink. A distinct improvement.

  Their next stop was the hairdressers, where Todd had to physically restrain her from bolting out of the chair when he began discussing drastic cuts with Mimi, one of LA’s most sought after stylists.

  “Oh, no, no, you’re not touching my hair. A trim, but that’s it,” she insisted. “I love my hair long. It’s the one really pretty thing about me.”

  “Rubbish,” said Todd. “It’s too young for you that length. And it hides your face. You said you trusted me, didn’t you?”

  “Well, yes,” she stammered. “But I didn’t mean—”

  “Well, trust me then.” The way he said it, it was not a request. “It needs cutting.”

  To Milly’s horror, Mimi the Merciless appeared to agree with him. Soon the two of them were running their hands through her hair and discussing the options as though she weren’t even present.

  She left the salon with hair three shades darker, cut in a series of short, feathered layers, the longest of which clung to her neck like curling tendrils of chocolate ivy, just skimming the very tops of her shoulders.

  All the way back to Bel Air, she gazed at herself in the vanity mirror above the passenger seat, pulling at her new, choppy wisps with her fingers and running her hands over her newly shaped brows. This morning she’d been riding Charlie Brown, looking forward to another ordinary, dull weekend at the ranch. Not even the prospect of Bobby coming home had filled her with much excitement or enthusiasm. But now, here she was, driving around Los Angeles with Todd Cranborn, of all people, looking and feeling like a completely different person.

  “Do you like it?” he asked, pulling off Beverly Glen onto Sunset as the impressive façade of Bel Air’s east gate hoved once again into view.

  “Yeah,” she said. “I think so.” Her hands were still in her hair. She couldn’t seem to stop touching it. “It’s very . . . different.”

  “It’s better,” he said. “Sexier.”

  She glanced across at him. His eyes were still on the road and there was nothing flirtatious or suggestive in any of his gestures or movements. Obviously, the compliment was meant to be just that—a compliment—and not a come-on.

  Even so, she couldn’t help feeling a tiny flutter of gratification that he thought she looked sexy. Back home, Rachel had always been the sexy one. At Highwood it was Summer. She, Milly, had always been “pretty” or “natural looking,” or, worst of all, “cute.” Nobody ever called her sexy.

  As for Bobby, these days he barely even registered that she was female, let alone attractive.

  But Todd saw her differently.

  He made her see herself differently.

  It was a nice feeling.

  “Thanks for doing all this for me,” she said, tearing herself away from the mirror at last and flipping the visor shut. “I really had an incredible day today.”

  Reaching over, he lightly rested a hand on her knee.

  “You’re welcome, my dear,” he said. “Like I said, you deserved it.”

  They had dinner that night with a large group of his friends at Katana, the ultratrendy sushi mecca looming above Sunset in West Hollywood.

  At first Milly resisted wearing the flesh-colored silk slip dress Todd had bought her that afternoon while she was being preened and plucked at Jennifer’s, insisting it was far too girlie and lacy and she’d be much more comfy in her old jeans. But when she saw what the other girls were wearing she was glad she’d given in. Dolled up to the nines in Gucci and Marc Jacobs, their rail-thin, bronzed bodies ornamented by large, unashamedly fake breasts and diamonds the size of hazelnuts glinting at their necks, ears, and wrists, they reminded her of the Fashion-Model Barbie her mum had bought her for her ninth birthday (instead of the Show-jumping Barbie she really wanted—typical Linda).

  The men were more casual, most of them in jeans, with untucked shirts unbuttoned very low. Privately, Milly thought they all looked a bit cheesy, especially the ones who insisted on keeping their sunglasses on indoors. But she soon found she was too busy trying to negotiate her chopsticks or nodding knowingly when asked if she preferred yellowtail or ahi tuna to pay them much attention.

  “What did you think?” Todd asked her when they finally got home, turning the lights on in the kitchen while Milly perched on the countertop, kicking her shoes off and rubbing her aching feet. “A little different from Solvang, huh?”

  She yawned and nodded, still with one eye on the reflection of her incredible new hair in the dark window. It was different from Solvang. So different, it was hard to take it all in. Todd, his house, his glamorous friends, the fancy food, her new clothes, her hair. She felt as though she’d been sucked up into some crazy whirlwind and then spat back out, like Dorothy, into a weird and wonderful new world.

  “Tired?”

  “Mmm,” she sighed. “I had fun though. Bobby’s been away so much, traveling and such, so it’s been kinda lonely at Highwood recently.”

  “Really?” Todd asked casually. He sensed the conversation might be about to take an interesting turn.

  “To be honest, even when he is home he’s like a bear with a sore head,” said Milly. “This break was just what I needed.”

  “What’s been eating him?” Pouring two mugs of decaf from the coffeepot, he handed one to her. “Money problems?”

  “That’s part of it, I think,” said Milly. “Although we have a bunch of new clients at the stables, and he seems to have a lot of work on, so I don’t quite get what the problem is. But now everyone’s talking about all these lawsuits in Wyoming. So that’s been stressing him out even more.”

  “What lawsuits?”

  “Oh, God, I don’t really understand much about it.” She sounded thoroughly bored with the subject already. “Something about gas companies forcing cowboys off their land. To get the methane. Or something. It hasn’t happened much in California, but ever
yone in the valley’s worried about it.”

  “Is that so?” said Todd, concealing his excitement only with an effort. This might be just the break he was looking for. “Well, I’m sure it’ll all work out.”

  Yawning, Milly covered her gaping mouth with her hand. Putting down his coffee cup, Todd walked over and slipped both hands around her waist, gently lifting her off the countertop and setting her down on the floor. It was only a small gesture, but it was unexpectedly intimate, especially as it left her no choice but to look directly up into his eyes when he spoke to her.

  “In the meantime,” he said, withdrawing his hands with some reluctance but keeping his gaze fixed on hers. “You need to stop worrying about everybody else’s problems and get yourself a good night’s sleep.”

  As soon as she was safely tucked up in bed, in one of the guest suites at the far end of the house, Todd hurried into his study and picked up the phone.

  “Jack?”

  The lawyer’s voice was slurred and sleepy on the other end of the line.

  “Todd? Is that you? Jeez, what time is it?”

  “Never mind what time it is,” said Todd impatiently. “I may have a lead on Highwood. I need you to find out everything you can about suits between Wyoming cowboys and oil and gas companies.”

  “Wyoming?” said the lawyer groggily. “Er . . . sure, okay. When do you need it by?”

  “Tomorrow morning,” said Todd, and hung up.

  Milly woke the next morning to blinding sunshine streaming into her bedroom through the open blinds.

  “Wakey wakey.” Todd threw open her windows to let a cool blast of honeysuckle-scented air into the room and Milly instinctively pulled the covers farther up around herself. He might have knocked. Thank heavens she’d worn pajamas.

  “It’s nine fifteen already,” he said, rubbing his hands together briskly, “which means you have half an hour to be up, dressed, and outta here.”

  “Out . . . where?” she mumbled, still bleary with sleep.

  “It’s your lucky day.” He grinned. “We’re going riding.”

  The Mandeville Canyon Equestrian Center was the closest place Milly could imagine to heaven on earth.

  Just a couple of miles north of Sunset in Brentwood, a wealthy residential suburb of LA, lay this vast, quasi-rural property with lush green paddocks, a natural stream, and what appeared to be hundreds of acres of hilly, woodland paths. At the foot of the canyon was a yard, immaculately swept and surrounded by a white picket fence, inside which a horseshoe of pristine, traditional wooden stables housed more beautiful horses than she had ever seen in one place, even at Newells.

  Only the two towering, perfectly symmetrical palms at the front gates, the dazzling sunshine, and the bland, blond good looks of all the grooms told you that this was indeed LA and not a horse farm in rural Kentucky.

  “Todd Cranborn. What a surprise!” A strikingly beautiful girl, who stood out from the rest of the grooms by being the only visible brunette, came forward to greet them. She was wearing cut-off denim shorts and a white shirt tied loosely beneath her breasts to reveal a glint of bright-red bikini top. “It’s not like you to visit us in person. And who is this?” She smiled at Milly.

  “Milly Lockwood Groves, meet Chloe Colgan.” The two girls shook hands. “Milly’s training at my new stables out in Santa Ynez,” Todd explained. “She’s just starting out as a quarter horse jockey.”

  “My” new stables? Bobby would have hit the roof if he’d heard that, thought Milly, although she supposed it was technically true, or at least half true.

  “Is that so?” said Chloe, raising a skeptical eyebrow at Todd. As one of his many casual exes, she found it hard to believe his relationship with this very pretty, very young-looking girl was of a purely business nature. Or if it was, that it would stay that way for long. Nor did Milly look much like any quarter horse jockey she’d ever seen. “So what brings you both out here? Did you want to see Demon?”

  Todd sneezed loudly and reached into his jacket pocket for his inhaler, taking a long puff before replying.

  “Please,” he said. “Demon is a rather beautiful colt I recently inherited,” he explained to Milly, adding, by way of elaboration, “Poker game. I won him off a local breeder. The guy loved gambling but he was short of two essentials—talent and money—so in the end he gave me the horse.”

  “How terrible!” said Milly, shocked. Despite having grown up on a profitable stud farm, she was far too emotionally attached to horses to ever see them as commercial commodities, let alone something that could be won and lost at cards.

  “I was gonna sell him,” said Todd, failing to register her indignation, “at the yearling sales in San Mateo. But Chloe here reckoned he had promise and I should hold on to him. I wanted to see if you agree.”

  For a moment Milly forgot to be horrified and flushed with pleasure at the idea that someone as worldly wise as Todd would seek out her advice. She was used to being treated like a child by her parents and then by Bobby. It was nice to be taken seriously for once.

  Todd turned back to Chloe. “I have another friend dropping by in about half an hour,” he said, glancing at his watch. “I hope that’s okay. He’s going to take a look at Milly out on the track.”

  “Sure, no problem,” said Chloe, smiling at Milly. “I’ll saddle Demon up right now and you can take him for a test drive. How does that sound?”

  “What friend?” Milly started to ask Todd. But Chloe was already hurrying her off toward the stables. In any case as soon as she laid eyes on Demon, all thoughts of the mystery visitor fell straight out of her head.

  “He’s a beauty, isn’t he?” said Chloe, slipping a bridle over his sleek, bay head with its smattering of white markings.

  “No kidding.” Milly nuzzled up against the soft skin of his nostrils. The horse had pretty, wide-set eyes like Bambi, framed by long, fluttering lashes, but his musculature was anything but delicate. He looked like an equine version of Mike Tyson with Marilyn Monroe’s face stuck on top. “Bobby would go crazy for this horse.”

  “Bobby Cameron? The cowboy?” Chloe’s eyes lit up. “So it’s true then? He’s the one Todd’s gone into business with? I’ve heard he’s a genius as a trainer and drop-dead gorgeous with it. Has he been training you?”

  “Yes. When he has the time, that is,” said Milly bitterly. “Recently I’ve barely seen him, he’s been traveling so much.”

  She found that even thinking about Bobby was enough to take the edge off her good mood and decided to drop the subject.

  “Here.” Relieving a second, buxom groom of Demon’s saddle, she settled it gently onto his broad back. “I can do that.” Then, leaning into the horse’s ear, she whispered, “Let’s see if you’re as divine to ride as you are to look at, eh boy?”

  Jimmy Price rolled a mouthful of the finest Cuban cigar smoke across his taste buds before expelling it into the pure, canyon air. “Remind me,” he drawled at Todd. “What the hell am I doing here?”

  The two of them were sitting on hard, uncomfortable plastic chairs in the open air, preparing to watch Milly race Demon along the practice quarter horse track. The kid was gonna have to be something else to distract Jimmy from the numbness in his ass, that was for sure. For many years now, Price’s rear end was used to being comfortably cushioned in seats of the squashy, luxurious, chairman-of-the-board variety. As a result, his discomfort-tolerance levels were legendarily low.

  “Just watch,” said Todd. “You won’t be disappointed, I promise you.”

  He was right. Watching Milly erupt out of the starting gate was like looking at a long dormant volcano bursting back into life. She was so tiny, and the horse was so huge and barrel-chested, but somehow she seemed not only to control him but to push him to a speed Jimmy wouldn’t have believed possible. It was a long time since he’d seen anyone ride with such total abandon. Just looking at her made his heart pound with excitement and his mind race with the seemingly limitless possibilities of what he could do
with a jockey like that if he got his hands on her.

  “I’ll admit it,” he said, shaking his fat head in admiration. “I’m impressed. She’s fucking good.”

  “And,” said Todd, “she’s marketable too. You haven’t seen her face close up yet, but she’s cute as hell. And bored out of her tiny mind up at that ranch.”

  “Hmm,” grunted Jimmy. “She could do with losing a few pounds if she wants to race for me.” It wouldn’t do to show too much enthusiasm.

  “Not a problem,” said Todd, although privately he thought Price was smoking dope. Milly was already tiny. “I can whip her into shape within a week. She’s very”—he smiled to himself as he searched for the right word—“malleable.”

  Right on cue, Milly turned and waved at him from the track, grinning from ear to ear.

  Todd waved back, beckoning her over.

  “Milly,” he said, holding out his hand to help her dismount as Chloe ran over to take Demon. “This is Jimmy Price. Jimmy, may I introduce the new quarter horse sensation, Miss Milly Lockwood Groves.”

  Still flushed and sweating from her ride, she was too taken aback at first to say anything. Price was one of the best known racehorse owners in the world. She’d grown up hearing his name from her father and other people in Newmarket; although not until she met Bobby did she realize that he was also a big name in quarter horse racing.

  She also knew that Bobby hated the man with a passion, although the reasons he’d given for this had always struck her as rather vague. Except for the bit about his first wife, she now remembered, and how she’d killed herself after he’d left her. That really was awful. . . .

  “Pleased to meet you.” Her internal monologue was interrupted when she realized he was not only talking to her but gripping her hand and pumping it so violently she felt like a slot machine that had accidentally swallowed his money. “Todd tells me you’re serious about racing quarter horses.”

  “Oh, I am,” she said, regaining her composure instantly. “Deadly serious. I need to make more money. A lot more money, actually,” she added.