I half-smiled to myself and then groaned a bit as I rose from the bed and headed to the shower. I was a bit sore and resolved that it was time I resumed regular exercise.
After cuddling Ford for a while and downing a cup of coffee, I made my way to my office. This was a special retreat for me; a place where I ruled and restored my senses. I’d decorated it in the shades of a peacock; deep to aqua blues mixed with grass greens and dotted with patches of black. The furniture was Queen Anne and my desk chair was richly upholstered and yet it swiveled. I flipped on some soothing nature music and dove into the pile of papers I’d let accumulate in my basket.
Although Beverly did an excellent job managing the construction of the estate, much still required my approval. She and I butted heads at the onset but had now learned to respect one another’s territories and that allowed the project to flow more smoothly.
There were new barns under construction, including one that was designed for healing and coddling of stressed horses. It contained a swimming pool with a gradated ramp for entry. Swimming was an excellent exercise for stressed legs, as well as nerves. It was to eventually become a commercial concern and I would board horses for the equestrian industry of our region.
The interior stalls were paneled and the animals restrained by velvet ropes with brass fittings. Paintings hung upon the walls and there were wingback chairs where owners and trainers could rest and sip a coffee or discuss the business of the day.
The next building was to be a show barn where sales could ultimately be conducted. It was ringed by plush theatre seating and a state-of-the-art speaker system so the announcer’s voice could remain calm and matter of fact in this event of expensive horse flesh.
Next to the swim building was a modest house where our veterinarian would live. His job would be to oversee the health and breeding of the horses. These were expensive animals and all breeding was done with artificial insemination, eliminating the risk of a mare’s back being broken by the weight of the stud.
Eventually, I would build a Steeplechase track. I was saving my favorite for last. All this construction was convenient and yet far enough away on the property to protect our privacy. In fact, our home was bounded by a high wrought-iron fence with gates that required the matching remote or the keypad numeric combination.
Although there was an enormous amount of detail to be seen to, Beverly and I had it under control. I was looking forward to getting it done so I could begin helping Worth with his clinics.
I was doing my best to maintain concentration on the estate and the business at hand. I knew Ford was safely in the hands of Betsy but began to consider taking on an assistant. Perhaps having someone to act in my absence, but who knew the business would become more and more necessary as all our businesses grew.
To that end, I phoned an agency in town with an excellent reputation and put forth my need. They assured me they would be in touch shortly with some possible candidates that I might interview.
I felt rather satisfied with myself and went to find Ford. He had just gone down for his nap and I crept to the twin bed in the nursery and took one for myself.
Worth
Finding a competent psychologist was my primary concern with the Cincinnati clinic. That person had to share my vision and yet be innovative enough to resolve on-the-spot issues and provide me with constant feedback.
I’d spent an afternoon interviewing when a woman walked through the door who squelched her competition upon first glance. Her name was Dr. Jessie Klinger and she dripped with good taste and breeding. She was east coast educated and that always seemed to carry considerable influence among my patients. Not only did she not already know their family — an added asset when you wanted to hide something — but she provided a role model for the type of women my demographics included.
She was nearly as tall as me, with most of her height in her legs. Her black hair and flashing blue eyes missed nothing. I sensed she could have quite a temper if so motivated. She was extremely professional and for a moment, I wondered if she might not prefer women to men.
“Dr. LaViere,” she reached out with crimson-tipped fingers to briefly clasp my hand. “I understand you’re looking for a therapist for your clinic?”
I felt myself harden a bit as I looked at her, although she was typically not my type. There was something authoritative and even magnetic about her. I felt drawn in and yet repelled. “Therapist and director,” I corrected her. “I’ve read through your qualifications and references and they are, as I’m sure you know, impeccable. I would ask, however, what brings you to the Midwest. Surely you’ve been offered many opportunities along the East Coast?”
She crossed those endless legs and my throat clenched. Her voice was throaty and the blue eyes had already hypnotized me. “I have personal reasons for wanting to relocate,” she began. “I trust that really has no bearing on the position or qualifications?”
I’d just been verbally slapped and at that moment, appreciated the more genteel, well-mannered ladies of Louisville. This woman was capable of castration without lifting a finger.
“You have a forward manner, Dr. Klinger. We’re accustomed to a bit less, shall we say, arrogance?” I had swords as well.
She never blinked. “I’m sure you believe you are,” she commented and flicked away an imaginary piece of lint from her immaculate black suit.
This bitch is cold, I thought to myself. I didn’t envy her patients. However, I couldn’t fault her qualifications and she was a precise fit for the clinic. That’s when I was struck with inspiration.
“Do you ride, Dr. Klinger?”
CHAPTER SIX
Auggie
Worth and I managed to pass the week without any interference from our newly discovered brother. I was personally gloating over this fact since it had been my recommendation that we ignore him and he would eventually go away. He could only pose a threat to us as long as we permitted it.
Sunday had the promise of being a gorgeous day. We packed up Ford and started off toward Lexington. Our intent was to drive through some of the horse farms there to cultivate ideas we might use for our own place.
We would be driving past Worth’s childhood farm. There was no way to avoid it without going a distance out of our way, which we refused to do. He turned up the CD player as we got closer, almost as if trying to ward off bad spirits. I felt sorry for him. Even though we didn’t want to live there, Kentuckians placed a very high value on home and tradition; neither of which he had now.
We approached the farm at a fairly brisk speed, but there was no way to prepare for what we saw. A moving van sat in the drive, pulled close to the house. Burley men were hefting a sofa and someone wearing a vivid scarf was directing them, hands twirling in the air with authoritative zest. She turned and the shock hit me in the gut as if I’d been punched.
It was my mother.