She was here now more for her dead husband than for herself.
Maggie glanced toward the driveway in front of the house. She could barely make out Jake’s tall figure behind the wheel of his Mercedes, but she didn’t need to see him to remember their time together. Les had been dead three years the night she had attended the Olympic fund-raising dinner at the Helmsley Palace in New York.
Slightly bored, she had spotted Jake across the crowded room. All evening, she had found herself watching him off and on. Those eyes,she remembered thinking. She even remembered the way his evening clothes fit so perfectly across his broad shoulders, the way he carried himself.
Afterward, she’d felt guilty. In all the years she’d been married, she’d never once looked at Les the way she’d looked at Jake.
Now, as he drove off down the tree-covered lane, Maggie wrapped her arms around herself, suddenly feeling chilled. For the first time, she wondered if she’d done the right thing in accepting her new job.
For the hundredth time she wondered if she’d ever stop loving Jake.
CHAPTER SIX
Ellie awoke with a headache and feeling generally out of sorts. She hadn’t slept well after her confrontation with Clay.
She was thankful she had a fairly easy schedule today, only competing in two events: the modified and the opening jumping competitions. She’d be done by noon.
After an extra-long, extra-hot shower that revived her lagging spirits, she dressed in beige breeches, a white shirt, and a navy-blue pin-striped riding coat. Braiding her heavy hair, she wound it into a knot at the nape of her neck and added a little make-up to hide the smudges beneath her eyes.
As she drove to the show grounds, she thought of Clay and got mad all over again. Last night was absolutely the last time the man would make a fool of her. She’d be pleasant to him but stay well out of his way. Which should be easy. Now that he knew she had no intentions of sleeping with him, Clay would have little interest in her.
The morning slipped past, the events going off without a hitch. She took a blue ribbon in the modified, riding Cookie’s Delight, took a red ribbon in the open on Rose of Killarny, her alternate horse. By noon she was finished for the day.
It wasn’t like her to leave the grounds till the final event, but the bright sunshine felt warm, clear skies beckoned, and Ellie gave in to a sudden urge to escape.
Why shouldn’t she? She’d ridden well all week and so had the horses. She deserved a little break.
Stopping by her motel room long enough to slip into faded jeans and a clean white blouse, she headed up State Route 124 to the Hammond Museum and Gardens, the exhibit she’d passed the night before. She parked the Toyota and walked inside, pleased to find the gardens even lovelier than she had hoped.
Done in the manner of a 17thcentury Japanese Edo Garden, there were Zen, autumn, and dry landscape gardens, a reflecting pool, and a lake among the fourteen loosely connected sections. Ellie strolled the grounds, surprised to feel her tension draining away and peace settle over her. She’d been walking for half an hour when she spotted a familiar tall figure lounging on a bench in the shade beneath a red maple tree.
Ellie’s heart began to pound. What on earth would a man like Clay Whitfield be doing in a Japanese garden? He was still wearing his riding breeches, his white shirt open at the throat. In the vee at the front, she could see curly brown chest hair and suntanned skin. Holding a yellow pad in his lap, he stared off toward the lake, then wrote something down on the pad.
If she came up the path on his left side, she could slip around behind him without being seen and find out what he was doing. Immersed in his task, Clay continued to concentrate on his writing. With his broad back angled in her direction, she was able to get close enough to look over his shoulder.
Her eyes widened as she read the words on the pad.Good Lord, the man was writing poetry!
At her quick intake of breath, Clay whirled in her direction. Instead of being angry and berating her as she expected, his face flushed, and he glanced away. Wordlessly, he closed the notebook and laid it on the bench beside him.
“Hi...” Ellie fought to suppress a bubble of laughter.
“Hi,” Clay said, but he wouldn’t meet her eyes.
It was the first time she’d seen him at a loss for words. With his cheeks pink and a lock of hair falling over his forehead, he looked vulnerable in a way she had never seen him. Any thought of teasing him faded away.
“I like poetry, too,” she said softly. “But I was never any good at writing it.”
Relief swept over him. He didn’t even try to hide it. His eyes found hers and his easy grin returned. “You do?”
“Uh-huh. I like Keats and Elizabeth Barrett Browning and Shelley, but Shakespeare’s sonnets are my favorite.”
“I’m a Shakespeare lover myself. How did you find this place?”
“I passed it last night. What about you?”
“Saw it from the back of the Burbage house.” He moved over to make room for her on the low stone bench. “Here, why don’t you sit down?”
She glanced away, suddenly uncertain. “Thanks, but I ought to be going.”
