wouldn’t put it past him,” came the equally brusque reply.
“You,” Keena told her with a mock scowl, “are a professional busybody.”
Mandy grinned. “Thanks. About time you paid me a compliment or two for these gray hairs you’ve given me.”
Keena laughed, studying the little salt-and-pepper head. “Not so gray,” she returned.
“You going to see that Harris man?” Mandy asked suddenly with narrowed eyes.
Keena met that gaze levelly. “Maybe.”
“Good thing, too. Get him out of your system once and for all.” She wiped her hands on her apron. “Memories are dangerous, you know. They’re always better than reality.”
“That’s why I came back to face them,” Keena admitted.
She stretched hugely and got up from the sofa. “We’ve been getting some interested glances since I had the corral and stable fences repaired and bought that mare.” She smiled. “I think I’ll go for a ride.”
“Didn’t you tell me once that this property joins the Harrises’?” Mandy asked.
“In back,” Keena agreed. “I used to rent a horse to ride. I saved all my money just to catch a glimpse of James Harris in the woods. Maybe I’ll get lucky today,” she added with a smile and a wink.
* * *
IT WAS CHILLY in the woods, and Keena was glad of her jodhpurs and boots, the thick cashmere sweater she put on over her silk blouse, the warm fur-lined gloves on her hands and the thick tweed hacking jacket. She’d never been able to afford a decent kit in her youth, so it was something of a thrill to be able to wear it now. It almost made up for those rides she’d gone on with Jenny Harris, James’s sister, in worn jeans and a denim jacket that Jenny was too sweet to make fun of.
She paused by a small stream, her eyes closed, taking in the cold, sweet peace of the woods, the sound of water running between the banks, the sudden snapping of twigs nearby.
Her eyes flew open as another horse and rider came into view. A big black horse with a slender man astride him, a dark-haired man with blue eyes and an unsmiling face. He was wearing a tweed jacket, too, over a turtleneck sweater. The hands on the reins were long-fingered, and a cigarette dangled in one of them.
“You’re trespassing,” the man said. “This is private property.”
She lifted an eyebrow at him, ignoring the wild beat of her heart as she felt the years between her last sight of him fall away.
“The property line is two paces behind you,” she replied coolly. “And if you care to look, there’s a metal survey stake—quite a new one. I had the property lines resurveyed two days ago.”
His eyes narrowed as he lowered them to her slender body, past her high, firm breasts to her small waist and flaring hips, clearly outlined by her tailored riding gear.
“Keena?” he asked as if the thought was incredulous. His eyes came back up to her lovely, high-cheekboned face framed by black hair that feathered around it, her pale green eyes like clear pools under her thick lashes.
She allowed herself a smile. “That’s my name.”
“My God, you’ve changed,” he murmured. His eyes went to her wrist, and he smiled faintly. “Except for that habit of wearing gaudy costume jewelry. I’m glad something about you hasn’t changed.”
She wanted to hit him with the riding crop, but that would have been more in character in her adolescence than it was now. She’d learned control, if nothing else.
“Old habits die hard,” she replied with a bitter smile.
“How true,” he murmured. “I was sorry to hear about your father. He was a good worker. There’s a small insurance policy, of course. You might check with the personnel office about that. You got the flowers we sent? A potted plant, I think...”
“They were very nice, thanks,” she replied.
“Are you still living in Atlanta?” he asked politely.
“New York,” she corrected.
He made a distasteful face. “Nasty place. Pollution and all that. I prefer Ashton.”
She stared at him, letting the memory merge with the reality. He’d changed. Not just in age, but in every other way. He looked older, less imposing, less authoritative.
“How’s Jenny?” she asked quietly.
“Doing very well, thanks. She lives with her husband and son in Greenville. Larry’s married,” he added pointedly. “He lives in Charleston.”
“I heard that you and Cherrie married,” she said.
His face drew up. “She and I were divorced two years back,” he said coldly.
She shrugged. “It happens.”
He was staring at her again, his eyes thoughtful. “I can’t get over the change. You’re different.”
“I’m older,” she replied.
“Married?” he asked, openly curious.
She shook her head. “I have a career.”
“In textiles?” he asked with a faint smile.
She paused. “In a matter of speaking, yes.”
He laughed shortly. “Sewing, I suppose.”
“That, too.” She patted the mare’s mane. “I’ve got to get back. Nice seeing you,” she said with a parting smile.
“I’ll drop by before you leave for home,” he said unexpectedly.
She gave him her best smile. “That would be nice,” she managed huskily. “But you needn’t rush. I’ll be here for several more weeks.”
His eyebrows shot up. “Can you spare that long from your job?”
“I have a wonderful, understanding boss,” she returned. “See you.”
And think about that, she laughed to herself as she let the mare have her head on the way back to the stable.
What Ashton needed, she decided, was a party. A big, lavish, New York, society-type party, so that she could show her dear old friends how much the gangly textile worker’s daughter had changed. Just thinking about it brightened her dark mood. Before she got back to the house, she was already planning her strategy, from redecorating and renovation, to the caterers. This was going to be an absolute delight.
* * *
IT WAS LIKE having a houseful of relatives come to stay when the carpenters and decorators descended on them. Keena couldn’t move without bumping into a ladder or a pile of lumber.
“They’re multiplying,” Mandy moaned one morning, watching two carpenters hard at work trying to replace a portion of the kitchen ceiling. “And how can I cook?”
“Make two plates full of sandwiches.” Keena laughed. “Maybe if we feed them enough, they’ll work faster. And don’t spare the coffee.”
“You’re the boss,” Mandy sighed, shaking her head as she moved toward the cupboard.
“Hey, lady, somebody’s at the door!” one of the electricians called, pausing with a length of cord in one hand.
She squeezed past a painter on a ladder, her jeans and pale blue T-shirt making her look younger than her years, clinging outrageously to her long, graceful legs and the soft, full curves of her body. Her hair was curling softly around her face, and some of the strain of big business had fallen away despite the grief this trip had started with. She felt younger, more relaxed and more feminine.
“Hey, guys, there’s a Rolls-Royce out there!” one of the