Рита Браун - Pay Dirt

Harry, red-faced, mumbled, "Mim, I'm so sorry."

"Why apologize for them? You haven't done a thing. Anyway, ever since those drunken swans ruined my Town Country party I just take it as it comes."

Mim's famed Town Country party was one she gave years before, filled with stars and business leaders from all over the country. She imported swans for the pool turned lily pond. She drugged the swans for the occasion, but the drugs wore off and the swans invaded the party, got into the liquor and food, becoming pugnacious. Clips of her party made the nightly news on every station in the country. The presidential candidate for whom this extravaganza was planned was shown running from a swan whose wings were outstretched as well as its neck, beak aiming for that large presidential bottom.

"The swans behaved better than these two."

"Harry, I told you both of them are in love with you. You won't listen to me."

"I'm listening now."

Mim slugged back a refreshing gin rickey. "You can't just be friends with men. It doesn't work that way. And don't be mad at them because they can't be friends the way women can. If a man comes around, he wants more than friendship. You know that."

Harry watched as Jim Sanburne and Herbie finally separated the two men she thought of as her friends. Fair had a bloody nose and Blair's lip was split wide open. BoomBoom Craycroft rushed to minister to Blair, who shrugged her off. "I know it. And I hate it."

"Might as well hate men, then."

"You know I don't."

"Then you have to choose between these two or tell them how you feel about them." She paused. "How do you feel about them?"

Harry faltered. "I don't know. I used to love Fair heart and soul, nothing held back. I still love him, but I don't know if I can love him again in that way."

"Maybe trust is the operative word."

"Yeah." She rubbed her right hand over her eyes. Why was life so complicated?

"Blair?"

"He's a tender man. Very sensitive, and I'm drawn to him—but I'm afraid. Oh, Mim, I just don't know if I can go through loving anyone again."

"Whoever you love will hurt you. You'll hurt him. If you learn to forgive, to go on—you'll have something real." She fingered her Hermes scarf. "I wish I could explain it better than I am. You know that Jim used to cheat on me like there was no tomorrow."

"Uh—" Harry swallowed.

"No need to be polite. He did. The whole town knew it. But

Jim was a big, handsome, wild poor boy when I met him and I used my wealth to control him. Running through women was his revenge. I came so close to divorcing him, but, well, I couldn't. When I discovered I had breast cancer, I guess I rediscovered Jim. We opened up and talked to one another. After decades of marriage we finally just talked and we forgave one another and—here we are. Now, if a rich bitch like me can take a chance on life and love, I don't see why you can't."

Harry sat quietly for a long time. "I take your point."

"You decide between those two men."

"Blair hasn't exactly declared himself, you know."

"I'm not worried about his feelings right now. I'm worried about yours. Make up your mind."

21

Jangled by the previous nights events, Harry awoke early to a steady rain. As it was desperately needed, she didn't resent the gray one bit. She threw on her ancient Smith College T-shirt, a pair of cutoffs, and sneakers, and dashed to the barn.

After she fed the horses, she hung a bridle on a tack hook in die center aisle, grabbed a bar of saddle soap, a small bucket of water, a sponge, and a cloth to begin cleaning. Rhythmic tasks helped her sort out whatever was going on in her life.

Mrs. Murphy climbed into the hayloft to visit Simon. Being nocturnal, he was sound asleep, so she jumped on a stall door and then to an old but well-cared-for tack trunk. Sitting on four cinder blocks, the wooden trunk was painted blue and gold with M.C.M., Harry's initials, in the middle. Mary Charlotte Minor.

Once divorced, she had kept Haristeen. It was such a bother to lose your surname in the first place, and dien to take it back was too confusing for everyone. That's what she said, but Susan Tucker declared she retained her married name because she wasn't yet done with Fair. Everyone had an opinion on Harry's emotional state and no one minded cramming it down her throat.

She'd had enough emotion and probing questions the night before. She wanted to be left alone. Fat chance.

Blair pulled up the drive to the barn. She had the lights on in the barn, so he knew where she was. Dodging the raindrops, he carried a wicker basket into the aisle.

"This is by way of an apology." He flipped open the wicker lid. Delicious scones, Fortnum and Mason jams and jellies, bitesize ham biscuits, a fragrant Stilton cheese, a small jar of exquisite French mustard, and a large batch of peanut butter cookies were crowded inside. There were even water crackers and tins of pate" stuck in the corners. Before she could reply or thank him, he hurried into the tack room carrying a bag of expensive coffee.

"Blair, I've got only a hotpot down here. I don't have anything for you to make fancy coffee with." She was going to apologize for ending her sentence with a preposition, but then thought, Oh, the hell with it. Grammar and speech were ever diverging currents in the English language.

He silently walked back to his truck, returning with a black Krups coffeemaker, an electric grinder, and a small device for frothing milk for cappuccino.

"You do now." He pointed to the espresso machine. "This will have to go in the kitchen. Now you've got everything you need."

"Blair"—her jaw dropped—"this is so, so, uh, I don't know what to say—thank you."

"I was an ass. I'm sorry. If you'll accept my apology, I'll brew whatever your heart desires. How about a strong cup of Colombian to start? Then we can dig in the basket and follow with espresso or cappuccino, whatever you wish."

"Sounds great to me." Harry vigorously rubbed a rein. "And I do accept your apology."

Mrs. Murphy, tail curled around her, swayed on the tack trunk.

She appeared to be sleeping while sitting upright. Humans fell for this trick every time. It was the perfect eavesdropping posture.

Tucker, rarely as subtle, hovered over the basket.

Blair spread a small tablecloth on the rickety table in the tack room. He spied an old coffee tin on a shelf that Harry used as a grain measure. He filled it with water, then dashed outside through the raindrops to pick black-eyed Susans. The coffee was brewed by the time he returned.

"You're soaked."

"Feels good." His hazel eyes were alight.

She put her hands on her hips and looked at the table. "I admire people who are artistic. I couldn't make anything diat pretty out of odds and ends."

"You have other talents."

"Name one." Harry laughed.

" Fishingfor compliments , "Tucker murmured.

"You make people feel good. You have an infectious laugh, and I believe you know more about farming than anyone I've ever met."

"Blair," she laughed, "you didn't grow up on a farm. Anyone who has would seem smart."

"1 see other farmers in the county. Their pastures aren't as rich, their fence lines aren't in as good repair, and their use of space and terrain isn't as logical. You're the best."

"Thanks." She bit into a ham biscuit drenched with the mustard. "I didn't know how hungry I was."

They ate, chatted, and ended their meal with spectacular cappuccino.

Blair inhaled the rich smell of leather, saddle soap, pine shavings, the distinct and warm aroma of the horses.

"This barn exudes peace and happiness."

"Dad and Mom poured a lot of love into this place. Dad's family migrated from the Tidewater immediately before the Revolutionary War, but we didn't find this piece of land until the 1840s. The rich Hepworths, that was Mom's family, stayed in the Tidewater. The Minors, hardscrabble farmers, took what they could. The Depression hurt Papaw and Mamaw, so by the time Dad came along and was old enough to pitch in, there was a lot to do. He realized there wasn't a living in farming anymore, so he worked outside and brought home money. Little by litde he put things back in order, apples, hay, a small corn crop. Mom worked in the library. Early in the morning, late at night, they'd do the farm chores. I miss them, you know, but I look around and see the love they left."