Behind the Shadows (5 page)

After she hung up, she leaned back in her chair. She liked Dan. He was a great photographer and no prima donna. He would do what she asked, even if it sounded a bit odd.

Then she turned her attention back to her job. Calls to council members about the preliminary budget figures, whether they had questions about it. Perhaps she could stir a little controversy. Always made for a good story.

Within thirty minutes, she had one. With just a little prompting, two members declared undying opposition to the budget. Two others had stated their undying support. Great quotes from both sides. Ordinarily, she would be exuberant, but now …

She stayed during lunchtime, then spent the afternoon searching the paper's files for anything about Leigh Howard. She found several stories about the accident that killed Leigh's parents and critically injured Leigh.

If the Howards
were
her biological parents, they'd been dead these past twenty-six years ago. The thought was excruciating. Numbing.

Yet she felt a sharp pang of disloyalty to her own mother for even harboring such thoughts.

Long ago she'd barricaded her heart against her father, who had walked out on her when she was only a few weeks old. Her mother heard he'd died several years later. No matter how much her mother explained, Kira had never forgiven him. Now she felt as if she'd lost two more parents. Parents she'd never known.

She hadn't expected those feelings. Hadn't prepared herself for them. She should have. But events had moved so fast …

She swallowed the lump in her throat and continued reading. There was a story about Leigh's elopement, then divorce. Rumors in society sections about other men. There were multiple stories about Ed Westerfield and his empire, including a very long obituary when he'd died two years ago.

By the time she was through, it was four. The newsroom was emptying out.

She picked up her purse and a notebook. She would stop by the hospital, then resume her Internet search tonight.

Kira rode with the photographer. She wanted to talk to him prior to reaching the Westerfield estate.

“I want this to be really good,” she said.

She saw him stiffen as if she'd impugned his ability. “You're always great,” she said. “That's why I requested you. But I want a certain look here.” She paused, then added, “It's for charity.” That last statement made her wince. She did not admire mendacity. At the moment, though, mendacity seemed the only option.

You could try the direct approach
.

But she couldn't. If Leigh Howard was
not
her mother's biological daughter, Kira could cause a great deal of unnecessary angst, and word might leak out. Her motives, she assured herself, were good.

The road to hell is paved with good intentions
. She did not appreciate her conscience's reminder.

Still, she didn't feel good about what she was about to do.

“Just go along with what I ask,” she pleaded.

“What's up, Kira?”

“I just want this to go well.”

Another long look. She and Dan had been friends since her first week at the paper. One of her first assignments had been covering the paper-sponsored spelling bee. Dan Hayes was the photographer. They traveled together throughout the state, covering the district contests. He drove. She listened to all the paper's legends. On the two occasions they stayed overnight at a hotel, they drank together and exchanged life stories. He became a friend.

She might be testing that friendship today.

He didn't say anything else during the rest of the drive.

Her heart pounded harder as they approached the address. She'd pulled up directions on the Internet and had memorized every mile. The neighborhoods became less and less dense, and the land turned into estates, most with horses grazing within picture-perfect white fences.

Dan turned into a driveway and was barred by a gate controlled by a combination mechanism. Kira had been given the combination and Dan punched in the numbers. The gate opened.

The Westerfield house was striking. The architecture resembled Tara in
Gone with the Wind
. The movie, not the book. It was stately but not ostentatious. A smaller but architecturally similar building stood to its left. A third building, obviously a stable, was at the right of the big house.

A funny twinge ran through her. Had her biological mother lived here? Her grandfather?

So many emotions had battered her in the past week. Loyalty and curiosity. The desire to protect her mother and the desire to know who she really was. They conflicted at the moment, and she couldn't reconcile them.

But she had to. She had to be just another reporter to Leigh Howard.

Dan drove up the circular drive and stopped.

For a moment, Kira couldn't force herself to open the car door. So much depended on the next few moments. Dan, on the other hand, had opened the back door and was taking out his camera gear.

Coward
.

She'd never been one before. She opened the door and stepped out just as the front door of the home opened, and an attractive woman walked out to greet them.

Too easy, she told herself again.

Kira had seen photos, but she was stunned by the real person. Leigh was attractive, with long blond hair held back by a yellow ribbon. She was small, her build more similar to Katy Douglas's frame than Kira's, and there was an elegance that Kira never had. And her eyes …

Kira blinked. Leigh's eyes were a striking sea blue. Like her mother's. If she'd had doubts before, they were rapidly falling away.

Leigh smiled and held out her hand as Kira approached, but there was an automatic quality about both gestures rather than real warmth.

“Hi,” Kira said brightly. “I'm Kira Douglas, and this is Dan Hayes, my photographer. Thanks for seeing us on such short notice.”

“Whatever helps the horse show,” the woman replied, obviously not believing it necessary to introduce herself.

“Can we go somewhere for say, thirty minutes, for an interview while Dan checks out possible shots? Is it possible for him to go inside the barn?”

“Rick should be inside. He's a groom that comes over every morning,” Leigh Howard replied. “He can show your photographer around. Tell him I said it was okay.”

Dan nodded and headed toward the barn, his photographer's bag swinging at his side.

“I won't take long,” she told Leigh.

Leigh nodded. “We'll go inside.”

Kira followed her to the house, feeling gawky in her size 12 slacks as Leigh Howard floated ahead in white size 6 slacks and a soft yellow silk blouse.

Leigh obviously belonged here. Kira knew she never would.

Not that she wanted to. She wanted to be back in her own small but homey apartment. She wanted her life back to normal.

It would never be normal again. Never
.

Her mouth went dry with the reminder of why she was here. Her fists clenched and unclenched as they entered a magnificent foyer. Curving mahogany stairs wrapped around it on both sides, and the floors were marble. The silk wallpaper looked hand painted.

As they turned into a sitting room, a woman dressed in a blue skirt and blouse met them.

“Ms. Douglas, this is Mrs. Baker, the housekeeper. Mrs. Baker, can you bring Ms. Douglas something to drink?” She looked expectantly at Kira. “What would you like?”

Kira hesitated, then said, “Black coffee, thanks. If you'll join me.”

“Tea for me,” Leigh said, and the woman left.

Kira looked around the room. Everything was perfect. Too perfect for her tastes. There was a photo portrait over the fireplace. She wandered over to it. A woman. A strikingly beautiful woman.
Karen Howard
. She was dressed in a shimmering green evening gown and stood confidently on the stairs.

Nothing about her looked familiar. A chill ran through Kira. Shouldn't she feel something? A sense of familiarity?
If
. If, she reminded herself, she had the right family.

She heard the silence behind her and knew her behavior must seem odd. She was probably staring at the portrait with untoward interest. She turned around. “Your mother?”

“Yes,” Leigh said.

“She's beautiful.”

“She died in an accident,” Leigh said shortly.

Don't blow it
. Kira joined Leigh at a traditional sofa.

“What would you like to know about the show?” Leigh asked as they both sat.

“Your publicity person sent all the facts,” Kira said. “Time. Place. Tickets. Entrance requirements. That would take about three paragraphs to write and get little attention. What I need is some human interest. I really like the idea of a horse camp for kids.”

Leigh gave her a real smile for the first time. “Me, too. There's a camp not far from here that offers riding as one of its activities. I've been talking to them about reserving several weeks for kids with special needs. They'll need special instructors and more horses. Some modifications for the camp. Tuition for kids who can't afford it.”

“Has the show always supported camp for special needs kids?”

She shook her head. “Last year it was breast cancer. A great cause, and we'll continue to send some money to them. But the camp—it's a natural match for this show.” Animation was suddenly in her voice. “I checked out some in other states. They're really quite wonderful. They use old horses that might otherwise be put down. The kids love them. And riding gives them a control they don't otherwise have.”

No more reticence now. Keep her talking.

“How long have you been involved with the horse show?” she started. It was one fact she really did
not
know.

“Just since last year,” Leigh said.

“You must have impressed them.”

Leigh shrugged. “Off the record?”

Kira nodded.

“It's the Westerfield name more than anything else. It magically attracts sponsors.”

Kira was stunned by the answer. It wasn't only self-deprecating. There was a trace of wry acceptance in it as well.

“I don't really think we want to say that,” she said gently.

Leigh shrugged. “It's true, but I'm going to make it into something more. I'm planning a silent auction of riding equipment. I'm trying to get donations of equipment—particularly saddles—used in films or by famous people. My name opens doors. We're going after new stuff as well.”

The housekeeper returned with a tray. In seconds she'd served coffee and tea, along with a small platter of pastries. Kira refused the food. Her stomach was still queasy from worrying about the interview.

But she took a sip of coffee. She really needed to stretch this out. Long enough to ask to use the restroom. That was one plan. She had another one. A trickier one.

“That sounds like a terrific idea.”

“We've been getting a good response.”

Kira scribbled. She could—probably should—use a tape recorder, but she always preferred taking notes.

“How many horses do you have?”

“Just one at the moment. And a rescue donkey to keep her company.”

“A rescue donkey?”

“Horses are social animals. They like company, and someone told me about this donkey …”

“I have friends who have rescue animals,” Kira said. “They swear by them. One has a rescue parrot and another, Chris, has a dog named Archie. One of these days, I plan to adopt several. Right now, my schedule is a little too busy.”

Leigh took a sip of tea.

“How long have you been riding?” Kira tried again. She wanted to keep Leigh talking and talking and talking. She wanted to know everything she could.

“Not long. My mother was a superb rider and had started to teach me when I was five. After she died, my grandfather got rid of the horses. I just started riding again two years ago.”

After Ed Westerfield died
.

Leigh looked at her watch, and Kira got the message. She'd stumbled on something painful.

More research needed
.

But she needed something else now. She glanced down at the cup of tea on the table. Lipstick on the side of the fragile cup. God—or the devil—was with her.

“Ben will want some photos,” she said. “I hope to have the front of the feature section, and that means color. Perhaps a riding outfit …”

Leigh Howard looked as if she was going to object, then nodded. “I'll be back in a moment.”

Kira doubted it. She certainly hoped not.

She stood as Leigh left the room, then walked to the door where she watched Leigh climb the stairs.

She went back to the chair. The hardwood floor was covered by an obviously expensive rug. Probably a Persian. What she was about to do was a sacrilege. Her mother would horrified.

Don't think! Hurry
.

She leaned over the table, her hand brushing the cup, tipping it on the face of the table. China shattered against glass. Tea spilled across the table onto the floor and onto her slacks. She scooped up a broken piece of china that had a trace of lipstick. She slipped it into an envelope in her purse. Then she took a handkerchief from her purse and gathered up the other pieces.

She glanced around. No one in sight. She hurried down the hall to where she hoped she would find the kitchen.

No housekeeper. No anyone. She put the pieces of the cup on the counter, then started swabbing at her slacks as anyone would do under the circumstances.

How much did the cup cost? She would replace it. She only hoped it wasn't part of a one-of-a-kind antique set.

She finished rinsing the spot on her slacks, turned.

And ran smack into a tall masculine figure. She looked up at his face and was stunned. Dear God, he was a fine-looking male specimen …

His arms went around her waist, balancing her. “And who in the hell are you?” he asked with a lazy drawl.

7

Kira was too startled to say anything. Even to breathe. How long had he been in the house, and had he seen her deliberately break a cup?