Night Mares in the Hamptons (21 page)

I frowned at the younger man and told Ty, “We think we have motive, and the place, but no, we didn't find the colt. We thought you could go up with a real estate agent and pretend to be interested in purchasing the property.”

“I'll go tomorrow. We're all invited out to your cousin's uncle's restaurant tonight. Is everyone in this place related?”

“Not everyone, and not always by blood, only by familiarity. Who's invited to the Breakaway?”

“Mrs. Garland, Doc, Susan's parents, you, me, and Connor.”

Connor opened the gate to the paddock and walked toward the horse. “I'm not going.”

Ty raised his brow. “Folks mean well by us. And it's Miss Lily's night off. No one's cooking here.”

I could understand Connor's reluctance to go out with the group. He'd be rubbing shoulders with an old man who'd had a stroke, another who had a rare tick-borne disease, Susan with her recent history, and a witch. Not easy for a kid who can sense illness or incipient death.

“Susan will be in the kitchen,” I told him, “and Doc is the nicest man you'll ever meet.”

He still looked mulish. “I'm not wearing a suit and tie.”

“This is Paumanok Harbor. Half the men don't own a suit or a tie. Or they save them for funerals and court appearances. You'll love Susan's cooking. Everyone does.”

Maybe out of a young man's pride, or just because he wanted to cut out early, Connor insisted he'd take the motorbike. He knew his way around the town and could find the restaurant easily.

Ty said he'd pick me up in Rosehill's SUV. No question, no suggestion. No argument from me.

 

Black shirt, black ironed jeans, black cowboy hat. Damn, I was driving with Johnny Cash. Only Ty was a lot younger and a lot better looking. And Johnny Cash never made my pulse rate increase with a smile and a “Looking good, blondie.” I guess racing home to get Little Red, then begging Janie for a haircut and blonder highlights was worth it.

He left his hat in the car. I left my sense of self-preservation behind and took his hand to walk into the restaurant. Half the Breakaway's patrons must have thought he was a country music star or something, too, because they all stared as we looked around for our party. Or maybe they were just watching Willow Tate making a fool of herself again.

Connor came in right behind us. I'd bet he waited in the parking lot for reinforcements. I would have. Then again, he performed in front of hundreds of strangers, thousands even. Sure he didn't have to touch any of the audience, and he had his horse under him, but no one was going to bother him here. Not with Ty and me on either side of him. I wanted to take his hand, but that was the last thing he'd want. I squeezed Ty's hand harder, instead.

None of us should have worried. Doc came forward to lead us to the far corner of the restaurant. I guess he'd been warned, or he just always knew what was right, because he had his cane in one hand and a glass of wine in the other. Doc wasn't going to shake Connor's hand, but he made sure to tell him how pleased he was to meet a man of his courage and caliber. Connor looked at Ty, as if Doc must be speaking of the head honcho, but no, Doc looked right at him and said the burden Connor carried would strangle a lesser man.

Connor stood a little taller. I wanted to hug Doc, but Ty held me back, scowling at my obvious affection for the older man. I wondered if he was jealous, and smiled more warmly at Doc, just to see. Yup, the crease between Ty's eyes deepened.

We took our places at the big table in the corner, with Connor and me vying for the seat farthest from my grandmother.

We weren't a hard drinking party, it seemed, when a waiter came to take our bar order. Doc couldn't have more than the one glass of wine; Grandma wouldn't have any. Aunt Jas and Uncle Roger said they'd have wine with dinner, whatever the man recommended to go with whatever Susan was cooking. Connor ordered a sparkling water with lemon, so I did, too. I expected Ty to ask for a studly drink, Maker's Mark or Dewars on the rocks, maybe. He settled on a draft beer from the microbrewery in Southampton, just because it was called Caballero.

How good could a beer from Southampton with a Spanish cowboy name be? Not very. Ty drank half, in a toast we all shared to good company and better times ahead. Then he asked the waiter for whatever I was drinking.

Both Ty and Connor looked around to see that other tables of diners were studying their menus. We didn't get any.

“Susan's showing off for you and Doc tonight. But don't worry, she's really talented.” I didn't have to explain that while she was a talented cook, some other skill was involved in how she almost always pleased her customers and made them feel happier for eating her food. Kind of like Doc and his natural, contagious good cheer. He was beaming now, telling everyone how glad he was to be back with old friends and making new ones.

It worked . . . the food and the friendliness. Everyone chatted and I relaxed, until Ty put his hand on the back of my neck and whispered: “Did I tell you how good you look tonight, darlin'?” He inhaled deeply. “You smell good, too. Like summer in a field of flowers.”

I didn't know what to say other than that he didn't smell of horse tonight, so I kept my mouth shut. I didn't want to tell him that his spicy, musky scent reminded me of sex and sensuality and getting naked and—

Thank goodness the wait staff placed a goat cheese salad in front of each of us. There were pecans, tiny oranges, and baby greens I knew came from Grandma's Garland Farm. Connor looked dubiously at the greens, but after a forkful he held his glass up to me in a toast of acknowledgment. Susan could cook.

The salad was just what I needed to get my mind away from Ty and his obvious efforts at seduction. It was all that I needed, I told myself, the way I'd been eating. But then huge platters of seafood bruschetta arrived on the table. Mussels, clams, shrimp, scallops, and chunks of lobster sat atop wedges of artisanal bread, all in garlic sauce. There was a large bowl of pasta, too, but I didn't even look at the additional carbs. Or the vegetable gratin or the ham-wrapped asparagus spears or the six or seven other dishes the waiter kept bringing.

While everyone else was talking about the news of the day, I was counting how many miles I'd have to jog to burn off this dinner. And that was without dessert. Thank goodness I had to put my fork down to give my news after Ty explained his intent to draw the mares to my yard. Connor then described what we'd seen at Bayview Ranch. He went back to figuring how to get a mussel out of its shell without dripping butter and garlic down his shirt.

Ty put his hand on my thigh under the table, almost causing brain lock. Definitely causing the temperature in the restaurant to go up a few degrees.

Grandma Eve had to repeat her question about the houses we'd visited before I remembered it was my turn to speak. The devil smiled and winked, but he didn't remove his hand.

I took a sip of my drink as if my throat were dry. It was. Then I recounted where we'd gone before visiting Snake. When I mentioned the Froeler girl, Doc offered to call the mother about getting Letty out of the house and into my course. They all laughed about K2 and his dripping nose, but Grandma Eve said the child wasn't eating properly. She'd send some vegetables over to the auto body shop. The boy would eat them, or else.

Connor choked. I just smiled and showed them Margaret's bracelet.

When Aunt Jasmine started a story about a baby blanket Margaret wove for Cousin Lily's daughter, who hadn't been able to get pregnant, Ty held a scallop up to my mouth.

“What are you doing?” I whispered, looking around to see if anyone noticed the intimacy.

“Just trying to fatten you up. You're too thin.”

To hell with seduction. I think I could fall in love with this guy.

P
ERMISSION TO EAT PROFITEROLES? Now that was a worthwhile whisper of sweet something in my ear.

Ty grinned at me. “I like a woman with some meat on her bones. I don't have to be afraid she'll break when I love her.”

That was moving way too fast, profiteroles or not. They were light pastry shells, split and filled with ice cream, then draped with chocolate sauce and whipped cream and raspberry icing ribbons. They were a signature dish at the Breakaway, along with the freshest seafood you could find.

Ty would be worse for me than a whole plate of the things. He was a high-calorie, high-fat, high-carb luxury of no nutritional value. He was instant gratification in one gorgeous cream puff, with nothing left but crumbs when he was gone. So I had to resist him and his smile and his smell and his sex appeal.

With my nonexistent willpower? My “I'll jog tomorrow” rationalizations? I didn't dare start enjoying them, or I'd never stop. Pastries or playboys.

I took a tiny bite of the dessert. That's all I was going to allow myself of Ty Farraday, too. I swore it.

Susan came out of the kitchen and was congratulated by everyone. Uncle Bernie, Uncle Roger's brother and the owner of the restaurant, brought his second wife, Ginnie, over to have coffee with us. Ty needed both hands to stir his coffee, so I relaxed and listened to my family and friends. Connor was flirting in Spanish with the Dominican busgirl; Doc was nodding his approval at everyone; Aunt Jasmine was trying to convince Ty to come talk to the kids in the summer school program while Ginnie thought he ought to put on a show to benefit the food pantry, her pet charity; the uncles were planning a fishing trip; even Grandma seemed to be enjoying herself talking cooking with Susan and a couple she knew at the next table.

I liked it. I felt at home, comfortable, confident. Hey, I hadn't spilled anything on my silk shirt yet and the primo dude in the place was playing footsie under the table with me, except his were in black alligator boots. I kept the alligator in my mind, not the shivers running up my leg. And I congratulated myself on the self-discipline I showed in having a paltry two bites of the decadent dessert. So what if the waiters took the plate away before I lost self-control?

Things were good . . . until I remembered the mares and the mayhem they could cause in Paumanok Harbor. And how people—the people I'd known my whole life—were depending on me to fix it. The colt was depending on me, too.

I announced that I better get going. The dogs needed to go out, I had to check in with my parents, I'd had a long day. Everyone knew I'd have a long night, one way or another. I ignored the smirks from Susan. The exodus from the restaurant began.

“I really like your family,” Ty said when we got into his car. “And you were right about your cousin's cooking. Paloma Blanca'll be complaining if I keep on eating like that. Watching you enjoy your meal was the best part.”

The glow of good food and good feeling lasted until we drove out of the parking lot.

Ty thought he'd drop me off, go back to Rosehill to change his clothes, then come back and camp out in my yard, with me. I thought he ought to watch from inside, downstairs, listening for me while I slept upstairs, so he could help if I got caught in a nightmare.

Once again, we argued over which was more important, finding the baby or comforting the mother.

I stared at the passing scenery without noticing if we were going in the right direction. “You just want to see the mares.”

“And you don't. You're afraid of them, afraid of the bad vibes they give off.”

Shouldn't everyone be? “I'm afraid something will happen to the colt while we're sitting around in the damp air communing with nature.”

“You have no way of knowing you'll even dream about the colt.”

“And you have no way of knowing if the mares will come, if they'll understand you, if they will listen to whatever you want to say to them.”

His fingers got tighter on the steering wheel. I could see a muscle moving in his cheek, too, as he clenched his teeth. “I want to tell them where we think they should look. I want them to tell me how they got here, and why the colt couldn't follow them. They can get him out. Willow, they have magic. They can disappear and reappear. We cannot. But if we can't reach the mares, they can destroy your town, your family. All those nice people in the restaurant.”

“But if we find the colt, if we bring him out, back to his family, we'll accomplish the same thing.”

“How will we bring him to the mares if we don't know where they are? For that matter, how do we know what will hold him? Rope, and he vanishes so no one, us or the mares, ever finds him again? Cold metal, and he's stripped of his magic so he can't return to wherever he belongs?”

“He can tell me.” I know I sounded uncertain, but how else could I refute Ty's logic?