Secretariat Reborn (19 page)

“I don’t want anyone else.” She buried her face in his bare chest, hugged his waist, and sobbed. “You’re never coming back to me, are you?”

“No, Kate.” Suddenly, he felt her nails digging into his lower back. “Shit!” He shoved her. “You fucking crazy bitch.”

She glared at him through puffy eyes. “If I can’t have you—” she paused, her eyes became distant, her voice turned icy and surreal. “No one will.” She whirled around and started toward her car.

“Wait a minute, Kate,” he called. “What do you mean? Kate, what do you mean? Kate!”

She kept walking and never looked back.

Instead of driving straight home, Christian stopped at The Gator Club on Main Street, needing a cocktail to steady his rattled nerves. He parked alongside the red brick building and walked into the quaint landmark bar.

Ann, the bartender greeted him with a smile. “Hey, Christian, haven’t seen you in a while. Want the usual?”

“Yeah,” he said glumly, removing his sunglasses. He took a seat at the end of the bar, away from the other patrons. He was in no mood for friendly conversation.

Ann served him his rum and Coke. “Still have the sailboats?”

He nodded and took a sip of his drink.

Her brow furrowed. “Are you okay?”

“I’m just a little beat.”

She walked away, leaving Christian with his drink and thoughts.
Beat
wasn’t the right word. He was worried about Kate’s threats, but more so, he was angry with himself.

Why had he let this happen? As soon as Kate showed up, he should have hopped in his SUV and left, but instead he talked to her and let her touch him, seduce him, and scratch him. The worst was the minute when he had a lapse in judgment and self-control and submitted to the foreplay. It raced over and over in his head. What if his cell had not rung?

He took a large gulp of his drink.
She played me like a fiddle. Stupid. I’m such an idiot
.

Kate usually left him kicking himself. But this was different. There was Allie. He didn’t consummate the sex with Kate, and therefore, in his mind, he had remained faithful, but it was a fine line, and how would he explain the scratches on his back?

He took another sip and thought about President Clinton. He
had gone before the TV cameras and nation saying, “I did not have sexual relations with that woman.” Most people considered a blow job sex and labeled him a liar.

Christian was fairly certain that if he fessed up and told Allie the truth, she would be furious. He lifted his empty glass to the bartender, signaling for another drink. He needed more alcohol, more of a buzz to squelch the sick feeling that his moment of weakness might cost him his relationship.

He could keep his mouth shut and not tell. He could file it away under all the other secrets he kept from Allie—the cloned colt and the mobsters’ loan. Allie believed he had borrowed the money from some nice horse people. He kept those secrets to protect her, but with this lie, he would be protecting himself and ensuring a future with this great, trusting woman.

He noticed the light fading outside and glanced at his watch. “Damn,” he mumbled, standing. Time had flown in the bar. Allie would be preparing dinner and wondering where he was. He paid the bar tab and walked out.

Allie met him at the door. “I was starting to worry and getting ready to call you. Dinner’s been ready for half an hour.”

“Sorry,” he said, brushing past her into the living room. “I stopped off for a few drinks, but I should’ve let you know.”

She tapped her fingers against her lips and studied him. “It’s no big deal. Your life is your own. You can stay out all night if you want. After all, we’re just roommates.”

He frowned. “Is that all we are? Is that all I am to you?”

“Of course, but I do appreciate the extra benefits. You’re great eye candy and an incredible lay.” She walked into the kitchen, and he heard clanging of pots and pans.

He followed her in. “I thought we had something—that you had feelings for me. What the hell’s going on?”

She slammed a pot down on the stove and whirled around,
catching him in the crosshairs of her hard stare. “I could ask you the same damn question.”

Christian was taken aback. He had seen Allie’s temper, but he had never been on the receiving end. “You’re mad because I had a few drinks and was late?”

“Think again,” she snapped.

He leaned against the kitchen counter, baffled.
Is guilty stamped on my forehead?
His decision to confess or lie became a no-brainer.

“I had a bad day,” he started. “Kate stopped by work. She threw herself at me and begged me to take her back. When I said no, she scratched my back and said that if she couldn’t have me, then no one would.”

Allie put ice into two glasses and filled them with rum and a splash of Coke, making the cocktails lethal. She stared up and gave him his drink. “You say she threw herself at you?”

His eyes shifted to the side, trying to decide how much to tell.
Fuck it
. He took a sip and set the glass down. “I was putting my shirt on over my head, and before I knew it, she had her hand down my pants, and then she started blowing me. I—”

“You let her?” she growled.

“It happened so damn fast, Allie,” he yelled.

“And then you hopped on and screwed her. That’s why your back is scratched.”

“No! No, I didn’t. I shoved her off me, and she fell on her ass. I swear.” His eyes watered, the alcohol loosening the grip on his emotions. “I’m telling you the truth. I swear to God, Allie.” He stared at the floor and said what he felt but had held back. “I love you, Allie. Please don’t let this destroy us.”

She walked over and lifted his chin. “Christian, God help me, I love you too. And I believe you.”

He embraced and kissed her. The kiss turned to frantic fondling as they stripped off their clothes, never making it to the bedroom. He lifted her onto the kitchen counter and, driven by the day’s anger,
guilt, argument, and near loss, he made love to her. He was determined to prove his feelings and, with the rum high, he had more control. Allie climaxed several times before he did.

Allie dripped with sweat when she slipped past him to the sink and filled a glass with water. “Lord, Christian, you were amazing. I should let Kate work you up every day under that tree before sending you home.” She took a sip of water. “You want to take a shower with me?”

Christian leaned over the counter, eyes closed, his head resting on his crossed arms. He breathed hard. “The tree?” He looked up. “How’d you know we were under a tree?”

“Because Kate called me,” she said. “She told me you leaned against a tree, and she gave you a decent blow job. Then you made love to her. The sex was so hot that she left her calling card on your back.” Allie set the glass down and turned to him. “She said, ‘Search his big blue eyes and see if there’s any truth in them.’ ”

Christian straightened. “Bitch! She planned it, even the scratch. She was trying to break us up.” He turned and tossed back his damp hair. “And when were you going to tell me that she called?” he spouted. “Or did you even plan to tell me?”

“Of course I would have told you, silly.” She smiled. “But first I wanted to look into your gorgeous eyes and see if you’d come clean.”

He frowned. “You didn’t trust me.”

“You’re one to talk,” she sniped. “You do love your secrets and don’t confide in me.”

“They only concern the goddamn horse!”

“Okay, okay,” she said, drifting to him. “My lord, you’re sexy when you’re fired up.” She raised an eyebrow. “You want to go again?”

For the next month, Christian remained on guard, believing Kate was far from finished. If she had Allie’s phone number, she also had the farm address. He installed motion-sensor lights on the house and barn and replaced the gate latch with a chain and a padlock.

Allie suggested he question his stepfather about the laws concerning a restraining order.

Christian made the call to Frank. “A petitioner,” Frank had said, “must prove to the judge that the recipient has committed two violent acts against him.”

Christian realized that Kate had committed only one when she scratched his back. He couldn’t prove she had burned his boat or that she was stalking him. She had a clean record, since her parents’ death had been deemed accidental.

Frank went on to say, “An order of protection is useless if a person is truly out to get the petitioner. A broken restraining order would just be tacked onto the other charges of assault or stalking. A petitioner also must appear at several hearings with the recipient before an injunction for protection is granted.”

Christian thought,
Kate would love that, seeing the aggravation she had caused or it could piss her off, causing more problems
. Even with adequate proof and going through the hassle of obtaining a restraining order, he felt the whole idea went against his grain. After all, he was a tall, strong guy, asking for a protective order against a slight woman.
How wimpy was that?

In the end, he blew off the notion, but did, however, mention to Allie that they might get a watchdog.

“I like dogs and have owned plenty,” said Allie, “but they can be a hassle. Out here, neighbors shoot dogs that come on their property, since dogs kill more livestock than all the wild predators combined. The dog would have to be confined or trained to stay home. And a barking dog drives off the wildlife so you can kiss good-bye the foxes, raccoons, and deer that come in the yard, and Al would have to go. He’d love a doggy for dinner.”

Al was a ten-foot bull gator that lived in the small lake behind the house. Like Allie, Christian had grown fond of the big reptile that sunned on the lawn.

“Forget the dog,” he said. “Besides, Kate could be bluffing. Maybe she only wanted to worry me.”

A few more months passed quietly, confirming that Christian might
have been right about Kate. He and Allie celebrated his twenty-sixth birthday and the holidays in December.

On January 1, Mystery, like all Thoroughbreds, had a birthday, and was now considered a yearling, despite his true birth date in March. Allie began working the colt in the round pen under tack, introducing him to the snaffle, bridle, and small saddle. Instead of being kept in his pasture all day and night, the colt was brought into the barn every evening and placed in a stall down from Chris.

Allie was continually impressed by the gorgeous and fast-maturing colt. She gave Christian a questioning eye without saying a word.

“All I can tell you is he’s going to be a great horse,” he said.

As he and Allie’s relationship grew stronger, closer, he more and more hated the lies and secrets. Unexpectedly, one of his secrets called in the evening.

Christian was watching TV when the phone rang, and Allie answered it in the kitchen. “Christian, there’s a guy named Vince on the phone. He has a thick New York accent.”

“Brooklyn.” Christian sighed and stood. “He’s the one who loaned me the money for Mystery.” He picked up the phone. “Hi, Vince.”

“So, how’s my Florida boy doin’? Did you get your horse?”

“Yeah, I picked him up, and he’s doing good. I should pay you back without a problem.”

“That’s great, just great, Christian,” said Vince. “I like to keep tabs on people with outstanding debts. Make sure ya didn’t skip town.”

“I’d never do that.”

“Relax.” Vince chuckled. “I’m callin’ ’cause I need a favor. I finally bought a place on Longboat, got a dock and boat. I’d like you and your little girlfriend, Allie, to come out and show me the bay—keep me off the sandbars; ya know, a little boat ride.”

“How did you—” He glanced around the kitchen corner, making sure that Allie couldn’t hear and asked in a low voice. “How do you know about Allie and get this number?”

“I told ya. I keep tabs on people. So, what do you say, Christian, Tuesday at five?”

“I’ll come, but let’s leave my girlfriend out of this.”

“Don’t fuck with me, kid,” he snarled. “Bring her.” There was silence for a moment. “Hey, I want to meet her, and it’ll be fun.” His tone was sociable again. “Grab a pen and jot down the address.”

Christian wrote down Vince’s address. “Okay, I have it.”

“See ya Tuesday.”

Christian felt the queasiness in his gut, the unsettling feeling that he had gotten Allie involved.

She walked into the kitchen. “So what did he want?”

He turned to her, replacing the distress on his face with a contrived grin. “He moved here and bought a boat. He wants me to show him the bay, Tuesday at five, so don’t hold dinner.”

At four fifteen on Tuesday, Christian drove alone to City Island and the Sailing Squadron. He preferred to defy Vince and risk his wrath than have Allie come and get mixed up in this deal.

He parked in front of the Squadron clubhouse and glanced at his watch. He had the extra time to slip out of his cutoffs and t-shirt into a warmer pair of jeans and long-sleeved shirt. In January a sunny, mild day could turn nippy with the setting sun, especially on the water. He walked into the funky little clubhouse bar carrying the change of clothes.

Several old guys sat at a table. One called out, “Chris, did they ever find out who burned your boat?”

“Nope.” Christian felt a little guilty that he couldn’t recall the old man’s name.

“Darn shame,” said the old guy. “You had that Morgan looking new.”

Christian moseyed into the men’s room and changed his clothes. He walked back out and glanced at his watch. “Gotta go, guys.” He did not want to be late, but then again, did not care to arrive early and spend any more time with Vince than necessary.

He drove toward the New Pass Bridge that connected City Island to Longboat Key. New Pass allowed Sarasota Bay to flow into the gulf and had gotten its name many years earlier when the receding tide of a massive hurricane cut a path through the southern end of the barrier island.

At the top of the bridge, he glanced left at the gulf, amber and shimmering under a dying sun and blustery gray sky.
Yup, it’s gonna be cold
, he thought and was glad he remembered a windbreaker.

He entered Longboat, and after few miles on Gulf of Mexico Drive, he turned right at a side street that led to the bay side of the key. At the end of the street, he pulled up to a monstrous white three-story house that faced the bay with a canal on one side.