Undo Part 58

She pressed the bell again, once, twice, and at the same time scanned the barn and the training ring for any sign of him. The stable doors were shut. Could he have overslept? She checked her watch then pounded the door, growing more worried with each moment that pa.s.sed without his answering the door. She had planned for them to get to the airport early, and even if he was asleep they could still certainly make their flight as long as they hurried.

She turned and raised her hand at the driver, signaling for him to wait. She hurried off the small porch and ran around to the back of the house. She looked into his bedroom window. The bed was made, and rising on her toes, she could see through the bedroom door into the living room. He wasn't inside.

She climbed the small rear steps and frantically pounded her fist against the door, oblivious to the pain she was causing herself.

"Jean-Pierre!" she called. "Open up! Jean-Pierre!"

She held her breath and listened.

More of nothing.

She felt a chilling wave of nausea and told herself not to panic, that he was around here somewhere and tending to some last-minute things.

Rounding the house, she wagged her finger at the driver again and bolted for the barn, her raincoat whipping in the wind.

Maybe he was at Jennifer's house, she considered, saying good-bye to his former employer. She would check that after she searched the stable. Or was he with Mighty Boy? Yes, that was probably it.

He was probably saying good-bye to Mighty Boy for her, so kind of him, because he knew that she could not face saying good-bye herself because they were unable to transfer the animal to their ranch.

She heaved the stable door open with a grunt and raced down the center of the long and dark dirt throughway, shouting out Jean-Pierre's name. As she neared the end, Mighty Boy whinnied.

She pushed the horse's head to one side and went inside the stall, encountering only the animal. Did she really think he would be in here with her horse? No, he had to be outside somewhere. Her stomach tightened at the thought of missing their flight.

She turned and started to run back up the throughway, when suddenly she stopped dead in her tracks. There!

"Jean-Pierre," she cried, laughing now as she hurled herself toward the shadowy, darkly-clad figure looming just inside the stable.

She froze in her tracks when she realized her error.

"Oh!" she moaned.

Jennifer, the ranch's owner, pulled back the hood of her raincoat and approached her cautiously. A bewildered expression creased her face as she took in Greta's disheveled appearance.

"Mrs. Locke, my goodness," she said with a wary smile. "It's a bit wet for a ride today, don't you think?"

"Where is he?" Greta demanded, her chest heaving. "Where is Jean-Pierre?"

"Jean-Pierre? Why, he's gone." Jennifer wiped her brow with the back of her hand. "Oh, it's getting ugly out there," she said, wincing at the sound of the building downpour rattling down on the metal roof.

Greta grabbed the older woman's raincoat sleeve and roughly spun her around, screaming: "What do you mean he's gone?"

Jennifer leaped back with astonishment. "He's gone. He left, Mrs.

Locke. For France."

"No! That's wrong," Greta cried. That's not possible, I'm going with him! Do you hear me? He can't be gone!"

Jennifer was mortified and hastily tried to explain. "Mrs. Locke, I gave him a ride to the airport myself. Last night. He informed me at the very last moment, yesterday afternoon, that he was returning to France. With her."

"Her? Her who?"

"Why, his fiancee, Ms. Maupin."

Dear G.o.d, she thought, suddenly comprehending what Jennifer was saying. He was gone. Gone without her. He had lied to her. Had tricked her. It had all been a game. A scam. The girl had probably been in on it all along. A double seduction. And they had gotten away with the money. And with more than the money.

They had gotten away with the only happiness she had known in a very long time. It was all coming too quickly, and she felt suddenly faint.

Jennifer caught her by the arm just before she collapsed. "Mrs.

Locke, come inside with me. You're trembling. I'll make you some tea and - "

"No!" Greta cried, shaking free. She stumbled in the dirt, landing on her gloved hands. She unsteadily got to her feet and fled from the barn. The driver leaped out of the car and rushed to open her door. She had soiled her dress, and her face was wild.

She dove into the back of the car and stumbled to the floor. She managed to struggle up onto the seat and the driver closed the door and climbed in up front.

"Ma'am?" he called gently through the open part.i.tion. She did not reply, and he turned around in his seat to look at her.

She sat huddled with her knees drawn up, elbows pressed into her stomach. Her face was hidden behind muddy gloves, and she made noises like she was injured.

He started the car. "To the airport, ma'am?"

She began rocking back and forth against the door, facing away from the ranch.

"Ma'am?" the driver asked again, braking as he came to the end of the ranch driveway.

"Home," she whispered, and burst into tears.

William shouted into the microphone again, "Wait! Please! Listen, please!"

The cacophony of protest continued. A pen flew by dangerously close to his head. It was useless. There was no way he could get them to settle down so he could explain the announcement. After ducking another flying object, William turned and made for the curtains. In just a moment the thing would fix itself.

The house lights went out and then a spotlight illuminated center stage. The curtains parted.

And Peter Jones emerged.

The audience went wild.

Peter took a few steps to the edge of the stage, grinning from ear to ear. The crowd whistled and cheered and rose all at once, welcoming their champion with a standing ovation that lasted and lasted, earsplitting in its intensity.

"Thank you," Peter said fanning his hands at the audience. "And thank you, William," he said, looking offstage.

The audience returned to their seats, some still applauding, but low enough so that he could be heard.

"It's good to be back," he said. This lifted the applauding audience from their seats once more. He strolled to the podium, wiped his forehead with the back of his hand, and waited. When the audience settled down he continued.

"Today," he said, his voice a little shaky, "I've become ICP's newest employee, in their new subsidiary, Wallaby. I have to admit," he said with a laugh, "it's kind of weird being re-hired by the company you started!"

There was quick laughter, then rapt attention.