The Baby Gamble

Blake hadn’t had a vacation since his return home. And certainly not in the four years before that.

“Does this mean you’re investing in me, sir?”

“You a Cowboys fan?”

“Isn’t everyone?”

“Ever heard of Brady Carrick?”

“The wide receiver who busted his knee, had to retire and ended up losing a fortune in Vegas?”

“That’s the one. He’s recently moved back to the area and is looking for a horse.”

“You know him?”

“He’s a friend.”

“And you want me to find him a horse?”

“Brady’s family owns the Cross Fox Ranch in River Bluff. You may have heard of it.”

“Can’t hardly be from around here and not hear of them, can you? At least not if you watch the news. They train serious moneymaking, winning-circle horses. I saw a shoot of the Cross Fox once when I was doing a livestock research analysis for class. They’ve got this thirty-six-stall stable that looked more elegant than the place I was living.” The young man’s enthusiasm just didn’t quit. “They ship to racetracks all over the South and Southwest. You want me to find that kind of horse for Brady Carrick?”

“If you think you can.”

“So this means I’m hired?”

Blake smiled for the first time that morning. “I guess it does.” It might be good to have a permanent diversion around the place, someone to discuss sports with, and to share the obligation of listening to Marta go on about bridge or food or shopping.

“Thanks, Mr. Smith. You won’t be sorry.”

Maybe not about the acquisition of Colin Warner. But Blake had a feeling he was going to regret, for the rest of his life, the next deal he was planning to close.

“HELLO?” Annie had turned from her laptop but had made herself wait three rings while she cursed herself into steadiness.

“Annie?”

Deflated, she plopped back into the beanbag chair that doubled as couch and all other seating possibilities in her living room. “Hi, Mom.”

“I read your column yesterday and really liked it,” June Lawry said. “You make good points about honesty and self-awareness.”

In spite of all the years in which their ability to communicate had been limited, Annie smiled in response to her mother’s praise.

“I’m glad you liked it.”

And did you perhaps gain from it?

A few years ago, she wouldn’t have had the audacity to hope that her mother might someday be strong enough to take control of her own life.

But today Annie saw the world differently.

“I like all of your columns, honey,” her mother said softly, leaving the sentence hanging at the end, as though she could have added more.

Annie let the moment pass, as well. The fewer expectations she had, where her mother was concerned, the fewer disappointments—and the fewer reasons to be upset or feel hurt.

June Lawry was a kind woman with a good heart, and she did her best with what she had. It wasn’t her fault that her best had often left Annie’s needs unfulfilled.

“Even the agricultural analyses?” Annie teased her now.

“I read them.”

“You never told me that.”

“You never asked.”

Her mother’s reply took her right back to those expectations again. Were there other things she’d missed, where June was concerned, simply because she’d failed to look?

A flashback to her fourteenth birthday, home alone caring for a sick twelve-year-old brother while her mother attended a Bible study and social at church, quickly confused Annie’s thought process.

“The community church’s annual holiday bazaar and toy drive is coming up at the end of next month,” her mother was saying, and Annie only half listened, picking up her laptop from the floor beside her. Mention of the church that had taken so much of her mother’s focus at a time when Annie—and Cole—had really needed a mom, still put her on edge, even after all these years.

“I have a job that you’d be perfect for, honey, and I was hoping you’d…” June’s voice trailed off.

“Sure, Mom.” Annie took up the slack—out of habit, and because she couldn’t not. Just as she hadn’t been able to turn her back on the responsibilities that should have been her mother’s all those years ago. After Tim Lawry’s suicide, the entire family had fallen apart. Unable to handle her personal devastation alone, June Lawry had turned to the church. Which had brought a semblance of peace—but also dependence—to her broken and fearful heart.

In many ways, Annie had, at thirteen, become both mother and father. Despite her own grieving and fearful heart.

But that was long ago. And she’d moved on—they all had.

“What do you need me to do?” she asked now, scrolling through a growing list of potential sperm donors, assembled from responses to the letters she’d sent out.

“I was wondering if you could write a series of human interest articles. We’d have to figure what they’d be about, but the general idea is to raise interest in the bazaar.” June’s voice gained strength as she continued to outline her idea, and Annie wondered again if there were things she was missing about her mother—changes, perhaps growth she’d been too blind to notice because of her old assumptions.

The idea made her hopeful—and uncomfortable, as well.

BLAKE FOUND HE HAD several things to take care of after Colin Warner’s departure on Friday. They just kept popping up, demanding his attention. An e-mail in-box to clean out. A list of to-do items for Marta.

There were stocks to check. A callback to make. And some figures to analyze for Monday’s meeting with the potential seller of an apartment complex he was interested in buying and renovating into luxury condominiums. Developers had been making a mint on the practice for years in California.

He’d had Marta collect contractor bids, most of which had come in within the budget he’d projected.

“It’s five o’clock, Blake. Mind if I take off? Bob and I have a dinner engagement tonight.”

Glancing up at the sharply dressed mother of three teenaged girls, Blake thanked her for her day’s work, wished her a good weekend and helped himself to a weak glass of Scotch and water.

Enough to take the edge off, but not enough to tempt him to spend the rest of the evening in a state of forgetfulness—as he’d done a time or two after he’d first opened shop again, two years before.

And then there was no further excuse for procrastinating. The workday was done.