Kentucky Rich by Fern Michaels Page B

wearing. “Nothing, Miss Maud. I just felt a little dizzy. I’m fine. Really, I am. I think I just need some fresh air. Would you mind if I went down to the barn? Later this afternoon I can finish up in here if that’s all right with you. I was almost done anyway.” She stacked the sales bills into a neat pile on the corner of her desk.
    â€œRun along, child. Take Molly with you. It is warm in here. Jess says I keep it much too warm. I guess he’s right. I like what you did with this office. It’s actually pretty now, with the green plants and the hanging basket by the window. This was my father’s desk. A real antique like me. The chair was his, too. It just fit his big frame. I never bothered to change things. Didn’t seem right because a person dies you throw away their things. Emmie’s drawings on the file cabinets add just the right touch. Go on, I’m just going to sit here a moment and think about how I used to run in here when Pa was working at his desk. Memories are a wonderful thing. Be sure to wear your jacket. It’s cold outside. And button it,” Maud called to Nealy’s back as the girl sprinted off, Molly on her heels.
    â€œLet’s just see what we have here to cause my girl to go white-faced,” Maud muttered to herself as she riffled through the sales slips. She knew what it was the moment she held it in her hands: Josh Coleman, SunStar Farms, Virginia. Nealy Cole. Nealy Coleman. The old man had two sons and a daughter. One of the meanest, orneriest men she’d ever come across. She hated doing business with him, but Jess said business was business and personalities didn’t belong in business. He also said Coleman’s money was as good as anyone else’s. He was good to his animals, Jess said. In Jess’s eyes, that said it all. Maud wondered what he would say when she told him about this little episode.
    Maud leaned back in the comfortable chair and closed her eyes. “Pa, I never called on you before. I always figured if you were dead, you were dead, and as far as I know the dead don’t come back. That’s about as blunt as I can be. Like you, I don’t hold any truck with spirits and junk like that. As I recall, Pa, you didn’t even believe in angels. Jess and me . . . it’s possible we just opened up a can of worms. I can’t let that girl go. Or the little one either. I’ve been racking my brains for days now trying to figure the best way to do things. Whatever I want to do will be okay with Jess. You’d like that man, Pa. He’s just like you. Guess that’s why I picked him. Got myself married and even got gussied up for the occasion. When the pain gets real bad, Pa, I can’t think real clear. Course I’m half-liquored up, so that explains it. I think what I’m trying to say here is I could use some help. I need to know I’m doing the right things. Another thing, Pa. When I get there, I’m going to be bringing you another Derby winner. If you’re going to do something, give me a sign. Could you do it now so I can go back to the kitchen to finish my tea?”
    Maud looked around. When nothing happened, she shrugged. “Figured that,” she mumbled. “It’s all horse pucky, that spirit stuff. There probably aren’t any angels either,” she continued to mutter. She heaved herself to her feet and for a few blessed moments felt no pain at all. The walk down the hall, while painful, was easier than her earlier walk to the office. She wasn’t sure, but she thought she felt gentle hands ease her down onto the kitchen chair. Was this the sign she’d asked for? She sat quietly, motionless, hardly daring to breathe while she waited for the pain to take on its own life or ease up. She heaved a sigh of relief when she realized the pain was bearable, the kind aspirin worked on. Maybe today was going to be a good day after all. Later, if she felt good