back to work now,” he finally managed to get out through his dry throat. Before she could gather her thoughts and tear into him over kissing her again, he released her and, walking to the door, added, “Our first reception is this evening. You can fill me in on our host and hostess on the drive over to their place.”
Chapter 5
Heather accepted the hand Jake offered as she got out of his Ferrari in front of the home of John and Martha Wainwright, then waited for him to hand his keys to the valet. She was still upset with him over his disregard for her authority at the farm, but the more she thought about it, the more she realized attending these social events with him could work to her advantage. If she did have to look for a position elsewhere, the contacts she made at receptions like this one could prove invaluable.
“So tell me about these people,” he said as he cupped her elbow and they walked the short distance to the tall, carved oak front doors of the estate.
“John Wainwright is president of the Southern Oaks Bank and Trust and Martha is the treasurer of the local ladies’ club,” she said, quickly filling him in on their host and hostess. “Neither of them have the slightest interest in horses or the Classic. But they would both have a coronary before they passed up an opportunity to host a reception for it.”
“In other words, they’re all about showing off with a big party and getting a mention in the society column.”
“Exactly.”
When he handed the doorman their invitation, the man smiled broadly and swung one of the entry doors wide. “Welcome to Waincrest, Mr. Garnier.” He nodded and gave her a wink. “And Miss Heather.”
“Hi, Hank. How is Mae?” she asked, smiling.
The man’s grin widened. “She’s doing just fine, Miss Heather. Thank you for asking.”
As they followed his directions past a sweeping staircase and out a set of French doors onto the terrace, she felt as if she’d stepped into a fairy tale. The place was decorated with a canopy of tiny white lights, white wrought-iron patio furniture and huge bouquets of red and white roses in marble urns. Clearly, the Wainwrights had spared no expense in transforming their lawn into a very elegant cocktail party.
“That’s our host and hostess,” she said, discreetly nodding toward a couple standing by the bar.
“This is why I needed you with me,” Jake said, leaning close. “You know who all these people are and what role they play in all of this hoopla.”
She rolled her eyes. “Like you wouldn’t have figured it out on your own.”
When a waiter carrying a silver tray with glasses of champagne stopped in front of them, Jake removed two of the flutes, then handed one to her. “If I remember correctly, I think this is how we met.”
She swallowed hard when his fingers lingered on hers a little longer than necessary and a feeling of déjà vu swept through her. He’d walked over to her, handed her a glass of champagne and the rest was history.
He leaned close. “Do you think the evening will end the same way it did that night?”
“With me pregnant?”
Jake’s teasing smile faded. “I didn’t mean that. But I’ll be damned if I’m sorry it happened. We wouldn’t have Mandy if it hadn’t.”
She could tell he was completely sincere, and she had to agree. “She’s brought more joy into my life than I could have ever imagined.”
Before either of them had a chance to say anything further, John Wainwright walked over to greet them. “You must be the owner of Stormy Dancer,” the man said, turning up the wattage on his smile. Almost as an afterthought, he nodded at her. “Miss McGwire.”
Wainwright wasn’t interested in talking to her and she knew why. His bank handled the accounts for Hickory Hills and he wasn’t going to waste his time with a lowly farm manager when he could schmooze with the owner of one of the premier stables in the entire country.
As the man engaged Jake in a conversation about becoming a member of the local country club, Heather quietly excused herself and started to walk away.
Jake put his hand on her arm to stop her. “Where do you think you’re going?”
Smiling, she pointed toward the buffet table. “I’ll be over there.”
She could tell he wasn’t happy with the way John Wainwright had dismissed her as insignificant. But she really didn’t mind being excluded from their conversation. She was far more comfortable talking to the Wainwrights’ staff than she was mingling with people who thought they were better than everyone else.
“Dear, would you mind helping me?” a small, elderly woman asked politely. With a cane in one hand and a mint julep in the other, the poor woman had no way of carrying her plate of appetizers.
Smiling, Heather shook her head. “I don’t mind at all. Where are you sitting?”
“As far away from these pompous asses as possible,” she replied, her expression so sweet that Heather thought she might have misheard.
“Excuse me?”
“You heard right, dear. I called them pompous asses,” the older woman repeated proudly. “I’ve finally reached the age where I speak my mind and don’t give a fig what people think. Now, come. Let’s find a place to sit and get acquainted.”
When Heather followed the elderly lady to an empty table away from the majority of the crowd, she helped the woman get settled. “Is there anything else you need, Mrs…”
“Wainwright.” The old lady shook her head disgustedly. “My son is the windbag who snubbed you in favor of kissing up to your young man.” She patted the chair beside her. “Sit, dear. I need someone to talk to who doesn’t act like they’re something they’re not.” She gave a disgusted snort. “I just hate when John and Martha throw one of these receptions. They put on such airs, it’s a downright disgrace.”
Heather didn’t know what to say. But she couldn’t help but like the elderly woman and her candid observations.
“It’s all right, dear.” The old woman patted Heather’s hand. “I have no illusions about how important most of these people think they are. And my son and daughter-in-law are the two biggest ducks in the puddle.”
“Well, your son is the president of Southern Oaks Bank and Trust.”
“Pish posh. It doesn’t matter what job somebody ends up with, they should never forget where they came from.” Mrs. Wainwright grinned. “I’ll bet you didn’t know that John grew up the son of a tobacco farmer who was land rich and dirt poor.” She pointed an arthritic finger toward Jake. “But your young man seems to be different. You can tell he’s got money, but he doesn’t appear to act like he’s better than everyone else. I’ll bet he hasn’t forgotten who he really is and where he came from.”
Heather stared at Jake. She still knew very little about him. Busy getting ready for the race, she hadn’t had the opportunity to ask where he grew up, about his childhood or his family.
Were
