You’ll Find Out

Chapter 6

Chapter 6

W hile Becca tried to collect her thoughts, the meal was started and finished in suffocating silence. All of her well-rehearsed speeches, all of her defenses for breeding Gypsy Wind fled under Brig’s stony gaze. The tension in the air was difficult to ignore, although Brig tried to appear patient, as if he understood her need for silence.

When they finished breakfast, Brig opened one of the French doors in the small alcove and quietly invited Becca to join him on the broad back porch that ran the length of the cabin. Becca carried her cup of coffee, cradling the warm ceramic in her palms as she stepped outside into the brisk mountain air. She couldn’t help but shiver. It was still early in the morning and a chill hung in the late autumn air. Becca took a long sip from her coffee, hoping it would warm her and give her the strength to face Brig with the truth concerning Gypsy Wind. There was little doubt in her mind that Brig would be angry with her and she half-expected him to push her out of his life again and this time keep the horse.

Brig followed Becca onto the porch. He leaned his elbows on the hand-hewn railing and his gray eyes scanned the secluded valley floor. A clear stream curled like a silver snake along a ridge near the edge of the woods. Already the aspens were beginning to lose their golden leaves to the soft wind. Brig’s gaze followed the course of the creek and a wistful smile pulled at the corners of his mouth. It was in that stream where he had caught his first native brook trout. He hadn’t done it alone. His old man had taught him how to cast and watch for the fish to strike. God, he missed that cuss of a father.

Abruptly Brig brought his wandering thoughts back to the present. He turned to face Rebecca and caught her watching the play of emotions on his face. He had hoped that in the morning light, without the blur of too many drinks, Rebecca Peters would lose her appeal to him, but he had been wrong. Dead wrong. Even the condemning proof of her treachery, the note to his father, couldn’t mar her beauty. He supposed that if anything, it had added to her intrigue. Becca had always been a woman of mystique. The six years he had been away from her had given a maturity to her expressive green eyes, which made her captivating. He knew that he shouldn’t be susceptible to her, that he should outwardly denounce her, but he couldn’t. Instead he tried a more subtle approach. “I guess I should apologize for last night.”

“Why?” she asked, observing him over the rim of her cup. Dread began to inch up her spine as she wondered which way the conversation was heading.

“It’s been a long week. A lot of problems. I didn’t expect to see you last night and I had no intention of getting so carried away.”

Why was he apologizing for something so right as making love? “It’s all right . . . really.”

“I didn’t think you would come here.”

She shook her head and the sun glinted in the golden strands of her hair. “I know. Look, everything’s okay.”

“Is it?” A muscle began to jump in his jaw. “Is spending the night with a man so easy for you that you can shrug it off?”

Her gaze hardened. “You know better than that.”

“Did you plan last night?”

A hint of doubt flickered in her eyes. “I don’t really know,” she said honestly. “I . . . I don’t think so.”

“I’m not usually so easily seduced.” His voice was cold.

“Neither am I.”

For the first time since she had come to him, Brig allowed himself the fleeting luxury of a smile. It was just as she had remembered, slightly off-center and devilishly disarming. “I know,” he admitted begrudgingly. He hoisted himself onto the railing and stared at her. His eyes pierced her soul. “Why don’t you tell me about your horse.”

“She’s the most beautiful animal I’ve ever bred.”

“Looks don’t count. Remember Kincsem, an ungainly filly who won all fifty-four of the races she entered.”

“Gypsy Wind is fast.”

“Sentimental Lady was fast.”

“But she’s stronger than Lady—”

“She’ll have to be.” Brig’s eyes implored her. “Good Lord, Becca. What I can’t understand is why you want to put yourself through all of this again. And the horse. Jesus, Becca . . . what about your horse? The minute she begins to race the press will be all over her. And you can bet that they won’t forget about Sentimental Lady, not for a second! Damn it, the entire nation was affected by Lady’s last race.” His voice had increased in volume and he could feel the splinters of wood imbedding into his palms as he curled his fingers around the rough wood of the railing. His eyes were angry as he remembered Sentimental Lady. “I just don’t understand you, Rebecca Peters . . . I don’t know what you’re trying to prove.” His voice was softer as he added, “Maybe I never did.”

Despite Brig’s violent display of emotion, Becca remained calm. It was imperative that he understand. “Rebreeding Gypsy Lady to Night Dancer was a logical move,” she stated softly. “Hadn’t you ever considered it?”

“Never!”

“Your father understood.”

Brig’s gray eyes flashed dangerously. “My father understood only two things in the past few years: How to make a helluva lot of money and how to spend it on a pretty face.”

“You know that’s not true.”

Brig laughed humorlessly. “Maybe not, but I can’t understand for the life of me why he agreed to loan you so much money—just to see it thrown away on some fiasco.”

Becca could feel her anger starting to seethe. “Gypsy Wind is no fiasco, Brig. She’s probably the best racing filly ever bred.”

“You said the same thing about Sentimental Lady.”

“And I believed it.”

“You were wrong!”

“I wasn’t! She was the best!”

“She broke down, Becca! Don’t you remember? She couldn’t take the pressure—she wasn’t strong enough. Her leg snapped! Are you willing to put another horse through that agony?” Brig’s eyes had turned a stormy gray.

“It won’t happen,” she whispered with more conviction than she felt. Something disturbing in Brig’s gaze made her confidence waver.

“You said that before.”

Becca’s stomach was churning with bitter memories of the Lady and the grueling, treacherous race. “In that instance, I was mistaken,” she admitted reluctantly.

“And what makes you so sure that this time will be any different?”

“Gypsy Wind is not Sentimental Lady.” Becca’s voice was thin but determined. Brig recognized the pride and resolve in the tilt of Becca’s face.

“You just admitted your mistake with Sentimental Lady.”

“We aren’t talking about Lady. If we were, I’d probably agree with you. But Gypsy Wind is an entirely different horse.”

“A full-blooded sister.”

“But she’s stronger, Brig, and fast—”

“What about her temperament?” Brig demanded.

For the first time that morning, Becca hedged. “She’s a winner. Ian O’Riley is training her. You know that he wouldn’t bother with a horse if she didn’t have the spirit.”

“That was Lady’s problem: her spirit. Ian O’Riley should know better than anyone. After all, as her trainer, he paid the price.”

“For the last time, we are not talking about Sentimental Lady!”

Brig was pensive as he sat on the railing, his hands supporting his posture. Becca’s large green eyes were shining as she talked about the filly. She was proud of Gypsy Wind, sure of her. Brig found himself wanting to believe Rebecca, to trust her as he once had. If only he could. Instead he voiced the question uppermost in his mind. “So why did you come here to tell me about her—why now?”

“I wanted you to know. I didn’t want you to hear it from someone else.”

“But the old man knew. What if my father hadn’t died?”

“I would have come to you.”

“When? If that horse is as good as you say she is, why didn’t you start her as a two-year-old?”

She avoided his gaze for a moment. “I didn’t think she was ready. I don’t know when I would have come to you.” When she looked up and her eyes met his, they were once again steady. “It would have been soon. I wouldn’t have allowed her to race until I had told you about her. I just wasn’t sure how to approach you. When I found out that Jason had been killed, I knew I had to see you, as much for myself as for the horse. I wanted to know and see with my own eyes that you were all right.”

“You knew that much from the papers.”

“I wanted to touch you, Brig, to prove to myself that you were unhurt. I had to see for myself. Can’t you understand that?” Her honesty rang in the clear air and Brig had to fight the urge to take her into his arms and crush her against his chest.

“Now that you’re here, what do you expect of me?”

Becca drew in a deep breath, forcing herself to be calm and think clearly. “I want you to let me race the horse. I’m going to be honest with you, Brig, because I really don’t know how else to handle this. I don’t own a lot in this world, and most of what I do have is mortgaged to the hilt. But I do own Gypsy Wind, and I’d stake my life on the fact that she’s the finest two-year-old alive. When she begins to race, I’ll be able to repay you, but not before.”

“Are you asking me to forget about the note?” His dark eyes watched her, waited for any emotion to appear on her face.

“No. I’m only asking that you hold onto it a little longer. You can’t possibly need the money.”

“Do you really think I would try to take your horse away from you?”

She swallowed with difficulty. “I hope not.”

His eyes clouded. “You never have understood me, have you?”

“I thought I did once.” Becca’s throat began to tighten as she looked at him. Why did she still love him with every breath of life within her?

“But you were wrong?” he prodded.

“I never thought you would . . . crucify me the way you did.”

“Crucify you? What are you talking about?”

She couldn’t hide the incredulous tone in her voice. “You tried to destroy me six years ago.”

“I had nothing to do with that—”

“Don’t deny it, Brig. Almost single-handedly, you ruined my reputation as a horse breeder.”

“No one can tarnish another’s reputation. What happened to you was a result of your own actions,” he spat out angrily.

Becca felt the insult twist in her heart like a dull blade. All these years she had hoped that Brig’s condemning silence wasn’t what the newspapers had made it. Her hands were shaking and she had to set down the cup of coffee for fear of spilling it. “You really thought I drugged Sentimental Lady?” she asked, her voice barely audible in the still mountain air. Her green eyes accused him of the outright lie.

“I think you know who did.”

Becca couldn’t resist the bait. “I have my own suspicions,” she agreed.

“Of course you do. Because it had to be someone who had access to the horse before the race, someone you employed. Unless of course you injected her yourself.”

“You don’t believe that!” she cried, desperately holding onto a shred of hope that he could still trust her.

“I didn’t want to.”

“Then how can you even suggest that I would purposely harm my horse?” Bewilderment and the agony of being unjustly accused twisted her features. Brig lifted his body from the railing and stepped toward Becca. He was so close that she could feel the warmth of his breath against her hair.

“Because I think you know who did, Rebecca, and with your silence, you’ve become an accomplice to a crime too grotesque and inhumane to understand.” Her eyes flashed green fire, but he persisted. “Whether you actually injected Sentimental Lady or not, you were responsible for her well-being and should have protected her against the agony she had to suffer.”

Becca reacted so quickly, she didn’t have time to think about the result of her actions. Her hand shot up and she flexed her wrist just as her palm found Brig’s cheek. “You bastard!” she hissed, unable to restrain her anger.

Brig grabbed her wrist and pulled her roughly to him. “I’m only reminding you of what happened.”

“You’re twisting the truth to suit yourself.”

“Why would I do that, Rebecca? It doesn’t make any sense.”

“Because you knew that she’d been drugged. Weren’t you the one who wanted the race stopped just after the horses were out of the gate?”

“Because Lady hit her head.”

“Because you had second thoughts!” she accused, the words biting the cold air.

He jerked her savagely, as if he would have liked to shake her until she began seeing things his way. “Second thoughts?” he repeated, trying to understand her damning stare. His dark eyes narrowed. “What do you mean?”

“I mean that you don’t have to lie anymore, Brig. Not with me. There’s no one here but you and me, so you may as well confess. Your secret will remain safe. Hasn’t it for the last six years?”

The fingers digging roughly into the soft flesh of her upper arms slowly relaxed. A quiet flame of fury burned in Brig’s eyes, but the ferocity of his anger ebbed and he slowly released her. His whisper was rough and demanding. “What secret?” he asked. To his credit, he was a consummate actor. The confusion flushing his face seemed genuine.

Rebecca could feel tears pooling in her eyes, but she blinked them back, reminding herself not to trust this man who had passed his guilt on to her.

“What secret?” he asked again. A portion of his anger had returned as he guessed the twisted path of her defense.

She pleaded with him to be honest with her; her eyes begged for the decency of the truth. “You know that I didn’t do anything to Sentimental Lady, Brig, and you also know that no one employed by me would have dared to harm that horse. The reason you know it is that you were the one who paid someone to inject her.”

“What?” he thundered.

“There’s no reason to deny it.”

“You’re out of your mind!”

“Not anymore. I was once, when I thought I could trust you.”

His anger faded into uncertainty. “You’ve actually got yourself believing this, haven’t you?”

“It’s the only thing that makes any sense—”

“You mean it’s the only way you can absolve yourself of the guilt.”

Becca’s slim shoulders sagged, as if an insurmountable weight had been placed upon her. The reasoning she had hoped would prove false came easily to her lips. “You were the one who had invested all the money in Sentimental Lady’s training, and you were the one who received the lion’s share of the insurance against her,” Becca pointed out. When Brig tried to interrupt, she ignored him, allowing the truth to spill from her in an unbroken wave. “If Sentimental Lady hadn’t broken down, but gone on to win that race, you knew that she would be disqualified because of the drugs. They would have shown up in the post-race urine sample. Winsome would have come out the victor. Either way you won. Once again, the stables of Brig Chambers would have come out on top!”

“You scheming little bitch!” he muttered through tightly clenched teeth. “You’ve got it all figured out, haven’t you? It may have taken you six years to come up with an alternative story, but I’ve got to give you credit, it’s a good one.”

“Because it’s true.”

It was difficult to keep his anger in check, especially under the deluge of lies Becca had rained on him, but Brig Chambers was usually a patient man and he forced himself to remain as calm as possible under the circumstances. He told himself to relax and with the exception of a tiny muscle working in the corner of his jaw, he seemed outwardly undisturbed. He watched Rebecca intently. Damn her for her serene beauty, damn her for her quick mind, and damn her for her pride, a pride that couldn’t suffer the pain of the naked truth. He hoped that he appeared indifferent when he spoke again.

“You’ve convinced yourself that this story you’ve fabricated really happened.

“It did.”

“No way. If I wanted Winsome to come out a victor, I wouldn’t have spent so much money on the Lady.”

“And if you hadn’t spent so much time with her, with me, there wouldn’t have been all of the hype. The press and the public might not have demanded a match race.”

“What good was the race to me? I had the best three-year-old colt of the year. If it was money I was after, I could have sold Winsome to a syndicate and put him out for stud, instead of gambling on another race.”

“But he wouldn’t have been nearly as valuable.”

“What if he had lost?”

“You made sure that he didn’t.” Her voice was cold and nearly convincing.

“I didn’t touch Sentimental Lady—”

“But you know who did,” she cut in quickly, sensing his defeat. “You paid them off.” Her eyes, lifted to his, were glistening with tears.

For a moment his fists doubled and he slammed one violently against a cedar post supporting the roof of the porch. Startled birds flew out of a nearby bush. He stopped, and restrained his fury before walking back to her. When his hands lifted to touch her chin, they were unsteady, and when his thumbs gently brushed one of her hot tears from her eye, she thought she would crumble against him. She wanted to tell him nothing mattered, that the pain of the past should be forgotten; but pride forbade her.

“Don’t twist the truth and let it come between us,” he pleaded, his voice as ragged as Becca’s own fragile breath. He gently took her into his arms and folded her tightly against his chest. “It’s kept us apart too long.”

Pressed against him, Becca could hear the steady beat of his heart. She could feel the comfort and strength of his arms around her, shielding her from the pain of the past. She understood his need to be one with her, but she couldn’t forget what had held them so desperately apart. Perhaps it was because she had been so young and vulnerable. Maybe she hadn’t had the maturity or courage to handle the situation surrounding Sentimental Lady’s death.

When Brig’s uncompromising silence had condemned her for allowing someone to drug her horse, she should have been more vocal in her denial. When the press had hounded her for the truth, she should have held a press conference to end the brutal conjecture about the accident. If she had, perhaps the newspapers wouldn’t have had such a field day with the coverage of the tragic incident. As it was, it had taken months for the story to die down. Even after the investigation, when Ian O’Riley had proved by a preponderance of evidence that he made every reasonable effort to protect the horses in his care from any foul deed, the reporters wouldn’t give up.

If Becca had been stronger, she might have been able to deny, more vehemently, any knowledge of the crime. As it was, with the death of the great horse and the pain of Brig’s accusations, Becca had taken refuge from the public eye. Her brother Dean had helped her piece together her life and slowly she had regained her courage and determination. The gossip had finally quieted. She and Dean had survived, but Brig’s brutal insinuations hung over her head like a dark, foreboding cloud.

The worst part of it was that Brig knew she was innocent. He had to. As Becca’s tired mind had sifted through the evidence of those last painful days before the race, it became glaringly apparent that Brig Chambers was the one who would most benefit by drugging Sentimental Lady. Only one reasonable solution could be deduced: Brig Chambers paid someone to inject the horse.

In the first few weeks after the race, Becca thought she would die from the torture of Brig’s deception and accusations. She hadn’t been interested in anything in her life when she realized that Brig, or someone who worked for him, had purposely set her up. Because she had been so devastated by Brig’s ruthlessness, and because she didn’t know how to defend herself, Becca had unwittingly taken the blame for the deed by her silence. There hadn’t been enough evidence to indict anyone in the crime, but the scandal and mystery of Sentimental Lady’s accident remained to cripple Rebecca’s career. If it hadn’t been for her brother Dean and his care for her, Becca doubted that she would have ever gathered the courage to return to horse racing and the life she loved.

As she stood in the shelter of Brig’s arms, she knew that she should hate him, but she was unable. Her bitterness toward him had softened over the years, and then, when for a few lonely, wretched hours she had thought him dead, she finally faced the painful truth that she still loved him. As she gazed upward at him, wondering at the confusion in his brow, she agonized over the fact that he had treated her so callously. How could he have abused her? After all, she had held her tongue and when the press had accused her unjustly, she hadn’t defended herself by smearing his name. Despite the silent rage and humiliation, she hadn’t lowered herself to his level nor dragged his famous name through the mud. Meticulously, she had avoided fanning the fires of gossip as well as steadfastly refusing to give the columnists the slightest inklings of her side of the argument. It was no one’s business. Her affair with Brig had been beautiful and intimate. She wasn’t about to tarnish that beauty by making their personal lives public. Her dignity wouldn’t allow it. Instead she had gone home and licked her wounds with the help of her brother. Dean was right; by all reasonable standards she should loathe Brig Chambers for what he did to her.

Why then did the feel of his arms around her give her strength? Why did the steady beat of his heart reassure her? Why did she secretly long to live in the warmth of his smile?

They stood holding each other in the autumn sunlight, as if by the physical closeness of their bodies they could bridge the black abyss of mistrust that silently held their souls apart. They didn’t speak for a few breathless moments, content with only the sound of their hearts beating so closely together and the soft whisper of the cool breeze rushing through the pines.

“I’ve never stopped loving you,” Brig whispered in a moment of condemning weakness. The muscles in his arms tightened around Becca with his confession. He hated himself intensely at that moment. For six years he had ignored his feelings for Rebecca, hidden them from the world and from himself. In one night of revived passion, she had managed to expose his innermost secrets.

Becca’s knees sagged. So long she had waited to hear those words of love from this proud man. She had yearned for this moment, and when it was finally hers, she grasped it fleetingly, only to release it. The words sounded too hollow, a convenient excuse for a night of passion. “I don’t think we should talk about love,” she managed to say, though her throat was unreasonably dry.

His hands moved upward to her chin and tilted her face to his. Dark eyes, gray as the early morning fog, gazed into hers. “Why not?”

“Because you and I have different meanings for the word. We always have.”

His dark eyebrows drew pensively together. “I suppose you might be right,” he reluctantly agreed. “But I can’t believe that you’re denying what you feel for me.”

“I’ve always known that I’m attracted to you and I thought that I loved you once . . . sometimes I think I still do.”

“But you’re not sure?”

She wanted to fall back into his arms and reassure him, to pledge the love she felt welling in her heart, but reason held her words at bay. “I’m just . . . trying not to get caught in the same trap I fell into before.”

A fleeting expression of pain crossed his face, but was quickly hidden beneath the hardening of his rugged features. “Is that what I did to you—‘trapped you’?” The thin thread of patience in his voice threatened to snap.

“I trapped myself.”

“And you’re not about to let it happen again.”

Her attempt at a frail smile faded. “I try not to repeat my mistakes.”

“With the one glaring exception of Gypsy Wind.”

Becca pursed her full lips. “If there’s one thing I’m sure of in this world, it’s that Gypsy Wind is no mistake.”

“What about your feelings, Rebecca? Can’t you trust them?”

“About horses, yes.”

“But not men?” He cocked an angry black brow.

“They’re more difficult,” she admitted.

He stepped back from her, leaned insolently against the railing, and crossed his arms over his chest. “They? I’m not talking about the other men in your life, Rebecca. I’m just trying to sort out how you feel about me . . . about what happened last night.”

She drew in an unsteady breath. “That’s not easy.”

His eyes narrowed and the gray pupils glittered like newly forged steel. Every muscle in his body tensed. “So what you’re attempting to say is that you have become the kind of woman who keeps all of her emotions under tight rein. Everything you do is well thought out in advance.”

“I mean that I try not to see the world through rose-colored glasses anymore—”

He cut her off. “So you’ve become a bitter, calculating woman who works men into her life when it’s convenient, or when she needs a favor.”

It took every ounce of strength in Becca’s heart to rise above the insult. “I hope not.”

Again he mocked her as he continued, “The kind of woman who can hop into bed with a man as part of a business deal.”

Her face flushed with anger. “Stop it, Brig. I’m not like that. You know it as well as I do.”

“I don’t think I know you at all. Not anymore. I was hoping that what we did last night meant something more to you than a quick one-night stand.”

“It does.”

“What?” he demanded. His voice was low, his eyes dangerous, his jaw determined.

“It would be easy for me to excuse what we did last night as an act of love.”

“Excuse? For God’s sake, woman, I’m too old for excuses!”

“Brig, what I feel for you is very strong and sometimes I delude myself into believing that I still love you,” she began hesitantly. “What happened last night happened because of a set of circumstances and the fact that we care for each other—”

“Care for?” he echoed. “What the hell is that supposed to mean? ‘Care for’ is something you do for an elderly aunt!”

“Don’t insult me, Brig. I said that I care for you; it means exactly what it implies.”

Brig ran his fingers impatiently through his dark hair. Hot spurts of jealousy clouded his thinking. “Tell me this, Becca, just how many men have you cared for in the last six years?”

Becca’s eyes flashed dangerously. “Is that what you want to know? Why don’t you come straight to the point and ask me how many men I’ve slept with?”

“One and the same,” he threw back.

“Not necessarily.”

“Okay, then, how many men have you slept with?” He watched the disbelief and anger contort her even features. Wide eyes accused him of being the bastard he was. The thought of another man kissing those lips or touching her golden hair made his stomach knot.

“That’s none of your business, Brig. You gave up all of those possessive rights when you threw me out of your life.”

“You walked away.”

Her lower lip began to tremble, but she held back her hot angry tears. “I had to, Brig. Because you thought so little of me that you honestly contended that I destroyed Sentimental Lady. Even with everything we had shared together, you never trusted me. In my opinion, without trust, there is no love.” Her voice cracked, but she continued. “Just who the hell do you think you are? You have no right to ask me about my love life.”

“I’m just someone who cares for you,” he mocked disgustedly.

Becca felt her entire body shake. “You really can be a bastard when you want to be.”

“Only when I’m pushed to the limit.”

“It’s reassuring to know that I bring out the best in you,” she tossed out heatedly. She could feel her anger coloring her cheeks. “I think this discussion is over. We don’t have much to say to each other, do we?” She pivoted on her heel and started toward the door. As quick as a springing cat, Brig was beside her. His grasp on her arm forced her to spin around and face the rage contorting his chiseled features. His lips were thin, his eyes ruthlessly dark.

“You’d like to run out on me again, wouldn’t you? After all, it is what you do best.”

“Let’s just say that I don’t like to waste my time arguing with you. There’s no point to it.”

“Counterproductive, is it? Not like sleeping with me?”

She slid her eyes disdainfully upward. “Let it go, Brig. We have nothing more to discuss.”

Angrily, he jerked on her arm and she lost her balance. She fell against him and her hair came forward in a cloud of honey-colored silk. “I’ve never met a woman who could infuriate me so,” Brig uttered through his clenched teeth. For the most part his anger was leveled at himself for his weakness.

Becca tossed her hair out of her resentful green eyes. “And you’ve met your share of them, haven’t you? What about Melanie DuBois? Didn’t she ever ‘push you to the limit’?” The minute the jealous implication passed her lips, Becca knew she’d made a grave error in judgment. The rage in Brig’s eyes took a new dimension, one of piteous disgust.

“You really know how to hit below the belt.” Brig released her as if holding Becca was suddenly repulsive. She rubbed her upper arms in an effort to erase the pain he had caused.

“I’m sorry,” she whispered. He had walked away from her, putting precious space between their bodies. “I had no right to say anything about her.” Becca detested anything as petty as jealousy, and she realized that her remark about the dead woman was not only childishly petulant, but also deplorable and undignified. She had to make him understand. “Brig—”

He waved off her apology with the back of his hand. “Don’t worry about it.” His jaw hardened and his lips thinned as he pressed his hands into the back pockets of his jeans.

“I just didn’t mean to say anything that mean.” Her animosity faded. “I . . . I don’t want to argue with you and I don’t want our discussions to deteriorate into a verbal battlefield; where we just try and wound each other for the sake of some shallow victory.” She took a step toward him, wanting to touch him, but holding her hands at her sides.

His voice was coldy distant. “You didn’t wound me, if that’s what you’re afraid of.”

“What I’m afraid of is that I look like a hypocrite.”

He arched his eyebrows, silently encouraging her to continue.

“I didn’t want to discuss my . . . past relationships with men, and then in the next moment I brought up one of the women in your life.”

He shrugged. “Forget about it.”

“But I know that you and Melanie were close—”

“I was never close to that woman,” he cut in sharply.

Becca was taken aback. “But I thought—”

Again he interrupted, this time more harshly. “You thought what the rest of the world thought, what Melanie DuBois wanted the world to think. If you would have had the guts to come to me before my father was killed, before your back was up against the wall, you would have realized that everything in those cheap gossip tabloids was a hoax. A carefully arranged hoax.”

“You never publicly denied it.”

“Isn’t that a little like the pot calling the kettle black? Besides, why would I? Any statement or contradiction I might have made would only have worsened an already bad situation. I decided it just wasn’t worth the effort.” Brig read the look of doubt on Becca’s elegant face. “I can’t deny that initially I was attracted to Melanie. Hell, she was a beautiful woman. But it didn’t take me long to figure out what she was really after.”

Brig paused, but Becca didn’t interrupt, afraid to learn more than she wanted to know about the glamorous woman romantically linked to Brig, and yet fascinated with Brig’s denials. A severe smile made him appear older than his thirty-five years.

“Anything you read about Melanie DuBois was precisely engineered by Ms. DuBois and that snake she called an agent.” Brig leaned more closely to Becca. He withdrew his hands from his pockets and captured her shoulders with the warmth of his fingertips. She felt the muscles in her back begin to relax. “Don’t tell me you believe everything you read in the papers.” His gaze was coldly cynical.

Becca cocked her head and eyed him speculatively. Her hair fell over his arm. She knew he was referring to her vehement denouncement of the press coverage of Sentimental Lady’s last race. “Of course not,” she whispered.

“Then trust me. I have never had anything other than a passing interest in Melanie DuBois.”

Her wistful smile trembled. “I’m sorry I made that stupid remark and brought her up. It was . . . unkind.”

Brig recognized the flicker of doubt that darkened Becca’s green eyes. “You still don’t believe me, do you?”

“I’m just trying to understand, Brig. If Melanie had no connection with you, why was she in the plane with your father?”

For a moment he returned her confused stare: She seemed so vulnerable, so genuinely perplexed. He brushed aside an errant strand of her blond hair, pausing only slightly to rub it gently between his fingers. “Do you want me to tell you all about Melanie?” he asked softly.

She hesitated only briefly. “No.” It wouldn’t be fair. Hadn’t she just told him that her love life was none of his business? She had no right to his.

“What if I told you it was important to me that you know?” His eyes moved from the lock of hair he had been studying and gazed intently into hers. He pushed the golden strands back into place.

“I’d listen,” she sighed.

His intense gray eyes didn’t leave hers. “I met Melanie at a cocktail party in Manhattan. It was one of those sophisticated affairs that everyone dreads but still attends.”

“Not exactly your cup of tea.”

“That’s right. But I was forced to go. Business. Melanie was there. After I’d made the proper appearance and taken care of the Chambers Oil business, I got ready to leave. Melanie came up to me and asked me to take her home. I complied.”

Becca’s throat became dry, but something in his gaze reassured her. A sick feeling took hold of her as she realized she didn’t want to hear about the other women in Brig’s life. “I understand,” she murmured, hoping to close the subject.

“No, you don’t.”

“I don’t want to hear what happened, Brig. It’s your business and I don’t want to know about any of your affairs.”

“Yes, you do,” he persisted. “The business deal had gone sour, and I was dead tired from a flight earlier from the Middle East. That night I had no interest in Melanie.”

“But there were other nights.”

“Not with her.”

Becca shook her head. “Brig, just let it alone. The woman is dead and I don’t want to hear about it. Not this morning.”

“It’s important, Rebecca, because I never did sleep with Melanie.”

“I find that hard to believe.”

“That’s understandable. She was a gorgeous woman. . . desirable, I suppose, but I just wasn’t interested.”

“Why not?”

“There wasn’t any chemistry between us. Do you understand that?” His fingers touched her neck, stroking the soft skin familiarly. It was a warm caress shared only by lovers.

“Yes,” she admitted. How many times had she dated wonderful, kind, intelligent men and found that she felt no passion for them. It was as if she was cursed to love only Brig. Only Brig had been able to catch her soul. He looked into her eyes as if he could see into the darkest corners of her mind.

“At first I made the mistake of thinking that Melanie was all right. She was a little vain, but I chalked that up to her being a model. We dated casually, but it wasn’t anything serious. The papers got wind of it and blew it out of proportion, but I really didn’t care. Not until I understood what it was that Melanie really wanted.”

“Which was?”

“My father.” Brig let the full impact of his statement settle upon her before continuing. “As a model, Melanie was hot, starting to climb toward the pinnacle of her profession. But she wasn’t getting any younger, and modeling is a young woman’s game. Melanie was smart enough to realize that her career would only last a few short years at best. She liked the good life. Even with the money she earned, she was always in debt. It takes a lot of cash to keep a townhouse in New York, a condo in L.A., and a cabin in Aspen. That woman could spend money faster than the treasury department could print it.”

“And so she became romantically involved with your father,” Becca guessed with a sickening feeling of disgust.

“More than that. She was pressuring Dad into marrying her.”

“But the press . . . why didn’t they know? This sounds like something the gossip columnists would get wind of.”

“Melanie had to be patient. Dad insisted on it.” Brig looked away and squinted against the rising sun. “Patience wasn’t Melanie’s long suit, but she played her cards right. When she knew I wasn’t interested in her, she moved in on Dad. He was probably her target all along. Anyway, Melanie had to wait in line.”

Becca understood. “Because he was involved with Nanette Walters.”

Brig frowned and shook his head. “I can’t for the life of me understand Jason’s choice in women, not since Mom died. But there it was. And even though Nanette was just one in a long succession of women, my father cared for her.” Brig’s hands slid down Becca’s spine and he pulled her close to him. “Jason made sure that all the women in his life were . . . comfortable. He gave Nanette her walking papers along with a sizable gift of jewelry.”

“Why are you telling me all of this?” she asked, aware of the soft touch of his hands against the small of her back.

“I wish I knew,” he admitted, kissing the top of her head.