Chapter 7
Chapter 7
N othing was resolved, and, for the moment, it didn’t seem to matter. Becca accepted Brig’s silent invitation to stay with him for the remainder of the weekend. Upon his suggestion, she donned her jeans and sneakers and they hiked together through the leaf-strewn trails of the lower slopes, holding hands and flushing out a frightened doe and twin fawns who quickly bounded out of sight and into the protection of the dense woods. Brig held her hand warmly in his and with the other, pointed out secret treasures from his boyhood. The abandoned tree house he had unskillfully crafted at twelve was missing more than a few of its floorboards. It looked weathered and discarded in the ancient maple tree. The bend in the path where he had discovered a broken arrowhead was now overgrown. The deep pool in the mountain stream was as crystal clear as it had ever been, though it had been twenty years since he had last caught a native trout in it or swum naked along its bank.
Becca felt that Brig was showing her a secret side to his nature. A dimension she had never before been allowed to see. It warmed her heart to think that he would share his fondest memories with her. She walked with him until her muscles ached, and they laughed into each other’s eyes as if they were the only man and woman in the universe. They were alone, male and female, basking in shared affection, afraid to call their feelings love.
When twilight began to darken the hillside, they raced back to the cabin. Becca lost by a miserable margin, and Brig’s gray eyes danced with his victory. She pretended wounded anger, but he saw through her ruse and as she attempted to brush past him into the cabin, his hand shot out and captured her waist. Her head tilted backward and her golden hair fell away from her face, framing her twinkling green eyes in tousled, tawny curls. Her cheeks were pink from the cool fresh air and her lips parted into a becoming smile more sensual than any Brig had ever seen.
“You love to win, don’t you?” she asked.
“I love to be with you,” he responded, his eyes darkening mysteriously.
Her arms entwined around his neck. “I can’t think of another place I’d rather be.”
“That, Ms. Peters, is an invitation I can’t ignore,” he replied, tightening his grip on her waist and bending his head to mold her chilled lips to his. She closed her eyes and let the taste of him linger on her lips. She savored every moment she shared with him. Too long she had waited for the intimate pleasure of his touch.
His fingers spanned her waist to grip her possessively. His tongue slid between the serrated edges of her teeth to explore the warmth of her mouth. He groaned when the tip of her tongue found his. The pressure of his mouth against hers hardened with the passion that fired his blood.
When he lifted his head, it was to smile wickedly into her passion-glazed eyes. “Sometimes I wonder if I’ll ever get enough of you,” he mused against her ear.
“I hope not,” she breathed fervently.
They walked into the cabin silently, arms entwined, bodies barely touching. While Brig started the fire, Becca managed to put together hodgepodge sandwiches from the dwindling supply of food in the refrigerator. Together they drank chilled wine, nibbled on the sandwiches, and warmed their bare feet near the glowing embers of the crackling fire. The tangy scent of burning pitch filled the air. Sitting on the floor, her head nestled against Brig’s shoulder, Becca felt more at home than she had in years.
She watched him as he finished the last of his wine. The firelight sharpened the lines of his face, but even in the hard light, the charm of his smile was undiminished. The last six years had added a rugged quality to his masculinity. He was as lean as he had ever been and his hair was still near black with only the slightest sprinkling of gray.
He turned his gaze to her and found her staring intently at his profile. His eyelids lowered and his smile became provocative. “You’re an interesting woman, Rebecca,” he whispered hoarsely. With his finger he traced the line of her jaw and let it lower to the column of her neck. His finger stopped its descent at the hollow of her throat where it began drawing sketchy, lazy circles. “I’m not sure I like what you do to me.”
Her eyebrows raised, prompting him onward. She couldn’t find her voice, it was lost in the soft swirl of emotions generated by his feather-soft touch.
“I’m not in control when I’m around you, not in complete command of myself.”
His fingers found the top button of her blouse, released it, and toyed with the edge of her collar. Becca closed her eyes and she felt her body warming from the inside out, heard the ragged sound of her uneven breathing as he unhooked another button and then another. She had to draw in her breath quickly when his hand slipped under the soft fabric of her bra to lovingly cup a breast.
“Oh, Brig,” she sighed, turning her body, twisting in his arms in order to move closer to him. She felt her nipple harden, and moaned in contentment, when his head lowered and he took her breast in his mouth. The soft movements of his tongue and lips comforted her and helped increase the thundering tempo of her heartbeat.
Slowly he undressed her and then when she was naked, he discarded his own clothes. He lowered himself beside her, letting the hard length of his body mold against the soft tissues of hers. His arms wrapped around her, his hands kneaded the soft muscles in her back. “You’re mine,” he whispered roughly against her neck. His lips warmed a trail of hungry kisses down her throat, over the hill of her breasts, around her navel. “You’ve always been mine.”
The possessive sound of his voice made her blood thunder in her ears and the moist warm heat from his swollen lips ignited her skin. She ached to be a part of him. The void within her yearned to be filled with the depth of his passion. She began to yield with the persuasive touch of his hands on her buttocks.
“Stay with me,” he pleaded. Heavy-lidded eyes held hers in a heated gaze that promised a lifetime of love. If only she could believe those eyes.
“Forever,” she whispered, pushing aside her doubts and letting herself become swept up in the tide of rising passion. She felt the weight of his body as he shifted to part her legs and claim once again what had always been his.
* * *
Sunday afternoon came far too quickly. Isolated in the cozy mountain cabin, Becca had felt secluded from the rest of the world. She had forced herself to forget the pain of the past and the brutal anger of her argument with Brig concerning Gypsy Wind. Now it was time to face the truth and unwrap the shielding cocoon of false security she had willingly used to cover herself from the pain of past deceits.
From her vantage point in the kitchen, she could look out the window and see Brig. He was sitting on the porch steps, gazing intently across the valley floor. He rested his elbows on his knees and cradled a cup of steaming coffee in his hands. His wavy hair was rumpled, and despite the fact that he had shaved earlier, already there was evidence of his beard darkening his hard jawline. He squinted past the rising fog and his breath misted in the crisp autumn air.
He must have heard her footsteps as she approached. Though he didn’t turn his head to look in her direction, he spoke. His eyes remained distant. “You’ve come to tell me that it’s time you left,” he stated flatly.
She sat down next to him, wedging her body between his and one of the strong supports for the roof. “We can’t hide up here forever.” She huddled her arms around her torso. Though wearing a moss-colored bulky knit sweater, the chill in the air made her shiver.
“I suppose not.” Again his voice was toneless. He took a long scalding sip of his coffee.
“It would be nice to spend the rest of our lives up here,” she mused aloud while watching the flight of ducks heading southward.
“But impractical.”
“And irresponsible.”
His mouth quirked downward. “That’s right, isn’t it? We both have pressing responsibilities.”
She tilted her head and studied his features. This morning he seemed suddenly cold and distant. “Is something wrong?”
“What could be wrong?”
“I don’t know . . . but you look as if something’s bothering you.”
“Any guesses as to what it might be?”
Her smile faded. “Gypsy Wind.”
“That’s a good start.” Brig’s lips compressed into a tight, uncompromising line.
Becca’s heart missed a beat. “What do you want to do with her?”
“Nothing.”
“Nothing?” she repeated.
“I don’t want you to race her, Becca. I don’t want you to go through all of that pain again.”
“A race doesn’t have to end in pain and death.”
“You’re tempting fate.”
“Don’t tell me you believe in that nonsense. I’ve never thought of you as a man who put stock in fate or destiny, or whatever else you might call it.”
“Not usually. But we’re not dealing with a usual set of circumstances here.” He set his cup down and grabbed her by the shoulders as if he intended to shake some sense into her. “Damn it, Becca. You don’t have to prove anything to me or the rest of the world. There’s no need to try and purge yourself of this thing.”
“I’m not,” she argued, her face tilted defiantly. “I’m only attempting to do what any respectable breeder would if he were in my shoes. I’m trying to race the finest filly ever bred.”
“Forget it!”
Becca’s anger flashed in her eyes like green lightning. Her fingers dug into her ribs. “Just what is it you expect me to do?”
The severity in his gaze faded. “I want you to hang it up,” he implored. His fingers were gentle on her shoulders as he tried to persuade her. “Sell Gypsy Wind if you have to, or better yet, keep her, but for God’s sake and hers, don’t let her race!”
“That’s crazy.”
“It might be the sanest thing I’ve ever suggested.”
“It’s impossible. Gypsy Wind was bred to run.”
“She was bred to absolve you of Sentimental Lady’s death.”
The insult stung, but she didn’t let go of her emotions. “There’s no point in arguing about this,” she stated, attempting to rise. His hands restrained her.
“There’s more.” His voice was low.
“More to what?”
“I want you to stay with me.”
“Oh, Brig,” she said, thinking of a thousand reasons to stay. “Don’t do this to me. You know I want to stay with you . . .” Tears began to gather behind her eyes.
“But you can’t?”
She shook her head painfully, thinking of Starlight Farm, her brother, Dean, and Gypsy Wind. She had worked six long, tedious years to get where she had, with no help from Brig Chambers. In the beauty of one quiet weekend, he expected her to change all of that. “I’ve got to go home.”
He struggled with a weighty decision. His eyes grew dark. “Stay with me. Make your home with me. Be my wife.” .
The tears that had pooled began to spill from her eyes and her chin trembled. “I wish I could, Brig,” she said. “But it’s just not possible. You know it as well as I.”
“Because of Sentimental Lady.”
“Because you lied to the press. You accused me of killing the horse—”
“I knew that you didn’t intend to kill her. I never for a moment thought that you intended to hurt her.”
“You know that I didn’t hurt her.”
“But someone who worked for you did.”
“Is that what you’re doing? Trying to convince me that it was one of the grooms . . . or maybe Ian O’Riley . . . or how about my brother, Dean, or the vet? You know who did it, Brig. Don’t point the finger somewhere else. I might have been gullible enough to believe you once, but not any longer.”
“Becca, I’m telling you the truth. Why can’t you accept that?”
His eyes were steely gray, but clear, his expression exasperated. Becca longed to trust him. She wanted to believe anything he told her. “Maybe because you never came after me.”
“Only because you didn’t want to see me.”
“That’s a lie.”
“I called, Rebecca. You refused to speak to me.”
Becca shook her head, trying to dodge his insulting lies. “You never called. Don’t start lying to me, Brig. It’s too hard a habit to break.”
The pressure on her arms increased. “I did call you, damn it. I talked with your brother once and that old trainer O’Riley a couple of times. I even talked with your cook, or housemaid, or whatever she is.”
Doubt replaced her anger. “You talked to Martha? When?”
“I can’t remember exactly.”
“But she’s been gone for over five years.”
“I spoke to her about six months after the accident,” Brig replied thoughtfully. “It was the second call I’d made.”
Becca drew in her breath. “No one told me that you’d phoned.”
Brig’s eyes narrowed suspiciously. “And that’s why you didn’t phone me back?”
“I couldn’t very well return what I’d never received.”
“Then someone—no, make that everyone in your house is lying to you.”
“Or you are,” she thought aloud.
His fingers carefully cupped her chin. “Why would I? What purpose would it serve. As soon as you go back to California you could check it out.”
“I don’t know.”
“Face it, Becca. Someone is covering up. Probably the same person who drugged Sentimental Lady.”
“It just doesn’t make any sense. Why would anyone working with me to make Sentimental Lady a winner want to throw the race?”
Brig got up and began pacing on the weathered floorboards of the porch. He ran his fingers thoughtfully through his hair. “I don’t know,” he said quietly. “Unless someone had it in for you. Did anyone have an ax to grind with you? It could be something that you might think insignificant like . . . an argument over a raise . . . or the firing of a friend.”
Becca rested her forehead on her palm and forced her weary mind to go backward in time, past the ugly race. It was futile. She shook her head slowly.
Brig was desperate. He came back to her and forced her eyes to meet the power of his gaze. “You’ve got to think, Rebecca. Someone deliberately tried to keep us apart, probably for the single reason of keeping the truth of the race secret. As long as we suspected each other, we wouldn’t think past our suspicions. We wouldn’t be able to find the real culprit, even if he left a trail of clues a mile long.”
“But the racing commission . . . certainly its investigation would have discovered the truth.”
“Not necessarily—not if the culprit were clever. And remember, the commission was more concerned about Sentimental Lady’s recovery than the drugging. By the time all of the havoc had quieted, the culprit could have covered his tracks.”
She wanted to believe him but couldn’t think past the six lonely years she had spent in the shadow of that last damning race without Brig’s strength or support. “I don’t know,” she whispered. “It all seems so farfetched.”
“No more so than your half-baked accusations that I had something to do with it!”
“But why? Why would anyone want to disqualify the Lady?”
Brig closed his eyes for a moment and tried to clear his head. Nothing was making any sense. “I don’t know.” His eyes snapped open. “But you must. Think, Rebecca, think!”
“I have, Brig. For the past six years I’ve hardly thought of anything else. And the only logical answer to the question of who injured Sentimental Lady was you.”
“But you don’t believe that anymore, do you?”
Her smile was thin. “I don’t know what to believe. But if it’s any consolation, I never wanted to think that you had anything to do with it.”
“But you still have doubts.”
She looked bravely into his eyes. “No.”
For the first time that morning, the hint of a smile lightened his features. He took her into his arms, and held her body close to his. The power of his embrace supported her. “Then you’ll stay with me?”
“Not yet,” she said, dreading the sound of her own voice.
The arms around her relaxed and Brig stepped away from her. “Sometimes I don’t think I know what you want, lady, but I assume this has something to do with your filly. You still intend to race her, don’t you, despite what happened to Sentimental Lady.”
“I have to.” Couldn’t Brig understand? Gypsy Wind had more than mere potential for winning races—she was a champion. Becca would risk her reputation on it.
“No one’s holding a gun to your head.”
Becca put her hands on her hips and tried a different approach. “Why don’t you come to the farm and see first hand what it is that makes Gypsy so special? Come and watch her work out. See for yourself her power, the grace of her movements, the exhilaration in her eyes when she’s given her head. Don’t judge her before you’ve seen her.”
Brig tossed the idea over in his mind. His work schedule was impossible. He had no time for horses or horse racing. He’d ended that folly six years ago. But Rebecca Peters was another thing altogether. He wanted her. More than he had wanted her six years ago. More than he had ever wanted anything. He saw the look of pride on her face and he noticed the defiant way she stood as if ready to refute anything he might say. Thoughtfully, he rubbed his thumb slowly under his jaw. “What if I disagree with you?”
“You won’t.” Becca wondered if she looked as determined as she sounded.
Brig cocked his head but didn’t argue. “If I do decide to go to California and I think that Gypsy Wind is unsound, will you promise not to race her and give up this foolish dream?”
“Not on your life.” Her eyes glittered with fierce determination.
“And you’re not afraid that someone might do to her what was done to Sentimental Lady.”
“I’ve been racing horses ever since Sentimental Lady’s death. The incident hasn’t recurred.”
Brig’s voice was edged in steel. “Then I guess we’re at an impasse.”
“Only if you want to be.” Her hand reached out and her fingers touched his arm. “Don’t shut me out, Brig. Not now. I don’t think I’m asking too much of you. Please come and see my horse. Reserve your judgment until then. If you think she’s not as fine as I’ve been telling you, we’ll work something out.”
“Such as?”
“I’ll find a way to repay your loan within the year. Is that fair?”
“I suppose so. Now, what about my proposition? Will you marry me?”
“Give it time; Brig. We both need time to learn to love and trust each other again. Six years is a long time to harbor the kinds of feelings we’ve had for each other. You can’t wash them away in one weekend in the mountains.”
“Nor can you prove to the world that you’re one of the best Thoroughbred breeders in the country. I was wrong about you, Rebecca. You haven’t changed at all. You’re still giving me the same flimsy excuse you did the last time I asked you to marry me. I’m not a man who’s known for his patience, nor am I the kind of man who gets a kick out of rejection. I’ve asked you twice to marry me, and I won’t do it again.”
Becca struggled with her pride. When she spoke her voice was strangely detached and the words of reason seemed distant. “I didn’t come to you to try and coerce a marriage proposal from you, Brig, nor did I intend to have another affair with you. All I wanted was to know that you were safe and to tell you about Gypsy Wind. I’ve done those things and I’ve also told you that I intend to repay my note to your father. Business is done. My plane leaves in less than four hours from Denver. I have to go.”
His face was a mask of indifference. “Just remember that you made your own choices today. You’re the one who will have to live with them.”