You’ll Find Out

Chapter 9

Chapter 9

T he first break came three weeks later. The season had changed from late summer into early autumn and Brig wondered if the promise of winter had cooled the angry tempers in Wyoming. Whatever the reason, the wildcat strike had been resolved, if only temporarily, and although anger still flared on both sides of the picket line, it seemed that most of the arguments and threats of violence had been settled.

As for his father’s estate, it was finally in the lengthy legal process known as probate. Brig and the rest of the staff of Chambers Oil had given the tax attorneys every scrap of information they could find concerning Jason Chambers’ vast financial holdings. Brig had reluctantly included the stack of personal notes and receipts he had found in his father’s locked desk drawer. Brig had to suppress a wicked grin of satisfaction as he handed the private papers to the young tax attorney and the nervous man’s face frowned in disbelief at the unrecorded transactions.

The only intentional omission was the note signed by Rebecca Peters. Brig had substituted it with one of his own in the amount of fifty thousand dollars. He considered the original note to Jason as his personal business. It had nothing to do with the old man’s estate. This was one matter that only involved Rebecca and himself.

It had been difficult to concentrate on running the oil company the past few weeks. The mundane tasks had been impossible as his wayward thoughts continued to revolve around Rebecca Peters. He couldn’t get her out of his mind, and cursed himself as a fool for his infatuation. In the last six years he had thought himself rid of her, that he had finally expunged her from his mind and soul. One weekend in the Rockies had changed all of that, and he couldn’t forget a moment of the quiet solitude at the cabin near Devil’s Creek. To add insult to injury, he began picking up horse-racing magazines, hoping to see her name in print and catch a glimpse of her. He was disappointed. He found no mention of a two-year-old filly named Gypsy Wind, nor of the entrancing woman who owned her.

When the call came through that the strike was settled, Brig didn’t hesitate. He was certain that his man in Wyoming could handle the tense situation in the oil fields and he knew that Mona was able to run the company with or without him for a few days. He took the secretary’s advice and made hurried arrangements to fly to San Francisco. After two vain attempts to reach Becca by phone, he gave up and found some satisfaction in the fact that he would arrive on her doorstep as unexpectedly as she had on his only a few short weeks ago.

Without taking the time to consider his motives, he drove home, showered, changed, and threw a few clothes into a lightweight suitcase. After a quick glance around his apartment, he tossed his tweed sports jacket over his shoulder and called a cab to take him to the airport. He didn’t want to waste any time. He was afraid his common sense might take over and he would cancel his plans. He kept in motion so as not to think about the consequences of his unannounced journey.

Ominous gray clouds darkened the sky over the buildings of Starlight Breeding Farm. It hadn’t changed much since the last time Brig had visited. A quick glance at the buildings told him that only the most critically needed repairs had been completed in the last six years. All in all, the grounds were in sad shape. Brig had to grit his teeth together when he noticed the chipped paint on the two-storied farmhouse and the broken hinge on the gate. With a knowledgeable eye, he surveyed the stables. It seemed as if the whitewashed barns were in better shape than the living quarters; a tribute to Rebecca’s sense of priority. A windmill supporting several broken blades groaned painfully against a sudden rush of air blowing down the valley. Brittle dry leaves danced in the wind before fluttering to rest against the weathered boards of a sagging wooden fence.

It was glaringly apparent that because of Sentimental Lady’s short racing career and the fact that Rebecca hadn’t owned another decent Thoroughbred, she wasn’t able to make enough money to run the farm properly. That much was evidenced in the overgrown shrubbery, the rusted gutters, and the sagging roofline of the house. It would take a great deal of cash to get the buildings back into shape, money Rebecca was sadly lacking. It was no wonder she had been forced to go to Jason for a loan. No banker in his right mind would loan money to a has-been horse breeder with only a run-down breeding farm as collateral. Guilt, like a razor-sharp blade, twisted in his conscience.

Brig made his way up the uneven steps of the porch and knocked soundly on the door. His face was set in a grim mask of determination. No matter what had happened between himself and Rebecca, he couldn’t allow her to live like this! No one answered his knock. He pressed the doorbell and wasn’t surprised when he didn’t hear the sound of a chime inside the house. After one last loud knock, he turned toward the stables. Several vehicles parked near the barns indicated that someone had to be on the property.

Rather than explore the stables, he decided to walk through the familiar maze of paddocks surrounding the barns. The first paddock had once held broodmares. Today it was empty. With the exception of a few animals, the paddocks were vacant.The last time Brig had walked through these gates, the stables had been filled to capacity with exceptional Thoroughbreds. But many of the horses were only boarded at Becca’s farm, and when the scandal over Sentimental Lady had cast doubt on Becca’s reputation, most of the animals were removed by conscientious owners.

Becca had never recaptured her reputation as being a responsible, successful horse breeder. A muscle in the corner of Brig’s jaw worked and his eyes darkened as he wondered how much of Rebecca’s misfortune was his fault. Had he truly, as she had once claimed, destroyed her reputation and her business with his unfounded accusations? How much of her burden was his?

Unconsciously he walked toward the most removed pasture, a corner paddock with the single sequoia standing guard over it. That particular field, with its lush grass and slightly raised view of the rest of the farm, had been Sentimental Lady’s home when she hadn’t been on the racing circuit.

As Brig neared the paddock he stopped dead in his tracks, barely believing what he saw. The first drops of rain had begun to fall from the darkened sky, but it wasn’t the cool water that chilled his blood or made him curse silently to himself. Color drained from his face as he watched the coffee-colored horse lift her black tail and run the length of the far fence. She stopped at the corner, impeded in her efforts to run from the stranger. She stood as far from Brig as was possible, flattened her ebony ears against her head, and snorted disdainfully.

“Sentimental Lady,” Brig whispered to himself, leaning against the top rail of the fence and watching the frightened horse intently. “I’ll be damned.” There was no doubt in his mind that this horse was Gypsy Wind.

He ran an appreciative eye from her shoulders to her tail. She was a near-perfect Thoroughbred, almost a carbon copy of Sentimental Lady. For a fleeting moment Brig thought the two horses were identical, but slowly, as his expert gaze traveled over the horse, he noted the differences. The most obvious was the lack of white markings on Gypsy Wind. Sentimental Lady had been marked with an off-center star; this dark filly bore none. But that wasn’t important, at least not to Brig. Coloring didn’t make the horse.

The most impressive dissimilarity between the two animals was the slight variation in build and body structure. Both horses were barrel-chested, but Gypsy Wind seemed to be slightly shorter than her sister and her long legs appeared heavier. That didn’t necessarily mean that Gypsy Wind’s legs were stronger, but Brig hoped they were for the nervous filly’s sake.

The shower increased and Brig wondered why Becca would allow her Thoroughbred to stand unattended in the early autumn rain. It wasn’t like Becca. She had always been meticulous in her care of Thoroughbreds, a careful breeder cautious for her horses’ health. That was what had puzzled Brig and it made it difficult for him to believe that Becca was responsible for harming Sentimental Lady . . . unless she was protecting someone.

Slowly moving along the fence so as not to startle the horse, Brig called to her. She eyed him nervously as he approached. With the same high spirit as her sister, Gypsy Wind tossed her intelligent head and stamped her right foreleg impatiently. Just like Lady. The resemblance between the two horses was eerie. Brig felt his stomach knot in apprehension. He couldn’t help but remember the last time he had seen Sentimental Lady alive. It was a nightmare that still set his teeth on edge. He remembered it as clearly as if it had just happened.

Sentimental Lady had virtually been lifted into her stall by Ian O’Riley and his assistants. She tried to lie down, but was forced to stay on her feet by a team of four veterinarians. A horse resting on its side for too long might develop paralysis.

Her pain was deadened with ice while the chief veterinarian managed to sedate the frantic animal. She was led to the operating room where she nearly died, but was kept alive by artificial respiration and stimulants. Brig concentrated on the slow expansion and contraction of her chest. He and Rebecca had agreed with the veterinarians. They had no choice but to operate because of the contamination in the dirt-filled wound. Though the anxious horse needed no further trauma, there were no other options to save her.

Brig watched in silent horror as the veterinarian removed the fragments of chipped bone and tried to repair the severely torn ligaments. After flushing the wound with antibiotics and saline solutions, drains were inserted in the leg. Finally an orthopedist fit a special shoe and cast onto Sentimental Lady’s damaged foreleg. At that moment, the operation appeared to be successful.

The agonizing minutes ticked by as Sentimental Lady was eased out of anesthesia. When she regained control of her body she awoke in a frenzy. She struck out and knocked down the veterinarian who was with her. As her hoof kicked against the side of the stall, she broke off her specially constructed shoe. Within minutes, while Ian tried vainly to calm her, the flailing horse had torn her cast to shreds and her hemorrhaging and swelling had increased. Blood splattered against the sides of the stall.

“It’s no use,” Ian had told Brig. “She was too excited from the race and the pain—they’ll never be able to control her again. It’s her damned temperament that’s killing her!” He turned back to the horse. “Slow down, Lady! Slow down.” For his efforts he was rewarded with a kick in the leg.

“Get him out of there!” the veterinarian ordered, and Dean helped Ian from the stall. “I don’t think there’s anything we can do for her.”

The options had run out. All four veterinarians agreed that Sentimental Lady couldn’t withstand another operation. Even if she were stable, it would be difficult. In her current state of frenzied pain, it was impossible. An artificial limb was out of the question, as was a supportive sling: Sentimental Lady’s high-strung temperament wouldn’t allow her to convalesce.

Brig walked back to the waiting room where Rebecca sat with Martha. Her green eyes were shadowed in silent agony as she waited for the prognosis on her horse. Brig took one of her hands in his as he explained the options to Rebecca. Her small shoulders slumped and tears pooled in her eyes.

“But she’s so beautiful,” she murmured, letting the tears run down her cheeks to fall onto the shoulders of her blood-stained linen suit. “It can’t be . . .”

“This is your decision,” he said quietly. Martha put a steadying arm over Becca’s shoulders.

“I want to see her.” Becca rose and walked hesitantly to the other room, where she could observe Lady. One look at the terrified horse and the splintered cast confirmed Brig’s tragic opinion. “I can’t let her suffer anymore,” Becca whispered, closing her eyes against the terrible scene. She lowered her head and in a small voice that was barely audible repeated, “It’s all my fault . . .”

Sentimental Lady’s death had been the beginning of the end for Rebecca and Brig. He couldn’t forget her claims that she had been responsible for the catastrophe, and hadn’t fully understood what she meant until the postmortem examination had revealed that there were traces of Dexamethasone in Sentimental Lady’s body. Dexamethasone was a steroid that hadn’t been used in the surgery. Someone had intentionally drugged the horse and perhaps contributed to her death.

Because of Rebecca’s remorse and the guilt she claimed, Brig assumed that she knew of the culprit. The thought that a woman with whom he had shared so much love could betray her horse so cruelly had ripped him apart. He tried to deny her part in the tragedy, but couldn’t ignore her own admission of guilt.

The next day, when he read the newspaper reports of the event, the quote that wouldn’t leave him was that of his father as Winsome had galloped home to a hollow victory. “We threw a fast pace at the bitch and she just broke down,” Jason Chambers had claimed in the aftermath and shock of the accident. The cold-blooded statement cut Brig to the bone.

That had been six years ago, and with the passage of time, Brig had sworn never to become involved with Rebecca Peters again. And yet, here he was, in the pouring rain, attempting to capture a horse whose similarities to Sentimental Lady made him shudder. He was more of a fool than he would like to admit.

“Come here, Gypsy,” he summoned, extending his hand to touch the horse’s wet muzzle. “Let me take you inside.”

Gypsy Wind stepped backward and shook her head menacingly.

“Come on, girl. Don’t you have enough sense to come in out of the rain?” He clucked gently at the nervous filly.

“Hey! What’s going on here?” an angry voice called over the rising wind. “You leave that horse alone!”

Gypsy Wind shied from the noise and Brig whirled around to face Rebecca’s brother striding meaningfully toward him. When Brig’s cold gray eyes clashed with Dean’s watery blue gaze, a moment’s hesitation held them apart. A shadow of fear darkened Dean’s eyes but quickly disappeared and was replaced with false bravado.

“You’re just about the last person I expected to see,” Dean announced as he climbed over the fence and reached for Gypsy Wind’s halter. She rolled her eyes and paced backward, always just a few feet out of Dean’s reach.

“This trip was a spur of the moment decision,” Brig responded. Dean managed to catch the horse and snapped on the lead rein, giving it a vicious tug.

“Plan on staying long?” Dean asked. He led the filly into the barn and instructed a groom to take care of her.

“I haven’t decided yet.”

Dean shrugged as if it made no difference to him one way or the other, but his eyes remained cold. “Was Becca expecting you?” he inquired cautiously.

“No.”

“Well, you may as well come up to the house and dry off. She and Ian are in town. They should be home any time.”

“They left you in charge?” Brig asked pointedly.

Dean’s jaw hardened and he slid a furtive glance in Brig’s direction. The man had always made him uneasy. Brig Chambers was in a different league than was Dean Peters. Whereas Dean was only comfortable in faded jeans, Chambers was a man who looked at ease in jeans or a tuxedo. Even now, though he was drenched from the sudden downpour, Brig looked as if he owned the world in his tan corduroy pants, dark blue sweater, and tweed sports coat. Easy for him, Dean thought to himself, he did own the world . . . practically. Chambers Oil was worth a fortune! Dean didn’t bother to hide the sarcasm in his voice. “Every once in a while, when Ian and Becca have to do something together, they let me run the place.”

“I see,” Brig stated as if he didn’t and added silently to himself, and you pay them back by leaving Rebecca’s prized Thoroughbred unattended in the rain.

* * *

Dean wasn’t easily fooled. He could see that Brig was unhappy; it was evidenced in the dark shade of his unfriendly eyes. Dean also realized that it was a bad break having Brig find Gypsy Wind in the rain, but it couldn’t have been helped. The forecast had been for sunshine and Dean had gotten wrapped up in the 49ers game on television. He had a lot of money riding on the outcome of the game. The last thing he needed was Brig Chambers nosing around here. Dean couldn’t trust Chambers as far as he could throw him and Becca always went a little crazy whenever she was with Brig. Why the hell had Brig come to the ranch now? Dean’s throat went dry as he considered the note. Maybe Chambers had changed his mind. Maybe he wanted his loan repaid on the spot! How in the world would Becca put her hands on fifty grand?

Dean stopped at the gate near the front of the farmhouse. “You know your way around, let yourself in, make yourself comfortable.” He stood on one side of the broken gate, Brig was on the other. “The 49ers are playing on channel seven.”

Brig’s smile was polite, but it made Dean uncomfortable. There was a barely concealed trace of contempt in Brig’s eyes. “I think I’ll dry off and then check on the horse.”

Dean raised his reddish brows. “Suit yourself,” he said while pulling his jacket more tightly around him. “But take my word for it, the Gypsy will be fine. Garth knows how to handle her.” With his final remark, Dean turned toward the stables and headed back to the warm office over the tack room where the final quarter of the 49ers game and a welcome can of beer waited for him.

* * *

Brig walked into the farmhouse and smiled at the familiar sight. Some of the furniture had been replaced, other pieces rearranged, but for the most part, the interior seemed the same as it was six years ago. He didn’t bother with the lights, though the storm outside shadowed the rooms ominously. Mounting the worn steps slowly, he let his fingers slide along the polished surface of the railing. There was no hesitation in his stride when he reached the second floor; he moved directly toward Rebecca’s room. At the open door he paused.

A torrent of long-denied memories flooded his senses. He remembered vivid images of a distant past: the smell of violets faintly scenting the air, a blue silk dress slipping noiselessly to the floor, the moonlight reflecting silver light in Rebecca’s soft green eyes, and the powerful feeling of harmony he had found when he had taken her body with his. The reflection had an overpowering effect on him. He braced his shoulder against the doorjamb and plunged his fists deep into his pockets while he stared vacantly into the room. He had been a fool to let Rebecca slip away from him, a damned fool too blinded with self-righteousness to see the truth.

After letting the bittersweet memories take their toll on him, he went into the bathroom and towel-dried his hair. He tossed on his jacket and ran back to the barns, his head bent against the wind. Garth had indeed seen to the horse. Once Brig was satisfied that Gypsy Wind was comfortable, he headed back to the house.

Headlights winding up the long drive warned him that Rebecca was returning. An ancient pickup with a trailer in tow ground to a stop against the wet gravel of the parking lot and the driver killed the rumbling engine.

Rebecca emerged from the cab of the truck, wearing a smile and a radiant gleam in her eye when she recognized Brig huddling against the wind. She couldn’t hide the happiness she felt just at the sight of him.

“What are you doing in this part of the country?” she asked, linking her arm through his and leading him toward the house.

Her good mood was infectious. “Looking for you.”

She winked at him and wiped a raindrop off her nose. “You always know exactly what to say to me, don’t you?”

“Are you telling me that I haven’t lost my touch?”

“If you had, it would make my whole life a lot easier.”

“Is that right?” He took her hand in his and stuffed it into the warmth of his jacket pocket.

She hesitated just a moment as they climbed the porch stairs. “I’ve thought about the last time I saw you . . .”

He lifted his dark brows. “That makes two of us.”

She was suddenly sober. “I didn’t intend to argue with you. The last thing I wanted to do was fight about Gypsy Wind.”

“I know.”

A sad smile curved her lips as they walked through the door together. “It seems that every time we’re together, we end up arguing.”

They stepped into the kitchen. “It hasn’t always been that way,” he reminded her.

She shook her blond hair. It was loose and brushed against her shoulders. “You’re wrong . . . even in the beginning we had fights.”

“Disagreements,” he insisted.

“Okay, disagreements,” she responded. Without asking his preference, she set a cup of black coffee on the table and poured one for herself. “Anyway, the point is, I made a vow to myself on the plane back from Denver.”

“Sounds serious.”

“It was. I told myself that I was going to get over you.”

He sat back in the chair, straddling the cane backing before taking a sip of the coffee. “Well . . . did you?”

She made a disgusted sound in the back of her throat and shook her head. How could he sit there so calmly when she felt as if her insides were being shredded? “Not yet.”

“But you intend to?”

“I thought I did . . . right now, I honestly don’t know.” She stared into the dark coffee in her cup as if she were searching for just the right words to make him understand her feelings. She lifted her eyes to meet his. “But I think it would make things simpler if you and I remained business partners—nothing more.”

Brig frowned. “And you’re sure that’s what you want?”

“I’m not sure of anything right now,” she admitted with a sigh.

“Except for Gypsy Wind.”

Becca’s somber expression lightened. “Have you seen her?”

“When I first got here.”

“What do you think?” Becca’s breath caught in her throat. How long had she waited for Brig to see the horse?

“She’s a beautiful filly,” he replied, keeping his tone noncommittal. Looks were one thing; racing temperament and speed were entirely different matters.

“Where did you see her?”

“In Sentimental Lady’s paddock.”

“This afternoon?” Rebecca seemed surprised. Brig nodded. “I didn’t know she was going to be let out,” she thought aloud. “Ian didn’t mention it to me . . .”

“Where is O’Riley? I thought he was with you.”

“I dropped him off at his place—he lives a couple of miles down the road.” She answered him correctly, but her mind was back on Gypsy Wind. “Did you talk to Dean?”

“That’s how I knew you were with O’Riley.”

“So Dean was with Gypsy Wind?”

“He took her inside and had . . . Garth, is that his name?” Becca nodded. “Garth took care of her. I double-checked her a few minutes ago. She looks fine.”

“Garth is good with the horses,” Becca said, still lost in thought. What was Dean thinking, leaving the Gypsy outside in the windstorm? It was difficult to understand Dean at times.

“What about your brother?” Brig asked.

A startled expression clouded Becca’s sculptured features. “Dean?” She shrugged her slim shoulders. “Dean doesn’t seem to have much interest in the Thoroughbreds anymore . . .” her voice trailed off as she thought about her brother.

“Why not?”

Becca smiled wistfully. “Who knows? Other interests, I suppose.”

“Such as?”

Suddenly defensive, Becca set her mug on the table and gave Brig a look that told him it was really none of his business. “I don’t know,” she admitted. “People change.”

“Do they?” he asked, his voice somewhat husky as he stared at her. He felt the urge to trace the pouty contour of her lips with his finger.

“Of course they do,” she replied coldly. “Didn’t we?”

“That was different.”

“Why?”

“Because of the horse . . .”

“Dean was involved with Sentimental Lady, probably just as close to her as either one of us. It was hard on him.”

“I didn’t say it wasn’t.”

She ignored his remark. Angry fire crackled in her eyes. “It might have been more difficult for him than for either of us,” she pointed out emphatically.

“I doubt that.”

“Of course you do! That’s because you weren’t here, were you? You were gone, afraid to be associated with a woman whom you thought intentionally harmed her horse. Dean was the one who pulled me up by my bootstraps, Brig. He was the one who made me realize that there was more to life than one horse and one man. All the while you were afraid of ruining your reputation, my brother helped me repair mine!”

“I never gave a damn about my reputation!” he shot back angrily. “You know that,” he added in a gentler tone.

“I wish I did,” she whispered. “When I was younger, I was more confident . . . sure of myself . . . sure of you.” A puzzled expression marred the clarity of her beguiling features. “And I was wrong. Now that I’m older, I’m more cautious, I guess. I realize that I can’t change the world.”

“Unless Gypsy Wind proves herself?”

“Not even then.” She smiled sadly. “Don’t misunderstand me—Gypsy Wind is important. But I feel that maybe what she represents isn’t the most important thing in my life, and what might have been of greater value is gone.”

His chair scraped against the floorboards. He stood behind her and let his palms rest on her shoulders as she sat in the chair. “What are you trying to say?”

“That I’m afraid it might be too late for us,” she whispered.

His fingers pressed against the soft fabric of her sweater, gently caressing the skin near her collarbones. He felt cold and empty inside. Rebecca’s words had vocalized his own fears. “So you think that destiny continues to pull us apart?”

She slowly swept her head from side to side. The fine golden strands of her hair brushed against his lower abdomen, adding fuel to the fires of the desire rising within him. The clean scent of her hair filled his nostrils, and he had difficulty concentrating on her words.

“I don’t think destiny or fate has anything to do with it,” she answered pensively. “I think it’s you and me—constantly at war with each other. It’s as if we won’t allow ourselves the chance to be together. Our egos keep getting in the way—mine as well as yours.”

The line of his jaw hardened. “Are you trying to say that you want me to leave?”

She sighed softly to herself and closed her eyes. “If only it were that simple. It’s not.” She shut her eyes more tightly so that deep lines furrowed her brow as she concentrated. “I’m glad you’re here,” she admitted in a hoarse whisper. “There’s a very feminine part of me that needs to know you care.”

“I always have . . .”

“Have you?” She reached up and covered his hand with her long fingers. “You have a funny way of showing it sometimes.”

“We’ve both made mistakes,” he admitted. The warmth from her fingers flowed into his. He lowered his head and kissed her gently on the crook of her neck. The smell of her hair still damp from a sprinkling of raindrops filled his nostrils. It was a clean, earthy scent that brought back memories of their early autumn tryst in the Rocky Mountains.

“And we’re going to make more mistakes . . . tonight?” she asked, conscious only of the moist warmth of his lips and the dewy trail they left on her skin.

“Loving you has never been easy.”

“Because you can’t let yourself, Brig.” With all the strength she could muster, she pulled away from his caress and stood on the opposite side of the chair, as if the small piece of furniture could stop his advances and her yearnings. “Love is impossible without trust. And you cannot to this day find it in your heart to trust me—”

“That’s not true,” he ground out, hearing the false sound of his words as they rang hollowly over the noise of the storm.

“Don’t bother to lie to me . . . or to yourself! We’re past all that, Brig, and I’m too damned old to be playing games.”

There was anger in Brig’s dark eyes, but also just a hint of amusement, as if he were laughing at himself. His jaw was tense, but the trace of a self-mocking smile lingered on his lips. “You are incredible, you know. And so damned beautiful . . .” he reached his hand toward her cheek, but she turned her head and clutched his fingers in her small fist. Her face was set in lines of earnest determination.

“I don’t want to be incredible, Brig! And God knows there must be a thousand beautiful women who would die for a chance to hear you say just that to them—”

“But not you?”

Her green eyes flashed in defiance at the suspicious arch of his dark male brows. “I like compliments as well as the next woman. I’d be a fool if I tried to deny it. But what I want from you”—her fingers tightened around his as if to emphasize the depth of her feelings—“what I want from you is trust! I want you to be able to look me in the eyes and see a woman who loves you, who has always loved you—”

“And who put her career before my proposal of marriage.”

The words stung, but she took them in stride. “I needed time.”

“That’s a lame excuse.”

“Maybe you’re right,” she said.

“Would you do anything differently if you could?” he asked through clenched teeth.

“I don’t know . . .”

“Would you?” he demanded, his face tense with disbelief.

“Yes, oh yes!”

His muscles relaxed slightly but the doubt didn’t leave his face. “How would you change things, Becca?”

The question stood between them like an invisible wall, a wall that had been built with the passage of six long years. Rebecca’s voice was barely audible over the sounds of the storm. “I don’t think that there would have been many things I would do differently,” she admitted.

“What about me?”

She fought against the tears forming in her eyes and smiled. “I’ve never for a minute regretted that I met you or that . . . I thought I was in love with you.” She cleared her throat as she tried to remain calm. “But you have to know, Brig, that if I could, I would turn back the hands of time and somehow find a way to save Sentimental Lady.”

The honesty in her eyes twisted his heart. “I know that, Rebecca. I’ve always known that you wouldn’t intentionally hurt anything.”

“But—”

“I just thought that you were covering up for someone whom you cared about very much.”

“I had no idea who—”

He stepped toward her and folded her into his arms. “I know that now, and I’m sorry that I didn’t realize it before this.” As his arms tightened around her he realized that she was trembling. His lips moved softly against her hair. “It’s all right now,” he murmured, hoping to reassure her.

Becca tried to concentrate on the warmth of Brig’s arms. She fought against the doubts crowding in her mind, but she couldn’t forget his words. “I thought you were covering up for someone whom you cared for . . .” She had been, but it was because she had thought Brig was somehow involved. If not Brig, then who? “Someone you cared for . . .”

She closed her eyes and let her weight fall against Brig, trying to ignore the voice in her mind that continued to remind her that Dean, her own brother, had been acting very suspiciously the past few weeks. Dean had access to Sentimental Lady.

But why? What would Dean have had to gain by having the horse disqualified? Or had he expected her to lose?

“Becca—is something wrong?”

The familiar sound of Brig’s voice brought Becca back to the present. She could feel his heartbeat pounding solidly against her chest. His breath fanned her hair. “Nothing,” she lied. She was anxious to escape from her fears and wanted nothing more than the security of Brig’s strong arms to support her.

“You’re sure?” He was doubtful, and pulled his head away from hers so that he could look into her eyes.

“Oh, Brig—just for once, let’s not let the past come between us.”

“I’ve been waiting for an invitation like that all afternoon,” he replied with a crooked smile.

With the quickness of a cat, he scooped her off the floor and cradled her gently against him before turning toward the stairs.

“You can argue with me all night long, Ms. Peters,” he stated, as he strode slowly up the staircase. “But you are incredible, and beautiful, and enchanting, and . . .”

“And I wouldn’t dare argue with you,” she admitted with a smile. “I love every minute of this.”

“Then let me show you exactly how I feel about you.”

“I can’t wait . . .”