You’ll Find Out

Chapter 11

Chapter 11

T he week passed too quickly for Brig and it seemed over before it had really begun. During the days he worked with Rebecca, Ian O’Riley, and Gypsy Wind. He saw, for himself, the potential of the bay filly, but also the danger. Someone had drugged a horse such as this once before. Wouldn’t they be likely to do it again? If only he knew who had been involved and what the motive had been. Seeds of suspicion had sprouted in his mind, but he kept silent about his theory until it could be proved one way or another.

Dean had made himself scarce for the duration of Brig’s visit. There had always been some excuse as to Dean’s whereabouts, but it only strengthened Brig’s suspicions. Rebecca’s brother was never around the farm, with the one exception of mealtime. Otherwise, Dean was on errands into town, or fixing a broken fence in some distant field, or just plain nowhere to be found. When Brig had questioned Becca about her brother, she had seemed unconcerned. Dean had always been his own boss and Rebecca rarely kept up on his whereabouts, as long as he carried his weight around the farm. The week that Brig had visited, Dean had done more than his share. He hadn’t worked this hard in several years. Becca thought the entire situation odd, but chalked it up to the fact that Dean had never been comfortable around the wealth and power represented by Brig Chambers.

For Rebecca the week had flown by with the speed of an eagle in flight. She had felt ten years younger basking in the happiness of working day to day with Gypsy Wind and Brig and making love to him long into the cold autumn nights. She found herself wishing that this precious time with Brig would never end, that he would stay with her forever. Her love and respect for him had grown with each passing day, and she no longer tried to fight the inevitable.

Rebecca had come to understand her love and she realized that it would never die, nor could it be ignored. She would have to accept the fact that she loved him, had always loved him, and probably always would continue to love him. Though their paths might take different courses in life, the depth of her feelings for him would never diminish. Not with time. Not with distance. Her love surmounted all obstacles, and if it could never be returned with the intensity of her feelings, she could accept that. She would take Brig on whatever terms he offered. She was resigned to her fate of loving him, and content in the knowledge that he cared very deeply for her.

What bothered her was the time apart from him. When Sunday evening came, and she finally faced the fact that he would be leaving within a few short hours, she wanted to scream at him to stay, plead with him to content himself for a few more days with her, beg him to love her . . . just one more night.

Instead, she donned what she hoped was a cheery expression and put together an unforgettable meal while he talked to Ian O’Riley. She could watch them from the kitchen window. A tall, dark-haired man with laughing gray eyes hunched over the fence as he listened to the stooped form of the grizzled old jockey. She really didn’t understand why, but the scene, set before the weathered receiving barn, brought tears to her eyes. Hastily, she wiped them away with the back of her hand. She had promised herself that she wouldn’t give way to the sadness she felt knowing that Brig would be gone within a few hours, and it was a vow she intended to keep. She didn’t want to play on his emotions, or appear as just another weepy female. Her pride wouldn’t allow it.

She heard Dean’s pickup before it came into view. He had been away from the farm for the afternoon and Becca hadn’t expected him to return until later in the evening. Since Brig had arrived at the farm, Dean had avoided him. Dean got out of the truck, nodded curtly toward the two men who had witnessed his noisy entrance, and then headed toward the house. The back door opened to close with a thud as Dean came into the kitchen. He tossed his hat onto a hook near the door and scowled.

“I thought Chambers was leaving,” he grumbled.

“He is, but he decided to take a later flight.”

“Great.” Dean’s sarcasm was too caustic to ignore.

After seasoning the salmon with lemon butter, Becca put it into the oven and wiped her hands on her apron. “Has Brig’s stay here interfered with your life, Dean?” she asked with a forced smile. “I don’t see how. You’ve made a point of steering clear of him.”

“He makes me uncomfortable.”

“Why?”

“He throws his weight around too much. This is our farm. Why doesn’t he just leave and take care of his damned oil company? You’d think he’d have more than enough to handle without coming around here and sticking his nose in where it doesn’t belong.”

“Brig’s only trying to help.”

“The hell he is,” Dean cursed with an impudent snarl. “I’ll tell you what he’s done, Becca: He’s managed to turn this entire operation around until we don’t know whether we’re coming or going—”

“What are you talking about?” Dean wasn’t making any sense whatsoever.

“Just look at yourself, Becca! You’re dancing around with a satisfied gleam in your eye, wearing aprons and smiles like some stereotyped housewife in those fifties movies!” He stared at her fresh apron and her recently curled hair in disgust. “You’re a Thoroughbred-horse breeder, Becca, not some silly woman who can’t think twice without asking for a man’s advice!”

An embarrassed flush crept up Becca’s neck and her eyes sparked dangerously. “I haven’t neglected my responsibilities, if that’s what you’re suggesting. I’ve been working with Gypsy Wind every day.”

“When you’re not mooning over Brig.”

“Brig is helping me, Dean, and I’m not going to apologize for that! Neither am I going to deny that I care for Brig.”

“And you’ve changed, sis. You let Brig Chambers get under your skin again. I never thought you’d be so stupid!”

“You’re acting like a threatened child. What is it about Brig that intimidates you?”

Dean rose to the challenge and his icy blue eyes narrowed thoughtfully. “I’m not threatened, Becca, I’m just worried—about you. I don’t want to see you hurt again, that’s all. I was with you the last time. Remember? I know what Brig Chambers can do to you if he wants to,” Dean warned with a well-practiced frown.

“The past is gone . . .”

“Until you start resurrecting it by breeding a horse like Sentimental Lady and then add insult to injury by getting involved with Brig Chambers all over again. You’re not asking for trouble, Becca, you’re begging for it!”

Becca’s small fists clenched. “I think you’re wrong.”

“Time will tell . . .”

Brig entered the room noiselessly and the conversation dissolved. If he had heard the tail end of the argument, he gave no indication of it, nor did he comment on the deadly look in Becca’s green eyes and the telltale blush on her cheeks. He strode across the room to lean against a counter near Rebecca. After casting her a lazy, I’m-on-your-side wink, he crossed his arms over his chest and smiled tightly at Dean. Brig seemed relaxed and comfortable, except for the glitter of expectation in his stormy gray eyes.

Dean took a chair and shifted his weight uneasily under the power of Brig’s silent stare. Becca could feel the tension electrifying the air of the small country kitchen. Ian O’Riley sauntered into the room and seemed to notice the undercurrents of strained energy. The wooden match between his teeth moved quickly back and forth in his mouth.

“Brig asked me to stay for dinner,” Ian remarked to Rebecca. “Said he wanted to talk about the horse . . . but if it’s too much bother . . .”

“Nonsense. We’d love to have you,” Becca replied quickly, destroying the old man’s attempt at escape. Becca thought the conversation would be less strained with Ian involved.

Ian cast Becca a rueful glance before motioning toward the hallway. “I’ll just give the missus a jingle. You know, check it out with the boss.” His light attempt at humor did nothing to relieve the tension in the room. He shrugged his bowed shoulders and exited as quickly as he had entered, glad for his excuse to find the telephone in the hall.

“Haven’t seen much of you around,” Brig observed, looking pointedly at Dean.

“Been busy, I guess,” Dean retorted as he half-stood and swung the chair around in order to straddle it backward. He rested his forearms on the chair back, and Becca wondered if her brother felt shielded with the tiny spokes of polished maple between himself and Brig.

Brig nodded as if he understood. “There is a lot of work around this place,” he agreed complacently. Too complacently. Becca could sense the fight brewing in the air.

“I can handle it.”

The affable smile on Brig’s face faded. “Ian mentioned that it was your decision not to tell Rebecca that I had called her several times after Sentimental Lady’s death.”

Defensively, Dean managed a strained smile. “Is that what he said?”

Becca’s breath caught in her throat.

“Uh-huh. And I suppose that woman . . . what was her name?” Brig squinted as if he were trying to remember something elusive.

“Martha?” Becca whispered.

“Right. Martha—she would confirm Ian’s story, no doubt.”

Dean seemed to pale slightly under his deep California tan. Becca’s fingernails dug into her palms. What was Brig doing? It was as if he and Dean were playing some slow-motion game that they alone could understand. With a dismissive shrug of his broad shoulders, Dean answered. “I suppose she might.”

“If I could find her,” Brig added with a twisted smile. “Do you have any idea where she is?”

“Of course not!” Dean snapped angrily.

Brig’s dark brows cocked in disbelief. “No one knows where she is?”

Before Becca could explain, Dean answered. “I suppose she’s with her daughter somewhere. We really don’t know. She doesn’t work here anymore.”

“But weren’t you involved with that girl... Martha’s daughter, Jackie?”

It was Becca’s turn to be shocked. Dean had been involved with Martha’s daughter? What did that mean?

“We dated a couple of times. No big deal. What’s this all about, Chambers? What does Jackie have to do with anything?”

“Nothing really.” Brig took an apple from the counter and began to polish it against his jeans. Dean’s nerves were stretched to the breaking point. His blue eyes darted nervously around the room. “I just wanted you to admit that you told Martha not to let Becca know that I called.”

“I already told you that much!” Dean’s eyes flared with angry blue fire.

“I don’t think we should discuss this now,” Becca interjected.

“I want to get to the bottom of it!” Brig insisted.

“What’s to get to the bottom of? I was just protecting my sister, Chambers. If you can’t remember what happened, I do!” Dean’s lips curled in contempt and he pointed viciously at Brig. “You tried to ruin her,” he accused. “You did everything in your power to see her disgraced before the entire racing establishment! Because of you Ian nearly lost his license!”

“What the devil—” Ian had returned to the kitchen and his stubbled chin frowned at the scene before him. “I thought we were through arguing about Sentimental Lady.”

“We were—until Chambers came back.”

Becca’s anger got the better of her. “All right. That’s enough! I don’t want to discuss this any longer—”

“You’d better get used to it, sis. Once the word gets out that you’ve been seeing Chambers again, the lid is going to come off this pressure cooker and explode in your face! The press will be on you quicker than a flea on a dog!”

Brig’s eyes glittered like ice. “And who’s going to tell the press?”

“It’s not something that’s easily hidden,” Dean remarked. “Especially once Gypsy Wind starts racing—that is if y ou’re still around by then.”

“Oh, I’ll be around,” Brig confirmed. It sounded more like a threat than a promise. “And by the time Gypsy Wind starts, I hope to have all the mystery surrounding Sentimental Lady’s death resolved.” Brig was beginning to sound obsessed. His bright gray eyes never left the strained contours of Dean’s ruddy face.

Becca ran her fingers through her hair and her green eyes clouded in confusion. She stared at Brig, hoping to understand the man she loved so desperately. “I don’t know how you expect to find out what the horse racing board couldn’t.”

The muscle in the corner of Brig’s jaw worked, though he attempted a grim smile. “Maybe the board didn’t have the same gut feeling that I have.”

“What feeling?” Becca asked.

Dean stiffened and rose from the fragile protection of the chair. “You’ve got a gut feeling—after all these years?” He laughed hollowly and the false sound echoed in the rafters. “It’s been six years, man—forget it. It’s not worth all the trouble and it would cost a fortune to dig up all that evidence again . . .” He reached for his hat, but Brig’s next words made him hesitate.

“That’s right, it’s been six years . . . nearly seven. I’m not up on the statute of limitations. Are you?”

“What do you mean?” Becca asked, but Brig ignored the question.

“As for the cost of sifting through the evidence, I don’t think money will be the problem. Any amount it might cost would be well worth the price to see justice served and Sentimental Lady revenged.”

Dean whirled on his boot heel and leveled his angry gaze at Brig. “Money’s never the problem with guys like you, is it?” he inquired as he pushed his Stetson onto his head. His words reeked of unconcealed sarcasm as he opened the door and tossed his final words to Becca. “I’m going into town . . . don’t hold dinner!” The screen door banged loudly behind him and within a few minutes the roar of the pickup’s engine filled the kitchen.

“What was that all about?” Becca asked. The strain of emotions twisted her finely sculpted face. “Why did you intentionally pick a fight with Dean?”

“I wasn’t trying to argue with him,” Brig responded. “I just wanted to get some answers from him, that’s all.”

“That isn’t all,” Becca refuted, her green eyes snapping. “You nearly accused him of being responsible for Sentimental Lady’s death—not in so many words, maybe, but the insinuation was there.”

“Now, Missy,” Ian interjected kindly, “don’t be jumping to conclusions.”

“I’m not!” Becca retorted. “Sometimes I don’t think I understand you—any of you.” She tried to force her attention back to the dinner she was preparing, but found it an impossible task. Too many unanswered questions hung in the air like unwelcome ghosts from the past. It made her shudder inwardly. “What were all those questions about Martha and her daughter? Good Lord, Brig, half of the argument didn’t make any sense whatsoever!” She placed a pan of rice on the stove and added under her breath, “At least not to me.”

She pulled off her apron and tossed it onto the counter as she turned to face Ian. The unmasked guilt on his crowlike features added to her suspicion of collusion. It was obvious that both he and Brig knew something she didn’t. “Okay, what’s going on?” she demanded. “This has something to do with Dean, unless I miss my guess.” She folded her arms over her chest and waited for an explanation. Fear slowly gripped her heart as the men remained silent, but she ignored the apprehension, realizing that the truth, no matter how painful it might be, was far better than the doubts that had assailed her for the past few weeks. “What is it?” she asked in a low voice that betrayed none of her anxiety.

Ian couldn’t meet Becca’s exacting gaze. “I shouldn’t have said anything,” he mumbled to himself.

“About what?” Becca asked.

“About Jackie McDonnell,” Brig supplied. Ian pursed his thin lips together impatiently.

“What does Martha’s daughter have to do with anything? I don’t see that the fact that she dated Dean a couple of times means anything.”

“It was more than a few casual dates,” Brig explained.

Ian interrupted, his wise eyes anxious. “Look, Chambers, I don’t think that we should say anything. We’d be out of line. It’s really none of our business—”

“What are you talking about, Ian?” Becca demanded.

“He’s trying to protect you, Rebecca.” Brig came closer to her and she could see the worry in his dark eyes. Was it for her? He placed a steadying hand on her shoulder, but she pulled away from him in defiant anger.

“Protecting me?” she repeated incredulously. “From what? The truth?” Ian avoided her indignant gaze. “Well, I’m sick and tired of people trying to protect me. Just because I’m a woman doesn’t mean I fall apart under the least little bit of pressure. Dean caused a major misunderstanding by lying to me and refusing to let Brig’s calls get through to me, all for the sake of protecting me. I would think that you of all people, Ian, could trust me with the truth!”

“It’s not a matter of trust, Missy.”

Becca’s eyes grew softer as she gazed down at the worried ex-jockey. He wore his heart on his sleeve and his face clearly reflected his concern for her. “Ian, can’t you explain to me what it is that’s bothering you? It’s not fair for you to carry the burden all by yourself.”

His silver eyebrows pinched together. “As I said, it’s none of my affair.”

Brig took charge of the conversation and Ian dropped his small frame gratefully into the nearest chair. The grizzled old man removed his cap and rotated it nervously in his fingers as Brig spoke.

“You thought that Martha left the farm to take care of her daughter, who was ill—right?”

Becca nodded pensively. The stern tone of Brig’s voice reinforced her fears. Nervously she rubbed her thumb over her forefinger. “I wasn’t here when she left,” Becca whispered, her gaze locking with Brig’s. “I was visiting a friend in San Francisco at the time and when I got home she had gone . . . without even a note of explanation.”

“Didn’t you think that was odd?”

“For a little while, and then Dean explained that Martha’s daughter, Jackie, was seriously ill and Martha had taken Jackie to a specialist in L.A. They had relatives that lived in Diamond Bar, I think. Anyway, the only thing I considered strange was the fact that Martha never bothered to call or come back even for a short visit. What exactly are you saying here, anyway? That Dean lied? Wasn’t his story the truth?” Her green eyes fixed on Ian.

“Partially,” Brig allowed.

“Meaning what?”

“Meaning that Martha did leave to help her daughter.”

“But?” she coaxed.

“But Jackie wasn’t sick, not really.” He paused for a moment and Becca’s heart began to race.

“I don’t understand . . .” Her voice was uncertain.

“The girl was pregnant.”

Becca swallowed with difficulty and had to lean against the counter for support. Her voice was little more than a whisper. “And Dean was the father,” she guessed. A sickening feeling of disgust rose in her stomach as Brig’s dark eyes confirmed her unpleasant conjecture.

“That’s right, Missy,” Ian agreed in a hoarse voice. He stared at the table and coughed nervously.

“Someone should have told me . . .”

“Dean should have told you,” Brig corrected.

“So what happened—to Jackie, and Martha and the baby?” Dean’s baby. Why hadn’t he confided in her? Had he ever seen his own child? What had he been thinking all these years?

Ian acted as if he didn’t like talking about it, but he decided to finally let the truth come out. “Martha and Jackie moved to L.A.”

“So that part wasn’t a lie.” It was little consolation.

“No.”

“But that doesn’t explain why Martha never wrote me.” Becca’s face was filled with genuine concern and it twisted Ian’s old heart painfully.

“You have to understand, Missy, that Martha blames Dean for the pain he caused her daughter.”

“Because Dean didn’t marry her?”

Ian nodded. “In Martha’s eyes, Dean disgraced Jackie, though heaven knows what kind of a marriage it would have been.” He wiped the top of his balding head with his hand. “Jackie gave the baby up for adoption, and swore she’d never have another child. That’s a pretty rough statement. Martha thought she might never have another grandchild—one she could claim as her own. She offered to adopt the baby herself, but Jackie wouldn’t allow it. The girl claimed she hated the baby and wanted nothing to remind her of Dean.”

“And so Martha feels the same about me.”

Ian gritted his teeth. His faded blue eyes were cheerless as they held Becca’s gaze. “There are too many unhappy memories here for Martha. I don’t think she’ll ever come back.”

“Then you still hear from her?”

“Only once in a while. The missus, she sends Martha a Christmas card every year—that sort of thing.”

“Does Jackie know who adopted the child?”

Ian shook his head. “Wouldn’t even let the doctors tell her if it was a boy or a girl—refused to look at it when it was born. It was nearly the death of Martha. The child is better off with its adoptive parents,” Ian allowed.

Becca’s heart was heavy. “Didn’t Dean want to know about the baby?”

Ian shook his head. “He wouldn’t even talk to Jackie when she told him she was carrying his child.”

“Nice guy—that brother of yours,” Brig observed dryly.

When she ran her fingers over her forehead, Becca noticed that she had broken out in a sweat. She felt cold and empty inside. Why hadn’t Dean confided in her? “How is Jackie now?”

Ian brightened. “She’s fine, from what I understand. Married herself a young lawyer, she did.”

A wistful smile curved Becca’s lips. “Maybe Martha will get that grandchild yet.”

“I hope so,” Ian agreed.

“I’d like to call Martha or write to her. Do you have her number?”

Ian’s weak smile faded. “I don’t know if that would be wise,” he commented, rubbing his hand over the back of his neck. “No use in stirring up hard feelings.”

“Give it time,” Brig suggested.

“It’s been over five years!”

“Then a few more weeks won’t matter, will they?” Brig asked rhetorically.

“I’ll think about it—after I talk to Dean.”

Ian pinched his bottom lip with his teeth. “I don’t know if I’d go bringin’ it up to your brother, miss. He might not like the idea that we were talkin’ behind his back.”

“And I don’t like the idea that he didn’t level with me.”

“It was hard for him . . .” Ian insisted.

“Dean has a lot of explaining to do.”

“Just don’t do anything rash,” Ian said.

An uneasy silence settled upon the room as Becca finished preparing the meal. Dean didn’t return, though Becca had set him a place at the table. The conversation was stilted at first as Ian explained about his plans for racing Gypsy Wind, including the proposed move to Sequoia Park. Slowly the tension in the conversation ebbed as dinner was served and then eaten. The three of them talked about the coming racing season and the stiff competition Gypsy Wind would have to face. Brig and Ian agreed that Gypsy Wind should be started as soon as the season opened, in order to establish a name for herself since she hadn’t raced as a two-year-old. They felt that the sooner she became familiar with race regimen, the better.

By the time Ian left, some of Becca’s misgivings had subsided. She promised to call Grace, Ian’s wife, for Martha’s address and telephone number. Although Ian soundly disapproved, he patted Becca firmly on the shoulder and told her to do what she thought best.

Brig’s suitcase stood by the stairs, reminding Becca that he was leaving her. She found it imposibble to think of a future without him, or of the empty days when he wouldn’t be by her side.

“I have to go,” he admitted, checking his watch and setting aside his coffee cup.

“I know.”

“I wish I could convince you to come with me.”

Her green eyes were filled with sadness. “I have to stay here with Gypsy Wind.”

They were sitting next to each other on the couch. His arm was draped lazily over her shoulders, his fingertips moving silently against her shoulder. “We could board Gypsy Wind at the Chambers Stables.”

Becca smiled and set her cup next to Brig’s. “I can’t move to Kentucky. I don’t fit in with the Eastern racing set . . . at least not anymore . . .” Her voice faded as she remembered a time when she felt at home anywhere—when the world was at her feet, before Sentimental Lady’s tragic death.

“I would be with you,” he stated softly as he moved her head to lay upon his shoulder. It felt so right.

She longed to say yes, to tell him that she would follow him to the ends of the earth if necessary, but she couldn’t. There was too much yet to be done, here at The Starlight Farm. “Nothing sounds better,” she admitted honestly. “But I think it would be best not to move Gypsy Wind until after the New Year when Ian plans to stable her at Sequoia.”

“I’d feel better if you were closer to me.”

“Then why not move the corporate offices of Chambers Oil out here,” she teased.

“Just like that?”

“Why not?”

“Be serious.”

“I am.”

“And I’m nearly foolish enough to take you up on your offer.”

“I’d love it if you would stay with me,” Becca confided, hoping beyond hope that they could find a way to be together. He kissed her gently on the forehead.

“I’ll work on it, if you promise to be careful.”

“I’m always careful . . .”

The hand over her shoulder tightened. His voice was low and threatening. “I don’t trust your brother.”

“You never have.”

“But I wasn’t convinced that he was dangerous before.”

Becca laughed at the severity of Brig’s features. He really believed what he was saying. “Dean might be a lot of things,” she allowed. “And I admit that I’ve called him more than a few myself, but he’s not dangerous. Irresponsible, wily, and maybe slightly underhanded, yes, but dangerous, never!”

“You’re taking this too lightly.”

“And you’re acting paranoid. Just because my brother shirked his responsibility toward Jackie doesn’t necessarily mean that he’s dangerous.”

“Just be careful, okay . . . and don’t go getting him upset. Don’t even mention that you know about Jackie.”

“That’s going to be impossible . . .”

“Please, Rebecca. Don’t say anything until I come back.”

She saw the look of concern in his eyes. “You’re really worried, aren’t you?”

“I just want to know what we’re up against, that’s all. And I don’t like leaving you here alone with him.”

“Brig, Dean’s my brother! He would never hurt me—”

“You don’t know that, Becca!” For the first time, Brig’s fear infected her.

“This is more than your concern because of Jackie’s baby, isn’t it? You really think Dean was involved in Sentimental Lady’s death.”

Brig’s eyes narrowed and he held her more tightly to him. “I just want to know what we’re up against, and I need a couple of days to sort out a few things. Why don’t you come with me, for just a few days, until I can get to the source of all this?”

“I can’t leave the farm right now.”

“Ian can handle it. I’ve already spoken with him.”

“Brig, this is my home, my responsibility, my life. I just can’t pack up and leave because you’re paranoid.”

Roughly, he gave her shoulders a shake. “I’m not paranoid, Becca.”

“Then trust me to be able to handle myself—with my brother or anyone else.”

His smile was weak. “You always were a stubborn creature,” he conceded. “Do you have a gun?”

Becca paled. “ No ! And I don’t need one,” she asserted, her lower lip trembling.

“How can you be sure?”

“Stop it, Brig, you’re scaring the hell out of me.”

“Good, you should be frightened.”

Her voice was as tight as her grip on the arm of the couch. “I hope this is a severe case of melodrama on your part,” she whispered.

“So do I.”

“Dean is my brother—”

He waved off her arguments with his open palm. “I just want you to be careful, Rebecca. You’re important to me.” He twined his fingers in her tawny hair and pulled her head closer to his in order to press a kiss against her lips, silently promising a shared future. “Take care of yourself, lady.”

Her voice caught and she had trouble forming her response. “I will,” she promised.

“There’s one other thing,” he said as he reluctantly rose and stepped away from her. Reaching into the pocket of his corduroy slacks, he extracted a yellowed piece of paper. Becca recognized it as the note she had signed to Jason Chambers. Brig handed the small document to her. “I’ve taken care of this.”

She took the paper, but continued to stare into his eyes, as if she was attempting to memorize their steely gray depths. “What do you mean?”

“The note doesn’t exist anymore.”

“I’m sorry, Brig, but I don’t quite follow you.”

“It’s simple. As far as anyone knows, this note was never signed. You don’t owe me or Chambers Oil a bloody cent.”

Becca smiled sadly. “I appreciate the offer, Brig, but I can’t accept it. You don’t have to buy my way out for me.”

“And I couldn’t live with myself if I took your money. Don’t you see what I’m trying to say to you—that I love you and that what I have is yours. I don’t want your money, Rebecca. I want you.”

“Then stay with me,” she pleaded, searching his face to try and understand him. If only she could believe that he loved her with the same intensity she felt for him.

He took her hands in his. “I’ll be back,” he promised. “As soon as I can . . .”

Their last embrace was a surrender to the doubts that kept surfacing in her mind. She held him as if she were afraid he would step into the dark night and never return.