Chapter 14
Chapter 14
T he ceremony uniting Brig and Becca as husband and wife was simple and to the point. A dour-faced justice of the peace and his round sister performed the rite in Reno. Rebecca had never been happier than she was that day, holding onto Brig’s strong hand and unashamedly letting the tears of joy run down her face. Although she had always envisioned a large church wedding complete with an elegant white lace dress, Becca felt resplendent in her pale pink suit and ivory silk blouse. Brig stood proudly beside her, wearing his crisp navy suit and slightly crooked smile with ease. For the first time in years, Becca knew that everything in her life had finally come together. She had even managed to push aside her lingering doubts about her brother for the time being. These few precious moments belonged to Brig alone. In the glittery town of Reno, Nevada, tucked in a valley rimmed by dusty hills, she had become Brig’s wife.
Smiling contentedly to herself, she leaned against Brig’s shoulder as he drove westward. A lazy sun had sunk below the horizon and twilight descended as they headed through the mountains. Aside from the soft hum of the car engine, the quiet of the oncoming night remained undisturbed. In the purple sky, shimmering stars winked in the dusk. Time seemed to have stopped and Becca was only conscious of the strong man who was now her husband. For years she had dreamed of marrying Brig, and determinedly pushed those dreams into the darkest corners of her mind. Now the marriage had become reality and she sighed contentedly with the realization that nothing could ever drive Brig away from her.
Their time together was much too short. After spending a carefree week making love to Becca at Starlight Breeding Farm, Brig was forced to return to Denver. He couldn’t put off his responsibilities as the head of Chambers Oil.
Days on the farm without Brig seemed long and empty to Becca. She was restless and the pleasure she usually derived by immersing herself in work was missing. She couldn’t help but wonder what Brig was doing or when he would return to her. She lived for the short telephone conversations that bound them together. Though there was more than enough work to keep her busy at the farm, she felt a deep loneliness envelop her and she impatiently counted the hours until his return.
For the most part, Brig’s time was spent on airplanes between Denver and San Francisco. The challenge of moving the headquarters of a corporation the size of Chambers Oil was monumental. Though Brig had originally hoped that the transfer would take only a few weeks, he soon discovered that it would take months to accomplish his goal of resettling Chambers Oil on the West Coast. His impatience grew each day he was separated from Becca.
Becca and Ian continued to work daily with Gypsy Wind. Slowly the temperamental filly seemed to be settling into a routine of early morning workouts. When Brig was on the farm, he, too, would add his hand at trying to shape the skittish horse into the finest racing filly ever to set foot on a California racetrack. It was a slow and tedious job as Gypsy Wind had her own opinions about racing. Without Ian O’Riley’s patience and love for the filly, Becca would have given up. But the feisty trainer continued to insist that Gypsy Wind was born to run in the sport of kings.
The remodeling of the buildings around the farm had started and Brig insisted that a security guard be posted round the clock to watch the barns. Becca had argued against the need for the guard, but had finally agreed when she was forced to consider Gypsy Wind’s welfare. Brig convinced Becca that Gypsy Wind was a celebrity who needed all the protection available. The horse could be an easy target of a malicious attack aimed at anyone involved with Chambers Oil or Sentimental Lady. Ian O’Riley concurred with Brig, and Becca was forced to go along with his decision.
After the first few uneasy days, Becca recognized the worth of the security guard. The press had been hounding Becca day and night, and with the patient but insistent aid of the guard, Becca was able to keep the hungry reporters at bay. It was hard for Becca to retain her composure all of the time, and the press seemed adamant for a story, especially Marian Gordon. The cool reporter for the Stateside Review returned to Starlight Breeding Farm in search of a new angle on Gypsy Wind. The perfectly groomed Marian unnerved Becca, but she managed to hide her unease. Becca reminded herself that she was partially to blame for the furor. Not only had Dean’s confession brought Sentimental Lady’s tragedy back into the public eye, but the fact that Becca had married Brig Chambers had fanned the already raging fires of gossip concerning Gypsy Wind. Brig Chambers was one of the wealthiest men in the country, his father and a beautiful young model had recently perished in a traumatic plane crash, and Brig had once denounced Becca publicly—or at the very least refused to come to her defense. Everything touching Brig Chambers was hot copy for the scandal sheets and the press was frantic for any insight, real or fabricated, into the relationship between Brig and his wife. Gypsy Wind and her famous owners were suddenly the hottest story of the year. It was no wonder that the eager reporters weren’t easily discouraged. Dean had been right when he had predicted that Becca was begging for trouble by breeding Gypsy Wind.
Throughout most of the ordeal, including Dean’s trial, Becca had managed to appear outwardly calm and only slightly perturbed. Though she smiled rarely in public, the security of Brig’s love had given her the strength to deal with both the reporters and their insensitive questions. It was only when someone would ask too personal a question about her brother that her green eyes would darken dangerously and she would refuse to answer. Dean still refused to see her and it would take years to heal the bitter sting of his rejection.
* * *
Gypsy Wind’s first race was held in Sequoia Park. Brig had arranged his schedule in order to witness the running. Though the race was a little-publicized maiden, the crowd was expectant, largely due to the well-publicized fact that Gypsy Wind, a full sister to the tragic Sentimental Lady, was entered. If Brig’s confidence wavered, it wasn’t apparent in his casual stance or the fire of determination in his eyes. He held Becca’s trembling hand in the warm strength of his palms as he watched Gypsy Wind being led to the starting gate. Gypsy Wind’s moment of truth was at hand and it seemed to Becca that the entire world was watching and holding its breath. Even Ian appeared nervous. His face remained stern and lined with concentration as he shifted a match from one corner of his mouth to the other.
Gypsy Wind entered the gate without too much trouble and Becca sighed in relief when the nervous filly finally settled into the metal enclosure. Within minutes all of the stalls in the gate were filled with anxious fillies. Suddenly the gates clanged open. Gypsy Wind leaped forward and a big chestnut filly slammed into her so hard that Gypsy Wind nearly stumbled. Becca’s heart dropped to her stomach as she watched her game horse adjust her stride and rally, only to be bumped at the three-eighths pole by another filly.
“Dear God,” Becca murmured, squeezing Brig’s hand with her clenched fingers.
Gypsy Wind was now hopelessly behind the leaders, but found it in her heart to make up some of the distance and finish a mediocre fifth in a field of seven. “Thank God it’s over,” Becca thought aloud, slowly releasing Brig’s hand. She couldn’t hide her disappointment.
Brig’s smile slowly spread across his handsome features. “Well, Mrs. Peters,” he announced. “I think you’ve got yourself a racehorse.”
Becca shook her head, but the color was slowly coming back to her face. “Do you?”
Ian O’Riley cracked a pleased grin. “That you do, Missy,” he replied, as if the question were directed at him. He took off his cap and rubbed his grizzled chin. “That y’do.”
Ian was assured of the filly’s potential, and although the press crucified the dark horse for her first run, the wily trainer was eventually proven right.
* * *
Gypsy Wind’s unfortunate experiences during her first race affected her running style for the remainder of her career. After leaving the gate with the field, the fleet filly would drop back to avoid the heavy traffic and possibility of being bumped. With her new strategy, Gypsy Wind managed to win her next race by two lengths and the next seven starts by an ever-increasing margin over her opponents. She followed in her famous sister’s footsteps and won all three jewels of the filly Triple Crown with ease. Reporters began to compare her to some of the fastest horses of the century.
Becca was ecstatic about Gypsy Wind’s success. Everything seemed to be going her way. The breeding farm was being expensively remodeled, her career as a Thoroughbred horse breeder was reestablished, Gypsy Wind was winning, effortlessly, and most important, Becca was married to Brig. The only dark spot on her life was her brother, Dean. He had been found guilty of criminally tampering with Sentimental Lady and still refused to see Becca. Even during the trial, Dean had refused to look across the courtroom at Becca or even acknowledge her presence. When she had spoken with Dean’s attorney, the man had suggested that she forget about her brother until he was willing to face her again. The attorney had promised to inform Becca the minute that Dean wanted to see her.
* * *
It was when the fans and the press began demanding a match race that Becca balked. Although she had half-expected it, the thought of a match race and reliving the nightmare of Sentimental Lady’s death unnerved her. She couldn’t find it in her heart to put the additional strain on herself and her horse. Already there were rumors of Gypsy Wind challenging the colts and settling the arguments concerning which horse was the finest three-year-old of the year.
In a normal racing year, one or two of the best horses prove themselves in regularly scheduled stakes races. But this year the Triple Crown races were inconclusive. Three different colts ran away with the separate events. Added to the colt dilemma was Gypsy Wind, the undisputed filly of the year. Several tracks had made offers for a match race, supposedly a race that would settle, once and for all, the arguments surrounding the favored horses.
Rebecca remained adamant. She wasn’t about to race Gypsy Wind, though the other owners pressured her and the various race tracks were offering phenomenal amounts of money to field the event. The bidding by the tracks for the race was incredible, and added to that cash were offers from sponsors and television networks. With an attraction such as Gypsy Wind and the notoriety that followed her career, the sky was the limit in the bidding game, and the American public demanded the race!
Lon Jacobs, a prominent California promoter, couldn’t be pushed aside. He called Becca Chambers each week, hoping to entice her into entering Gypsy Wind in a match race.
“Neither I nor Gypsy Wind have anything to gain from the race,” Becca explained to Lon Jacobs for what seemed the tenth time in as many days.
“What do you mean?” the California promoter asked incredulously. “What have you been working for all of your life, Mrs. Chambers? All those years of breeding champions certainly add up. You may well have the horse of the century on your hands, but no one’s going to buy it until she stands up to the colts.”
Becca closed her eyes and her fingers whitened around the receiver. “I’m just not interested.”
“What about what the racing public demands? You have a certain obligation to the American people, don’t you?”
Becca ran her fingers through her blond hair. “I have a responsibility to my horse and my family.”
Lon Jacobs coaxed her. “I realize that the money isn’t important to you. Not now. But what about the fame? With this one race you could establish yourself as one of the premier breeders in the country.”
“I don’t know if the race is necessary for that. The entire world knows the potential of Gypsy Wind.”
“Potential, yes,” he agreed smoothly. “But she hasn’t really proved herself.”
“I think she has.”
There was an impatient edge to the promoter’s voice. “Well, then think about Ian O’Riley, will you? He was the one who really bore the guilt for your brother’s crime six years ago. He was the trainer who was brought before the board. His reputation was scarred irreparably when it turned out that Sentimental Lady was drugged while in his care.”
Becca was silent and intuitively Lon knew he’d hit a sensitive nerve.
“Look, Mrs. Chambers, I think I can convince the owners of the other horses to agree to a race nearby. That way you wouldn’t have to ship your horse all over the country. You could prove to all those people who watched Sentimental Lady run that you knew what you were doing—that Ian O’Riley is still a damned good trainer. And Gypsy Wind would have the home-court advantage, so to speak.”
“She doesn’t need any advantage.”
Lon laughed jovially. “Of course she doesn’t. She’s a winner, that filly of yours.” Becca wondered if she were being conned. “So what do you say—do we have a horse race?”
“I don’t know . . .”
“You would be doing Ian O’Riley a big favor, Mrs. Chambers. I think he’s done a few for you.”
Becca’s decision was quick. “Okay, Mr. Jacobs. I’m willing to race Gypsy Wind one last time, against the colts, as long as it’s here, at Sequoia. And after that she’ll retire. I don’t want to hear anything more about racing my filly.”
“Wonderful,” Lon cooed as he hung up the phone. Becca was left with the uncanny feeling that she might have made the worst decision of her life.
She couldn’t hide her unease when Brig entered the room. “Who was on the phone?” he asked.
“It was Lon Jacobs.” She managed to meet Brig’s wary gaze squarely. “He wants a match race at Sequoia. I agreed.”
“You did what?” Brig was astounded and an angry gleam of fire lighted his eyes. “Becca, love, why?”
“It was a weak moment,” she confessed, explaining about Lon’s arguments for the race.
Brig’s jaw hardened in suppressed anger. “I don’t think Ian O’Riley thinks you owe him any favors. You’ve always stood up for him, and Gypsy Wind’s career added luster to his. Dean confessed to drugging Sentimental Lady. Ian was absolved of the crime.”
“I suppose you’re right,” she said wearily.
“You know I am!” He shook his head and looked up at the ceiling as if he could find some way to understand her. When his eyes returned to hers they were as cold as stone. “Why don’t you face up to the real reason you’re racing Gypsy Wind?”
“The real reason?” she echoed, surprised by his sudden outburst.
“This is what you wanted all along, wasn’t it? To prove that your horse could handle the colts. Six years ago, Sentimental Lady was beaten, and you’ve never gotten over it. You still have some goddamn burning desire to prove yourself!”
“Not true, Brig,” she argued. “I told Lon Jacobs that Gypsy Wind would retire.”
“Right after she races against the colts,” he surmised. “What is it with you, Rebecca? Are you a glutton for punishment? Wasn’t once enough”—his eyes narrowed savagely—“or don’t you give a damn about that horse of yours?”
His biting words slashed her heart. “You don’t think she can do it, do you?”
“I don’t care if she can win or not. I’m only concerned about you and Gypsy Wind, and I don’t like the fact that you were manipulated by the likes of Lon Jacobs!” Rage blazed in his gray eyes and his jaw clenched. Before she could defend herself, he continued with his tirade. “Why take the chance, Becca? You know that match races are hard on any horse . . . whether she wins or loses.” His anger began to ebb and he looked incredibly tired. Becca’s heart turned over. “Oh, Becca, why?”
“I told you why,” she whispered.
“And I told you that you’re not being honest with me . . . or yourself.”
He reached for the decanter on the bar and poured himself a stiff shot of bourbon before turning back to his den. Becca felt alone and depressed. The reconstruction of the house and the barns was finished, the grounds were once again well tended, but there was a black void within her because she had disappointed Brig. Was he right? Did she still feel the need to purge herself of Sentimental Lady’s unfortunate death, prove to the world that her filly could outdistance the colts? She felt the bitter sting of tears burn in her throat. Why had she been so foolish?
* * *
In the month it took to arrange the race, Brig and Becca avoided the subject of the event. Perhaps if they chose to ignore the argument, it would disappear. Brig reluctantly agreed to go with her to the track, but he advised her in no uncertain terms how he felt about the race. He was against it from the start and considered it a monumental risk on her part. Even Ian O’Riley, the trainer who had predicted Gypsy Wind’s supremacy over the colts, seemed unusually pensive and out of sorts as the day of the race drew near.
From the moment she arrived at Sequoia Park, Becca was enveloped by an eerie feeling. The doubts she had pushed into the darkest corners of her mind resurfaced. She should never have agreed to the race, or she should have insisted upon another track instead of the very same place where Sentimental Lady had run her last horrifying race. Though Gypsy Wind had raced before at Sequoia, a thousand doubts, plus Brig’s fears, came to rest on Becca’s slim shoulders. She attempted to tell herself that it was her imagination, that she shouldn’t let the feeling of déjà vu take hold of her, but the noise of the crowd, the hype of the race, and the poised television cameras added to her overwhelming sense of unease.
Ian O’Riley was concerned. The tension in the air had affected Gypsy Wind. Though she had never been as nervous as Sentimental Lady, in the last two days Gypsy Wind had appeared distressed and off her feed. The veterinarian hadn’t found anything physically ailing the horse and yet something wasn’t right. Ian O’Riley wrestled with the decision of scratching her from the race. In the end, he decided against it. This was the filly’s last chance to flaunt her speed and grace.
The day had dawned muggy, with the promise of rain clinging heavily to the air. It seemed difficult to breathe and Becca felt a light layer of perspiration begin to soak her clothes. Storm clouds threatened in the sky and the shower of light rain started just as the horses were being led to the gate. Becca prayed silently to herself. Gypsy Wind seemed to handle the adverse weather and entered the starting gate without her usual fuss. That fact alone disturbed Becca. The filly wasn’t acting normally—not for her. Brig took Becca’s sweaty palm in his and for a moment their worried gazes locked. Dear God, what am I doing, Becca wondered in silent concern.
The starting gate opened with a clang and the four horses escaped from the metal enclosure. Becca’s heart leaped to her throat as she watched Gypsy Wind run gallantly, stride for stride, with the colts. Instead of hanging back as was her usual custom, the blood-bay filly galloped with the colts, meeting the competition head-on. Determination gleamed in her proud dark eyes and her legs propelled her forward as her hooves dug into the turf.
In the back stretch, two of the colts pulled away from her, their thundering strides carrying them away from the filly and the final horse, who was sadly trailing and seemed spent. Becca’s concern increased and her stomach knotted painfully, although she knew she was watching Ian O’Riley’s strategy at work. The ex-jockey had decided to let the two front runners battle it out, while his horse hugged the rail. Gypsy Wind had plenty of staying power, and Ian knew that she would be able to catch them in the final quarter.
The dark filly ran easily and Becca noticed the slight movement of the jockey’s hands as he urged Gypsy Wind forward. Becca’s throat tightened as the courageous horse responded, her long strides eating up the turf separating her from the leaders.
As Gypsy Wind made her bid for the lead, the outside colt bumped against the black colt running close to the rail, jostling the ebony horse against the short white fence. Gypsy Wind, caught behind the two colts, stumbled as she pulled up short in order to avoid a collision.
The crowd witnessed the accident and filled the stands with noise, only to quiet as it watched a replay of the tragedy of seven years past. The jockey attempted to rein in Gypsy Wind, but she continued to race, plunging forward as she vainly attempted to catch the colts.
Becca’s face drained of color. Seven years of her life rolled backward in time. “No!” she screamed, her voice lost in the noise from the stands and the address system. “Stop her, stop her,” Becca begged as she pulled away from Brig’s grip. A horrified expression of remorse distorted Becca’s even features and tears flooded her eyes. “It can’t be . . . it can’t be!” she cried, stumbling after her horse.
One horse was disqualified, and Gypsy Wind had finished a courageous third. Becca felt Brig’s strong hands on her shoulders as he guided her toward Gypsy Wind. The jockey had dismounted and Ian O’Riley was running practiced hands over the filly’s forelegs. Cameras clicked and reporters threw questions toward Rebecca. She ignored the press and was thankful for Brig’s strength throughout the ordeal.
Ian nodded toward Becca as she came close enough to touch the filly. “I think we might have a problem here,” he admitted in a rough whisper.
“Oh, God, not again . . . not again,” Becca prayed.
“Excuse me!” The veterinarian was at the horse’s side within a minute after the race was over. Quickly he examined Gypsy Wind’s leg and issued terse directives that the horse was to be taken to the nearby veterinary hospital. The horse attempted to prance away from the noise and confusion, but was finally taken away amid the shouts and oaths of racing officials, attendants, and the television crews.
Brig tried to comfort Becca, but was unable to. Guilt, like a dull knife, twisted in her heart. It was her fault that Gypsy Wind had raced. Likewise Becca was to blame for the horse’s injury.
The waiting was excruciating, but didn’t take long. It was quickly determined that Gypsy Wind would recover.
“It even looks like she’ll be able to race again,” the veterinarian admitted with a relieved smile. “She pulled a ligament in her left foreleg. It’s only a slight injury and she’ll be as good as new,” the kindly man predicted with a sigh. “But she won’t be able to race for the rest of the season.”
“Or ever,” Becca vowed, tears of gratitude filling her eyes. “She’s retiring—for good.”
“That’s a shame,” the veterinarian observed.
“I don’t think so.” She took the vet’s hand and shook it fondly. “Thanks.”
Brig put his arm over her shoulders. “Let’s get out of here,” he suggested. “Ian’s staying here and there’s no reason for us to stick around. If he needs us, he can call.”
“Are you sure?” Becca didn’t seem certain.
“Aren’t you? You’re the one who always had faith in Ian. He’ll take care of the Gypsy.”
They walked out of the hospital together and were greeted by a throng of reporters.
“Mrs. Chambers . . . how is Gypsy Wind?” a dark-haired man asked as he thrust a microphone in Becca’s direction.
“She’ll be fine,” Becca replied with more conviction than she thought possible.
“But the injury?” the man persisted.
“A pulled ligament—the vet assured me it’s nothing too serious.”
“Then you do plan to race her again?”
Becca paused and her green eyes looked into Brig’s before she turned her self-assured smile back to the reporter. “Not a chance!”
Slowly, Brig was guiding her to the car. The thick crowd of reporters followed closely in their wake, shouting questions at them. When they finally made it to the Mercedes, Brig turned on the crowd, and the irritation in his eyes was only partially hidden. “Perhaps if you asked your questions one at a time,” he suggested.
It was a strong female voice that caught Becca’s attention and she found herself looking into the knowing eyes of Marian Gordon.
“Mrs. Chambers,” Marian greeted coldly. “How do you feel now that you know you almost killed Sentimental Lady’s sister the way you killed her?”
Becca bristled, but felt Brig’s strong hand on her arm.
“No one killed Sentimental Lady, Ms. Gordon. It was an unfortunate accident.”
“Not an accident—your brother drugged that horse,” Marian responded. “Was that with or without your knowledge?”
Brig took a step forward, but Becca held him back with the gleam of determination in her eyes. “What happened with my brother is very unfortunate, Ms. Gordon, and has nothing to do with me, or Gypsy Wind. It’s also old news. I suggest that you try writing something a little more topical.”
“Such as how Gypsy Wind almost went to her grave today?”
“Such as how that brave filly stood up against the colts.”
Before Marian could respond, another reporter edged forward and smiled fondly at Becca. “Mrs. Chambers, do you plan on breeding a sibling to Gypsy Wind?”
“No.”
“But you still will be breeding Thoroughbreds—for the future?” the young man insisted. Becca cast a speculative glance in Brig’s direction. His eyes were riveted to her face.
“I’m not sure—not right now.”
“How do you feel about it, Mr. Chambers?” the young reporter asked, turning his attention to Brig. A smile tugged at the corners of Brig’s mouth.
“I think my wife will make her own decision. She’s a very . . . independent woman,” he observed with a twinkle in his eye. “Now, if that’s all—”
The reporters realized that they had gotten as much of a story as they could and reluctantly backed away from Brig’s car. Once inside the Mercedes, Becca managed a weak laugh. “So you think I’m independent?”
“Not totally, I hope.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
Brig maneuvered the car away from the racetrack and drove toward the hills surrounding Starlight Breeding Farm. “That means that I’d like to think that you depend on me—some of the time.”
“You know that I do.” She paused slightly. “What about you, Brig? Do you depend on me?”
His smile turned into a frown of disgust. “More than you would ever imagine,” he admitted. “I don’t know how I got along without you for the last six and a half years. I must have been out of my mind.”
The rest of the journey was finished in silence. Becca bathed in the warm glow of Brig’s love. When they pulled through the gates guarding Starlight Breeding Farm, Becca felt her heart swell in her chest. The new buildings, freshly painted a gleaming white, stood out against the surrounding green of the hills.
Brig helped Becca out of the car and they walked to the closest paddock. Two mares were grazing peacefully while young colts scampered nearby. The horses raised their inquiring heads at Becca and Brigg, flicked their dark ears and turned their attention back to the grass. The colts ran down the length of the fence, glad for an audience. As ungainly as they appeared, there was a grace in the sweep of the colts’ legs.
Becca leaned her head on the top rail of the fence. “I don’t know if I can give this up,” she sighed, studying the graceful lines of the colts’ bodies.
“I haven’t asked you to.”
“But I can see it in your eyes.” She turned to face him and caught the look of tenderness in his eyes. “I do love you,” she admitted, throwing her arms around his neck.
“No more than I love you.”
“But you want me to quit breeding horses and racing them,” she accused, smiling sadly.
“Not at all, Becca. I just want you to slow down. You’ve proved yourself today and purged yourself of Sentimental Lady’s tragedy. Go ahead and breed your horses—race them, if you want. But slow down and enjoy the rest of what life has to offer.”
Slowly his words began to sink into her tired mind. She cocked her head coquettishly to the side and her shimmering honey-colored hair fell away from her face. “Just what do you have in mind?” she asked as she observed him with an interested smile.
His eyes darkened mysteriously. “I thought I might be able to convince you to forget about breeding horses long enough to consider having a child.”
Her dark brows arched. “Oh you did, did you?” she returned, touching his chin lightly with her fingertips.
“We’ve waited too long already.”
“I might agree . . . but tell me, just how do you propose to convince me?”
“With my incredible powers of persuasion, Mrs. Chambers—” His head lowered and his lips captured hers in a kiss filled with passion and promise. She closed her eyes and sighed as she felt her bones melt with his gentle touch.
“Persuade away, Mr. Chambers,” she invited, her eyes filled with her overwhelming love. “Persuade away.”
“Dear God, lady, I love you,” he whispered as he scooped her into his arms, straightened, and carried her toward the house. “And I’m never going to let you get away from me again.”
With his final vow, he opened the door, carried her inside, and turned the lock.