by Laura Moore
She didn’t need to look at Steve to know she was right. Ty had all but memorized the documents Sam had obtained for her and could recite in detail the ins and outs of the mess Steve Sheppard had landed in. Persuading him to accept her help, however, would be an entirely different matter. From the moment he’d entered the conference room, he’d reminded her of a wounded lion, ready to attack anyone who came too close.
“Yeah, that’s right. But it will be a cold day in hell before I accept another partner. No way will I let anyone screw me to the wall in the name of partnership, in the name of friendship. My horse died as a result of my gullibility. And if I were ever stupid enough to make the same mistake twice, I certainly wouldn’t do business with some rich debutante who probably knows as much about how to run a horse farm as I know how to do petit point.”
“I see.” Ty paused for several heartbeats before continuing in a casual tone as if they were discussing the weather. “So you’re a male chauvinist pig as well as a drunk. By the way, the stench of whiskey is quite overwhelming, though perhaps not to you—I gather you’re used to it. Well, Mr. Sheppard, perhaps I’m not as deficient as you assume. For instance, useless, pampered female though I am, I could have told you in ten seconds flat that your bookkeeper was fudging the accounts. How long did it take before you caught on?”
Christ. How had she gotten hold of that information? Then Steve remembered good old Sam, her
“security consultant.” He’d probably tapped into the insurance company’s records, which had seized all the computer files detailing the finances at Southwind for its investigation. It was hoping to dig up evidence to prove he’d killed Fancy Free so he could then cash in on his horse’s insurance policy. The thought made him sick.
And there sat Tyler Stannard, looking so cool and poised. His fingers itched to shake her, wanting to take his misery out on someone. She seemed the perfect candidate. Maybe if he gave her a taste of the whole sordid story, she’d lose some of that smooth composure. In a fluid movement, he pulled out the chair next to her, dropped down into it, and lifted long legs to prop his booted feet casually on the shiny black surface of the table.
Douglas Crane would have turned apoplectic to see him thus. Ty watched as he fished out a pack of cigarettes from his tweed jacket. An eyebrow shot up, silently questioning. Ty shook her head. She didn’t bother to mention that she very much doubted her lawyers permitted smoking anywhere in the offices of Crane, Adderson and White. Steve Sheppard wouldn’t care. She waited as he methodically lit the cigarette and drew a deep lungful of smoke before expelling it slowly. Only then did Sheppard address her question.
“I began to suspect there was something funny going on with the books last spring, but I was busy, finishing up the Sunshine circuit with eight of our horses, ironing out a few glitches with the transportation back north to get everyone back in place for the beginning of the northeastern show calendar. So I left it up to my partner, who’d gone back to Southwind, to straighten out the accounts. Only it turned out that my trusted partner was making honey with our bookkeeper, keeping her dazed and happy so she’d cook the books and hide the fact that he was emptying money from the farm’s checking account. ’Cause when you’re supporting a cocaine habit the size of Jason’s, money runs out like sand slipping through open fingers.”
She didn’t even so much as bat an eyelash, damn her.
“What happened once Jason Belmar knew you were growing suspicious?”
“It was several months before I wised up.” The admission left a bitter taste in his mouth, so he took a deep drag of his cigarette. “Jase’d been careful in the beginning, drawing small amounts at a time. Then, later, when his habit was growing really expensive, Jason got Holly, our bookkeeper, to doctor the numbers a bit more, so it’d look as if she’d made a couple of errors, neglected to record deposits, and that was why the figures didn’t add up. He sweet-talked Holly into coming to me, all teary, begging me to give her another chance. Holly was a good kid, supporting her retired mother and father with her salary, and just as snowed by Jase as I was.”
“Had Jason Belmar always had trouble with drugs?”
Steve’s lip curled in disdain. “Yeah, sure, of course. I purposely entered into a partnership with a cokehead. No, Junior—or are you Stannard the second?” Steve threw the barbed question out, assured it would find its mark. “No,” he repeated, “it was hanging around with the likes of you that did it to him. Jason was a top-notch rider when I got to know him in Gothenburg. He’d been riding for some Swedish owners for about eight years. We got acquainted, hung around together, talked about our plans for the future. Turned out he was more than ready to give up the European circuit and move back to the States. I’d been thinking more and more about expanding my business at Southwind. So we became partners. Things went well for a time. Then Jase got mixed up in a crowd that ran pretty wild. Friends of Allegra Palmer, the daughter of one of my owners. Maybe you know her, coming from the same circle.” His smile was unpleasant.
That startled her; he could see it in the involuntary widening of her large gray eyes.
“Uh, yes,” Ty murmured, crossing her legs underneath her knit skirt. The ten-year-old memory of Allegra Palmer plastering herself against Steve’s muscular body flashed in her mind with startling clarity. “I’ve seen Allegra Palmer here and there. We don’t know each other well, though.”
“You’re not missing much. But Jase fell for Allegra pretty hard. She led him on, kept him dangling, and then dumped him. He was devastated, too stuck on her to cut his losses and walk away. Afterward, he started hanging out with her lowlife friends just to be near her. That was the starting point for Jase’s problems. I remember noticing it in his riding first, little things here and there, a careless mistake in a speed class, a weirdly wrongheaded approach on a course, given the ability or temperament of the horse he was riding. The mistakes began to pile up, one on top of the other. Pretty soon, his horses were getting rattled, losing their confidence. When I talked to him about it, though, Jase claimed it was burnout from the stress of nonstop showing. It happens in our sport, same as in any other, and I guess I simply didn’t want to believe it might be anything else. So I suggested he take a bit of time off, work with the younger horses at the farm while I showed his mounts for him and wrapped up the season in Florida.”
“How many horses was he riding at the time?”
“Three. I had four of our clients’ horses, plus my own, Fancy Free. My other two were sitting out the season, back in Long Island. It stretched me to the max, trying to win with eight horses. I shouldn’t have taken on so much, but I didn’t want to let our owners down, and Fancy and I were going for Horse of the Year award.” Steve paused, and Ty noticed the fine lines around his eyes as his gaze became shadowed. “But sending Jason back to the farm was a mistake. It only let his cocaine habit take over. And I wasn’t around to stop it.”
“I see,” Ty said slowly. “You certainly have a good reason to hesitate at the idea of a partnership . . .”
“Yeah, don’t I?” Steve shot back, his tone acid. “That’s why your offer will never fly.”
“You won’t take the chance, even though you’re facing bankruptcy? Surely, you realize that your career, your business, will be destroyed. Have you thought about your future?”
Steve remained stubbornly silent, sickened at the thought of his farm gone, his horses sold to cover his debts. “I was thinking I’d open a bar,” he joked, hating that he was even having a conversation like this. She didn’t laugh, damn her beautiful eyes, merely continued in that snotty rich girl’s voice. “Mr. Sheppard, if you don’t consider my offer, you’ll have nothing. Not a penny. And you’ll never be able to
get that parcel of land back. If my father’s people buy it, they’ll find loopholes to circumvent zoning codes, grease whatever palms need greasing, and turn your open pastures into half a dozen or more
‘millionaire’s cottages,’ complete with swimming pools and tennis court
s. And I promise you that the return Stannard Limited will make on its investment will blow your mind. Think about it, Mr. Sheppard. Think about everything you’ll lose.”
A sudden turn of his head, and Steve Sheppard’s gaze hit her with a flash of electric blue. The alcohol he reeked of must be wearing off, because his eyes were much more intense now. Ty’s heart took off like a rocket.
“Tell me, Junior, what’s in it for you?”
12
W hat was in it for her?
Ty’d been dreading the moment when he’d ask that question. Tell him the truth? That in some secret corner of her heart she still cherished her youthful memories, her dreams of him, his existence a golden beacon in the barren landscape of her childhood?
Involuntarily, her fingers moved to the base of her throat and lightly fingered the chain circling her neck. She had only to show him the silver medallion to reveal who she was, to jolt his memory back to that hot summer day ten years ago. A day he’d obviously forgotten but she never had. No, she thought, rejecting the idea. If she told him who she was, he’d have the upper hand and wouldn’t hesitate to use her absurdly sentimental attachment to a memory to his own advantage. So, instead, she offered a partial explanation, close enough to the truth to satisfy him.
“I like challenges,” she stated simply. “Pulling Southwind Stables from the brink of financial disaster should fit the bill nicely. At the same time, I’ll be thwarting my father’s all-consuming quest for land and money. He’s ruined some marvelous pieces of property in the name of luxury estates. When I was executive vice president at Stannard Limited, I couldn’t keep him from pursuing a number of projects that destroyed some truly magnificent open spaces. Now there is one I can stop Stannard Limited from grabbing.”
“Pissed at Pop, huh?” Steve observed with the precision of a laser. “Angry enough to blow a cool couple million just to put a cog in Pop’s wheel?” He whistled low, in mock admiration. “Of course, that’s only for starters. If you’ve done your homework, Junior, you’ll know a horse business that operates at a profit is a rare breed. You know anything about horses, Junior?” Steve inquired casually, picking up the gold pen by her side and setting it awhirl between his long fingers.
“Yes,” Ty admitted reluctantly. “I know how to ride, not that I’ve done very much in the past several years. I haven’t had the free time to make that kind of commitment.
“Oh, yes,” Steve nodded, delighted that she’d squirmed just a bit, evidence that she was uncomfortable with the direction the conversation was taking. Didn’t like personal questions very much, did she? “Let me guess: working too many hours at Daddy’s company. The picture’s getting clearer here, Junior. You salve your conscience, get back at your Pop, and get the added fun of playing Marie Antoinette.”
Ty’s eyes flashed at Steve’s crack, but refused to rise to the bait. “Horses take time and commitment. I wouldn’t buy a horse if I didn’t think I could devote enough energy to it.”
“First smart thing you’ve said yet,” Steve leveled her with an openly appraising look. “It shows you understand more about horses than a lot of owners I’ve dealt with.”
Which was a strong argument for steering the conversation away from herself, Ty concluded. Otherwise, he might see far too much.
“As I was saying, Mr. Sheppard, Stannard Limited will grab your land without hesitating. I can help, if you’ll let me. Please think it over; otherwise, you’ll be throwing away your only chance.” There, she’d laid her offer on the table; now it was up to him.
The time had come for some serious poker, Steve decided, lighting a second cigarette from the first. He didn’t really want it, but that was irrelevant. It bought him time, let him figure out how to play his hand. And what choice did he have, really? Miss Tyler Stannard was giving him a chance to save his property, his business, his self. But in a fifty-percent partnership. The thought that he’d no longer be head partner, in charge of making the decisions, rankled. Still, he needed the deal. Badly. The sixty-four-thousand-dollar question was, however, How bad did Miss Moneybags here want it?
“Okay, Junior, here’s the situation. The longer I think about this offer you’ve dropped in my lap, the more I get the feeling I need a little extra insurance.”
“What do you mean?”
His mouth widened in a warm, easy smile, as tempting as honey dripping from a spoon. Immediately, alarm bells began ringing inside Ty’s head. Watch out for a man who can smile like that.
“I’m handing over fifty percent of my business, but what happens when something else comes along that tickles your imagination? For all I know, you may become bound and determined to save manatees down in Florida next week. I’ve got to have some protection here. Otherwise, what’s to stop you from selling your half of the partnership or deciding it’s not worth investing any more money into it?”
“I’m hardly about to turn my back on a multimillion-dollar investment or treat it frivolously, Mr. Sheppard.”
“Well, now, I don’t know that for a fact, do I?” he drawled, all down-home Kentucky charm. Ty wasn’t fooled for a minute. “That means you’d better get those lawyers sitting out there, cooling their heels to add a clause or two if you want me to consider this proposal seriously.”
“What precisely is it you want added?”
His smile grew wider, causing the little crinkles at the corners of his eyes to deepen. “First, I want a buyout option that allows me to purchase your fifty percent of the partnership as soon as I can pay back what you’ve invested up to that date.”
“And interest?” she fired back, curious to see whether he was bluffing. He wasn’t. “I think eight percent accrued interest would be fair, seeing how you’d be recouping your money.” Casually, he crossed one booted leg over the other.
“Any other stipulations?” Ty asked carefully. She didn’t trust that easygoing manner for one minute.
“If you happen, for whatever reason, to decide you wish to discontinue our partnership, full ownership of Southwind reverts to me without my paying you a penny. Same goes if you die. No leaving my land to Pop in your will. Oh, and one other thing,” Steve smiled as though remembering a detail that had almost slipped his mind. “As stated in the agreement, you’ll own a fifty percent stake in my farm. However, I’ll be calling the shots. Like I said before, I’m not interested in a rich debutante fooling around with my business. You want to invest your money? Fine. But I run the show.”
Ty’s temper flared at his words. How dare he presume she had nothing of value to offer besides her money? “Oh, I don’t think so, Mr. Sheppard.” The dangerous glimmer in her eyes belied the coolness of her tone. “I’m afraid you’ll have to resign yourself to a more equitable partnership. There’s simply no way I’m going to invest the kind of money we’re talking about without ensuring the business is properly managed.” She paused to clear her throat delicately, anger still burning inside her. “Much as I hate to point out the obvious, you don’t have a very good track record.”
For a second, she was convinced it was over, that she’d prodded his wounded pride too sharply. Then his body language changed and, leaning back once more, he gave a careless shrug. “You want to check the books from time to time? I’ll send them.”
And make sure she never set foot near Southwind. Or stuck her nose into his business. The business she was saving.
“That won’t be necessary. I’ll be staying at Southwind—at least until I’m satisfied things are running smoothly.” Anger caused the words to slip out, surprising her and, from the expression on his face, astounding him. The words seemed to hang in the air, while Ty’s mind spun uselessly, like a tire on a patch of ice. What had she done? A colossal misstep, that’s what. Yet she couldn’t retreat—tactically that would be an even greater mistake. “There’s plenty of room on your farm; I’ve seen blueprints. The outbuildings . . .”
“—are all used for storing equipment and machinery,” Steve replied, cutting her off.
“And your barn manager, where does he live?”
“About three miles away. He’s a local.”
Seeing his smile widen with each rebuttal only increased Ty’s determination, no matter how ill-conceived the idea. “What about your former partner, Jason Belmar? Where did he sleep?”
“We shared the house,” came the reluctant reply. Then abruptly, Steve shifted his weight forward, bringing his face close to hers. His eyes were mesmerizing, a cold hard blue. “Thing is, Junior, Southwind is a working farm. Not a resort. Anyone staying at Southwind has to be willing to put in some serious labor. As you yourself admitted earlier, horses require hours of care, involving a hell of a lot more effort than punching numbers into a calculator.” Steve paused. A truly beautiful plan was taking shape in his mind.
For the first time since the ear-popping elevator ride up to the lawyers’ offices, he was enjoying himself. So Tyler Stannard wanted to move in, take over, dictate to him how to run a horse farm? How long would she last, if she were removed from her pampered, hothouse environment?
In open challenge, his blue eyes skimmed over her, taking in the gentle swell of her breasts. Nope, no boob job there, he reflected, his earlier curiosity satisfied. Women who’d gone under the knife generally wanted a lot more to show for it—too much, in his opinion. But Tyler Stannard’s body was a dream come true. And those legs. He frowned, pushing the errant thought away, belatedly conscious of how long his eyes had lingered, cataloging her assets. She was the last woman in the world he should be thinking of in those terms.
As though merely musing aloud, he laid the trap. “It just so happens I’m a little short of able bodies right now. I had to let go of some of my stablehands ’cause I couldn’t pay them.” His eyes raked her slender form once more, considering. “Admittedly, you’re on the scrawny side. Still, you look strong enough.” At the sight of him nodding happily, Ty felt a sick kind of foreboding settle over her. “Tell you what, Junior, if you’re all fired up about being an active partner and wanting to keep a close eye on your investment, you better be resigned to ruining that manicure of yours.”