A Love Beyond

by Leslie P. García

  He stood, glowering, not accepting her invitation. “Don’t jerk me around with some tea party crap,” he said between gritted teeth. “I want answers, AJ.”

  She ignored his demands until she broke ice out of a brittle tray and filled two glasses, then poured tea from a pitcher, looking at the brown liquid a little dubiously.

  “Does tea spoil?” She carried the glasses over, handed him one, and settled herself on the couch, immediately putting her drink down on the low end table. She folded her arms across her chest and smiled slightly, determined to keep him off balance. He frowned at the glass, then at her again, but finally walked over to sit on the far end of the sofa, putting his own drink down and turning to face her.

  “So?”

  She dragged in a deep breath, lifted a hand and idly turned her birthstone ring around her finger. The ring had been a present to her from Gina shortly before she married Mike. The last gift, in fact, her sister had given her.

  “What do you want to know?”

  “Who you are. Why you lied. What the deal is with Towers.”

  His questions rapped out with machine-gun staccato. She didn’t look at him, just considered the ring. “Well, as you said in the barn, I am Gina’s sister.” She looked up at him then, unwilling to deny the bonds of blood and love. “Her older sister.”

  “So why doesn’t Mike know?”

  She stood up and walked over to the window, then to the counter that separated the small kitchen area from the living area. “He never bothered much with us … my mother and me. He met me once, briefly, but everyone at home calls me Joanie.” She shrugged. “I don’t look a lot like Gina. At the time I had dark hair, and I was just this tall, gawky, not particularly pretty stranger. He didn’t pay attention to me.”

  “But the wedding—”

  “He insisted on having the wedding here in Laredo. Mom went … Gina and I quarreled. I didn’t come.”

  “Okay.” He rubbed a hand over his face, then tapped a forefinger on his forehead thoughtfully. “So … Mike didn’t know you. Yet I’d never met you—and I saw the resemblance.”

  “How?” she asked, mystified. She had been wondering that since he dropped his bombshell in the barn.

  “That silly little noise you make when you’re startled. I never heard anyone else make it. And then, when I looked carefully, the two of you are similar. Not identical, certainly. But there are similarities.”

  Which she hoped Towers hadn’t picked up on—if Chance didn’t give her away now. What if he threatened to reveal her true identity? She leaned against the counter, pain shooting through her head. Breathing was hard.

  “Why are you here?”

  The severity of his tone hadn’t lessened. She had an answer for that, though.

  “We were always very close … before we fought. When I knew she was gone … it hurt.” In spite of herself, a tear slipped from the corner of one eye and she dashed it away. God, it still hurt. “I … I don’t know exactly why, but I felt that I’d find … closure. Some kind of comfort, if I visited her home.”

  He shook his head. Once, with decision.

  “No.” The one word response brokered no softening, no belief in her story. “Because if that were the real reason—you wouldn’t be out to bed Towers.” He, too, stood up, closed the distance between them, and leaned on the opposite side of the counter. “I mean, for God’s sake—you’re trying to sleep with a man who was your sister’s husband just a couple of months ago. Just how much did Towers mean to your family, AJ, that you and your sister would both go after him? Is it just about money?”

  Anger at his disbelief, at his accusations, seared her nerves and straightened her. Irrational anger, because her ploy to pass as a gold digger had worked. But how dare he accuse her of not honoring her sister’s memory?

  “Think what you want,” she said. “I went to Mike because I had to.” She turned away.

  Almost immediately, she felt his hand on her shoulder. Warm steel, gripping her, again preventing escape. But carefully, not hurting her.

  “Okay. We’ll come back to that.” The fingers lightened slightly and she reluctantly turned back to face him. He dropped the hand away and propped his elbows against the ceramic tile of the counter. “So tell me just one more thing now—and AJ?”

  “Yes?”

  “I want the truth. As plain and as raw as you can tell it. Just what the hell’s the deal with Rebel?”

  Her fingers drummed the counter in agitation. How much to tell? Could she salvage any hope of recovering the horse that meant her mother’s future—and her own, perhaps?

  “Rebel belonged to my mother. Not Gina.” She paused, but Chance said nothing, just watched her with that unreadable stare. “Gina begged my mom and me to let her loan him to Mike Towers. For just one breeding season. He’d had that leg injured and just been retired. We weren’t sure if he could race again. Mom and I didn’t agree on whether to stand him, or wait and race him in a few of the classics for older horses the following year. But Gina pleaded the case for letting Mike borrow him and—Gina usually got what she wanted from Mom.” She turned away from his scrutiny and walked over to one of the small dust-covered windows, glancing out absently. Finally she came back to the counter.

  “He never came back.” She shrugged. “I love the horse, Chance. We raised him. I just needed to see him again.”

  Chance jerked a hand through his hair, stared at her a minute more, then stalked over to retrieve his tea and bring it over to the counter. Instead of drinking it, he merely twirled the glass around, sloshing the dark liquid inside, and then set the beverage down again.

  “I could believe that,” he said slowly, “if there weren’t a dead ringer out in the stall. Why have you burdened yourself with a second Thoroughbred—one who looks like Rebel—if all you wanted was to see your horse?”

  “Goof?” The question was dumb; there was no other horse around. But she didn’t know how to allay his suspicions. How to turn this around.

  He looked disconcerted. “Goof?” he echoed, frowning. “What kind of a name is that?”

  In spite of the knotted muscles tightening her neck and making her head pound, AJ smiled slightly. “A false name. A descriptive word that can be used in polite company. His registered name is Rebel’s Answer. But unlike his brother—he had no desire to run.” She stretched her shoulders, moved them a little. She couldn’t help but notice the slight change in Chance’s expression.

  But she would not play on whatever physical attraction the man felt. “He’s an overgrown puppy dog.”

  Chance nodded. “Okay. If I buy that, there’s another question I’m a little curious about—why is he here?”

  “Mom had to stay with her horses. She didn’t want me to come alone.”

  He lifted an eyebrow. “She sent a horse to take care of you?” he asked, the sarcasm clear.

  “You’d have to know my mother,” AJ countered matter-of-factly. “Goof wasn’t working—one less body for her to feed and worry about. There’s no other reason.”

  “No?” The terseness of the clipped word startled her. “Sorry, AJ. I don’t buy it. Personally, I’m banking on insurance fraud.”

  AJ’s breath caught in her throat and she couldn’t speak for a painful second or two. When she did, she spoke with indignation. With outrage. “Insurance fraud?”

  He faced her, relentless and accusing. “Happens all the time. Rebel won’t run forever, even if someone put him back on a track. If he makes it as a stud, you can get a pretty penny through syndication. If he bombs …” He shrugged and leaned farther over the counter that separated them. “If he bombs, you’ll have nothing. You probably thought you’d find him here in Laredo, right? You bring a horse you think you can fool everyone with for a while—just long enough to get him out of sight. Then there’s an accident, you collect insurance—”

  “That’s just insane,” AJ whispered.

  “Look what happened to Alydar, and he was huge. Too many horses to name. A
big policy, an unfortunate accident, money. Fast, easy, and only a little distasteful.”

  “Insurance fraud, legs broken with iron pipes, stomachs slashed open, a ‘little’ distasteful? Just what kind of woman do you think could do that, Chance?” she hissed.

  He didn’t answer for a long while. When he did, his eyes and voice were equally cold and cutting.

  “A woman who could sleep with a man to get what she wanted,” he said. “A woman with an agenda. You.”

  Chapter Eight

  His accusation hurt her. She took a faltering half-step back, hand going up slightly as if to ward off his accusations. Or slap him silly. He gave his head one hard, angry shake. What did she expect? Maybe Towers hadn’t had her yet, but she’d known that was the plan when she accepted his invitation.

  Her sister’s husband, for Christ’s sake.

  Her wounded green eyes, her silence, the way her body trembled—he just didn’t get it.

  He thought for a moment he might take it back, say something to lessen her hurt, even if he had to lie about his suspicions. But then her body stiffened and stilled. Her chin tilted slightly. He hadn’t known Gina well, but he remembered seeing that very same gesture. Not often. Twice, maybe. Gina hadn’t defended herself, usually. Her sister glared at him from her side of the counter.

  “You filthy bastard,” she whispered.

  The rawness and controlled fury of her tone struck him like a sucker punch to the gut. She sounded sincere. Didn’t sound like she had an agenda. And she looked like a woman in pain. He wanted to step forward and wrap his arms around her. But he couldn’t. Because no matter how true her words rang, they made no sense. And she could be a huge thorn in his side. If Mike found out that this was Gina’s sister, he might start looking at everyone around him a little more closely.

  The chances were increasingly good that the photos Eli told him about no longer existed. He needed a little longer to search the Nuevo Laredo estate before he could be sure that he couldn’t turn up something. If Towers became suspicious, then he could block any further searches, just by watching everyone more carefully. Chance wouldn’t be able to seek evidence to exonerate his uncle. Very possibly to save his aunt’s life. Evidence that Mike Towers, not Robert Newsome, had slaughtered horses for insurance money.

  But Lord, he wanted to hold her.

  The irritating beep of his cell phone interrupted them. He fished it out of his pocket and glanced at the name on the display. Mike. AJ turned away and walked over to the window, silently ignoring him.

  “Yeah?” Maybe not the most professional way to greet Towers, but it was the best he could do given his agitated state.

  Towers’s voice, too loud and demanding, hammered him. “I called the house first. You weren’t there.”

  “No.”

  “María said that AJ left just before you did.” An accusation, not a question. Towers’s voice must have carried, because AJ turned from the window and watched him from across the small space of the trailer.

  “She shouldn’t have left?”

  Towers snorted. “Well, I didn’t have her tied to the bed, much as I might have wanted to. But I wish she hadn’t.” He paused. “And I damn sure wish you hadn’t gone with her.”

  “I didn’t.” Chance kept his voice level. Reviewed every bit of evidence he could to be sure he hadn’t been followed. He didn’t think Towers suspected him of being anything more than a glorified bodyguard. Didn’t think Towers could know he was standing here a few feet away from AJ.

  “Well, you may not have left in the same car. But I got the idea from María that your leaving looked mighty damn suspicious.”

  He allowed himself his own snort. “María’s suspicious of anything that has legs and walks,” he retorted. “We both know that.”

  “Yeah, but—”

  “Look, Mike, you pay me to watch your backside. The truth is, I followed AJ into Laredo—just to be sure everything was on the up and up. Thought you’d want to know if she had decided to leave or if she saw anyone.”

  He could see AJ’s expression change, although he couldn’t decide whether she was apprehensive or relieved.

  “Well, yeah, but … where did she go?”

  “Drugstore. Hamburger joint.”

  “Hamburgers?” That seemed to tick Mike off more than anything else. “She didn’t have to leave the ranch for a damn burger!”

  “Yeah, sure, but you know these kids.” Her eyebrows threatened to disappear right off her forehead, but he couldn’t resist the slight dig at Mike’s age. “She’s not as mature as you are. Still into junk food.”

  Towers was silent on the other end.

  “So … are you on your way back?” Chance prompted, not wanting to cause too much more friction. He couldn’t afford too many little jabs right now, no matter how much he loathed the man.

  “I’ll be back when I’m back,” Towers answered and the words sounded vaguely like a warning. In the background, muffled voices clamored for his attention. “Gotta go,” he said, abruptly. “Chance?”

  “Yeah?”

  “Keep your nose clean, my friend.” There was nothing jocular about the voice. And no doubt that it was a warning as he added, in a slightly lower tone, “And your pants on, Chance. AJ’s mine. And remind her that unless she’s really going back to the unknown boyfriend for good—we have our traditions. She accepted an invitation to stay at my place. Just remind her of that.”

  Towers clicked off and Chance shoved the phone back in his pocket.

  “Bastard,” AJ said again.

  “You’ve already called me that once,” Chance reminded, and she shook her head impatiently.

  “Him. Not you.” She came over and looked up at him. “Why do you work for him?” She crossed her arms over her chest as if chilled.

  “You’re asking that? As indignant as you got a minute ago, AJ, what are you doing accepting his invitation to stay at his home? You had to know—”

  “And if I didn’t, I do now, don’t I?” She sighed. “Look, I can’t help what you think. I need … time. I don’t have any other way to get it.” She held up a warning finger when he started to speak. “And you know perfectly well that I’ve no intention of selling my body to Towers. Not for time. Or money.”

  She hadn’t meant to say that, Chance knew. Her eyes widened slightly, and her whole body tensed. “As if you have a choice!” Chance scoffed. “You’re not used to men like Mike, AJ. You said you came to see Rebel. You saw him. Give it up!”

  “Not yet.”

  He reached out, caught her arms, shook her gently. “Then when, AJ? When?”

  “When I’m ready.”

  He sighed, released her arms, and dragged a hand through his hair. “I don’t want you back across,” he said. “Look, go back to your fiancé. Go back home—”

  “What?” Disbelief sharpened the single word. “You don’t get an opinion, Chance. You don’t get to dictate what I do or don’t do. There is no fiancé, and I can’t go home without—”

  “It’s not in Mike’s best interest to have you there.”

  She stared at him as if he’d sprouted horns and turned red. Or smelled of sulfur and brimstone. “Not in Mike’s interest?”

  He shrugged slightly. “I’m head of security for a very rich man. You’re there under false pretenses, and I know you have some agenda with Rebel. I can’t let you go back.”

  He saw stubbornness shade her eyes. There was something else there, too—a fleeting look of desperation. That disappeared almost immediately.

  “Fine,” she said. “I’ll call Mike and explain that you don’t want me there.” She paused, then added coldly, “and I’ll mention that you sneak into his stables at night and go through filing cabinets that I’m sure aren’t any of your business.”

  He stared. She smiled.

  “A few days,” she murmured. “I’ll be ready to make my peace with Gina’s death in a few days. But you’ve got to let me go back.”

  He blew out a breath
. She’d spied on him? He hadn’t heard anyone the night he’d gone through the papers. Hadn’t thought he needed to be particularly careful. But she couldn’t be bluffing; she obviously had seen him.

  “You can go back,” he said finally. As if he had a choice. “But I’ll be watching every move you make, AJ.”

  He expected matter-of-fact acceptance since she’d forced his hand. Instead, her eyes teared up and she laid a hand on his chest. The touch did more to burn than comfort. “Thanks,” she whispered, full of relief. And she stepped past him and headed for the door. After a bemused moment, he turned and followed her.

  • • •

  Chance stood in the corner of his room and peered out the window, ignoring the throbbing headache that had plagued him for hours. Towers’s absence troubled him; the man seldom was away for so long at a time. Since his intended conquest was here, it was surprising as hell that he hadn’t returned. Much of his business was conducted by phone or computer anyway, and Chance couldn’t ignore the nagging sensation that Towers was up to something.

  Lights shone on the manicured lawn. Everything seemed quiet. Serene. Just as he started to drop the sheer curtain panel, a shape appeared, heading across the lawn toward the barn.

  AJ. Dressed in white, moving wraith-like through the night. Unbidden, he thought of her comments about the wailing woman, La Llorona. The legend was as much a part of his childhood as hers. A woman who had sacrificed herself for love. Or greed and jealousy. The story cut either way, and how you looked at the woman probably said a lot of psycho gobbledy-gook. Did you trust women and their motives, or suspect them?

  He hadn’t known much about his own mother. She’d brought him into the world, then left him. No father. No mother. Briefly, he’d had a wife who decided she wanted better than a stable bum. But he’d had his uncle, and when the gruff trainer married, his aunt. That had been enough. Both his mother and ex, if either were cast as La Llorona, would have done away with their kids for personal gain. Hard not to be a little suspicious of women and their motives. Look at Towers’s wife. She’d had it all and thrown it away.