by Lisa Jackson
In the dim light, his mouth appeared more sensual than she had remembered and the rough angles of his face seemed less threatening. His jet-black hair was without a trace of gray and gleamed blue in the lamplight. Only his eyes gave away his age. Though still a sharp, intense silver, they were hard, as if they had witnessed years of bitterness. The skin near the corners of his eyes was etched with a faint webbing that suggested he had stared often into the glare of the afternoon sun.
“Sorry I’m late,” he said, straightening as his bold gaze held hers.
“No problem,” she returned and wondered what it was about him that she found so attractive. She’d never been a woman drawn to handsome faces or strong physiques. But there was an intelligence in Zane’s eyes, hidden beneath a thin veneer of pride, that beckoned the woman in her. It was frightening. “Please come in.”
I can’t be attracted to him, she thought. He can’t be trusted. God only knows what he wants from me.
He walked with her to the den. “I’m sorry for the interruption this morning—” she began.
“My fault. I should have called.” A flash of a brilliant smile gleamed against his dark skin.
Tiffany didn’t bother to wave off his apology. Zane’s surprise appearance on her doorstep had thrown her day into a tailspin. It had been a wonder that she could even converse intelligently with the reporter from the Santa Rosa Clarion considering the bombshell that this man had dropped in her lap.
“Could I get you a drink?” she inquired as she walked toward a well-stocked bar disguised in the bookcase behind her desk. Ellery had insisted on the most modern of conveniences, the bar being one of his favorites. Tiffany hadn’t used it more than twice since her husband’s death.
“Scotch, if you have it.”
She had it all right. That and about every other liquor imaginable. “You never can guess what a man might drink,” Ellery had explained with a knowing wink. “Got to be prepared...just in case. I wouldn’t want to blow a potential stud fee all because I didn’t have a bottle of liquor around.” Ellery had laughed, as if his response to her inquiry were a joke. But he had filled the bar with over thirty bottles of the most expensive liquor money could buy. “Think of it as a tax deduction,” he had joked.
“Oh, I’m sure I’ve got Scotch,” she answered Zane. “It’s just a matter of locating it.” After examining a few of the unfamiliar labels, Tiffany wiped away some of the dust that had collected on the unused bottles. What a waste.
It didn’t take long to find an opened bottle of Scotch. She splashed the amber liquor into a glass filled with ice cubes and then, with a forced smile, she handed Zane the drink. “Now,” she said, her voice surprisingly calm, “why don’t you tell me why you think Devil’s Gambit is alive?”
After pouring herself a glass of wine, she took an experimental sip and watched Zane over the rim of her glass. “That is, if you haven’t changed your mind since this morning.”
A gray light of challenge flashed in his eyes and his facade of friendly charm faded slightly. “Nothing’s changed.”
“So you still think that the horse is alive...and you’re still interested in buying the farm, right?”
“That’s correct.”
Tiffany let out a ragged sigh and took a chair near the desk. “Please, have a seat.”
Zane was too restless to sit. He walked over to the window and stared into the black, starless night. “I didn’t mean to shock you this morning.” Why the hell was he apologizing? He owed this woman nothing more than a quick explanation, and even that stuck in his throat. But there was something intriguing about her—a feminine mystique that touched a black part of his soul. Damn it all, this meeting was starting off all wrong. Ellery Rhodes’s widow turned his thinking around. When he was with her, he started forgetting his objectives.
“Well, you did.”
“Like I said—I should have called to make sure that we would have some time to talk.”
Tiffany shifted uneasily in the chair. “We have all night,” she said, and when a flicker of interest sparked in his eyes she quickly amended her statement. “Or however long it takes to straighten out this mess. Why don’t you explain yourself?”
“I told you, I have reason to believe that Devil’s Gambit is alive.”
Tiffany smiled and shook her head. “That’s impossible. I...I was at the scene of the accident. The horse was killed.”
Zane frowned into the night. “A horse was killed.”
“Devil’s Gambit was the only horse in the trailer. The other two horses that had been stabled in Florida were in another truck—the one that Mac was driving. They were already in Kentucky when the accident occurred.” She ran trembling fingers through her hair as she remembered that black, tragic night. Once again she thought about the terror and pain that Ellery and his horse must have gone through in those last agonizing moments before death mercifully took them both. “Devil’s Gambit died in the accident.” Her voice was low from the strain of old emotions, and she had to fight against the tears threatening her eyes.
“Unless he was never in that truck in the first place.”
Tiffany swallowed with difficulty. “What are you suggesting, Mr. Sheridan?”
“I think that Devil’s Gambit was kidnapped.”
“That’s crazy. My husband—”
Zane’s eyes flashed silver fire. “Was probably involved.”
Tiffany stood on trembling legs, her hands flattened on the desk to support her. A quiet rage began to burn in her chest. “This conversation is absurd. Why would Ellery steal his own horse?”
Zane shrugged. “Money? Wasn’t Devil’s Gambit insured?”
“Not to his full value. After he won in Florida, we intended to increase the coverage, as he proved himself much more valuable than anyone had guessed. I had all the forms filled out, but before I could send them back to the insurance company as Ellery had suggested, I had to wait until I saw him again. Several of the documents required his signature.” She shook her head at her own foolishness. “Why am I telling you all of this?” After releasing a weary sigh, she rapped her knuckles on the polished desk and clasped her hands behind her back.
“Because I’m telling you the truth.”
“You think.”
“I know.”
Tiffany’s emotions were running a savage gauntlet of anger and fear, but she attempted to keep her voice steady. “How do you know?”
“I saw your horse.”
She sucked in her breath. “You saw Devil’s Gambit? That’s impossible. If he were alive, someone would have told me—”
“Someone is.”
There was a charged silence in the air. “It’s been four years since the accident. Why now?”
“Because I wasn’t sure before.”
Tiffany shook her head in denial, and her honey-colored hair brushed her shoulders. “This is too crazy—where did you see the horse? And how did you know it was Devil’s Gambit? And what horse was killed in the trailer—and...and...what about my husband?” she whispered. “His brother Dustin was with him. Dustin knows what happened.”
“Dustin claimed to be sleeping.”
Tiffany flinched. How did this man, this virtual stranger, know so much about her and what had happened that night? If only she could remember what Ellery had said about Zane Sheridan. Ellery had spent some time in Ireland—Dublin. Maybe that was the connection. Zane still spoke with a slight brogue. Ellery must have known Zane in Dublin, and that’s why he was here. Something happened in Ireland, years ago. Any other reason was just a fabrication, an excuse.
“Dustin would have woken up if the truck was stopped and the horses were switched. Dear God, do you know what you’re suggesting?” Tiffany took a calming swallow of her wine and began to pace in front of the desk. Her thoughts were scattered between Zane, the tragic past and the tense drama unfolding in the foaling shed. “Ellery would never have been involved in anything so underhanded.”
“Didn’t you ever que
stion what happened?” Zane asked suddenly.
“Of course, but—”
“Didn’t you think it was odd that Dustin had taken sleeping pills? Wasn’t he supposed to drive later in the night—switch off with Ellery so that they wouldn’t have to stop?”
Tiffany was immediately defensive. “Dustin’s an insomniac. He needed the rest before the Derby.”
“The Derby was weeks away.”
“But there was a lot of work—”
“And what about your husband? Why did he decide to drive that night? Wasn’t that out of the ordinary?” Bitterness tightened Zane’s features, and he clutched his drink in a death grip.
“He was excited—he wanted to be a part of it.” But even to her, the words sounded false. Ellery had always believed in letting the hired help handle the horses. Before that night, he had always flown—first class—to the next racetrack.
Zane saw the doubts forming in her eyes. “Everything about that ‘accident’ seems phony to me.”
“But there was an investigation—”
“Thorough?”
“I—I don’t know.... I think so.” At the time she had been drowning in her own grief and shock. She had listened to the police reports, viewed the brutal scene of the accident, visited Dustin in the hospital and flown home in a private fog of sorrow and disbelief. After the funeral, Dustin’s strong arms and comforting words had helped her cope with her loss.
“Were Ellery’s dental records checked?”
Tiffany’s head snapped up, and her eyes were bright with righteous defiance. “Of course not. Ellery was driving. Dustin was there. There didn’t need to be any further investigation.” Her eyes narrowed a fraction, and her voice shook when she spoke again. “What are you suggesting, Mr. Sheridan? That my husband is still alive—hiding from me somewhere with his horse?”
Zane impaled her with his silvery stare and then ran impatient fingers through his hair. “I don’t know.”
A small sound of disbelief came from Tiffany’s throat and she had to lean against the desk for support. “I—I don’t know why I’m even listening to this,” she whispered hoarsely. “It just doesn’t make any sense. Devil’s Gambit is worth a lot more as Devil’s Gambit—in terms of dollars at the racetrack and stud fees. Anything you’ve suggested is absolutely beyond reason.” She smiled grimly, as if at her own foolhardiness. “Look, I think maybe it would be better if you just left.”
“I can’t do that—not yet.”
“Why not?”
“Because I intend to convince you that your horse was stolen from you.”
“That’s impossible.”
“Maybe not.” Zane extracted a small manila envelope from his breast pocket and walked back to the desk. “There are some pictures in here that might change your mind.” He handed Tiffany the envelope, and she accepted it with a long sigh.
There were three photographs, all of the same horse. Tiffany scanned the color prints of a running horse closely, studying the bone structure and carriage of the animal. The similarities between the horse in the photograph and Devil’s Gambit were uncanny. “Where did you get these?” she asked, her breath constricting in her throat.
“I took them. Outside of Dublin.”
It made sense. The horse, if he really was Devil’s Gambit, would have to be hidden out of the country to ensure that no one would recognize or identify him. Even so, Zane’s story was ludicrous. “This isn’t Devil’s Gambit,” she said, her slate-blue eyes questioning his. “This horse has no white marks...anywhere.” She pointed to the portrait above the fireplace. “Devil’s Gambit had a stocking, on his right foreleg.”
“I think the stocking has been dyed.”
“To hide his identity?”
“And to palm him off as another horse, one of considerably less caliber.”
“This is ridiculous.” Tiffany rolled her eyes and raised her hands theatrically in the air. “You know, you almost convinced me by coming in here and making outlandish statements that I nearly believed. Heaven knows why. Maybe it’s because you seemed so sure of yourself. But I can tell you without a doubt that this is not Devil’s Gambit.” She shook the prints in the air before tossing them recklessly on the desk. “Nothing you’ve said tonight makes any sense, nor is it backed up with the tiniest shred of evidence. Therefore I have to assume that you’re here for another reason, such as the sale of the farm. My position hasn’t altered on that subject, either. So you see, Mr. Sheridan, any further discussion would be pointless.”
Louise knocked softly on the door of the den before poking her head inside. “Dinner’s ready.” She eyed Tiffany expectantly.
“I don’t think—”
“Good. I’m starved,” Zane stated as he turned his head in the housekeeper’s direction. A slow-spreading, damnably charming grin took possession of his handsome face. Gray eyes twinkled devilishly, and his brilliant smile exposed a dimple on one tanned cheek.
“Whenever you’re ready,” Louise replied, seemingly oblivious to the tension in the room and returning Zane’s smile. “I have to be getting home,” she said apologetically to Tiffany, who nodded in response. Louise slowly backed out of the room and closed the door behind her.
“I didn’t think you’d want to stay,” Tiffany remarked, once Louise had left them alone.
“And miss a home-cooked meal? Not on your life.”
Tiffany eyed him dubiously. “Something tells me this has nothing to do with the meal.”
“Maybe I’m just enjoying the company—”
“Or maybe you think you can wear me down and I’ll start believing all this nonsense.”
“Maybe.”
“There’s no point, you know.”
Zane laughed aloud, and the bitterness in his gaze disappeared for a second. “Try me.”
“But we have nothing more to discuss. Really. I’m not buying your story. Not any of it.”
“You’re not even trying.”
“I have the distinct feeling that you’re attempting to con me, Mr. Sheridan—”
“Zane.”
“Whatever. And I’m not up to playing games. Whether you believe it or not, I’m a busy woman who has more important things to do than worry about what could have happened. I like to think I deal in reality rather than fantasy.”
Zane finished his drink with a flourish and set the empty glass down on the corner of the desk. “Then you’d better start listening to me, damn it. Because I’m not here on some cock and bull story.” His thick brows lifted. “I have better things to do than spend my time trying to help someone who obviously doesn’t want it.”
“Help?” Tiffany repeated with a laugh. “All you’ve done so far is offer me vague insinuations and a few photographs of a horse that definitely is not Devil’s Gambit. You call that help?”
Zane pinched the bridge of his nose, closed his eyes and let out a long breath. “If you weren’t so blind, woman,” he said, his black-Irish temper starting to explode.
“Look—”
Zane held up one palm and shrugged. “Maybe you just need time to think about all of this.”
“What I don’t need is someone to march into my life and start spewing irrational statements.”
Zane smiled, and the tension drained from his face to be replaced by genuine awe of the woman standing near the desk. In the past six years, he’d imagined coming face to face with Ellery Rhodes’s widow more often than he would like to admit, but never had he thought that she would be so incredibly bewitching. His mistake. Once before Ellery Rhodes and Zane Sheridan had been attracted to the same woman, and that time Zane had come out the loser, or so he had thought at the time. Now he wasn’t so sure.
“Come on,” he suggested, his voice becoming dangerously familiar. “I wasn’t kidding when I said I was starved.”
Tiffany backed down a little. “I won’t change my mind.”
With a nonchalant shrug, Zane loosened the knot of his tie and unbuttoned the collar of his shirt. His chin wa
s beginning to darken with the shadow of a day’s growth of beard, and he looked as if he belonged in this house, as if he had just come home from a long, tiring day at the office to share conversation and a drink with his wife.... The unlikely turn of her thoughts spurred Tiffany into action. As a slight blush darkened the skin of her throat, she opened the door of the den. Knowing it to be an incredible mistake, she led Zane past a formal dining room to a small alcove near the kitchen.
Louise had already placed the beef stew with gravy on the small round table.
“Sit,” Tiffany commanded as she pulled out a bottle of wine and uncorked it before pouring the rich Burgundy into stemmed glasses. Zane did as he was bid, but his face registered mild surprise when Tiffany took the salads out of the refrigerator and set them on the table.
After Tiffany sat down, Zane stared at her from across a small maple table. “Your housekeeper doesn’t live in?”
“No.”
“But she manages to keep the place up?”
Tiffany released an uneasy laugh. “I’m not that messy. I do pick up after myself, even do my own laundry and cook occasionally,” she teased. What must he think of her? That she was some princess who wouldn’t get her fingers dirty? Did his preconceived notions stem from his relationship—whatever that was—with Ellery? “Actually, Louise only comes in twice a week. Today I asked her to come over because of the interview with Rod Crawford. I thought I might need another pair of hands. But usually I can handle whatever comes up by myself.”
“That surprises me,” Zane admitted and took a sip of his wine.
Tiffany arched her elegant dark brows. “Why?”
“Because of the house, I suppose. So formal.”
“And here you are stuck in the kitchen, without the benefit of seeing the crystal and silver,” Tiffany said with a chuckle. “Disappointed, Mr. Sheridan?”