by Lisa Jackson
She turned on her heel, walked the short distance to the road, extracted the envelopes from her pocket and placed them in the mailbox. Then, almost as an afterthought, she retrieved the morning paper from the yellow cylinder nailed to the fence post.
Rather than consider the implications of her mixed emotions toward Zane, she opened the paper and stared down at the headlines. Her breath froze in her throat. “Oh, dear God,” she whispered as her eyes scanned the front page.
The bold headline seemed to scream its message to her in powerful black and white:
LOCAL BREEDER PLAGUED BY MYSTERIOUS DEATHS.
CHAPTER SIX
TIFFANY FELT AS if the wet earth were buckling beneath her feet. She stared at the two pictures on the front page of the Clarion. One photograph had been taken yesterday. It was a large print of Tiffany sitting at her desk. The other, slightly smaller picture was of Moon Shadow after his loss in the Kentucky Derby.
Tiffany read the scandalous article, which centered on the mysterious deaths of the foals. Not only did Rod Crawford imply that there was something genetically wrong with Moon Shadow, who had sired all of the colts, but he also suggested that Tiffany, in an effort to save her reputation as a horse breeder, had hidden the deaths from the public and the racing commission. Crawford went on to say that any horse bred to Moon Shadow was likely to produce foals with genetic heart defects.
The article reported that since Tiffany had assumed control of Rhodes Breeding Farm, she had encountered more problems than she could handle. From the time her husband and the legendary Devil’s Gambit had died, and Tiffany had been in charge of the farm, she had experienced nothing but trouble. It appeared that either Tiffany Rhodes was the victim of fate or her own gross incompetence.
“No!” Tiffany whispered, forcing the hot tears of indignation backward. She crumpled the damning newspaper in her fist. No mention had been made of Journey’s End or any other of Moon Shadow’s living, healthy progeny. Rod Crawford had twisted and butchered her words in a piece of cheap sensational journalism. Nausea began to roil in her stomach. “Damn it, nothing is wrong with him! Nothing!”
Her words sounded fragile into the late morning air, as if she were trying to convince herself.
Zane had watched as Tiffany read the article. She had paled slightly before anger settled on her elegant features. Now she was clenching the newspaper in her small fist and trembling with rage.
“What happened?” he demanded.
“Rod Crawford wrote his article,” Tiffany explained.
“The reporter who was here just yesterday?”
Tiffany let out a furious sigh and looked upward to the interlaced branches of the oak and fir trees. Shafts of sunlight passed through the lacy barrier to dapple the wet ground. “I didn’t think the article would be printed this soon,” she replied, somehow stilling her seething rage, “but I guess in the case of a scandal, even the Clarion holds the presses.”
She expelled an angry breath and coiled her fist. “Damn it all, anyway!” She had trusted Rod Crawford and the Clarion’s reputation, and her trust had backfired in her face. The slant of the article was vicious, a personal attack intended to maim Tiffany’s reputation. It was the last thing she had expected from a paper with the reputation of the Santa Rosa Clarion.
Zane touched her lightly on the shoulder in an attempt to calm her. “What are you talking about?”
“This.” Her breasts rose and fell with the effort as she handed him the newspaper.
As Zane quickly scanned the article, his dark brows drew together in a savage scowl and his skin tightened over his cheekbones. A small muscle worked furiously in the corner of his jaw, and his lips thinned dangerously.
After reading the story and looking over the photographs, he smoothed the rumpled paper and tucked it under his arm. Every muscle had tensed in his whip-lean body. He was like a coiled snake, ready to strike. “Is there any truth in the article?”
“Enough to make it appear genuine.”
“Great.” He frowned and pinched the bridge of his nose with his thumb and forefinger, as if attempting to ward off a threatening headache. “Why didn’t you tell me about this?”
Tiffany clenched her impotent fists. “I had enough to worry about with you and your crazy theories about Devil’s Gambit. I didn’t want to cloud the issue with the problem with Moon Shadow’s foals.”
“Even after last night, when I was with Ebony Wine?”
“There wasn’t time.” Even to her own ears, the excuse sounded feeble.
“And that’s why you didn’t want me near Rod Crawford. You were afraid I’d tell him what I knew about Devil’s Gambit, he would report it and something like this—” he held up the newspaper and waved it in her face angrily “—might happen.”
“Only it would be much worse.”
He shook his head in disbelief. “I wouldn’t have, you know.” He could read the doubts still lingering in her eyes and silently damned himself for caring about her.
As if physically restraining his anger at her lack of trust in him, he handed the paper back to Tiffany. “I guess I can’t blame you—I did come storming in here yesterday.” He managed a stiff smile and pushed his hands into the back pockets of his cords. After taking a few steps, as if to increase the distance between them, he turned and faced her. Thoughtful lines etched his brow, but the intense anger seemed to dissolve. “So tell me—the colt that was born last night—he was sired by Moon Shadow. Right?”
“Yes.”
Zane raked frustrated fingers through his hair. “Then the death last night will only support the allegations in Crawford’s newspaper column.”
Tiffany felt as if everything she had worked for was slowly slipping through her fingers. “I suppose so,” she admitted with a heavy sigh. Dear God, what was happening to her life? Suddenly everything seemed to be turning upside down. Zane Sheridan, a man whom she barely knew, whom she desired as a man but knew to be an enemy, was clouding her usually clear thinking at a time when she desperately needed all of her senses to prove true. He was voicing her worst fears, and she had trouble keeping the worried tears at bay.
“You should have told me.”
“I couldn’t.”
“Because you didn’t trust me and you thought that I might use the information on Moon Shadow against you,” he said flatly, as if reading her thoughts.
So close to the truth! Was she so transparent to this man she had met only yesterday? Or was it because he knew more about her than he was willing to admit? “Something like that,” she allowed, raising one suddenly heavy shoulder. “It really doesn’t matter now.”
“Look, woman,” he said, barely able to contain his simmering anger. “You’d better start trusting me, because it looks like you’re going to need all the friends you can get.”
Her eyes took on a suspicious light. “But that’s the problem, isn’t it? I’m not quite sure whether you’re on my side or not—friend or foe.”
“Wait a minute—” He looked at her incredulously, as if she’d lost her mind. “Didn’t I just tell you that I’m attracted to you? Wasn’t I the man trying to make love to you just a few minutes ago?”
Tiffany elevated her chin fractionally. Now was the time to see exactly where Zane stood. Her dark brows arched suspiciously. “Sleeping with the enemy isn’t something new, you know. It’s been documented throughout history.”
“Oh, give me a break!” he spit, his palms lifting upwards as if he were begging divine interference. “Did Ellery scar you so badly that you can’t trust any man?”
“Ellery has nothing to do with this.”
“The hell he hasn’t!” Zane thundered, shaking his head in disbelief. His arms fell to his sides in useless defeat. “You’re not an easy woman to like sometimes,” he said softly as he approached her. He was close enough to touch. He was offering his strength, his comfort, if only she were brave enough to trust him.
“I haven’t asked you to like me—”
&nbs
p; He reached out and grabbed her arm. “Oh, yes, you have. Every time you look at me with those wide, soul-searching eyes, you beg me to like you. Every time you smile at me, you’re inviting me to care about you. Every time you touch me, you’re pleading with me to love you.”
Tiffany listened in astonishment, her heart beginning to pound furiously at his suggestive words. She closed her eyes in embarrassment. How close to the truth he was! His fingers wrapped more tightly over her upper arms, leaving warm impressions on her flesh.
“Look at me, damn it,” he insisted, giving her a shake. When she obeyed, Zane’s flinty eyes drilled into hers. “Now, lady, it looks as if you’ve got one hell of a problem on your hands. There’s a good chance that I won’t be able to help you at all, but I don’t think you’re in much of a position to pick and choose your friends.”
She tossed her hair away from her face and proudly returned his intense stare. “Maybe not.”
“So let’s try to figure out why those foals are dying, right now.”
“How?”
“First I want to take a look at Moon Shadow.”
Tiffany hesitated only slightly. Zane was right. She needed all the allies she could find. She checked her watch and discovered that it was nearly noon. No doubt the telephone was already ringing off the hook because of the article in the morning paper. There was no time to waste. Straightening her shoulders, Tiffany cocked her head in the direction of the stallion barns.
“Mac usually takes him outside about this time. He’s probably getting some exercise right now.”
* * *
MOON SHADOW WAS in a far corner of the field. His sleek black coat shimmered in the noonday sun and he tossed his arrogant ebony head upward, shaking his glossy mane and stamping one forefoot warily.
Zane studied the nervous stallion. As a three-year-old, Moon Shadow had been impressive. He boasted a short, strong back, powerful hindquarters and long legs that could propel him forward in an explosion of speed at the starting gate that had been unmatched by any of his peers. He’d won a good percentage of his starts including two jewels of the Triple Crown. His most poignant loss was the Kentucky Derby, in which he had been jostled and boxed in near the starting gate and hadn’t been able to run “his race,” which had always been to start in front, set the pace and stay in the lead.
Zane blamed Moon Shadow’s Derby disaster on several factors, the most obvious being that of a bad jockey. Moon Shadow’s regular rider had been injured the day of the race, and his replacement, Bill Wade, was a green, uncaring man who had later lost his license to ride.
Mac was leaning over the fence, a piece of straw tucked into a corner of his mouth. Suddenly the black horse snorted, flattened his ears to his head, lifted his tail and ran the length of the long paddock. His smooth strides made the short dash appear effortless.
“He knows he’s got an audience,” Mac said as Tiffany approached. Wolverine was resting at the trainer’s feet. At the sight of Tiffany, he thumped his tail on the moist ground. She reached down and scratched the collie’s ears before propping her foot on the lowest board of the fence and resting her arms over the top rail.
“He’s going to have more,” Tiffany said with a sigh.
Mac’s eyes narrowed. “More what?”
“More of an audience.”
“What d’ya mean?” Instantly Mac was concerned. He read the worry in Tiffany’s eyes.
“I’m afraid Moon Shadow is going to get more than his share of attention in the next couple of weeks. Take a look at page one.” Tiffany handed Mac the paper before shading her eyes with her hand.
“Son of a bitch,” Mac cursed after reading the article. He pushed his hat back to the crown of his head. “A pack of lies—nothing but a goddamn pack of lies.” His eyes flickered from Zane to Tiffany before returning to Moon Shadow. “Damn reporters never have learned to sort fact from fiction.” After smoothing the thin red hair over his scalp, he forced the frumpy fedora back onto his head. “A good thing you and Vance already told the Jockey Club about the dead colts.”
“Yeah, right,” Tiffany agreed without much enthusiasm. “But wait until the owners who have broodmares pregnant with Moon Shadow’s foals get wind of this.”
Mac frowned and rubbed the toe of his boot in the mud. “You’ll just have to set them straight, Missy. Moon Shadow’s a good stud. He’s got the colts to prove it. Why the hell didn’t that bastard of a reporter write about Journey’s End or Devil’s Gambit?”
Tiffany’s eyes moved from Mac to Zane and finally back to the stallion in question. “I don’t know,” she answered. “Probably because he needed a story to sell papers.” And he’d get one, too, if Zane decided to publicize his conjectures about Ellery and Devil’s Gambit.
“How many foals were affected?” Zane asked.
“Three—no, Ebony Wine’s colt makes four,” Tiffany replied softly. “Three colts and a filly. Two died shortly after birth, the colt last night was stillborn and Charlatan...well, he lived longer, a couple of days, but...” Her voice faded on the soft afternoon breeze.
The silence of the afternoon was interrupted only by the wind rustling through the fir needles and the sound of Moon Shadow’s impatient snorts.
“And they all died from heart failure?” Zane asked, staring at the proud stallion as if he hoped to see the reasons for the tragic deaths in the shining black horse.
Tiffany nodded, and Mac shifted the piece of straw from one corner of his mouth to the other.
“Seems that way,” Mac muttered.
“Unless Vance discovers something different in the autopsy of the colt born last night,” Tiffany added and then shook her head. “But I doubt that he’ll find anything else.”
“What about other horses bred to Moon Shadow?”
“Fortunately, none of the foals of mares from other owners have been affected—at least not yet. I’ve corresponded with all of the owners. So far, each mare has delivered a strong, healthy foal.”
“Thank God for small favors,” Mac mumbled ungraciously.
“Some owners even want to rebreed to Moon Shadow,” Tiffany said, almost as an afterthought.
“But you’re not breeding him?”
“Not until we find out what’s going on.”
“I don’t blame you.” Zane’s gaze returned to the imperious stallion, who was tossing his head menacingly toward the spectators.
“He knows we’re talkin’ about him,” Mac said fondly. “Always did like a show, that one.” He rubbed the back of his weathered neck. “Should’ve won the Triple Crown, ya know. My fault for letting that son of a bitch ride him.”
“Mac’s been blaming himself ever since.”
“I should’ve known the boy was no good.”
“Quit second-guessing yourself. Ellery thought Bill was a decent jockey. Moon Shadow didn’t win and that’s that.”
Mac frowned as he stared at the horse. “The closest I’ve come to a Triple Crown. Moon Shadow and Devil’s Gambit were the finest horses I’ve ever seen race.”
Tiffany stiffened at the mention of Devil’s Gambit. “Mac’s prejudiced, of course. The owners of Secretariat, Seattle Slew and a few others would have different opinions. But Moon Shadow sure used to be a crowd-pleaser,” Tiffany remarked thoughtfully as she stared at the fiery black stallion.
“Aye. That he was,” the old trainer agreed sadly as he rubbed the stubble on his chin. “That he was.”
Tiffany spent the rest of the day showing Zane the farm. As Mac had stated, Ebony Wine seemed none the worse from her trauma the night before, and if Vance Geddes gave his okay, Tiffany wanted to breed her as soon as the mare was in heat.
As much as it broke her heart, Tiffany decided that Moon Shadow couldn’t be allowed to sire any more foals until it was proved beyond a doubt that the cause of his foals’ deaths wasn’t genetic.
By the time she and Zane headed back to the house, it was late afternoon. The March sun was warm against Tiffany’s back. As they walked to
ward the back porch, she slung her jacket over her shoulder. Zane had been with her all day, and it seemed natural that he was on the farm, helping with the chores, offering her his keen advice and flashing his devastating smile.
“So you’ve already had him tested,” Zane remarked as he held open the screen door to the broad back porch.
“Yes. And so far the semen samples have shown nothing out of the ordinary. I’ve asked for additional tests, but Vance Geddes seems to think that nothing will be discovered.”
“What about the mares?”
She frowned and sighed. “Each horse has been examined by several vets. Blood samples, urine samples...every test available. The mares seem perfectly healthy.”
“So all of the evidence points to Moon Shadow.”
Tiffany nodded as she wedged the toe of one boot behind the heel of the other and kicked it off. She placed the scarred boots in the corner of the porch near the kitchen door. “It looks that way,” she admitted.
“But you don’t believe it.”
“A good stud just doesn’t go bad overnight.” She pursed her lips together and ran weary fingers through her unruly hair. “Something has to have happened to him—I just don’t know what.”
“All the mares were bred to him around the same time?”
“Within a few weeks—I think. However, there are still mares who haven’t dropped their foals.”
“And you think they may have problems?”
Her blue eyes clouded with worry. “I hope to God they don’t,” she whispered as she started toward the door to the house. Zane’s hand on her arm restrained her.
“I need to ask you something,” he said quietly. The tone of his voice sent a prickle of fear down her spine.
“What?”
“Do you have any enemies, anyone who would want to hurt you?” His eyes had darkened as they searched her face.
“None that I can think of.”
“What about this Crawford, the guy who wrote the article? Why would he want to distort the truth?”
“I couldn’t begin to hazard a guess.” She looked at the paper Zane was still carrying under his arm. “I guess the Clarion is into sensationalism these days.”