by Lisa Jackson
“No personal reasons?”
“No.”
His eyes drove into hers. “How about someone else who might want to see you exposed as incompetent?”
Tiffany stiffened, and cold dread settled between her shoulder blades. “Like whom?”
“I don’t know—a competitor maybe?” When she shook her head in disbelief, her hair tumbled over her shoulders. He tightened his fingers around her arms. “A spurned lover?”
“Of course not!”
His grip relaxed a little. “You can’t think of anyone who would want to hurt you? Someone with a big enough grudge against you or this farm to want to see your dirty laundry in black and white?” He was staring at her boldly, daring her to reply. “It would have to be someone with inside information.”
Tiffany’s eyes grew cold, and she felt a painful constricting of her heart. “The only person who remotely fits that description is you.”
Zane stiffened. Tiffany saw the anger flash in his eyes, but he didn’t bother to refute her accusation. His lips thinned until they showed white near the corners. “You know there was no love lost between myself and your husband. If Ellery were alive today, I’d probably do what I could to ruin him.” He looked away from her and for a moment, pain was evident in the rugged planes of his face. “I despised the man, Tiffany, but you have to believe that I would never intentionally hurt you.”
“Even if Ellery is still alive?” she whispered.
He closed his eyes against the possibility. The craving for vengeance that had festered in his blood still poisoned him, but as he gazed down upon Tiffany’s face, Zane knew that he was lost to her. His hatred for Ellery couldn’t begin to match the intensity of his feelings for this proud, beautiful woman. “If Ellery Rhodes walked through the door tonight, I would still detest him. But—” he reached out and gently stroked her chin “—because of you, I would leave.”
Tiffany swallowed the uncomfortable lump forming in her throat and ignored the hot sting of tears against her eyelids. How desperately she longed to believe him. “Even if I asked you to stay?”
“What are you saying, Tiffany?” he asked, his face close to hers. “If Ellery is alive, would you leave him for me?”
“I...I don’t know,” she admitted, confused at the emotions warring within her. She ached to say yes and fall into Zane’s arms, never to look back. If only she could love him for now, this moment, and cast away any thought to the future, or the past.
Slowly he pulled her to him, and Tiffany felt his larger body press urgently against hers. She leaned on him, and he kissed her forehead. “I can’t make things different between us,” he said, gently smoothing her hair away from her face.
“Would you, if you could?”
“Yes,” he replied quickly as he had a vision of her lying naked in Ellery Rhodes’s bed. “I wish I’d known you long ago.”
In the privacy of the screened porch, with the fragrance of cherry blossoms scenting the air, nothing seemed to matter. It was a private world filled with only this one strong, passionate man. Tears pooled in Tiffany’s eyes and clung to her lashes. “I think that it’s better not to dwell on the past...or wish for things that could never be.”
He tilted her face upward with his hands, and his lips claimed hers in a kiss that was filled with the desperation of the moment, and the need to purge all thoughts of her husband from her mind.
Her lips parted willingly for him, and his tongue touched the edges of her teeth before slipping into her mouth and plundering the moist cavern she so willingly offered.
A raw groan of frustrated longing escaped from his lips as he molded his hungry body to hers. She wound her arms around him, held him close, clinging to him as if afraid he would leave her empty and bereft.
“Tiffany,” he whispered into her hair and let out a ragged breath. “Oh, Tiffany, what am I going to do with you?”
Whatever you want, she thought, returning his kiss with a bursting passion that had no earthly bounds.
His hands found the hem of her sweater and slipped underneath the soft fabric to press against the silken texture of her skin. Her breath constricted in her throat, and when his fingers cupped the underside of her breast she felt as if she were melting into him. A soft moan came from her throat as his fingers softly traced the lacy edge of her bra. She felt the bud of her nipple blossom willingly to his touch as his fingers slid slowly upward.
Zane’s breathing became labored, a sweet rush of air against her ear that caused tantalizing sparks of yearning to fire her blood. “Let me love you, sweet lady,” he pleaded, fanning her hair with his breath.
If only I could! Her desire throbbed in her ears, burned in her soul, but the doubts of the night filtered into her passion-drugged mind, and before she lost all sense of reason, she pulled away from him, regret evidenced in her slumberous blue eyes. “I...I think it would be best if we went inside,” she said raggedly, hoping to quell the raging storm of passion in her blood.
The tense lines along the edge of his mouth deepened. “You want me,” he said, holding her close, pressing the muscles of her body to his. “Admit it.”
Her heart was an imprisoned bird throwing itself mercilessly against her rib cage. She lost her sense of time and reason. “I want you more than I’ve ever wanted a man,” she whispered, trying to pull free of his protective embrace. “But wanting isn’t enough.”
“What is?”
Love, her mind screamed, but the word wouldn’t form on her lips. How often before had she felt love only to see it wither and die? The love of Tiffany’s mother had been so fragile that Marie had left her only daughter in the care of a drunken father. Edward’s love hadn’t been strong enough to conquer the drink that eventually killed him, and Ellery... Ellery probably didn’t know the meaning of the word.
“I...I’m not sure,” she admitted, her voice quavering unexpectedly.
“Oh, hell,” Zane swore in disgust, releasing her. “Neither am I.” He looked thoroughly disgusted with himself, and he rammed his hands into his pockets, trying to quiet the fury of desire straining within him. The heat in his loins seemed to sear his mind. Never had he wanted a woman so painfully. He felt as if his every nerve were raw, charged with lust.
Tiffany stared at Zane until her breathing had silenced and her racing pulse had slowed to a more normal rate. She entered the house, and the smells of roast and cinnamon filled her nostrils. “Louise?” she called as she went into the kitchen. The plump woman with graying hair and a ready smile was extracting a deep-dish apple pie from one of the ovens. “I thought you were going out of town for the weekend.”
“Not until tomorrow.” Louise set the hot pie on the tile counter and turned to face Tiffany. “I thought maybe you could use a little help around here today.”
“You read the article in the Clarion.”
Louise’s full mouth pursed into an angry pout. “Yep. I read it this morning and canceled my subscription before noon. That was the trashiest piece of journalism I’ve ever read. Rod Crawford should be strung up by his—” her eyes moved from Tiffany to Zane “—hamstrings.”
Tiffany smiled at the angry housekeeper. “You shouldn’t have canceled your subscription.”
“Humph. What I should have done was write a letter to the editor, but I suppose that would only make the situation worse, what with the publicity and all.”
At that moment the phone rang, and Tiffany reached to answer it.
“It’s been ringing off the hook all afternoon.” When Tiffany hesitated, Louise continued. “Reporters mostly. A couple of other breeders, too. The messages are on your desk.”
“I’ll take the call in the den,” Tiffany decided, straightening her shoulders.
“Vultures,” Louise muttered as she opened the oven and checked the roast.
Tiffany answered the phone in the den on the sixth ring.
“Tiffany, is that you?” an agitated male voice inquired.
“Yes.”
“This i
s Hal Reece.” Tiffany’s heart sank. Reece had bred one of his mares to Moon Shadow. Was he calling to tell her that the foal was dead? Her palms began to sweat and her pulse jumped nervously.
“What can I do for you, Mr. Reece?”
The stuffy sixty-year-old paused before getting to the point. “I read an article about your farm in the Clarion. No one told me there was any genetic problem with Moon Shadow.”
“There isn’t.”
“But the article stated—”
“What the article stated was only half the story.” Tiffany’s eyes clashed with Zane’s as he entered the den.
“Then you’re saying that those foals didn’t die?” he questioned, relief audible in his voice.
“No,” Tiffany replied, bracing herself by leaning on the desk. “It’s true we’ve lost a few foals—”
“Moon Shadow’s foals,” he clarified.
“Yes. But there is no reason to think that the problem is genetic. I’ve had Moon Shadow tested by several veterinarians. You’re familiar with Vance Geddes, aren’t you?”
“Why, yes. Good man, Geddes.”
“He’s been involved with the problem from day one. He’s concluded that there’s no evidence that the deaths were genetically related.”
“But certainly they were linked.”
“It appears that way.”
“And the natural assumption is that it was the sire, as all the foals were his.”
Tiffany heard the hopeful note in Hal’s voice. She hated to discourage him. Forcing herself to remain calmly professional, she held her voice steady as she clutched the receiver in a deathlike grip. “Moon Shadow has proved himself a good stud. Journey’s End and Devil’s Gambit are proof enough of that. Most of the foals that he sired this year had no problems.”
“No other owner has complained?” Reece asked, sounding dubious.
“None, and I’ve been in contact with each of them. So far, Moon Shadow has sired twenty-three perfectly healthy foals—something Mr. Crawford neglected to print.”
“But three have died.”
There was no use in hiding the truth from Reece or any of the other owners who had bred their expensive mares to Moon Shadow. It would only look worse later. Tiffany gritted her teeth and closed her eyes. “Four. We lost another colt last night.”
“Oh, God!” His voice sounded weak.
Zane was standing near the fireplace, one shoeless stockinged foot propped against the stone hearth.
“When is your mare due to foal?” Tiffany asked.
“Any day now.”
“I’m sure you’ll find that you have a healthy Thoroughbred on your hands.”
“I’d better, Tiffany,” Hal said softly. “I’m not a rich man, I can’t afford a loss like this. I’m sure the insurance company wouldn’t cover the cost of my stud fee—”
“Mr. Reece, if you do happen to lose the colt and we discover that the problem stemmed from breeding your mare to Moon Shadow, I’ll refund the stud fee.”
“And then what? My mare’s lost nearly a year of prime breeding time.”
Tiffany’s face became rigid. “I won’t be able to do anything about that, Mr. Reece. It’s the chance we take as breeders.” She heard herself repeating Zane’s advice of the night before. “When your mare does foal, I’d appreciate a call from you.”
“You can count on it. Good day,” he replied frostily, and Tiffany replaced the receiver. As soon as she set it down the phone rang again.
“Don’t answer it,” Zane advised, seeing the way she had paled during her lengthy conversation.
“I have to.”
“The calls can wait.”
“I don’t think so. I have ten or twelve owners who are probably in a state of panic.”
The phone rang again.
“It could be the press,” Zane argued.
“Then I’ll have to deal with them as well. I can’t just hide my head in the sand. This was bound to happen sooner or later.” She reached for the phone and answered it. A male voice demanded to speak to Tiffany Rhodes.
“This is she,” Tiffany replied. The man identified himself as a reporter for a San Francisco paper. The telephone call was a short interview, and by the time it was over, Tiffany felt drained.
Zane sat on the edge of the desk, his worried gaze studying her as she turned around, clicked on a small computer in the bookcase and started typing onto the keyboard when luminous green letters appeared on the screen.
“What’re you doing?”
“Getting a printout of all the owners who still have broodmares pregnant with Moon Shadow’s foals. I think it would be best if I called them, rather than having them read a story like the one in the Santa Rosa Clarion.”
“This can wait until morning.”
Tiffany shook her head and refused to be deterred. “I’d just as soon get it over with. The sooner the better.” The printer began rattling out the list of owners as Tiffany checked the phone messages Louise had stacked on her desk. “Great,” she mumbled. She held up one of the messages and handed it to him. “A reporter for a television station in San Francisco wants an interview.” She smiled grimly. “What do you bet that it’s not to talk about Journey’s End’s career?”
Zane frowned. “No wager from me, lady. I learned a long time ago not to bet money unless it was a sure thing—and then only when the man you’re betting against is honest.” His voice was low, and edged in anger. From the look on Zane’s face, she knew that he was somehow referring to Ellery.
The printer stopped spewing out information, and the silence in the small room seemed deafening.
At that moment, Louise appeared, balancing a tray in her plump hands. “I thought you two could use a cup of coffee,” she explained. Noticing the tension in the room and the silent challenge in Tiffany’s eyes, Louise pursed her lips together thoughtfully and amended her offer. “Or I could get you something stronger—”
“Coffee’s fine,” Zane replied, turning to watch her and sending a charming grin in her direction.
“Yes, thank you,” Tiffany said, once Zane’s gaze had released her.
“Dinner will be in about an hour.”
Tiffany managed a frail smile. “Louise, you’re a lifesaver.”
The large woman chuckled. “I’m afraid you’ll need more than a hot meal before the evening’s done.”
“Don’t be so optimistic,” Tiffany remarked cynically.
“Just my nature,” Louise replied before leaving the room.
“What else have you got on that computer?” Zane asked, studying the list of owners.
“Everything.”
“Like what?”
“Health records on the horses, the price of feed, the stud fees we charged, equipment. Everything.”
“Including a profile of your Thoroughbreds?”
“Every horse that’s been a part of the farm.”
“Can you get me a printout on Moon Shadow?”
She managed a tight smile. “Sure.”
“How about the mares he was bred to, especially the four that lost their foals?”
Tiffany sat down at the keyboard. “This has already been done, you know.”
“Humor me. I need something to do while you’re tied up with the phone. I may as well be doing something constructive since I canceled my flight.”
“Can’t argue with that.” Tiffany requested the information from the computer, and when the printer started spewing out profiles of the horses in question, Tiffany started with the first of what promised to be several uncomfortable telephone calls to the owners of mares bred to Moon Shadow.
CHAPTER SEVEN
“HERE, DRINK SOME of this,” Zane suggested. He handed Tiffany a glass of white wine. “Maybe it will improve your appetite.”
“And my disposition?” She accepted the glass and took a sip of the white Burgundy. The cool liquid slid easily down her throat, and she eyed her plate of forgotten food with a sigh.
“They really got to
you, didn’t they?” Zane asked as he leaned back in his chair and frowned into his glass. He had finished Louise’s dinner of roast beef, parslied potatoes and steamed broccoli before noticing Tiffany’s neglected plate.
“Let’s just say I’m glad it’s over,” she replied and then amended her statement, “or I hope to God it is.”
What if any of the unborn foals were to die shortly after birth? What would happen to her and the farm? The telephone conversations with the owners who had mares bred to Moon Shadow hadn’t gone well at all. By the time she had contacted or left messages with all the owners, Tiffany had felt as if every nerve in her body had been stretched as tightly as a piano wire. During two of the more difficult calls, she had been threatened with lawsuits, should the foals be born with life-threatening heart problems.
She couldn’t begin to do justice to Louise’s delicious meal. With a weary shake of her head, she pushed her plate aside, leaned back in the chair and ran tense fingers through her hair.
Zane offered her a sad, understanding smile. “Come on, the dishes will wait. Let’s finish this—” he held up the opened bottle of wine “—and relax in the study.”
“I don’t think that’s possible.”
“Come on, buck up.” He got up from the table and placed a comforting hand on her shoulder. “Things are bound to get better.”
“That’s a strange statement, coming from you,” she stated. He shrugged his broad shoulders and his smile faded. “But I guess you’re right,” she continued, slapping the table with new resolve. “Things can’t get much worse.” Unless another foal dies.
The den seemed warm and intimate. The glowing embers of the fire and the muted illumination from a single brass lamp with an emerald-colored shade softened the corners of the room and reflected on the finish of the cherry-wood walls. The thick Oriental carpet in hues of green and ivory, the etchings of sleek horses adorning the walls and the massive stone fireplace offered a sense of privacy to the room.
Zane stoked the smoldering coals in the fireplace. As if he’d done it a hundred times. Here. In her home. His actions seemed so natural, as if he were an integral part of the farm. As he knelt before the fire, he lifted a chunk of oak from the large basket sitting on the warm stones of the hearth. “This should do it,” he mumbled to himself as he placed the mossy log on the scarlet embers. Eager flames began to lick the new fuel and reflect in golden shadows on Zane’s angular face. His shirt was stretched over his back, and Tiffany watched his fluid movements as he worked. When the fire was to his satisfaction, he dusted his hands together and studied the ravenous flames.