by Lisa Jackson
* * *
“I HAVEN’T EATEN like this since the last time I was here,” Zane remarked to Louise, who colored slightly under the compliment. Everyone was seated at the oval table in the sun room, which was really an extension of the back porch. The corner of the porch nearest the kitchen had been glassed in, affording a view of the broodmare barn and the pasture surrounding the foaling shed. Green plants, suspended from the ceiling in wicker baskets or sitting on the floor in large brass pots, surrounded the oak table, and a slow-moving paddle fan circulated the warm air.
“We should do this more often,” Tiffany decided as she finished her meal and took a sip of the champagne.
“Used to be,” Mac mused while buttering a hot muffin, “that we’d have parties all the time. But that was a long time ago, when Ellery was still alive.”
Tiffany felt her back stiffen slightly at the mention of Ellery’s name. When she looked away from Mac she found Zane’s gray eyes boring into hers. An uncomfortable silence followed.
“Hasn’t been any reason to celebrate until now,” Louise said, as much to diffuse the tension settling in the room as to make conversation. Her worried eyes moved from Tiffany to Zane and back again.
“What about Journey’s End’s career?” Vance volunteered, while declining champagne. He shook his head at Mac, who was tipping a bottle over his glass. “I’ve got two more farms to visit today.” When Mac poured the remainder of the champagne into his own glass, Vance continued with his line of thinking. “If you ask me, Journey’s End is reason enough to celebrate.”
“Maybe we’d better wait on that,” Tiffany thought aloud. “Let’s see how he does in the Florida Derby.”
“That race shouldn’t be too much of a problem if Prescott handles him right,” Mac said.
“What then?” Zane asked the trainer.
“Up to Kentucky for the Lexington Stakes.”
“And then the Kentucky Derby?”
“That’s the game plan,” Mac said, finishing his drink and placing his napkin on the table. He rubbed one thumb over his forefinger nervously before extending his lower lip and shrugging. “I just hope Prescott can pull it off.”
“He’s a good trainer,” Emma McDougal stated. She was a petite woman of sixty with beautiful gray hair and a warm smile. She patted her husband affectionately on the knee in an effort to smooth what she saw as Mac’s ruffled feathers. She knew that as much as he might argue the point, Mac missed the excitement of the racetrack.
“When he keeps his mind on his horses,” Mac grumbled.
“Don’t you think he will?” Zane asked.
Mac’s faded eyes narrowed thoughtfully. “He’d better,” he said with a frown. “We’ve come too close to the Derby before to let this one slip through our fingers.”
Tiffany pushed her plate aside. “Delicious,” she said to Louise before turning her attention back to the trainer. “Would you like to work with Journey’s End in Lexington? You could help Bob Prescott get him ready.”
“Oh, there’s no doubt I’d like to, Missy,” Mac replied, ignoring the reproachful look from his wife. “But it wouldn’t do a lick of good. Journey’s End, he’s used to Prescott. We can’t be throwin’ him any loops, not now. Me going to Kentucky would probably do more harm than good.”
“So the die is cast?” Tiffany asked, feeling a cold premonition of doom as she looked through the windows and noticed the thick bank of clouds rolling over the mountains from the west.
“Aye, Missy. That it is...that it is.”
* * *
TIFFANY SPENT THE rest of the afternoon with Zane, and for the first time in more than a week she began to relax. She had planned to drive into town in the afternoon but decided that she’d rather spend the time on the farm.
In the early evening, she took Zane into the foaling shed and proudly displayed Shadow’s Survivor. Within the confines of the large stall, the inquisitive filly cavorted beneath the warm heat lamps.
“Vance says she’d be able to go outside in a couple of days,” Tiffany said.
“I’ll bet you’re relieved.” Zane’s eyes moved from the mare and foal to Tiffany.
“I’ll be more relieved when I hear from the rest of the owners,” she responded as she led Zane out of the foaling shed. “Until I know that no more foals will die, I can’t really relax.”
Dusk was just beginning to settle on the hills surrounding the farm. Lavender shadows lengthened as the hazy sun settled behind the ridge of sloping mountains to the west. Clouds began to fill the darkened sky. “This is my favorite time of day,” she admitted, watching as the stable boys rounded up the horses for the evening. The soft nickering of mares to their foals was interspersed with the distant whistle of a lonely stallion. Tiffany chuckled. “That’s Moon Shadow,” she explained. “He always objects to being locked up for the night.”
“Do you blame him?” Zane asked.
“Oh, no. That’s what makes him a winner, I suppose.”
“His defiance?”
She frowned into the gathering darkness and linked her arm through his. A cool breeze pushed her dress against her legs as they walked. “I prefer to think of it as his fire, his lack of docility. He’s always had to have his way, even as a foal. He was the boss, had to be in the lead.”
“The heart of a champion.”
Tiffany pursed her lips thoughtfully and her elegant brows drew together. “That’s why I hate what’s been happening to him—all this conjecture that there’s something wrong with him.”
“Have you found an answer to what happened to the dead foals?”
After expelling a ragged sigh, Tiffany shook her head. “Nothing so far. Vance has gone to independent laboratories, asked for help from the Jockey Club and the racing commission, and still can’t get any answers.”
“Not even enough information to clear Moon Shadow’s name?”
“No.” She placed a restraining hand on her hair as the wind began to loosen her chignon. “The new foals—the healthy ones—should prove that the problem isn’t genetic.”
“Unless another one dies.”
She shuddered inside at the thought.
Zane noticed the pain in her eyes and placed a comforting arm over her shoulders. “You really love it here, don’t you?”
“What?”
He rotated the palm of his free hand and moved his arm in a sweeping gesture meant to include the cluster of buildings near the center of the farm, the sweeping green pastures enclosed by painted white fences, the horses grazing in the field and the gentle green hills guarding the valley. “All of it.”
She couldn’t deny the attachment she felt for this farm. It was the only home she’d known. She felt as much a part of it as if it had been in her family for generations. It was, and would always be, the only thing she could call her heritage. “Yes,” she answered. “I love it. I love the horses, the land, the excitement, the boredom, everything.”
“And is that what I felt when I came back here this morning?”
“What do you mean?”
“When I arrived here, you looked at me as if I were a thief trying to steal it all away from you.”
“Did I?”
He didn’t answer, but she saw the determination in the angle of his jaw. He wouldn’t let up until he found out what was bothering her. She had no recourse but to lie or to confront him with what she’d learned from Dustin.
The day with Zane had been so wonderful, and she knew that it was about to end. “It had nothing to do with selling the farm to you, Zane. You, or anyone else, can’t force me to sell.”
The arm around her tightened. She felt the unleashed tension coiling his body. “Then what?”
“While you were gone, a few things happened,” she admitted. They had been walking down a wide, well-worn path, past the old barn and through a thicket of maple trees surrounding a small pond. The water in the small lake had taken on an inky hue, reflecting the turbulent purple of the sky.
“What thin
gs?”
“Dustin came home.”
All of the muscles in Zane’s body tightened. The thought of Dustin Rhodes, here, alone with Tiffany, made his stomach knot with dread. It was insane to feel this...jealousy. Dustin owned part of the farm; he could come and go as he pleased. Zane’s jaw hardened, and his back teeth ground together in frustration.
“You weren’t expecting him?”
“No.”
“Then why did he return?”
“He said it was because of all the bad press surrounding Moon Shadow. He wanted to make sure that I was all right.”
“He could have called.”
“I suppose,” she admitted, taking a seat on a boulder near the pond. “But I think he wanted to see me face to face.”
“Why?” Zane demanded, his eyes glittering in the dark night.
“Dustin helped me pick up the pieces when Ellery was killed,” she whispered. “I was pretty shook up.”
“Because you loved your husband so much?” he asked, reaching for a flat stone and thrusting it toward the water. He watched as it skipped across the pond creating ever-widening ripples on the water’s smooth surface.
“Because my whole world was turned upside down.” The wind picked up and clouds shadowed the moon.
“And if he walked back into your life right now?” Zane asked, bracing himself against the truth.
“It would be upside down all over again.”
“And who would you lean on?”
Tiffany breathed deeply. “I hope that I’m strong enough to stand by myself—no matter what happens,” she said softly.
The air was thick was the promise of rain, and the clouds covering the moon became more dense. High above, the branches of the fir trees danced with the naked maples.
Zane turned to face her and his broad shoulders slumped in resignation. Gray eyes drove into hers. “You know that I’m falling in love with you, don’t you?”
Tiffany’s heart nearly stopped. If only I could believe you, Zane. If only you hadn’t lied to me. If only I could tell what was true and what was false.
She wrapped her arms around her knees and shook her head. “I don’t think love can enter into our relationship,” she said, staring at the dark water and refusing to face him.
“It’s nothing I wanted,” he admitted and pushed his hands into his back pockets. “But it happened.”
“Zane—” her protest was cut short when he strode purposely over to the rock and scooped her into his arms. “Please don’t...” she breathed, but it was the cry of a woman lost. When his lips crushed against hers, she responded willingly, eagerly to him, mindless of the wind billowing her dress or the heavy scent of rain in the air.
He gently laid her on the grass near a stand of firs, and his fingers caught in the golden strands of her hair. Slowly he withdrew the pins and twined his fingers in the silken braid as he pulled it loose. The golden hair fell to her shoulders, framing her face in tangled honey-brown curls.
“I’ve wanted to make love to you from the first moment I saw you,” he whispered. His body was levered over hers, and his silvery eyes caught the reflection of the shadowy moon. She trembled when his hands lingered on her exposed throat to gently stroke the sensitive skin near her shoulders.
“That’s not the same as loving someone,” she replied, her voice breathless as his hand slowly, enticingly, slid down the silky fabric of her dress and softly caressed her breast.
A spasm of desire shot through her. “Oh, my God,” she whispered while he looked at her, touching her with only one hand. Her breathing became rapid and shallow as slowly he caressed the silk-encased peak, rubbing the sheer fabric against her. Tiffany began to ache for the feel of his hands against her skin.
The fingers slid lower, down her thigh, to the hem of her dress. She felt the warm impression of his fingertips as they stroked her leg through her sheer stocking.
I shouldn’t be doing this, she thought wildly. I don’t even really understand what he wants of me....
“Tell me you want me to make love to you,” he rasped against her hair. His tongue traced the gentle shell of her ear, and his breath fanned seductively against her skin.
“Oh, Zane...I...” Her blood was pounding in her temples. She trembled with desire.
“Tell me!”
“Oh, God, yes.” She closed her eyes against the truth and felt the hot tears moisten her lashes. I don’t want to love you, she thought for a fleeting moment. Dear Lord, I don’t want to love you. He lowered his head and kissed her eyelids, first one and then the other, tasting the salt of her tears and knowing that he couldn’t deny himself any longer.
“I love you, Tiffany,” he whispered, while his fingers strayed to the pearl buttons holding the bodice of her dress together, and his lips touched her neck, moving over the smooth skin and the rope of gold. His tongue pressed against the flickering pulse in the hollow of her throat.
“No.” If only she could trust him.
“I’ve loved every minute I’ve spent with you....”
Each solitary button was slowly unbound, and the shimmery blue fabric of her dress parted in the night. Her straining breasts, covered only by a lacy, cream-colored camisole and the golden curtain of her hair, pressed upward. The dark points seductively invited him to conquer her, and Zane felt hot desire swelling uncomfortably in his loins at the dark impressions on the silky fabric.
He groaned at the sight of her. He slowly lowered his head to taste one of the ripe buds encased in silk. His tongue toyed with the favored nipple until Tiffany’s heart was pounding so loudly it seemed to echo in the darkness. His hands caressed her, fired her blood, promised that their joining would be one of souls as well as flesh.
Somewhere in the distance, over the sound of Zane’s labored breathing, she heard the sound of lapping water and the cry of a night bird, but everything she felt was because of Zane. Liquid fire ignited from deep within her and swirled upward through her pulsing veins.
His warm tongue moistened the lace and left it wet, to dry in the chill breeze. She shuddered, more from the want of him than the cold. When his hands lifted the dress over her head, she didn’t protest.
Tenderly at first, and then more wildly, he stroked her breasts until she writhed beneath him, trying to get closer to the source of her exquisite torment. He removed the camisole slowly and then let his lips and teeth toy with one sweet, aching breast. Tiffany moaned throatily, from somewhere deep in her soul.
His tongue moistened the dark nipple until it hardened beautifully, and then he began to suckle ravenously, all the while touching the other breast softly, making it ready. Just when Tiffany thought she could stand no more of the sweet torment, he turned to the neglected breast and he feasted again.
“Oh, Zane,” Tiffany cried, her fever for his love making demands upon her. She was empty, void, and only he could make her whole again.
His hands continued to stroke her while he slowly removed the remaining scanty pieces of her clothing. She felt her lace panties slide over her hips. Warm fingers traced the ridge of her spine and lingered at the swell of her hips.
He touched all of her, making her ready, while she slowly undressed him and ran her fingers hungrily over his naked chest. His muscles rippled beneath her touch, and she was in awe at the power her touch commanded.
He kicked off his jeans almost angrily and was only satisfied when he was finally lying atop her; hard male muscles pressed heatedly against their softer feminine counterparts.
The need in him was evident; his eyes were dark with desire, his breathing labored, his heartbeat thudding savaging against her flattened breasts. A thin sheen of sweat glistened over his supple muscles. His lips pressed hungrily, eagerly over hers.
“Let me love you, sweet lady,” he coaxed, rubbing against her seductively, setting her skin aflame with his touch.
Her blood pulsed wildly in her veins. All thoughts of denial had fled long ago. The ache within her, burning with the need for fulfillm
ent, throbbed with the want of him.
“Please,” she whispered, closing her eyes against the glorious torment of his fingers kneading her buttocks.
Her fingers stroked him, and he cried out her name. He could withhold himself no longer.
With only a fleeting thought that this woman was the widow of Ellery Rhodes, he gently parted her legs and delved into the warmth of the woman he loved. His body joined with hers and he became one with the wife of the man he had vowed to destroy. He whispered her name, over and over again, as if his secret incantation could purge her from his soul.
He watched in fascination as she threw back her head and exposed the white column of her throat. Her fingernails dug into the muscles of his back before she shuddered in complete surrender. His explosion within her sent a series of shock waves through his body until he collapsed over her.
“I love you, Tiffany,” he whispered, his breathing as raspy as the furious wind. He twined his fingers in her hair and let his head fall to the inviting hollow between her breasts. Oh, but to die with this beautiful woman.
Tiffany’s entire body began to relax. The warmth within her seemed to spread into the night. Zane touched her chin with one long finger and kissed her lips.
Lying naked in the dark grass, with only the sounds of the night and the gentle whisper of Zane’s breath, she felt whole. Large drops of rain began to fall from the black sky, but Tiffany didn’t notice. She was only aware of Zane and his incredible touch. His fingers traced the curve of her cheek. “I meant it, you know,” he whispered, smiling down at her.
“What?”
“That I love you.”
Tiffany released a tormented sigh and pulled herself into a sitting position. “You don’t have to say—”
His fingers wrapped possessively around her wrist and his eyes bored into hers. “I only say what I mean.”
“Do you, Zane?” she asked, her face contorted in pain as the doubts of the morning and her conversation with Dustin invaded her mind. God, how desperately she wanted to believe him.
“What is it, Tiffany?” he asked, suddenly releasing her. “Ever since I arrived, I’ve gotten the feeling that something isn’t right. What happened?”