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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 spat, his palms lifting upwards as if he were begging for 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 was brave enough to trust him.
“I haven’t asked you to like me—”
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, dammit,” 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.
