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“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 toward 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 theClarionis into sensationalism these days.”
“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.”
