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“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 things?”
“Dustin came home.”
