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“Shh, could be three, maybe four hours till I’m finished with this old gal here,” Mac said, cocking his head sadly in the black mare’s direction. “After that, I think I’ll hit the hay. I’m not as young as I used to be, ya know, and the missus, she’ll be looking for me.” He winked at Tiffany, but the smile he tried to give her failed miserably.
Numbly, leaning against Zane’s strong body, Tiffany slowly walked out of the foaling shed and into the night. The rain was still falling from the darkened sky. It splashed against the sodden ground, and the large drops ran through her hair and down her neck.
She felt cold all over, dead inside. Another of Moon Shadow’s foals. Dead. Why? Her weary mind wouldn’t quit screaming the question that had plagued her for nearly two weeks. She shuddered against the cold night and the chill of dread in her heart. Zane pulled her closer to the protective warmth of his body.
Hard male muscles surrounded her, shielded her from the rain as well as the storm of emotions raging in her mind. Lean and masculine, Zane’s body molded perfectly over hers, offering the strength and security she needed on this dark night. For the first time in several years, Tiffany accepted the quiet strength of a man. She was tired of making decisions, weary from fighting the invisible demons that stole the lifeblood from innocent newborns.
The house was still ablaze with the lights she had neglected to turn off. Zane led her into the den and watched as she slumped wearily into the chair near the fireplace. The sparkle in her blue eyes seemed to have died with Ebony Wine’s foal. Her arms were wrapped protectively over her breasts, and she stared sightlessly into the smoldering embers of the fire.
“I’ll get you a drink,” he offered, walking to the bookcase that housed the liquor.
“Don’t want one.”
He picked up a bottle of brandy before looking over his shoulder and pinning her with his intense gray gaze. “Tiffany, what happened?” he asked quietly. She continued to gaze dully at the charred logs in the stone fireplace. He repeated his question, hoping to break her mournful silence. “Just what the hell happened out there tonight?”
“We lost a colt,” she whispered, tears resurfacing in her eyes.
“Sometimes that happens,” he offered, waiting patiently for the rest of the story as he poured two small glasses of the amber liquor.
She lifted her gaze to meet his and for a moment he thought she was about to confide in him, but instead she shrugged her slim shoulders. “Sometimes,” she agreed hoarsely as she watched his reaction.
How much could she trust this stranger? True, he had tried to help her with the unborn colt and in a moment of weakness she felt as if she could trust her life to him. But still she hesitated. She couldn’t forget that he was here on a mission. Not only did he want to buy the farm, but he was filled with some insane theory about Devil’s Gambit being alive.
Zane’s stormy eyes glanced over her huddled form. Her soft honey-brown curls were tangled with straw and framed her elegantly featured face. Her tanned skin was pale from the ordeal. Dark, curling eyelashes couldn’t hide the pain in her wide, innocent eyes.
She’s seen more than her share of pain,Zane guessed as he walked over to her and offered the drink that she had declined.
“I don’t want—”
“Drink it.”
She frowned a little. “Just who do you think you are, coming in here and giving me orders?”
He smiled sternly. “A friend.”
Tiffany found it difficult to meet the concern in his eyes. She remained rigid and ignored the glass in his outstretched hand.
With an audible sigh, Zane relented. Dealing with this beautiful woman always seemed to prove difficult. “All right, lady. Drink it.Please.”
Tiffany took the glass from his hand and managed an obligatory sip. The calming liquor slid easily down her throat, and as she sipped the brandy she began to warm a little.Who was this man and why did he care?
Zane walked over to the fireplace and stretched the tension out of his shoulders, before stoking the dying fire and finally taking a seat on the hearth. He propped his elbows on his knees and cradled his drink in his large hands.
She didn’t follow his actions but kicked off her shoes, ignoring the mud that dirtied the imported carpet. Then she drew her knees under her chin as if hugging herself for warmth against an inner chill.
Zane’s eyes never left her face. As he watched her he felt a traitorous rush of desire flooding his bloodstream and firing his loins. As unlikely as it seemed, he suddenly wanted Ellery Rhodes’s beautiful widow and wanted her badly. The urge to claim her as his own was blinding. In a betraying vision, he saw himself kissing away the pain on her regal features, lifting the sweater vest over her head, slipping each button of her blouse through the buttonholes.
Zane’s throat tightened as he imagined her lying beneath him, her glorious, dark-tipped breasts supple and straining in the moonlight....
“Stop it,” he muttered to himself, and Tiffany looked upward from the flames to stare at him.
“Stop what?” she whispered, her eyes searching his.
Zane’s desire was thundering in his ears, and he felt the unwelcome swelling in his loins. “Nothing,” he muttered gruffly as he stood, walked across the room and poured himself another drink. He downed the warm liquor in one long swallow as if the brandy itself could quell the unfortunate urges of his body.
For God’s sake, he hadn’t reacted to a woman this way since Stasia. At the thought of his sultry Gypsy-like ex-wife, Zane’s blood went ice-cold, and the effect was an instant relief. The ache in his loins subsided.
He set his glass down with a thud, jarring Tiffany out of her distant reverie. “Do you want to talk?” he asked softly, walking back across the close room to face her. He placed himself squarely before her, effectively blocking her view of the fire.
