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“If I had any brains at all, I’d throw you and your outlandish stories out of this place—”
“But you can’t.”
“Why not?”
He settled into the cane-backed chair he had occupied at the table the night before and flashed her a devastating smile that seemed to touch the darkest corners of her soul. “Because you believe me—” She raised her hands as if to protest and he silenced her with a knowing glare. “At least you believe a little.”
Tiffany’s chest was incredibly tight. She found it difficult to breathe. “I think, Mr. Sheridan, the only reasons I haven’t asked you to leave are, one, because we didn’t finish our discussion last night—a discussion that I have to admit piqued my curiosity about you—and two, because you helped out here last night when I was desperate.”And because I find you the most incredibly interesting man I’ve ever met,she added silently to herself as she put the muffins in a basket and set them on the table next to the platter of ham and eggs. The attraction she felt to him was as crazy as the stories he spun about Devil’s Gambit, and yet she couldn’t fight it.
They ate in silence, neither breaking the unspoken truce while they consumed the hearty breakfast Tiffany had prepared.
After the table had been cleared, Tiffany heard Mac’s footsteps on the back porch. Automatically she reached for the pot of coffee and poured a large mug of the dark liquid before adding both sugar and cream to the cup.
“Momin’,” Mac grumbled as he accepted the mug Tiffany offered. He took off his hat and placed it on top of the refrigerator. His eyes swept the interior of the kitchen and rested on Zane. The frown that began on Mac’s crowlike features was quickly disguised as he took a long swallow of coffee.
So Sheridan had spent the night, Mac thought. He didn’t much like the idea, didn’t trust the Irishman. But Tiffany did what suited her, and if Zane Sheridan suited her, then it was none of Mac’s business what went on between them. Tiffany had been alone too long as it was, and if he was uncomfortable in the Irishman’s presence, Mac silently told himself it was his own problem.
“It’s late for you to be getting in,” Tiffany teased the ex-jockey with a warm grin.
“Not after a night that ended at three this morning.”
Winking fondly at Mac, Tiffany moved toward the stove. “How about some breakfast?”
“Thanks much, but no.” Mac eyed the leftover blueberry muffins but shook his head. ‘The missus, she made me eat before I left.” He patted his lean stomach. “Couldn’t hold anything else.” He propped an elbow against the pantry door, finished his coffee and fidgeted. “I checked Ebony Wine this morning.”
“I was about to go out there myself.”
“No need. She’s fine.” Mac stared out the window toward the foaling shed and scowled. “She wasn’t much of a mother the last time she foaled, so I don’t reckon she’ll miss this one much. . . .” He shifted his weight from one foot to the other and set his empty cup on the blue tiles. “She should go into foal heat soon—next week, maybe. You plan on breeding her when she does?”
“If Vance says she’s all right,” Tiffany replied.
“To Moon Shadow?” Mac asked, and at the look on Tiffany’s face he knew he’d made a monumental mistake saying anything in front of Zane Sheridan. He could have kicked himself for his lack of tact, but then he’d supposed that Sheridan knew what was going on. Apparently Tiffany hadn’t confided in Sheridan, and Mac had let the cat out of the bag. Damn it all to hell anyway. Moving his slim shoulders in a gesture of indifference, Mac tried to undo the damage he’d caused before it was too late. “No reason to worry about it now, we’ve got a few days.”
“I . . . I think I’ll look in on Ebony Wine,” Tiffany stated, wiping her hands on a towel hanging near the stove and steering the conversation toward safer ground. “She had a rough night.”
“Didn’t we all?” Mac frowned but a good-natured twinkle lighted his faded eyes. In his opinion, Tiffany Rhodes was as smart as she was pretty. “I’ve got to go into town—check with a guy about some alfalfa. Need anything else?”
“Just a few groceries, but I can get them later.”
“Suit yourself.” He nodded in Zane’s direction, forced his rumpled fedora back onto his head and walked out the door.
Zane’s silvery eyes rested on Tiffany’s face. The near perfect features were slightly disturbed. Obviously something the old man said bothered her. It was as if she was hiding something from him. Zane had experienced that same sensation yesterday morning when the reporter was at the house, and again last night while attending to the stillborn colt. Something was bothering Tiffany Rhodes, and Zane suspected that it was more than his remarks about Devil’s Gambit.
“Are you coming with me?” Tiffany asked as she walked down the short hallway to the den, slipped on her boots and pulled a worn suede jacket from the wooden hook near the French doors.
“Nothing better to do,” Zane admitted, striding with her.
“Good.” She scooped some envelopes from the top drawer of the desk, stuffed them into her pocket and headed outside. “I just want to drop these in the mail and pick up the paper before I go back to the foaling shed.” She unlocked the French doors and stepped outside into the brisk morning air.
The world smelled fresh and new from the morning rain. Birds twittered in the trees, and the fog had begun to lift. Though the drizzle had let up, raindrops still clung tenaciously to the branches of the maple trees lining the drive. Shallow pools of water rested on the uneven surface of the asphalt.
Despite the problems with the foals and Zane’s outlandish remarks about Devil’s Gambit, Tiffany felt refreshed, as if the gentle morning rain had washed away the fears of the night. She noticed the dewy, crystal-like web of a spider in the rhododendrons, and the woodsy scent of the earth beginning to warm from the first rays of a partially hidden sun.
It seemed the most natural thing in the world when Zane’s fingers linked with hers, warming her hand. When he pulled on her hand, forcing her to stop near a thicket of oaks close to the end of the drive, she turned to face him and offered a smile. “What?”
“You don’t know that you’re driving me crazy, do you?” he asked gently, his gray gaze probing the vibrant blue depths of her eyes.
“And all the while I thought your wild stories and insane ideas about Devil’s Gambit were genetic. Now it’s my fault.” Her blue eyes sparkled in the morning sunlight.
