Using the first rays of dawn to see the damage, Emma stared up at the massive timbers inside the blackened barn and listened to Mac’s report.
“The fire chief said there’s no structural damage. None of the heavy timbers burned. The siding on the outside can be replaced and the interior can be pressure-washed to remove the smoke damage. I’ll put a call out to a cleanup company. We’re lucky it didn’t ignite in either one of the haylofts or the place would be a total loss.”
“We’re lucky, all right. Lucky you were here, that you caught McFarlane and that you got Navigator out in time. Did you mean what you said about staying on?” She stared over at him.
“Every word. There are still too many unanswered questions, like who tampered with the tractor and who installed the surveillance cameras. If Sheriff Wilkes proves Victor’s death wasn’t an accident…” He turned toward her and grasped her upper arms. “I don’t plan to leave until I know you’re safe.”
The physical contact warmed her skin where he touched her and she looked up into his face. “I don’t want you to go, Mac. Firehill needs you…I need you.” She let her gaze slide to his lips, rocked up onto her tiptoes, closed her eyes and kissed him.
Desire roared through Mac’s body, scorching his resistance in its wake. He locked his arms around her and pulled her against him. Deepening the superficial kiss, he parted her lips with his tongue and explored her sweet mouth.
The smoky smell of the barn intermingled with her scent of vanilla, straw and the outdoors.
She arched against him, a moan sounding deep in her throat.
Every cell in his body burned for satisfaction. She was balm on his soul. The woman he wanted to lead him out of the desert.
Mac broke the kiss and pulled back, warring with his conscience as he did. She shivered in his arms as she buried her face against his neck.
Reaching up, he stroked his fingers through her hair, cupped the back of her head and closed his eyes, breathing her in while he worked to tame his out-of-control response to her. Maybe it was fatigue busting down the barriers, maybe something more, he wasn’t sure.
“I have no right to want you this much.”
She pushed back and stared up at him, her whiskey-colored eyes bright in the gloom of the cavernous barn. “No right? You have every right, Mac.” She reached up and brushed her fingertips along his scarred jaw. “I don’t care about this, or that you lost your hearing.”
He closed his eyes, clamped his teeth together and fought the overwhelming urge to jerk away. To put a stop to the soul-stripping deprivation her assessment generated in his mind.
“It changes nothing. You’re the same person you were before it happened, aren’t you? You’re honest and good. You protect people…and a horse, and you save lives. You’ve sacrificed more than the average person ever has and you deserve to be happy.”
She was playing fast and loose with his motto, the one he’d always used to define the perimeters of his life.
Get in. Get out. No emotional attachments.
He opened his eyes, reached up and locked his hand on hers. Staring into her face he pulled her hand away, severing the intimate touch. He released her fingers, but his push-back gesture didn’t seem to faze her.
A slow smile bowed her sexy, swollen lips and she stepped back. “I’m fixing supper tonight at the house to celebrate the end of the attacks on Navigator’s Whim. I’d like you to come. You’re the reason he’s safe now. Get some rest. I’ll see you at seven.” She left the barn.
He stared after her. How in the hell was it possible she’d pegged him like that? His identity as a Secret Service agent had evaporated after the shooting and he wasn’t sure he’d ever get it back. In fact he was almost certain now that he couldn’t.
Mac walked out of the barn, realizing the cavernous black hole in some ways resembled the pit he’d been rolling around in for a long time. Maybe even since he was a kid. He owed it to Emma to level with her. To tell her that Paul Calliway—a bitter man who’d hated Thadeous, and Firehill, and who’d never let that fact go unspoken until the day he died—was his father.
He crossed the open area from the barn to the bunkhouse and considered how she would take the revelation.
Frustration glided over his nerves. Emma was a straight shooter and he hadn’t been totally honest with her. He reached the bunkhouse door and remembered that he hadn’t had the chance to clean up the chaos inside.
Dead tired, he turned the knob and opened the door.
A whiff of her scent hit him as he sucked in a breath and glanced around the tidy room. She’d found the time to slip away and take care of the mess left by the intruder. His gaze settled on the freshly made bed covered with a bright patchwork quilt.
Stepping inside, he closed the door behind him, feeling a surge of gratitude swell in his chest.
How was it Emma always seemed to know what he needed, even if he didn’t?
EMMA PUT THE LAST PLATE into the dishwasher, filled the soap cup and turned it on. She flipped off the kitchen light on her way out and joined her dad and Mac in the living room, where they talked about what distinguished a good horse from a great horse.
“It’s one quarter training and three quarters heart, Thadeous. You can condition them equally, but the horse with heart will give you everything he’s got, and then some. Look at Seabiscuit, Canonero II, who won the Derby in 1971 from out of nowhere, and Barbaro. Heart wins races.”
She settled on the sofa across from Mac, watching his mesmerizing blue eyes glisten with excitement as he talked to her dad about four-legged legends.
“There’s no substitute…for good breeding. I never bought a horse…based on heart. You can train them…to run, but you better start…with good lineage.”
Mac glanced across at her and grinned, then turned his attention back to her father. She had to believe he was enjoying the conversation, and she found herself wondering where he’d acquired his horse sense. He was so much more than an amateur.
“I’ll give you that. An impressive bloodline is a plus to build on, if the horse has heart.”
“Dessert, anyone?” Emma asked as she came to her feet. Her dad chuckled and shook his head. “Not tonight…dear. I’m going to…watch my program…in the den.”
Mac stood up and reached out.
They clasped hands and shook.
“Come back soon, Mac. That’s…the best…time I’ve had in a while.”
“I sure will.” Mac watched the old man manipulate the control lever on his wheelchair and purr into the hallway. He liked Thadeous Clareborn. His mind was still sharp and he knew a hell of a lot about horseflesh, had even witnessed some of the greatest strides to glory.
“I made apple pie and there’s vanilla ice cream in the freezer. Would you like some?”
“You’re spoiling me, Em, but no thanks, I’m still full from supper.”
“Maybe later then, after you help me put up the Christmas tree?”
He glanced at the stack of boxes in the corner marked “C-mas decor,” and knew he had to put his inner Grinch aside, at least for tonight. He’d helped her cut the tree, it was time to help her decorate it.
“Tell me what to do.”
“I’ll get the stand set up, then we’ll bring in the tree and put it up in front of the window.”
Half an hour later, Mac watched Emma wrap the noble fir in miniature colored lights.
Climbing down from the chair next to it, she rummaged in a box and pulled out a star. She held the tree topper out to him.” Would you do the honors?”
He took it, feeling a surge of emotion he’d denied all evening. The Clareborn’s were a family and their house was a home.
“Just put it on the top?” he asked, feeling like an awkward kid.
“Yes.” Emma’s throat tightened as she watched Mac stare at the Christmas star they’d been putting on the tree since she was a child. “Hey.” She reached out to him and touched his forearm. “You don’t have to do it if you don’t want to.” She met his dark blue gaze and wondered about his hesitation.
“I want to do it.” He turned around, stepped up onto the chair and put the star on the top of the tree.
“How’s that?”
She gauged the alignment. “A little more to the left, back toward the window. There. Perfect.”
Mac stepped down off the chair and tried to relax, tried to enjoy the time alone here with her. It suddenly didn’t matter that his early life had been filled with turmoil at this time of year, every year. It was time to let the past settle into oblivion and live in the moment tonight.
“What’s next? I’m ready.”
They hung the mismatched ornaments one by one, until the tree was covered in them and Emma was smiling like an excited little girl.
His heart squeezed in his chest as he watched her work. This was important to her. This was a joyous time. He sobered. “I need to check on the colt.”
“Not yet. You have to partake in a Clareborn family tradition first.”
“What’s that?”
“A mug of mint hot cocoa, on the front porch in the swing with the tree lights shining through the picture window.”
“I’d go for that.”
She smiled at him as she hurried into the kitchen and returned ten minutes later with two steaming cups of cocoa. “Would you plug in the tree?”
Working his way around to the back, he found the cord and shoved it into the receptacle. He stepped back and smiled, before meeting Emma’s gaze.
“It’s beautiful, Mac. Thank you.”
“Thank you for straightening up the bunkhouse.” He put on his coat and took the mugs while she pulled her coat on and opened the front door.
“You’re welcome. I knew you were exhausted.”
He followed her out to the porch swing and waited for her to get settled before he handed her one of the cups. He sat down next to her seeing the lights shimmer through the glass.
“I need to discuss something with you, Emma.”
“Discuss?”
“Rahul announced this morning that he has taken Victor’s place at the stable.”
“I don’t have a problem with that.”
“He wanted me to tell you they’d like to lease the other six stalls in the barn. His employer will increase the lease amount. The only catch is he wants Navigator removed from the stud barn immediately.”
“That’s ridiculous. He knows I’ve got nowhere else to house the colt until the barn is restored.”
“I know they’re going to need at least two more stalls beginning on Monday night when Rahul returns with the horses from quarantine in Front Royal. He gave you until then to make a decision.”
“I’ve got a check for fifty thousand dollars coming. Maybe I should give Rahul and the sheikh notice to vacate the stud barn. I only leased to them because I was desperate. I’m not desperate anymore.”
“I know.” A measure of caution attached to his thoughts. Would Rahul find a way to retaliate against her? Or would he leave quietly?
“Has Doc Remington called yet with the results of Navigator’s bloodwork?”
“No. He’s suppose to let me know in the morning.”
“We’re going to need to continue the remedy until midweek. He’ll probably be clean by then.”
“I hope so. Hey, thanks for chatting with my father tonight. He loved it. I haven’t seen him that animated in years.”
“I enjoyed it, too.” Mac drained the last drop of mint cocoa from his mug and pulled in a lungful of crisp night air. This was living. Living like he’d never done before.
“I’ll check on the colt before I turn in.” He angled to face her, watching the sparkling lights reflect in her eyes.
He reached out and took her chin, easing her to face him. “I’ve been thinking about the things you said to me in the barn this morning and it reminded me of something else you once said.”
“Sounds serious.”
“It was at the time. You drew a comparison between my wanting to hear again with my left ear and your hope that Navigator could win the Derby. And I made peace with one of them. I won’t ever regain the hearing in my left ear, but your colt can win.”
He leaned forward, kissed her on the lips, handed her the empty mug and stood up. “Good night, Emma.”
“Good night, Mac.” She listened to his boots on the front steps, then watched him until the night wrapped him in its velvety blanket.
Letting down the walls in her mind, she instilled his image and realized she’d fallen for Mac, like a newborn filly on unsteady legs.
She left the swing and went inside the house to rinse out their cups in the kitchen sink and go to bed.
MAC SHOVED HIS HANDS in his coat pockets and headed for the stable. He focused on the light emanating from the barn’s doorway, but his thoughts were squarely on Emma as he looked for an opening in the hedge on the perimeter and stepped through it.
The garbled sound of raised voices made him stop to listen. Turning his head to the right, he tried to decipher exactly where the argument was coming from.
Two of Dago’s grooms shuffled into the doorway at the mouth of the breezeway. Notes in Arabic seemed to raise and lower with the hand gestures one of the men made repeatedly.
He didn’t know what they were saying, but it alarmed him. He stepped back into the protective cover of the hedge to wait it out. Once they were gone, he’d check on the colt and turn in for his first solid night’s sleep in weeks.
Movement at the far left corner of the barn caught his attention. He focused on the exact spot were he’d seen it, trying to pick it out again in the darkness.
A shadow? A person? He couldn’t be sure. He didn’t see anything until a man in black edged to the front corner of the barn and flattened himself against the wall, twenty feet from the arguing grooms.
Was he listening, too?
Mac held his position, feeling the first tingle of realization take hold in his brain. He’d never considered that someone could be spying on the Dago stable. Did that mean there were cameras planted somewhere in the stud barn, as well?
The two men left the stable, headed for the bunkhouse, still yelling at each other, but Mac kept his eyes on the man dressed all in black.
On his right he heard the bunkhouse door slam. He maintained his focus, determined to track the thug.
The man pushed away from the wall and jogged toward the bunkhouse.
Mac’s caution level cranked up. He tried to blend deeper into the brush, going still as the man hurried past his location and up the driveway.
Turning back toward the yard, Mac hugged the hedge, listening to the man’s nearly silent footsteps padding along on the asphalt on the other side of the protective barrier.
He reached the main drive.
Mac went down onto his belly in the grass, catching sight of the black-clad figure as the man reached the main driveway leading out of the farm and onto the highway.
The sound of a vehicle drew his attention and he could just make out the shape of a dark-colored van without its headlights on. It stopped on the road.
He heard the unmistakable grind of the van’s side door sliding open on its track, and sliding shut a second later. The van accelerated away and the mysterious intruder was gone.
Mac came to his feet, turned and headed for the barn. If his suspicion proved correct, he should be able to find what he was looking for in a matter of minutes.
Hanging close to the bushes, he made his way back to the break in the hedge, jogged across the open space and ducked into the barn door. He slowed and scanned the corridor for any of the grooms. The stable was empty.
The stud barn was half the size of the main barn and only had one hayloft.
Mac stopped at Navigator’s stall and glanced in at him through the iron-bar partition. The colt was sacked out on his straw and didn’t bother to raise his head.
Focused on the ladder up into the loft, Mac took even strides for it, reached it and climbed up, coming face to face with a stack of hay he couldn’t see over.
He pressed against the wall, squeezing through on the right-hand side. Working his way to the end of the stack, he stepped out into a small area next to it, ducking his head to keep from banging it on the low-hanging rafters.
From this vantage point he could see the entire stable and down into each individual stall where the horses slept—where Victor Dago had been attacked.
Mac went to his knees, brushing away the hay on the floorboards as he crawled closer to the edge of the loft. A third of the way across the front he uncovered what he was looking for: a thin piece of black coaxial cable stretched out in the narrow joint. He didn’t have to follow it to know where it was going to lead.
The Dago barn, aka Rahul barn now, was under surveillance.
A knot lodged in the pit of his stomach. Whoever was at the other end of the camera must have witnessed Victor’s murder, but why in the hell were they spying on Firehill Farm in the first place? What did they want?
“Hey!”
Mac’s head jerked up and he found himself staring down into the angry face of one of the grooms he’d seen arguing with another only minutes ago.
“Down!” He motioned wildly.
Mac came to his feet and shook his head, then patted a bale of hay with his hand. “I need to borrow a bale.” He pointed down into Navigator’s stall and watched the request register with the upset man.
He nodded his approval and stepped back.
Mac knocked a bale down with his booted foot and kicked hay back over the cable he’d just exposed.
The groom snagged the twine ropes and hefted the hay bale down the corridor, where he dropped it next to Navigator’s stall door.
Tension knotted Mac’s muscles as he squeezed back through the narrow opening and climbed down the ladder.
The man stood across the breezeway, leaning against the wall with his arms crossed, watching Mac with an intense stare he could feel dissecting him as he pulled out his pocketknife and cut the strings on the bale.
Measuring off a flake of hay, he unlatched Navigator’s door, slid it open and tossed it into his feeder.
The groom didn’t budge.
Mac pulled the stall door closed and tested the latch before turning to face the man. “Hey, thanks.” He motioned to the open hay bale.
A nod was all he got from the groom, who remained, arms crossed, against the opposite wall like a sentry guarding some unknown secret.
Mac headed out of the barn, feeling the man’s scrutiny on his back with an intensity that set his nerves on edge. Something was going on. Something big.
Something his gut told him could harm Emma if he didn’t rout it out.
EMMA PULLED THE PLUG on the Christmas tree lights and walked down the hallway to the den, thinking about Mac.
The sound of the TV told her that she’d find her dad asleep in his wheelchair with the set still on. It had become a nightly routine to wake him, turn off the tube and lock up.
“Dad,” she said as she entered the room and headed over to close the curtains. “It’s 10:30.”
“Emma. Come here…I want to…show you something.”
She pulled the cord, closed the drapes and stepped over to where he sat in his wheelchair holding a framed picture in his hand.
“I wasn’t certain…but tonight confirmed…my suspicions.”
Concern jumbled her nerves as she knelt next to her dad. “Suspicions? About what?”
“About who.” He angled the photo toward her and she clutched the other side of the frame to steady it. “Look…at this.” He tapped his finger on the glass covering a shot of a horse she recognized standing in the winner’s circle.
“It’s Smooth Sailing at the Clark Handicap in Louisville.”
Her dad nodded and tapped the glass again with more vigor than before. “Him… Look.”
Emma took the frame from his hand, moved to the lamp on the end table and stared down at the picture. “Who is he?” she asked.
“Paul…Calliway.”
“No way. The infamous Paul Calliway trained Smooth Sailing?”
“Owned…him. Won the race… I claimed him…from. He swore…he would destroy Firehill someday.”
She studied the photo staring at the tall man. He held Smooth Sailing’s reins close to the bit, and wore a tweed jacket and a familiar-looking fedora. The same fedora she’d seen hanging on a nail in the tack room from the time she was a little girl. The dusty old felt hat that Mac had taken to wearing until his haircut.
Mac.
Reality clawed into her senses as she picked out the familiar features on the little boy standing next to Paul Calliway, wearing a mile-wide grin on his face.
She looked up at her father, feeling her throat squeeze shut and her eyes begin to water. “Mac Titus is Paul Calliway’s son?”
“And Firehill’s…enemy.”