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Flirting with Trouble
Elizabeth Bevarly


Publicist Marnie Roberts knows bad days–and today is the worst. A ruined suit, a broken heel… and her client just shot a man. Even worse: the victim is the father of a man Marnie knows a little too well….Eight years ago Marnie experienced seven days of bliss with Australian horse trainer Daniel Whittleson. But after good times, hot sex and what she thought was true love, Daniel disappeared without a goodbye. Now Marnie is going Down Under to defend her trigger-happy client…and finally confront the man she's never been able to forget.







Dear Reader,

I always have a lot of fun when I join other authors to write a series, but that fun is doubled when the subject matter is near and dear to my heart. My family tree has very deep roots in Kentucky, and I currently live right in horse country. I drive past Thoroughbred farms no matter my destination, because they are literally right up and down the road from me. Our state’s slogan is “Unbridled spirit,” and the reason for that is obvious to anyone who’s ever watched one of those majestic animals run. They are joy personified. Horsified. You know what I mean.

I tried to capture both my affection for Kentucky and my admiration of Thoroughbreds when I wrote Flirting with Trouble. And I hope I captured the flavor of Australia, too, for the parts of the book that take place in that wonderful country. Daniel Whittleson is like many horsemen I’ve encountered in his love for the animal, and he’s like many heroes I’ve created in his love for Marnie Roberts. Marnie, too, was delightful to write, because she embodies the hopes and fears of everywoman and she rises to face those hopes and fears with the same sort of bravery.

Best wishes,

Elizabeth Bevarly





Flirting with Trouble










Elizabeth Bevarly







www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)




ELIZABETH BEVARLY


is a RITA


Award-nominated author of more than sixty works of contemporary romance. Her books regularly appear on the USA TODAY bestseller list and the Waldenbooks bestseller lists for romance and mass-market paperbacks. Her novel The Thing About Men hit the New York Times extended bestseller list, as well. Her novels have been published in more than two dozen languages and three dozen countries, and there are more than ten million copies in print worldwide. She currently lives in a small town in her native Kentucky with her husband and son. Visit her online at www.elizabethbevarly.com.


For everyone who has roots in the Bluegrass State,

whether homegrown or transplanted.

Unbridled spirit indeed.


Special thanks and acknowledgment are given to Elizabeth Bevarly for her contribution to the Thoroughbred Legacy series.




Contents


Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Epilogue




Chapter One


As he settled his hand on the corral gate and shot his gaze over virtually miles of white plank fencing that crisscrossed and enclosed Quest Stables, it occurred to Daniel Whittleson that a June morning in Kentucky was about as close to heaven as a man could find. And this was only the first of the month. Sure, the dogwoods and redbuds had stopped blooming by now, but the surly spring weather had mellowed into steady blue skies and balmy breezes, and the smothering heat of July and August was still weeks away. The colts of Quest Stables, where he was senior trainer, were confident and playful by now, and they’d discovered the joys of losing themselves to running. A handful of them were doing that now, at the farthest edge of the pasture beyond the corral. The elegant, shallow hills of Woodford County were awash in the deep green of the bluegrass, dotted here and there with copses of broad, leafy sugar maples and towering oaks. At not quite 7:00 a.m., the sun had just crested one of those hills, tinting the sky with a mellow pink and orange and spilling a wide trail of luscious gold across the pasture.

There must be something about the curvature of the earth at this latitude that made the sunlight do that, Daniel thought. He’d lived and traveled all over the world, and he’d never seen the land glow the way it did in Kentucky when the sun’s rays were at their longest. He ran a work-roughened hand through his hair, noting without much surprise that he was way overdue for a cut. Then he lifted the gate’s handle and entered the corral, whistling for the chestnut stallion on the other side. The horse’s ears stitched forward as he whinnied his objection to being interrupted in his own enjoyment of the morning, then he obediently, though reluctantly, trotted across the corral to where Daniel stood. The horse, Flirting with Trouble, certainly lived up to his name.

He was a spirited two-year-old Daniel was hoping to whip into shape by next year’s Kentucky Derby, but so far, Trouble wasn’t cooperating. For now, Daniel worked mostly on winning the animal’s trust and forging a bond between them. He was confident Trouble would come around. Eventually. Daniel was a firm believer in the old adage about good things coming to those who waited.

Summer wasn’t the busiest time of the year for Thoroughbred trainers, but neither was it in any way slow. This year’s Derby and Preakness were over—both won handily by Leopold’s Legacy, a Quest Thoroughbred, Daniel thought smugly—but the Belmont Stakes were less than two weeks away. And if things went the way they were supposed to, Leopold’s Legacy would take that race, too, making him only the twelfth horse in history to earn the Triple Crown.

Daniel hadn’t trained Legacy himself, though. That honor had fallen to Robbie Preston, whose family owned Quest Stables, the first of many major wins the young trainer would doubtless see in his life—provided he got over his impatience and learned to handle the pressures that came with the job. Although Daniel wouldn’t be part of the group accompanying the horse to New York, he still had plenty to keep him busy on the farm. Which was good, because he thrived on the extra work. Hell, work was what kept him going. Work was the only thing he knew. Well, work and horses. Those he knew better than he did even a lot of people.

And working with horses—and knowing them well—was in the Whittleson blood. Daniel’s father, Sam, was also a trainer, respected throughout the Thoroughbred industry worldwide. Respect for his father had come grudgingly for Daniel, however, and even now was restricted to the man’s professional skills. Sam had been so serious about horses when Daniel was a child that it had cost the elder Whittleson his family. The Australian Sam had abandoned Daniel and his American mother before Daniel started school, and Lois Whittleson had been forced to return to the States and work three jobs to keep their heads above water—until her death when Daniel was only fourteen.

At times he’d been convinced it was more the work than the cancer that had killed his mother. And he’d never quite been able to stop blaming his father for that.

Daniel had gone back to live with Sam in Australia following his mother’s death, and it had taken years for the two Whittleson men to start communicating like a father and son—however tenuously. It had taken longer for the two of them to settle on an uneasy truce. Daniel supposed he would always harbor some resentment toward his father for not being around when he’d needed him as a child. But Sam had done his best to make amends to his son.

Daniel knew his father cared for him as much as Sam could. But he also knew his father was a horseman first and father second. As an adult, Daniel understood how that could be. Some people simply weren’t cut out to be parents. He was a case in point—as guilty as his father when it came to putting his career before anything else. But unlike his father, Daniel knew better than to start a family—or even get seriously involved with a woman—for that very reason.

Still, he was grateful to Sam for teaching him about horses, the one interest the two of them had in common. Hell, it was their combined passion for Thoroughbreds that had put them on speaking terms and kept them there all these years.

Daniel ran a hand over Trouble’s slick mane, his gaze sweeping over what he could see of the thousand acres that made Quest the largest Thoroughbred farm in Kentucky. Although Thomas and Jenna Preston, who owned and operated Quest, kept forty-eight horses of their own, they stabled nearly five hundred. Some of the family’s horses were foals and broodmares who’d never raced, or stallions past their racing prime, who were still viable at stud. Others were pacers used in training, or retired horses left to graze and run free and enjoy what was left of their lives in leisure. But the majority of the Preston horses were either working Thoroughbreds or racers in training. Even at that, a major source of Quest’s income came from boarding and training and stud fees.

The farm employed scores of people, both full-and part-time. In addition to trainers like Daniel, there were groomers, exercisers, stall muckers, groundskeepers, farmers, maintenance workers and a variety of household help. Daniel had worked at Quest for more than seven years now, having come here as a junior trainer in an effort to rebuild both his career and reputation after a self-inflicted debacle in California at the Del Mar Pacific Classic. That race should have been the first major victory of his career as Robbie’s recent wins would be for his. Except Daniel had been even younger than Robbie, and the win would have cemented his entrée into the highest echelons of Thoroughbred racing that much earlier.

Unfortunately, Daniel hadn’t made it to the track on race day. He’d been sidetracked by a woman he never should have gotten involved with in the first place. Marnie Roberts. A rich, pampered socialite who was light-years removed from both the world he’d grown up in and the world he’d lived in then.

The two of them shouldn’t even have been in the same room at that party the week before the race. Daniel hadn’t been invited and was only there to deliver a message to the wealthy owner of Little Joe, the horse he’d trained for the race. But as he’d made his way out of the palatial Coronado Hotel, his gaze had lit on Marnie’s—and hers had lit on his—and the proverbial sparks had flown. They’d chatted for less than half an hour before deciding to blow the joint and get a drink someplace quiet and secluded.

In the week that followed, Daniel had spent far more time with Marnie than he should have. And those times he was working with Little Joe, he’d been far too preoccupied by thoughts of Marnie to do his job well. The two of them were explosive together. Their combined chemistry had created a reaction that was nothing short of atomic. And although it had ended up being a week of exceptionally good times—and staggeringly good sex—it had ended in the biggest disaster of Daniel’s life. He’d given so much of himself to Marnie that week that there had been nothing left for anything else. Including the race for which he’d come to San Diego in the first place. The night before the Pacific Classic, he and Marnie had both turned off their cell phones to focus on each other, and after hours of exhaustive, white-hot sex, they’d overslept the next day and Daniel hadn’t made it to the track in time for the one o’clock race.

His absence that day—hell, that whole week—had made Little Joe’s owner and jockey anxious enough that their anxiety spilled over onto the horse. Little Joe was more restless than usual by race time, and that unease had only been compounded at the starting gate. The horse had lunged and hurt both himself and his jockey, then, after the starting bell, had bolted from the gate, out of control. Ultimately, the horse that all the track insiders were predicting would carry the win by at least a length had come in eighth instead. And it never would have happened if Daniel had been on the job that week, the way he was supposed to be, instead of with Marnie.

He hadn’t just lost his job that day. He’d also lost his confidence, his faith in his abilities and his self-respect. He didn’t blame Marnie for what had happened. He’d known then—as he knew now—that he had only himself to blame. And he wasn’t proud of how he’d behaved in the wake of the disaster where Marnie was concerned. He’d left San Diego that very night, tucking a letter into her mailbox on his way out that told her he’d had to choose between her and his career, and his career had won. He’d been too big a coward to tell her to her face, because whenever he was with Marnie, he couldn’t think straight. Had he tried to tell her in person, Marnie would have won over his career. And he would have lost himself to her forever.

Which might not have been so bad, except that high-society party girls like Marnie Roberts didn’t stay interested in unemployed losers like Daniel Whittleson. And once Marnie walked out on him—as she would have eventually—he’d be facing both financial and emotional poverty.

Still, Daniel had learned a very valuable lesson from the Del Mar experience. He’d learned that he couldn’t afford to be sidetracked by things like staggeringly good sex—or even what might have turned out to be a halfway decent, if temporary, relationship with a woman. Work came first for Whittleson men. Especially Daniel. Because work led to success, and success was the only way to escape the insecurity and poverty he’d known as a child.

So Daniel had cut ties with Marnie completely. And he’d stopped thinking about Del Mar and anything related to that sorry chapter of his life a long time ago.

At least until this morning.

He grimaced at the memories and pushed them back into the furthest, darkest, least-visited corner of his brain where they belonged. It hadn’t been easy, but he had successfully rebuilt his career after Del Mar, and he would never go back again. He’d practically been a kid with Little Joe, barely out of college with the first horse he’d trained by himself. Now, at thirty-two, he had trained scores of horses, many of whom had gone on to become champions. He was building the pedigree necessary for a trainer who someday intended to own and operate his own stables. Stables that would be successful enough for him to finally reassure the child who still lived inside him fearing poverty and loss. Only when Daniel had achieved that goal would he be able to call himself successful. Only then would he be fulfilled. Personally and professionally. Nothing—nothing in the world—mattered to him more.

“Daniel!”

At the sound of his name, he turned and saw Jenna Preston striding down the steps of the big house, waving her arm over her head to get his attention. The house was a huge, rambling red brick structure, two proud stories of more than five thousand square feet of living space. The front boasted a broad, shady porch supported by pillars, but here in the back, the long, sheltered veranda was less formal. There were two other verandas. The one on the west had comfortable dark green wicker furniture with floral cushions for viewing sunsets, while the east veranda had bamboo furniture for outdoor dining.

Off the east veranda was a cobbled patio with a massive built-in grill and rotisserie, Thomas Preston’s pride and joy during the summer months, when he loved to cook for friends and family. Daniel could see the big, kidney-shaped pool shimmering nearby in the morning sun, its deck a tile mosaic of horse-themed images and icons.

A handful of small, tidy cabins were used to house guests and employees—Daniel included—all scattered within easy walk of the big house. Bunkhouses provided lodging for those who worked the farm, and there were barns for the horses, corrals for exercising, a practice track and several storage sheds. In many ways, Quest Stables was like a small town. During busy times of the year, Daniel had been known to go weeks without ever leaving the grounds.

He exited the corral and began to walk in Jenna’s direction, meeting her halfway. Like him, she’d been up before the sun and was dressed for the day ahead in blue jeans and work boots and a gray work shirt decorated with the logo of Quest Stables. At fifty-five, Jenna was as trim and fit as life on a working horse farm could make a person. She was a good head shorter than Daniel’s own six feet, her auburn hair framing her round face in soft waves. Her cheerful, thoughtful nature was the perfect complement to her husband’s straightforward, uncompromising one. Jenna could and did show Thomas sides of a situation he wouldn’t bother to entertain himself.

Rumor on the farm had it that not a blade of bluegrass could bend anywhere on the property without Jenna knowing about it. Although she had raised three kids into admirable adults, she still took a maternal interest in some of the younger workers on the farm. Daniel had been one of them when he’d first come to work here. In a lot of ways, Jenna had been the mother he’d lost when he was a teenager.

“Daniel, there’s a phone call for you at the big house,” she called when she was within earshot. “They said they tried your cell phone but didn’t get an answer.”

That was because he never turned on his phone until after he’d enjoyed those few stolen moments at the beginning of the day. He frowned. “It’s barely 7:00 a.m. Who is it?”

Her already concerned expression darkened. “They wouldn’t say. The caller ID has an international code, though. Australia. And the voice is too official-sounding for them to be calling about something casual.”

Daniel’s first thought was Sam. “It’s not my dad?”

She shook her head.

Her concern infected him then. If it wasn’t his dad, there was a strong chance it was about his dad. The old man was only sixty-one and had always been in good health, but that was an age where problems could start showing up. Daniel quickened his pace as he headed for the house, not waiting for Jenna. He took the steps of the veranda by twos and saw the library door—the one through which she must have exited—open. Sure enough, the phone lay on its side on the table nearest the door, so he scooped it up.

“Daniel Whittleson,” he said without preamble, barely winded from the brisk walk.

“Mr. Whittleson, this is Detective Headley of the Pepper Flats Police Department.”

Something seized Daniel’s heart and squeezed hard. Pepper Flats was the town closest to Whittleson Stud, his father’s four-hundred-acre station in Hunter Valley, Australia. A call from the police couldn’t be good.

The detective’s voice was noticeably quieter when he added, “I’m afraid I have a bit of bad news for you, sir.”

“What is it?” Daniel could barely get the question out.

“Your father is Samuel Whittleson of HunterValley?”

A knot of something hot and sharp tightened in his belly. “Yes,” he told the detective. “I’m Sam’s son.”

There was a slight hesitation, then, “I’m afraid your father’s been shot.”

“Shot?” Daniel echoed incredulously. Of all the things cartwheeling through his head, a shooting had been nowhere among them.

Before he could say anything else, the detective hurried on. “He’s in hospital right now and has an excellent chance of recovery. He was shot in the chest, but the bullet exited cleanly and no vital organs were affected. He may be a while in surgery, though.”

Daniel’s head was still buzzing with the news that his father had been shot and he barely heard anything else the detective said.

“Do the police have the shooter?” he asked after a moment.

“We do,” the detective told him. “Your father was shot by a neighbor, Louisa Fairchild.”

It was a name Daniel knew well. Not a conversation with his father went by without Sam saying something about Louisa. The two of them had been feuding over the rights to a lake that adjoined their properties since the day Sam took ownership of his farm a decade ago. Daniel had met the woman a time or two during his visits to his father, and as cantankerous as she was, no way would he have figured her to be capable of shooting someone. Hell, she must be eighty years old!

“Louisa Fairchild?” he echoed. “I’m sorry, but I don’t understand. How could Louisa have shot my father?”

There was a meaningful hesitation, then the detective said, “We’re still interrogating Miss Fairchild, but she claims it was self-defense.”

“What?” Daniel was incredulous. Self-defense indicated that she’d needed to protect herself from Sam Whittleson. And although his father wasn’t the most even-tempered, jovial man on the planet, he was in no way abusive.

“I’m afraid, Mr. Whittleson,” the detective said, “that there are some mitigating circumstances, and that much of what Miss Fairchild has said isn’t quite connecting. We won’t have a chance to speak to your father until the doctors give us the go-ahead, which could be days from now. I’m afraid it may be some time before we have the whole story.”

Daniel gripped the phone fiercely, his head spinning with all he’d heard, little of which made any sense. One thing, however, was certain. “I can be in Australia tomorrow.”



Marnie Roberts was not having a good day. She’d awoken to discover that the old song about it never raining in Southern California was a total lie. In fact, there were actual monsoons in Southern California, as evidenced by the puddles of water that had formed beneath the jalousie windows of her San Diego condo during the night. Inside the windows, that is. Outside the windows, she’d discovered upon cranking them open and peeping through, someone had evidently moved the condo swimming pool just beneath her unit. Which might have brought up the value of the place if it weren’t for the fact that this new pool was filled with muddy water and dead, mushy marigolds.

Things had only gotten worse.

The monsoon had blown out her power, too. So she’d woken up late, with coffee to chase the cobwebs from her brain, no blow-dryer or straightening iron to tame her mass of unruly auburn curls, no steamer to tame her even more unruly clothes, and no light in her windowless bathroom to help her apply her makeup. Consequently, when she finally arrived at the San Diego office of Division International Consulting—the PR firm that had employed her for the past five years—she looked nothing like her usual flawlessly professional self. Instead, she looked like…

Well, there was no avoiding it. With her auburn hair lank and lifeless and her butter-yellow business suit wrinkled and limp, she looked like a dead, mushy marigold.

She hated days like this.

Great, she thought as she entered the outer office and breathlessly greeted Phoebe, The Perkiest Receptionist in the Pacific Time Zone. This was just great. And today, Marnie was supposed to be meeting with a new client, a rising young comedian who was notorious for cruelly insulting perfectly nice people like, well, like Marnie, and the dead, mushy marigold look was going to give him tons of ammunition.

She really hated days like this.

In an effort to kick her office door closed with one foot, she inadvertently got her heel caught in the carpet and stumbled forward, losing her grip on the mondo-size latte she’d picked up at the drive-through and sending it careening through the air. It landed upside down—naturally—and the plastic top came popping off—inevitably—spilling a river of tan along the pastel dhurrie rug she’d bought for her office only days before—of course. All this after it had sloshed a nice long estuary across the lower portion of her previously butter-yellow suit first.

She really, really hated days like this.

She tugged her foot free from the door and slammed it down with confidence—it was not petulance—something that made the heel snap off and go flying toward her other calf, leaving a long scrape. Not sure whether she should focus her immediate attention on the shoe, the calf or the rug, she hobbled to her desk and was reaching for a tissue when the intercom buzzed with enough volume to make her squeal.

“Marnie, I need to see you right away,” her boss Hildy’s voice boomed ominously into the room. Not that Hildy Emerson wasn’t ominous and booming every day, but today, she sounded even more urgent than usual.

Not a good sign, Marnie thought. But then, considering how her day had been so far, not exactly surprising, either.

She pushed the button on her intercom. “I’ll be right there, Hildy.” To herself, she added, Just as soon as I’m presentable. Which should be sometime in September.

As if reading her thoughts, Hildy immediately replied, “I need you now.”

With a wistful look at the rapidly spreading coffee stain, Marnie scooped up her now-empty cup and still-broken heel and made her way to the door. She dropped the cup in the trash on her way out, then staggered as well as she could to Hildy’s office on the other side of the reception area. Phoebe smiled perkily at her as she went, as oblivious to Marnie’s plight as she was to anything that wasn’t, well, perky. Inhaling a deep, fortifying breath, Marnie turned the knob to Hildy’s door and stepped inside.

“Marnie, I—” Her boss stopped cold when she glanced up from the papers on her desk to look at Marnie full on. She assessed Marnie critically from the hair bomb to the stained suit to the broken heel and back again. “My God, what happened to you?”

Marnie sighed, knowing they’d be there all day if she started listing. So she only said, “It does, too, rain in Southern California.”

Hildy studied Marnie through narrowed gray eyes. She opened her mouth as if she intended to ask something else, evidently thought better of it, and gestured toward one of two leather chairs on the other side of her desk. “Have a seat.”

Marnie hobbled across the room and folded herself gratefully into the chair, trying not to notice that Hildy’s silver-streaked black hair was perfectly coiffed and her plum-colored suit flawless. Hildy was always perfectly coiffed and flawless. That was why she was the employer and Marnie was a coffee-stained employee. As she sat in the chair indicated, she toed off her broken shoe and began trying to work the heel back on.

“You need to drop every account you have right now,” Hildy told her, “and focus on a new assignment.”

“Whoa, whoa, whoa,” Marnie objected immediately, her broken heel forgotten. “I’m juggling more than a dozen clients right now, on three continents. I can’t just blow them all off. They’ll—”

“Someone else can handle them,” Hildy interrupted. “I need you for something big.”

“Oh, bigger than Prince Torquil?” Marnie asked indignantly, citing the assignment that Hildy had previously told her should take precedence over everything else.

“This is much worse than Prince Torquil,” Hildy said evenly.

“I don’t see how it could be,” Marnie replied. “I mean, the Tortugan officials won’t even let King Bardo and Queen Ingeborg bring Torquil a minibar or personal chef to the jail. From all accounts, it’s been ugly.”

Now Hildy made a face. “Torquil will survive. We’ll let Jerry Turner handle it. He has a winter home down there somewhere. It’ll be like a paid vacation for him.”

Marnie started to object again, but was halted by Hildy’s raised hand.

“Louisa Fairchild has shot someone,” her boss told her.

Marnie’s mouth fell open and the forgotten shoe heel tumbled completely from her hand. Though, honestly, she didn’t know why she should be surprised. Louisa Fairchild was one of Division’s most crotchety clients, even living half a world away in Australia. One of their newer clients, she’d zoomed straight to the top of their list of High Maintenance Accounts. Even Prince Torquil’s martini deprivation paled in comparison. But then, Louisa Fairchild’s level of difficulty was pretty legendary, extending beyond the Thoroughbred industry in which she was practically an icon. Marnie had heard tales of the grand dame when she was a child, riding dressage herself.

“What happened?” Marnie asked.

Hildy sighed and leaned back in her chair. “It’s going to be a mess. Although Louisa claims it was self-defense, there are a number of extenuating circumstances and enough he said–she said to make your brain explode. Still,” she added thoughtfully, “the man she shot…Sam somebody…it’s all in the file…was in Louisa’s house when it happened, purportedly uninvited. Unfortunately, no one can prove he wasn’t there by invitation.”

“There were no witnesses?” Marnie asked.

Hildy shook her head. “None.”

Marnie groaned. “Great. And the annual Fairchild Gala is how far off?”

Hildy’s smile was brittle. “Less than two weeks.”

Marnie nodded. Hildy was right. Prince Torquil’s snafu had nothing on a Louisa Fairchild shooting.

“You’re going to have a lot of damage control to do,” Hildy told her. “Louisa Fairchild is our first Australian client, and we’re working hard to make inroads into that country to broaden our base. And that gala she has is nationally recognized for raising hundreds of thousands of dollars for kids with special needs. If you handle this correctly, the gala will still go off without a hitch. And if Louisa comes out of this looking like the wounded party I’m confident she is, it could be just the ticket we need to expand our clientele.”

Oh, hey, no pressure there, Marnie thought. She just wished she was as confident of Louisa’s innocence as Hildy was.

Then again, Louisa was an eighty-year-old woman. What kind of man went after an eighty-year-old woman, even a cantankerous one? Of course Louisa Fairchild was the victim in this. Of course she was.

Hildy slid a manila file folder across the desk, which Marnie was confident would have all the information she needed for the case, and quickly began covering the basics. As her boss spoke, Marnie began to flip idly through the pages in the folder, realizing there was too much information to absorb casually. But, hey, that was okay—she’d have plenty of time to study it in depth on the trans-Pacific flight she would doubtless be taking within hours.

As if reading her mind—again—Hildy concluded, “Go home and pack a bag, Marnie. You’re on a three o’clock flight to Sydney.”

This was the part of the job Marnie hated most. The sudden switching of gears, the travel for which she had no time to prepare. It wasn’t unusual in public relations to experience both. Especially for a company like Division International, whose client list was overwhelmingly wealthy, pampered and used to getting their way. Of course, there had been a time in Marnie’s life when she herself had been wealthy, pampered and used to getting her way, but those days had come to an end seven years ago, when her father had lost everything—including the trust fund she’d assumed would always be there.

Marnie was about to flip the folder closed when she noticed the name at the bottom of the first page. The name of the man Louisa Fairchild had shot. The man who was, at that very moment, lying in a Sydney hospital undergoing surgery.

Sam Whittleson.

No, Marnie thought, physically shaking her head, as if that might negate what she was seeing. Oh, no. No, no, no, no, no. Not Sam Whittleson. Not any Whittleson. Not ever again.

Most especially not Daniel Whittleson. Daniel Whittleson, the only man with whom Marnie had ever come close to falling in love. Daniel Whittleson, who’d come into her life out of nowhere eight years ago and made her rethink everything she’d wanted out of life. Daniel Whittleson, who had been charming and funny and decent and sweet—or so she’d thought—and who had shown her how very good it could be between two people…before dumping her with a Dear Jane letter in which he’d made it clear she was less important to him than the horses that could make him mountains of money. Daniel Whittleson, who had made her feel cherished and loved and important…before breaking her heart in two.

Daniel Whittleson, whose father, Sam, trained horses in Australia.




Chapter Two


“Mr. Whittleson?”

Daniel glanced up from where he sat beside his father’s hospital bed. The nurse had spoken his name barely loud enough to hear it. Dressed in the traditional white uniform so many nurses in the States had abandoned in favor of brightly colored scrubs, she looked to be in her fifties and had the sort of soft, pleasant features a person liked to see in someone whose job was taking care of others.

In the same hushed tone, he said, “Yes?”

“I’m sorry to disturb you, but you have a visitor.”

“Don’t you mean my father has a visitor?”

She shook her head. “No, sir. The woman asked if a Daniel Whittleson was here. That’s you, isn’t it?”

He nodded. “Yeah, that’s me.”

But why would anyone be visiting him? he wondered as he rose to follow the nurse out. He didn’t know anyone in Hunter Valley besides his father and Sam’s handful of friends, all of whom had already called or stopped by to check on him. And he was certain there were no women in his father’s life.

“Did she give you a name?” Daniel asked.

“No, she didn’t,” the nurse told him. She stopped in the middle of the hallway and gestured toward the end. “But she’s waiting for you in the waiting room down there.”

“Thanks,” Daniel said with some distraction as he strode in that direction.

At first, he didn’t recognize the sole occupant of the room. She was standing in profile, looking out the windows, staring at the lights of the dark and half-empty parking lot beyond. She was clearly deep in thought and unaware of his arrival, something that only intensified his confusion. He was about to speak when it finally hit him—like a two-by-four to the back of the head—who she was. It was as if thinking about her yesterday had made her suddenly appear today. Except she was supposed to be an ocean—and a lifetime—removed from here.

Marnie Roberts. Good God. What the hell was she doing here?

She had changed in the almost decade since their parting. A lot. Her hair was shorter, and dressed in tailored brown trousers and a shirt the burnt sienna of autumn leaves, she looked less like the vivid, bubbly party girl he remembered and more like a sophisticated career woman. But she’d softened the attire with a necklace and bracelet made of ribbons and beads, a bit of whimsy amid the elegance, and much more in keeping with the girlish flirt fresh out of college that he’d met in San Diego.

The minute she’d breezed into the ballroom of the Coronado Hotel as he was making his way out, Daniel had been smitten. Laughing and walk-dancing in time to the music, she’d been as effervescent as the dewy flute of champagne she’d been holding. He’d watched her as she plucked a chocolate-covered strawberry from a passing waiter and lifted it to her mouth, skimming the treat along her lower lip before taking a delicate bite. As if sensing his scrutiny, she’d glanced up just as she was sinking her teeth into the berry a second time, and her enormous eyes had widened in surprise before sparkling with laughter.

Once she’d realized she had an audience, she’d finished the fruit with an erotic flair. Her eyes never leaving his, she’d flicked the tip of her tongue against the luscious half-eaten berry before dragging it along her lip again, then sucked it softly into her mouth. Daniel had never been more aroused in his life as he watched her, and he hadn’t even known her name.

She’d fixed that problem immediately, though, doing the walk-dance thing across the room to boldly introduce herself. Her short, floaty dress was the same dark green color as her eyes, and diamond and emerald solitaires winked from her ears. They’d been triple-pierced, he remembered, and coupled with the dash of silver glitter under each eyebrow, she’d looked like a wild thing bent on mischief. At that point, Daniel had been so stressed out by the upcoming race, he’d decided a little walk on the wild side was exactly what he needed.

He’d had no idea just how long and complicated a trip it would turn out to be.

For the first time since arriving in Australia, he was conscious of his appearance, and he suddenly wished it hadn’t been thirty-six hours since he’d showered and shaved and changed into the now-disheveled jeans and oatmeal-colored sweater the Southern Hemisphere winter had demanded. Then he wondered why he cared. Marnie must hate him for the way he’d ended things in San Diego. Yeah, it had been eight years since the two of them had seen each other, and they’d both doubtless changed a lot in that time. But there were some hurts that went too deep, some hurts that people never forgot—regardless of whether they’d been the one who got hurt or the one who did the hurting.

“Marnie?” he said softly.

She turned quickly at the sound of his voice. Her lips parted for a moment, as if she were going to say something, then closed again when no words emerged. She made an effort to smile, but the gesture was clearly forced, and nothing like the smiles he remembered from San Diego, so quick and free and full of spirit.

“Daniel,” she finally said, the word coming out quiet and anxious. “How’s your father?”

Still befuddled by her sudden appearance, he spoke automatically, telling her what he’d told all of his father’s callers and visitors. “He’s groggy from his meds and spends most of his time sleeping, but he’s going to be okay. The doctor said if his progress is good, he can go home in less than a week.”

She nodded, a jerky, nervous gesture. “Good. That’s good.”

He shook his head slowly, as if that might somehow clear it of the cobwebs that were growing thicker by the moment. Of all the people in the world he might have expected to run into in Pepper Flats, Marnie Roberts wouldn’t have made the list. True, the HunterValley area rivaled California’s Sonoma Valley for tourism, and Pepper Flats was the largest of many small townships in the Upper Hunter Shire. But even though it had been founded in the mid-1800s, fewer than five thousand people called the town home. It was beautiful in warmer months, nestled among parks and nature preserves, and played host to festivals celebrating the local heritage and industries—everything from wine and Thoroughbreds to antiques and crafts. During those greener times, it was a lush, tranquil agricultural region that was home to some of New South Wales’s most prominent families.

But it was winter now, so there wasn’t much reason to visit. Add to that the fact that Pepper Flats was located two hours north of Sydney, and there was even less reason to come this time of year. For Marnie Roberts, a woman Daniel had last seen on the other side of the world eight years ago, to suddenly appear here out of nowhere…

“Marnie, what are you doing here?” he asked, unable to hide his astonishment.

She stared down at her coffee, silent for a long time. Then she looked up at him again. She opened her mouth to reply, but closed it, her gaze ricocheting off his. Finally, with clear discomfort, she said, “I’m, um, in Hunter Valley on business. I, ah…I read the article in today’s paper about Sam being shot and brought here, and I, uh…” She glanced at him again, looking strangely guilty about something, then stared down at her coffee once more. “I just…I figured you might be here, and that, ah…you know…you might welcome a familiar face.”

She looked up at Daniel again, but only held eye contact for a second. “I mean, if it were me, with my dad in the hospital in a strange place, and if someone I knew—even if I hadn’t seen them for a long time, and even if that person wasn’t a close friend—was in town, I know I’d be grateful to them for stopping by. So I…you know…stopped by.”

Wasn’t a close friend, Daniel echoed to himself. Was that really the way she felt? That he wasn’t a close friend? For months after leaving San Diego—after leaving Marnie—he’d worried she loathed him. That he’d hurt her enough that she would never forgive him. And now she was telling him she simply considered him not a close friend? Had that week meant so little to her? Had it just been one of many similar weeks she’d enjoyed? Had he been one of many men to briefly share her bed? Had it been that easy for her to consider what had happened just one of those things and move on?

And if so, why did that bother him so much? Hell, hadn’t he just been thinking of that week as little more than a walk on the wild side himself? He should be relieved she felt the way she did. It meant she hadn’t been hurt deeply by what he’d done.

And why did that bother him even more?

“I know I only met your dad the one time at the track,” she continued, glancing up again…and then looking away again. “But I liked him. He was…nice to me.”

Funny, but she made it sound as if she were surprised someone would be nice to her. Daniel had gotten the impression that week in San Diego that she had more friends than she knew what to do with. Though, now that he thought about it, she’d never had to cancel any engagements to be with him. But then, that was the way with rich society girls. They didn’t worry about who they were standing up, right? But that didn’t seem like the Marnie he remembered, either.

He pushed the thoughts away. The less he remembered about that week, the better. “You made a good impression on Dad, too,” he said. Without thinking, he added, “That wasn’t always the case with the girls I dated.”

He winced inwardly after saying it. Not just because he really hadn’t wanted to dwell on their time together, but because what he said made it sound as though Marnie had been one in a long line of meaningless women. And that wasn’t true at all.

Daniel had been so focused on building his career that he’d seldom gotten involved with any women. He’d only meant that Marnie had been the kind of woman a father liked to see his son dating. Beautiful, charming, fun-loving, rich…Sam had told Daniel after meeting Marnie that he’d be a fool to let a girl like that get away. And what had Daniel done? Hell, he’d practically thrown her away. But back then, his budding reputation and career as a trainer had been what he cared about more than anything in the world. And now…

This time he was the one to look away from Marnie. Now, he felt the same way. His career was everything to him. Always had been. Always would be. It had been a long time since he’d felt poor and insignificant and unimportant. A long time since he’d known fear and insecurity and loss. Work had saved him from all those things. Work had given him everything he’d ever wanted, everything he’d needed—social standing, money in the bank, a sense of purpose and belonging. Work would take him exactly where he wanted to go—to that Thoroughbred farm with a powerhouse reputation and his name on the letterhead. Work brought success. And success brought security. Stability. Status. Daniel would never go back to his humble beginnings again.

Never.

“Daniel, why would someone shoot your father?” Marnie asked.

He sighed heavily and scrubbed a hand through his hair, feeling way more tired than a couple of nights without decent sleep should make a man feel. “I’m still not sure about the details myself,” he told her. “There are some aspects of the shooting the police aren’t willing to discuss, and some that make no sense. And Dad’s been too out of it to say much.”

“He was shot by a neighbor?” she asked. When he looked at her again, she added, “I mean, um…That was what the article in the paper said.”

He moved his hand to the back of his neck to rub at a knot of tension. “Yeah. An elderly woman named Louisa Fairchild. They’ve been arguing over rights to a lake that joins their properties for a while now, but I never thought it would escalate to something like this. She said it was in self-defense, that my father attacked her in her home. But I just don’t believe that. My father would never do something like that. And to make matters worse,” he continued, “Louisa Fairchild wants to press charges against the man she shot, wants to send my father to jail for assault and trespassing and God knows what else. It’s nuts. She’s nuts. And here I am, wanting an eighty-year-old woman to go to jail, and feeling like a louse about it.”

“Surely everything can be straightened out,” Marnie said.

He gaped at her. “Straightened out? The woman tried to kill my father, Marnie. The only way this will get straightened out is if my father fully recovers, and she pays for her crime.”

“Daniel, I didn’t mean…” Marnie sighed, sounding as weary as he was. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean for that to sound flippant. I’m sure everything will work out all right. What’s most important is that your father is going to be okay.”

“True,” Daniel agreed. “But I want Louisa Fairchild to pay for what she did, and I want her to stop trying to make my father out to be a criminal. The shooting was totally unprovoked. The woman is clearly crazy. But she’s adamant that the police arrest my father as soon as he’s coherent enough to understand the charges against him. And they haven’t ruled that out yet.”

Marnie opened her mouth to say something else, evidently thought better of it, and closed it again. But her expression was one of obvious distress, and Daniel immediately felt guilty for jumping down her throat.

“Look, you don’t have to apologize,” he said. “I’m the one who should apologize. I shouldn’t have gone off the way I did. That was uncalled-for.”

“It’s okay,” she told him. “I don’t blame you for feeling the way you do. I just…”

“What?” he asked.

But she only shook her head and left that statement unfinished, too.

Daniel sighed again. “I’m sorry,” he said, more calmly this time. “I’m just worried about my dad, and I haven’t gotten much sleep since the police called me, and the trip from Kentucky was grueling.”

Her lips parted in a little half smile at that, and she seemed to relax at the change of subject. “You’re living in Kentucky now?”

He nodded, equally grateful for another topic, if for no other reason than it took his mind off his father for a few minutes. “In Woodford County. I’m the senior trainer for Quest Stables. It’s owned by—”

“Jenna and Thomas Preston,” she finished for him.

The fact she knew surprised him. “You’re familiar with it?”

“Anyone who’s ever worked with horses is familiar with it,” she told him. “Maybe I wasn’t raised around Thoroughbreds, but the equestrian world isn’t exactly a big one.”

He eyed her intently. “I didn’t think you rode anymore.”

She eyed him back just as interestedly. “How did you know that?”

Oh, hell. He knew that because he’d met a woman a year or so after Del Mar who’d remembered encountering Daniel and Marnie at a restaurant there, and had remarked what a cute couple the two had made. She’d turned out to be a friend of Marnie’s mother and had mentioned that Marnie had given up riding, not just competitively, but completely. Daniel had never discovered why, because he’d manufactured an excuse to extract himself from the conversation before the woman could fill him in on any more about Marnie’s life. He’d finally reached a point by then where he wasn’t thinking about her every day and hadn’t wanted to lose ground.

For now, though, he only said, “I ran into a friend of your mother’s at a party in Ocala a while back, and she mentioned it.”

Marnie nodded, but didn’t seem to want to revisit the past any more than he did. She continued, rather hastily, “Not to mention Quest is the home of Leopold’s Legacy, who’s about to win the Triple Crown. And with a woman jockey, no less. But you didn’t train him,” she added, sounding a little surprised at that.

Maybe she didn’t ride anymore, but it was obvious she was still interested in the horse world. He shook his head. “No, the Prestons’ son Robbie trained Legacy.”

“Leopold’s Legacy is all over the news with the Belmont Stakes so close. I would have known where you were if I’d heard you were his trainer.”

And why did she sound as if she might have liked to know where he was? More to the point, why did it make him feel kind of good to think that might be the case?

Lack of sleep, he told himself. It did funny things to a person.

Which must have been the only reason he heard himself say, “Dad’s sleeping, and I haven’t eaten anything since this afternoon. Do you want to go down to the coffee shop and grab a late dinner?”

What the hell was he doing? Inviting Marnie to get a bite to eat? Thinking she’d actually accept him? Forget sleep deprivation. He was suffering from sleep delusion. Or maybe it was just as she’d said—that he was grateful to see a familiar face when he was going through such a stressful situation so far from home.

Incredibly, Marnie didn’t decline the invitation. She seemed about to, then, suddenly, she smiled. A smile that was equal parts happiness and melancholy, hope and regret. It was less the smile of the happy-go-lucky girl he’d known in San Diego, and more the smile of a wiser, more seasoned woman.

Finally, she said, “I haven’t had dinner yet, either. A bite to eat sounds good.”



What the hell was she doing?

As Marnie strode with Daniel through the halls of Elias Memorial Hospital, she asked herself that question and a dozen others. Why was she being so nice to him after the way he’d left her in Del Mar? Where was the outrage she was supposed to be feeling for the man who had dumped her? Why was she genuinely curious about what he’d been doing for the past eight years? Why didn’t she hate him? But hovering above all those questions was an even more important one: Why hadn’t she told him yet her real reason for being here?

She’d had hours on the plane between San Diego and Sydney to think about their upcoming meeting. But as she’d tried to figure out how she felt about Daniel Whittleson now and plan their inevitable meeting accordingly, she’d been inundated by memories of the past. When she’d finally landed in Australia, she’d had no plan of attack and felt more confused than when she’d left home.

Ultimately, she’d been forced to admit that she didn’t know how she felt about Daniel Whittleson now. She wasn’t the same person she’d been eight years ago. So much had happened since the last time she saw him, things that had changed her very core. Her father’s business had failed less than a year after her week with Daniel, something that had sent her family into a tailspin. Virtually overnight, Marnie had gone from rich to poor, from frivolous to serious, from party girl to working girl. There had been times during the trans-Pacific flight when she’d felt as if she didn’t know Daniel Whittleson at all. Not as the Marnie Roberts she was now.

After he’d left San Diego, she’d told herself that if she ever ran into him again, she’d be civil but cool. Show him that she’d put the past behind her and moved on, but that she didn’t quite forgive him for what he’d done. Instead, tonight, she’d been nervous and uncertain…and accommodating. She’d even accepted an invitation to join him for dinner. What was the matter with her?

But more important than any of that, she still hadn’t told him the reason she was in Hunter Valley. That was, after all, why she’d gone to the hospital. That and to inquire about Sam’s condition. She may have been unsure about many things with regard to Daniel, but there had been one decision she had made on the flight—to tell him immediately that she was working for Louisa Fairchild. And she’d thought it might be easier to talk to him if she went to see him as Marnie Roberts, an old acquaintance—for lack of a better word—instead of Marnie Roberts, representative of Division International, working on behalf of the woman who’d shot his father. She’d thought he might be more likely to listen to what she had to say in a less-confrontational atmosphere like the hospital than an office environment, or even his father’s house.

She’d worried, too, that Daniel wouldn’t agree to see her if she tried to set up an appointment as Louisa’s representative. And all right, she’d also thought that maybe by catching him off guard, he might be more amenable to a dialogue about the shooting that didn’t involve criminal charges.

What she hadn’t thought was that seeing him again would rouse all those old feelings from eight years ago. And not the bad ones like her turmoil at his panicked departure from her condo when he realized he was late for the race. Or, worse, the sickness that overcame her when she found his letter in her mailbox that evening after returning from the track to look for him—and not finding him. Those were the memories that should have risen most quickly, because those were the ones that had hurt so much.

Instead, she was remembering the good parts of that week. Like strolling hand in hand along Moonlight Beach in Encinitas. And tooling along Harbor Drive in her convertible with the top down. And licking the churro sugar from each other’s fingers on the patio at Café Coyote.

Then again, she thought as the images unrolled in her mind, thinking about those things now hurt even more than the memories of Daniel’s leaving did….

Oh, God. Just when she’d been feeling as though her life was finally settling down after years of struggle, why did Daniel have to walk back into it? He’d been the first of many things to go wrong eight years ago, and having him come back now made her feel as if she were going in circles, as if the bad times were just looping around to start over again. Only this time, she and Daniel weren’t two strangers meeting to embark on a week full of lovely experiences. This time, they were on opposite sides in a volatile situation that was bound to create bad feelings.

And this time, there wouldn’t be a second chance eight years down the road to meet and talk and perhaps find closure. Because after what Marnie was going to have to do, Daniel would never want to look at her again.




Chapter Three


After placing their order in the café, Marnie studied Daniel from the other side of the table and tried to figure out how to tell him she was representing Louisa.

Oh, hi, Daniel. Great to see you after all these years of not knowing where you were or what you were doing after you dumped me. But, listen, here’s the thing. It’s kind of a funny story, actually. That woman who shot and nearly killed your father? The one who wants to send him to jail? I’m supposed to make her come out smelling like a rose and see that your father is the one who ends up looking like the criminal. So how the hell are ya?

Somehow, saying something like that just didn’t seem like good PR.

Technically, she thought, she hadn’t lied to him. She was in Hunter Valley on business, and she had read about Sam’s shooting in the newspaper. In fact, everything she’d said to Daniel tonight had been true. It just hadn’t been exactly straightforward.

But, hey, he hadn’t exactly been straightforward with her eight years ago, had he? After spending a wonderful week together, he’d pretty much told her she mattered less to him than his horses. And in that same week, she’d begun to feel like Daniel Whittleson might just be The One. Her response to him was so much stronger than with other men. Other men with whom she’d spent significantly more time. She and Daniel had felt good together. They’d felt right. She’d been so sure he shared those feelings. The way he had looked at her. The things he’d said. The way he’d made her feel…

And seeing him again, Marnie realized she’d never quite stopped feeling those things for him. If she didn’t think about the way their time together had ended, she could almost imagine it was eight years ago, and the two of them were back at her condo on the beach, laughing and feeding each other shrimp and sharing the last bottle of beer in her refrigerator.

Except that Daniel didn’t look like the young, up-and-coming trainer she remembered from back then. Eight years had woven a few threads of silver into his black hair and carved faint lines around his espresso-colored eyes. Eight years had toughened his complexion to a rich bronze and roughened his hands deliciously. The years had broadened his shoulders and roped the muscles of his forearms where he’d pushed up the sleeves of his sweater. She wasn’t sure, but he seemed an inch or two taller, because she didn’t recall him being quite so…overwhelming.

A ribbon of something hot and electric uncurled in her belly as she looked at him, but it wasn’t the same heat and electricity she remembered from San Diego. She’d wanted Daniel with a young girl’s desire back then, all urgent and needy and intense. Looking at him now, she felt desire kindling again, but it was different this time. It went deeper and pulled harder and somehow felt even stronger than it had before.

How could that be? she wondered. How could she still want him? She told herself she was remembering an idealized version of him and all the good times they’d had, conveniently forgetting the very real hurt he’d left her with.

She gave herself a good mental shake. Daniel Whittleson had abandoned her. He’d hurt her. When didn’t matter. He couldn’t be trusted. Even if she forgave him for what had happened in San Diego—and she wasn’t sure she had—chances were good he hadn’t changed. If she didn’t remember anything else, she told herself, she’d damned well better remember that.

Still, she couldn’t deny that the years had wrought more than physical changes in him. He didn’t smile the same way he had then. Granted, he must have had the scare of his life finding out his father was shot. But it was more than that. There was a caution in him now that she sensed had been there for some time. And the wariness in his eyes when he looked at her hadn’t been there before. As if he wasn’t sure he could trust her.

Then again, she thought, he couldn’t trust her. Because she wasn’t being honest with him.

Straightforward, she corrected herself. She just wasn’t being straightforward.

“So what kind of work brought you to Hunter Valley?” he asked after the waitress brought their coffee. His voice still bore that trace of an accent she remembered. Not quite Australian, not quite English, not quite American, either. It was a mix of all the places he’d lived and worked, something that made him seem slightly exotic.

She chose her words carefully. “I work for Division International. It’s a San Diego PR firm.” There. That much was true.

He looked puzzled. “Public relations?”

She nodded, but didn’t elaborate.

“But your degree is in business. You told me you wanted to run an equestrian camp for at-risk kids. Take them out of depressed urban areas and put them in the countryside where they could get sunshine and fresh air and learn to ride. You said you had some trust fund money you were going to use for the start-up.”

She curled her fingers around her coffee mug, suddenly feeling a little chilly inside. “That was a long time ago,” she told him.

“It wasn’t that long.”

“Yeah, Daniel, it was.”

A lifetime ago, she thought to herself. Back when she’d been happy and felt fortunate and wanted to share that happiness and good fortune with the rest of the world.

“What happened to change your mind?” he asked.

She sighed. “Not long after you…Not long after San Diego,” she quickly amended, “my father’s business failed. We lost everything.”

Daniel lowered his coffee cup. “Everything?” he asked.

“Everything,” she told him. She glanced up to meet his gaze, found that she couldn’t hold it, and looked back down. “To pay Dad’s creditors and survive the financial loss, we had to liquidate everything. Including my trust fund, my car and Blue Boy.”

“Your horse,” he said.

She nodded.

“But you really loved that horse.”

“I did,” she agreed. “But he was worth more than twenty thousand dollars, so…”

“He had to be liquidated,” he finished for her.

“Yeah.” She tried to smile. “He was bought by a very nice man, though, as a gift for his daughter’s tenth birthday. So Blue Boy ended up with a little girl who loved him. And he loved kids.”

“He wasn’t with you, though.”

“No, he wasn’t.”

Daniel said nothing for a moment. “You had to give up a lot when your father lost his business.”

Marnie nodded. “Yeah, but losing Blue Boy was the worst of it.”

“You sure about that?”

“Totally.”

“No more big house or fancy convertible,” he reminded her.

“No.”

“No more condo on the beach.”

“No.”

“No more life of leisure.”

As if she’d ever really enjoyed that anyway, Marnie thought. “No.”

“No more dreams of equestrian camp.”

“No,” she said sadly. “Which was the second-worst thing to lose.”

He was silent again, and she suddenly wished like hell she knew what he was thinking.

“Well, at least you still had your friends,” he said.

“Yeah, at least I had that.” Hardly. It was amazing how quickly people abandoned a person when she hit a rough patch. Of course, Marnie supposed she could argue that if they’d abandoned her when she really needed them, they weren’t friends in the first place.

And really, she didn’t miss them. Not anymore. It had been difficult at first. Terrifying, actually. She and her parents had felt dazed and displaced and wondered if anything would ever feel normal again. But her father had emerged from bankruptcy with a newfound sense of purpose and, with help from friends who invested with him, started a new business from scratch. It was significantly smaller in nature than his previous one had been, but he was enjoying himself more. Her mother had become his assistant in running the small vineyard they’d purchased three years ago. It would be turning a profit for the first time this year, a very modest one, and Marnie hadn’t seen her parents so happy in a long time. In many ways, they seemed happier now than they’d been when they were on society’s A-list.

Marnie, too, had found some small degree of happiness after losing everything. No, she wasn’t following the dream she’d originally mapped out for herself, and there were times when her job drove her crazy. But she’d convinced Hildy at Division to take on a handful of small accounts that weren’t as profitable to the company but were still worthwhile—like her parents’ business—and she enjoyed working with them. The big fish on Division’s client list might be the ones who paid Marnie’s salary, but it was the small fish who brought her satisfaction. Maybe someday she’d have her own PR firm and work with causes she considered worthy. And maybe then, she’d be as happy as her parents were.

“I know public relations might seem like kind of a strange occupation for me,” she said now, “but it’s actually a good fit. I like people, and Division liked the fact that I knew so many, some of them very prominent. I’ve been doing it for more than five years now.” She sat up and lifted her chin a little defiantly as she added, “And I’m good at it, too.”

“I don’t doubt it for a minute,” Daniel said. “I’m sure you could do whatever you put your mind to.”

“Thank you.”

“It’s just that you seemed so focused on the camp for kids, that’s all.”

Marnie really didn’t want to talk about this right now. So she said, “It’s good to see you again, Daniel.”

Oh, damn, where had that come from? She really hadn’t meant to say anything like that. She really hadn’t meant to feel anything like that. But she’d be lying if she didn’t admit that she was still attracted to Daniel. The moment she’d turned to see him in the waiting room, her heart had begun to hammer, and heat had pooled low in her belly. And when he’d uttered her name in that low, soft way he used to…When she looked at his hands and remembered what they had felt like skimming over her bare skin…When she looked at his mouth and recalled the way he’d kissed her and tasted her, and all the places he’d kissed and tasted…

She halted the memories from forming, but not before they ratcheted up her body temperature a few degrees. Daniel Whittleson had been an incredible lover, had scorched her with his touch and enflamed her with his words, until she’d been unable to think about anything but him, until she could only feel him surrounding her and burying himself inside her, and…

She closed her eyes, hoping to put an end to both her distant memories and her current desires. There was no way she could allow herself to be attracted to Daniel again. It would mean risking her heart all over again, and then there was the difficult position her job had put her in.

But when she opened her eyes again, her resolve was nearly shattered. Because Daniel was looking at her as if he felt the same pull from the past that she did, as if he were remembering the same things she was remembering, as if he wanted and needed her now as much as he had then.

Very softly, he replied, “It’s good to see you, too, Marnie.”

And something inside her broke open, releasing all the feelings she’d wanted so desperately to keep locked up tight.

Oh, Daniel, she thought. Why did we have to meet again now? Why here?

She searched for something, anything, to say that might dispel the almost palpable awareness that lay between them. But all she could come up with was a very lame, “So. You, uh…you work for the Prestons. That must be interesting. They’ve bred and trained some pretty amazing horses.”

At first, she feared he would only continue to look at her with that same soulful yearning she felt so keenly herself. Finally, though, he nodded and said, “I like it very much, actually. Thomas and Jenna are good people. The whole family is.” He was thoughtful a moment, as if he still wanted to talk about himself and Marnie, then, thankfully, added, “Their son Andrew has taken over as business manager of Quest. Their son Brent is head breeder. Robbie’s turning out to be a top-notch trainer after years of Jenna and Thomas worrying he’d never figure out what he wanted to do with his life. And Melanie just made history as the first female jockey to win the Kentucky Derby and the Preakness. Quest Stables is a wonderful place to work. And Kentucky’s a gorgeous state.”

Marnie forced a smile she hoped looked genuine. “I imagine it’s very different from some of the other places you’ve lived. I mean, a guy who followed his dad to jobs in Australia and England and Canada when he was a teenager, settling in a quiet state like Kentucky? Who would’ve guessed?”

“It’s different from those places in some ways, yeah,” he agreed. “But I like it as well or better than any of them.” He hesitated a moment before adding, “Though it always feels good to come back to Australia. I was born here, even if I moved back to Ohio with my mom before I started school, so I guess, technically, it’s home.”

They spent the next hour in companionable conversation, only skimming the surface of whatever they might actually be thinking or feeling, at least on Marnie’s part. But she was grateful for it. For now, at least, they both seemed willing to let whatever lay in the past stay there. She’d worry about the future when it came. And she’d worry about the past some other time. For this evening, she was content to just reacquaint herself with Daniel. Even if it was only superficially. And even if it wouldn’t last.

Gosh, just like old times.

After finishing dinner, they returned to Sam’s hospital room to check on him, but he’d just been given a sedative and the nurse said he was expected to sleep through the night with no change. Daniel double-checked to be sure the hospital had his cell number, then said he’d be at his father’s house if there were any developments.

He turned to Marnie. “Where are you staying?”

“I’m staying here in Pepper Flats, actually,” she said. “At the Wallaroo Inn.”

“How long will you be in town?”

Not an easy question to answer, Marnie thought—honestly or dishon…uh, not straightforwardly. As long as it took to clear Louisa’s name and ensure that the Fairchild Gala went off without a hitch. Hopefully, that wouldn’t take long. But how was Marnie supposed to answer him honestly without revealing the nature of her job? And why was she putting off telling him when he was bound to find out anyway? Especially since his question provided her with a perfect opening?

“I…” She hesitated a moment, telling herself to just spit out the truth and be done with it. Instead, she heard herself say, “Not long.”

And she hoped like hell that Louisa did what Marnie told her to do so they could put this all behind them and Marnie could go back to San Diego. Otherwise, she’d just told Daniel a lie. The only lie she’d ever told him, and she hoped it was the last one.

“I’m staying at my dad’s place,” he said. “He has a spread called Whittleson Stud about a half hour from here. Can I give you a lift back to the hotel? Or do you have a car?”

“I have a car,” she told him. “But I took a cab to the hospital because I didn’t want to have to navigate the town my first night here after such a long flight.”

He looked at her with surprise, and at first, she didn’t know why.

“You just got here today?”

She nodded reluctantly.

“And you came to the hospital before doing anything else?”

She nodded again, even more reluctantly. He was going to think there was something suspicious about that.

Instead, he smiled and that ribbon of heat unfurled in her once more. But it was replaced by guilt when he added, “That was nice of you, Marnie. I didn’t realize you thought so highly of my dad.”

Yeah, that was her, she thought. Always thinking of her clients’ shooting victims first.

“The least I can do is give you a ride back then,” he offered. “No sense paying for a taxi if you don’t have to.”

Marnie knew she should decline, but the prospect of spending a little more time with Daniel won out. “Thanks,” she said. “I appreciate it.”



For perhaps the hundredth time in as many minutes, Daniel asked himself what the hell he thought he was doing. This time, though, he did it twice—one what-the-hell for driving Marnie back to her hotel, and another what-the-hell for insisting he follow her up to her room to make sure she arrived safely. A woman traveling alone couldn’t be too careful, he’d told her. Even in small towns.

But he knew that was only part of the reason. In spite of having spent the last eight years trying to forget about her, he realized he was still powerfully attracted to Marnie Roberts. Maybe even more than he’d been in San Diego. He’d been a kid in San Diego, uncertain of himself and not especially confident where women were concerned. He’d always told himself that was why he’d fallen so hard for Marnie in the first place—because he’d been so inexperienced, and she’d seemed so sophisticated. But his experiences since then had only made him realize tonight just how special Marnie Roberts was, and how lucky he’d been to meet her when he did.

Not much had changed in that regard, he thought. She was still special. And he still felt lucky to have met her.

The dazzling, effervescent girl had blossomed into a stunning, elegant woman. As they’d chatted tonight, Daniel had been transfixed by her. By the changes in her. She seemed so much more confident, so much more poised than she had been before. Stronger. More seasoned. More womanly. She appealed to him in ways she hadn’t before. Probably because he’d changed so much himself.

Now, as he stood behind her and watched her slip her key card into the lock of the hotel-room door, he didn’t know what to say. What to do. How to act. He watched as the little green light flashed, followed by the click that said everything was okay. But nothing felt okay. And instead of signaling a go-ahead, the green light seemed to be a warning of some kind. Whether it was trying to warn Marnie or him, he couldn’t have said.

The room was dark when she pushed the door open, and she mumbled something about having wished she’d turned a light on before she left.

“I’ll get it,” he volunteered. And before she had a chance to decline, he was pushing into the room past her, trying not to notice the soft swish and click of the door as it closed behind them, throwing them into darkness.

Well, not complete darkness, he realized, since the curtains were open and the scattered lights of Pepper Flats lay beyond—not as bountiful as they would be in a big city, but glittery enough to look as if someone had tossed a handful of diamonds onto a black velvet background. He and Marnie were, however, utterly alone.

And before he realized what he was doing, Daniel heard himself say, “Marnie, I’m sorry about the way things turned out in Del Mar.”

She said nothing at first, only strode across the room and stared out the window beside him. Although he couldn’t see her well in the darkness—he still hadn’t switched on a light…but then, neither had she—he imagined her expression was probably much the same as it had been in the hospital waiting room. A little preoccupied, a little anxious, a little confused.

Finally, very softly, she said, “Are you?”

He expelled a long breath. “Yeah. I am. I shouldn’t have left you that letter the way I did. I should have explained things to you face-to-face.”

“Yes, you should have.” She hesitated before adding, “Is that the only reason you’re sorry?”

She wasn’t going to make this easy, was she? Then again, he didn’t deserve for her to make it easy. Hell, he’d brought this on himself by wading into the past in the first place, when he should have remained rooted in the present, where they had both seemed content to stay all evening. In spite of that, he added, “No. That’s not the only reason. I also should have explained things better than I did.”

Still staring out the window, she said quietly, “Oh, I think you explained pretty well. Your horses meant more to you than I did. End of story. It was good that you told me when you did, instead of leading me on.”

“Marnie, that—” He halted abruptly, before he made things even worse. Was that what she’d thought after reading his letter? That she’d meant less to him than the animals he trained? Just the opposite had been true. That was why he’d had to leave the way he did—because Marnie was becoming so important to him, she was making him forget all the reasons he needed to succeed. But if that was the way she’d been feeling all this time, she wasn’t going to change her mind just because he told her otherwise.

Ah, hell, he thought. Why had he even taken them down this road? Hoping to salvage what he could of the conversation, he said, “That week just didn’t end up the way it was supposed to. I…”

Finally, she turned to look at him, but her face was still in shadow, telling him nothing of what she might be thinking or feeling. “You…what?” she asked, her voice completely void of emotion.

“I don’t know,” he said honestly. “What happened between us in San Diego…It just came out of nowhere. I was totally unprepared for it.”

“I wasn’t prepared for it, either, Daniel.”

“I wasn’t looking to get involved with anyone,” he said.

“Neither was I.”

“I was just starting out in my career.”

“I hadn’t even begun mine.”

“And I just wasn’t ready, that was all.”

She was silent for a moment more, then repeated, quietly and carefully, “That was all?”

He knew it sounded lame, but he nodded anyway. “Yeah. I was just a kid eight years ago, Marnie. We both were. Can’t I just say I’m sorry and let it go at that?”

She made a sound that was something between a humorless chuckle and a tsk of resignation. “You know, even without the apology, I had let it go, Daniel. Until I saw you tonight. And then, it was like I relived that whole week in ten seconds’ time. But what was really strange was that, by the time we finished dinner, I’d almost forgotten about how it ended in San Diego. It felt like we were back there again, a few days before the end, and everything was fine.”

Wow, she’d felt that, too? He’d experienced the same thing. That was why he’d offered to drive her back to her hotel, why he’d wanted to walk her to her room, why he’d apologized for what had happened, as if it were some minor transgression that could be excused with a heartfelt I’m sorry. And it was why—

Well. It was why he suddenly wanted to do a lot of things he knew he had no business doing. Which was all the more reason he couldn’t do any of them.

“But we’re not back there, are we?” she asked more softly. “And we can never go back there again. It’s ridiculous to think otherwise.”

She was right. He knew she was. But he wasn’t ready to leave it behind just yet. She would probably only be in Hunter Valley for a little while. He might not see her again after tonight. So he turned to stare out the window again, thinking it might be easier to talk to her if he weren’t looking at her. And he searched for the right words to say.

“You know, when you think about it, the two of us never really learned that much about each other that week. I knew you were rich and had just graduated from college and what you wanted to do with your future. But I didn’t know much about your life’s experiences—what made you the way you were.”




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