She stumbled as she turned away from the butler. Then she went the wrong way down the hall, heading toward the public rooms of the house. Before Mr. Harris called that to her attention, she doubled back, found a door to the outside, and broke out"

Right into the garden.

Right below Lanes bedroom window.

Putting her hands to her face, she remembered how he had kissed her two nights after she had sat with him in his bedroom.

She had been the one to seek him out" and there hadnt been any flower excuse that time: She had waited for as long as shed been able to stand it, and then shed deliberately gone to his room at the end of her work day to see how he was doing, what was going on, whether there had been any resolution.

{ 67 }.

Nothing had made it into the press at that point. All that coverage had come later, after Edward had finally come home.

That second time shed gone to his bedrom, she had knocked more softly" and after a moment, he had opened the way in . . . and she could still picture how much he had aged. Hed been gaunt, unshaven, with black circles under his eyes. He had changed his clothes, although they were just different versions of what he had always worn: A monogrammed button- down" except it was untucked on one side. Expensive slacks"

except they were creased at the bend of the pelvis and unpressed at the heads of the knees. Gucci loafers" no, hed only had dark socks on.

And all that pretty much told her what she needed to know.

Come with me, shed said to him. You need to get out of this room.

In a hoarse voice, hed asked her what time it was, and shed told him it was after eight. When hed looked confused, shed had to clarify that it was at night.

She had led him down the back stairs as if he were a child, taking him by the hand, talking about nonsense. The only thing he said was that he didnt want anyone to see him" and she had made sure that happened, directing him away from the talk in the dining room, keeping him safe from prying eyes.

As she had drawn him out into the warm night, she had heard laughter from where dinner was being eaten in that grand formal room.

How could they do that? shed wondered. Chatter on as if there were nothing wrong . . . as if one of them werent far, far away, in danergous hands.

At the time, she had had no idea what she was doing with Lane or why she cared so much that he was suffering. She only knew that the one- dimensional playboy shed written off as a waste of privilege had become human, and his pain mattered to her.

They hadnt gone far. Just down the brick walkway, in between the flowering shrubs and beds and over to the gazebo in the gardens far corner.

They had sat together and not said much. But when she had reached for his hand, he had taken what she offered and held on tight.

{ 68 }.

And when he had turned to her, she had known what he wanted"

and it wasnt talking. There had been a moment of traffic jam in her head, all kinds of whoa, wait, stop, too far . . .

But then she had leaned in and their lips had touched.

The thoughts had been so complicated. The connection had been so simple.

But it hadnt stayed that way. He had grabbed her, and she had let him. He had put his hands into her clothes, and she had let him.

Somewhere in the middle of it all, she had realized that shed hated him because she was attracted to him. Crazy attracted. And she had watched him in the pool that afternoon, although there had been so much more than that: Every time he had come to the house or left, she had tried to get a look at him" even though she would have denied it to anyone and everybody. News that he was imminently arriving at East- erly had had the ability to electrify her, and his departures had subdued her. And the pathetic reality was that she had envied those women, those dumb blondes with their perfect bodies and their Southern drawls who had put the proverbial revolving door to his bedroom to good use.

The truth that she had not wanted to admit to herself was that she would have found something to dislike in him no matter what his demo- graphics had been.

It hadnt been about his money, his old family, the multiple women, his too- good looks or too- slick smile.

What she had hated about him was how he made her feel. The vulnera- bility had been a vicious intruder into her life, an unwelcome houseguest that had moved in, and traveled with her to work, and dogged her even in her dreams.

In retrospect, she should have listened to that fear. Chosen that in- stinct over the incredible attraction.

Life wasnt always that proactively wise, however.

Sometimes you didnt heed the warning signs, and you put the pedal to the metal, and you went screaming around the blind turn.

She still had pain from the crash, that was for sure.

{ 69 }.

EIGHT.

Red & Black Stables, Ogden County, KY A s the sun began to set, its golden rays penetrated Stable Bs open bay, spilling onto the broad concrete aisle and leaving a trail of pure magic through which hay and dust particles ambled. The rhythmic sound of a box broom whisking down the way brought out the mares heads, their intelligent eyes and graceful muzzles popping for- ward in inquiry.

Edward Westfork Bradford Baldwine went slow on the sweeping, his body not what it once had been. And the effort wasnt all that bad, the constant pain he was in ceding to the gentle exercise. The chronic discomfort would return, however, as soon as he stopped or fell into a different series of movements.

He had become used to that.

The combination of muscles and bones and organs that supported his brain on its journey through this current mortal incarnation was a machine that no longer made transitions well. It much preferred en- { 70 }.

trenched activity, repeated effort in a prescribed fashion or sustained rest in any position. His physical therapists, a.k.a. the Sadists, told him to stay active with varied pursuits, rather like, as they had explained, someone who was having to rewire their brain through occupational therapy.

The more he kept changing things up, the better for his recovery.

He always put that word in quotation marks. True recovery to him was a return to what he had been" and that was never going to happen even if he were able to walk right, eat right, sleep through the night.

There was no going back to that other person, who had been a younger, better- natured, better- looking version of himself.

He hated the Sadists, but they were just part of a long list of things for which he held enmity. And this broken body they seemed so intent on rehabbing was simply not getting with the program. Hed been at it for how long? And still the pain, all the time the pain, to the point where it was hard to gather the energy to break through that wall of fire and get to where he was in this moment, where things were working in some semblance of order.

It was as if he were meeting the same mugger in every alley he tried to go down.

He sometimes wondered if he would feel less worn out if it were a different criminal from time to time, a different foe making off with his quality of life.

The robberies had been from a consistent thief, however.

What are you doing, girl? He paused to stroke a black muzzle.

You good?

After a chuffing reply from the thoroughbred, Edward kept going.

The breeding season had gone very well, and he had ninety percent of his twenty- three mares in foal. If all went as planned, their babies would be born the following January, critical for ensuring start- of- the- year birth dates: For racing, the clock began ticking by the calendar, not the actual drop date" so if you wanted the future three- year- old youd run in the Derby to be as mature and strong as possible? You better get those mares foaling no later than March for their nearly year- long pregnancies.

{ 71 }.

Most racing people operated in a stratified system where the breed- ers were separate from the yearling breakers, who were different from the track trainers. But he had enough money and time on his hands so that he not only bred, but ushered his horses through elementary school here on his farm, to middle school at a center hed bought last year, to the booking blocks of stalls at Steeplehill Downs in Charlemont and Garland Downs in neighboring Arlington, Kentucky.

The money required for his breeding and racing operation was as- tronomical, and any return on investment was a hypothetical" which was why syndicates of investors were typically formed to spread the fi- nancial exposure and risk. He, on the other hand, didnt do syndicates.

Co-investors. Partners.

He hadnt lost anything yet. In fact, he was almost making money.

His operation, in the last year and a half, had produced remarkable results" all thanks to Nebekanzer, his stallion, who happened to be the biggest, meanest sonofabitch anyone had ever come across. That nasty bastard bred fast sons and daughters, though" something he had dis- covered when hed moved here to the Red & Blacks caretakers cottage and bought the four- hooved spawn of the devil and three of Nebs two-year progeny at auction. The following year? All three descendants had won more than two hundred grand apiece by April, and one of them had been second in the Derby, third in the Preakness, and first in the Belmont.

And that had been his farm off to the races, as they say. This year, he was slated to do even better. He had two horses in the Derby.

Both from Nebs loins.

He couldnt say that his heart was in the business, but it certainly was better than sitting around and ruminating on everything he had lost.

Just like all those racehorses, he had been bred, born, and trained for a given future: to take over the Bradford Bourbon Company. But like a thoroughbred who had broken his leg, that was no longer his future.

Buenas noches, jefe.

Edward nodded at one of his eleven stable hands. Hasta manana.

{ 72 }.

He resumed his sweeping, ducking his head"

Jefe, hay algo aqui.

Who?

No se.

Edward frowned and used the broom as a cane, limping down to the open bay. Outside, on the circular drive, a two- acre- long black limou- sine was rolling to a halt over in front of Barn A.

Moe Brown, the stable manager, walked out to the monstrosity, the mans long strides eating up the distance. Moe was sixty, lanky as a fence rail, and smart as a mathematician. He also had the eye: That guy could pretty much tell a horses future from the moment the animal stood up on its hooves for the first time. It was spooky" and invaluable in the business.

And he was slowly but surely teaching his secrets to Edward.

Edwards innate knack, on the other hand, was the breeding. He just seemed to know which bloodlines to cross.

As Moe stopped at the limo, a uniformed chauffeur got out and went around to the rear doors" and Edward shook his head when he saw what emerged.

The Pendergasts were sending in the heavy guns.

The forty-ish woman emerging from the vehicles backseat was thinner by three times than even Moe, dressed in pink Chanel, and had more hair than what was in Nebs entire tail. Beauty- queen pretty, pam- pered as a Pomeranian, and with a will to give those Steel Magnolias a run for their money, Buggy Pendergast was used to getting her way.

For example, about five years ago shed played her hand and gotten one of the scions of an old oil family to throw out his perfectly good first wife in favor of her. And ever since then shed been dumping his money into thoroughbreds.

Edward had already told her no three times over the phone.

No syndicates. No co-investors. No partners.

He bred for himself and no one else.

The man who got out after Buggy was not her husband, and given the briefcase he was holding, one had to assume he was an accountant of { 73 }.

some kind. Certainly wasnt a security guard. Too short, and those glasses were a testosterone drain if Edward had ever seen one.

Moe started jawing with them, and Edward could tell it was not going well. Then things went from bad to worse when that briefcase got summarily laid on the hood of the limousine and Buggy opened it with a flourish" like she was lifting up her skirt and expecting everyone to moan with approval.

Edward came out into the late sunshine with his broom- cane and his bad mood. As he approached, Buggy didnt look over. And when he stopped behind Moe, she gave him nothing but a glare" as if she didnt appreciate a stable hand playing witness to all this.

" quarter of a million dollars, she said, and Im leaving with my colt.

Moe moved the piece of straw he was chewing on to the other side of his mouth. Dont think so.

I have the money.

Yall need to leave the property"

Where is Edward Baldwine! I demand to speak with"

Im right here, Edward said in a low voice. Moe, Ill handle this.

And the Lord grants us small miracles, the man muttered as he walked off.

As Buggys colored contacts went up and down Edwards body, even her Botoxed face strained with the shock she clearly felt. Edward . . .

you look . . .

Smashing, I know. He nodded at the money. Close that ridiculous show up, get back in your vehicle and go on about your business. I told you over the phone, I do not sell my stock.

Buggy cleared her throat. I, ah, I heard what happened to you. I didnt realize, however"

The plastic surgeons did a fine job with my face, dont you think.

Ah . . . yes. Yes, they did.

But enough of catching up. You are leaving.

Buggy pinned a smile on her face. Now, Edward, how long have our families gone back?