"Yeah." He blew out a stream of breath. "I guess I should go apologize to that girl of yours."

"Leave it. She can take a lump."

He smiled again. "She wanted to give me a few. Christ, she's got your eyes. I don't have a lot of regrets about things I haven't done, Naomi. In fact, I can count the big ones on one hand. I've never made a pilgrimage to Israel, never walked in the footsteps of my ancestors on either side. And I never made a child with you."

Her hands stopped, and he reached back and gripped them hard. "I'm sorry."

"No." She lowered her head so that her cheek rested on his hair. "Don't be. Why are there so seldom second chances on the big ones, Moses?"

Rich was thinking the same thing. Second chances were as rare as hens' teeth. It was a lucky man who could snare one. Rich Slater was a lucky man.

He put two grand on the trifecta at Laurel and moseyed back to the bar. Mostly, trifectas were a sucker's game, but he was on a roll.

Sticking with the ponies, he thought. The hell with cards, fuck point spreads. The horses were his babies now.

He ordered another bourbon, his new, sentimental drink of choice, then drew out a five-dollar cigar.

The lighter that flared under it caused his brows to rise. Rich puffed the cigar into life, then swiveled to smile affably at his son. "Well now, just like old times. Bring my boy here one of the same," he ordered the bartender.

Gabe merely held up a finger. "Coffee, black."

"Shit." Rich drew the word out to three syllables. "Don't be such a pussy, boy. I'm buying."

"Coffee," Gabe repeated, then studied his father. He knew the signs: flushed cheeks, bright eyes, big toothy smile. Rich Slater was not only half drunk, but he had money in his pocket.

"I thought you had trouble coming out from Chicago."

"Got that all straightened out. Don't you worry about me, Gabe. Everybody knows old Rich Slater's good for his markers."

"Oh?" Gabe lifted a brow. "I thought the trouble had something to do with dealing from the bottom of the deck."

Was that what he'd told the boy? Rich wondered, and searched back through his soggy memory. Well, it didn't matter. "Just a difference of opinion, that's all. All tidied up now. This here's my race." He gestured toward the monitor. "Number three," he muttered. "Yeah, number three."

Gabe glanced up at the screen just as the gate sprang open. "I've heard you've been playing the track again."

"Come on, baby, hug that rail. Where'd you hear that?"

"Here and there. Somebody spotted you at Churchill Downs on Derby day."

Rich continued to watch the race, urging his horse on with little jerks of his body. His mind was working, though, picking carefully through the minefield Gabe was setting for him.

"He's got it. He's got it! Now, come on, wire. Ha! Son of a bitch, I can pick 'em." Pleased that the first horse on his ticket had come in a winner, he signaled for another drink. "I've got the touch, Gabe, I've always had the touch."

"What kind of touch did you have in Kentucky last month?"

"Kentucky." The broad, amiable grin only widened. "I haven't been down in Kentucky for oh, five, six years or more. Shoulda stuck with the horses, though, that's the truth."

"I saw you myself, the morning of the race."

Not by a flicker did Rich show reaction. His eyes stayed on his son's. "I don't think so, buddy boy. I've got me a nice set of rooms outside Baltimore. All the action I need is within an easy drive. Pimlico, Laurel, Charles Town. Now, maybe you're thinking of Pimlico, the Preakness. I was there. Sure was."

He winked. "Had some money down on your colt, too. You didn't let me down. Maybe, seeing as I'm rolling hot, I'll take a trip up to Belmont. Think you can cop the whole Crown, do you, Gabe? You do, we'll have ourselves a real celebration."

"There was trouble at the Derby."

"I know about that. Shocked I was, too, sitting in my room watching it on TV. Crying shame to see a horse go down that way." He shook his head sadly over his drink. "Damn shame. But then, it didn't hurt you any, did it?"

"Somebody helped that horse go down."

Lips pursed around his cigar, Rich nodded. "Now, I heard about that, too. Nasty business. Christ knows it happens." He reached for the beer nuts, popped two in his mouth. Gabe noticed he was wearing a ring on his pinky, little diamonds shaped into a dollar sign.

"Oh, not as much as it used to," Rich went on. "Harder to get away with pumping a horse up with chemicals these days." He puffed out smoke, amusing himself by stringing Gabe along. "Now, back in the days when your granddaddy and me used to play the ponies, there were plenty of tricks. Didn't have so many tests then, so many fucking rules on the horses and the jocks. But that was forty years ago and more." He sighed reminiscently. "Too bad you never got to know your granddaddy, Gabe."

"Too bad he got a bullet in the brain over a ... difference of opinion."

"That's the truth," Rich said, with no sarcasm. He was a man who'd loved his daddy. "It's like I always tried to teach you, son, sometimes cheating's just part of the game. It's a matter of skill and timing."

"And sometimes it's a matter of murder. A horse, a man. One's not so different from the other to some people."

"Some horses I've liked better than some men."

"I remember another race, in Lexington. I was just a kid." Gabe picked up his cooling coffee, watching his father over the rim. "But I remember you were nervous. It wasn't that hot. The Bluegrass Stakes is in the spring. But you were sweating a lot. You had me working the stands, looking for loose change, panhandling. A horse broke down that day, too."

"Happens." He turned back to the monitor. Despite the chill from the air-conditioning, the back of his neck was damp. "I've seen it happen plenty in my day."

"It was a Chadwick horse then, too."

"No shit? Well, that's bad luck. Hey, can't you see I'm dry here?" Rich slapped a hand on the bar.

"A jockey hanged himself over it. As I recall, we didn't stick around long after that race. A few days, that's all. That was funny, too, because our room was paid up."

"Itchy feet. I've always had them."

"You were flush after that. The money didn't last long. It never did, but you had a nice fat roll when we headed out."

"I must have bet some winners that day."

"You're on a roll now, too, aren't you? New suit, gold watch, diamond ring." He picked up Rich's hand. "Manicure."

"You got a point here, boy?"

Braced against the stench of bourbon, Gabe leaned closer. His voice was low, icily control led. "You'd better hope I don't find out you were in Kentucky on the first Saturday in May."

"You don't want to threaten me, Gabe."

"Oh yes, I do."

With fear and rage circling through his system, Rich picked up his fresh drink. "You want to back off is what you want to do. You want to let things lie and get your mind on that horse you're running next week. Keep your mind on that and on that pretty blond filly you're banging."

In a flash, Gabe had a hand wrapped around the knot of his father's new silk tie. The bartender hustled over.

"We don't want any trouble here."

"No trouble." Rich grinned into Gabe's face. "No trouble at all. Just a family discussion. That's a prime piece you're putting it to, son. Blue blood. I bet a thoroughbred like that's got plenty of kick, and lots of endurance. Maybe it's time she met your dear old daddy."

Gabe's hand ached with the pressure of making a fist. The fist ached to connect. Yet no matter how repugnant, there was no escaping the fact that the man was his father. "Keep away from her," Gabe said quietly.

"Or?"

"I'll kill you."

"We both know you haven't got the guts for that. But we'll make a deal. You keep out of my business, I keep out of yours." Rich smoothed down his tie when Gabe allowed him to jerk free. "Otherwise I might just have me a nice long talk with your pretty lady. I'd bet we'd have lots to talk about."

"Keep away from what's mine." Gabe took out a bill and put it on the counter beside the coffee he'd barely tasted. "Keep far away from what's mine."

"Kids." Rich beamed a fresh smile at the nervous bartender when Gabe strode away. "They just never learn respect." He picked up his drink, tried to ignore the fact that his hand was unsteady. "Sometimes you just got to pound it into them," he muttered.

Nursing his drink, he turned back to the monitor and waited for his horse to come in.

It was nearly dusk when Kelsey walked out of the barn for the last time. She'd put in a backbreaking twelve hours, hauling manure and straw, scrubbing down concrete, polishing tack. Now every muscle in her body was weeping. All she wanted was a blissfully hot bath and oblivion.

"Want a beer?" Moses sat on a barrel, two cold bottles dangling from his fingers. He'd been waiting for her.

"No." She gave him a nod as frosty as the brews. "Thanks."

"Kelsey." He held a bottle up. "I couldn't find my peace pipe."

Reluctant, she gave in and accepted one. She'd have preferred a gallon of water, but the beer washed away the taste of dirt and sweat just as well.

Moses narrowed his eyes at the purpling bruise on her upper arm. "What happened there? Pacer take a bite?"

"That's right. So?"

"You're not going to be able to stay pissed off at me for long. I'm too charming."

Kelsey drank again. "No, you're not."

"Works with your mother," he grumbled. "Listen, I think you screwed up, and I let you know it. Now I'm telling you you've done a good job. And not just today. For the most part."

"For the most part?"

"That's right. You learn fast, and you don't make the same mistake twice, but you still need somebody looking over your shoulder. You've got a temperament problem, but we're used to that around here, between the horses and your mother."

"My-" Her jaw dropped. "My mother."

"She can be a mule when it suits her. Not that she flies off the handle much now the way she did when she was younger. I'm sorry about that sometimes." He looked down at his boots. "Damn sorry about that. It's not that they broke her, but they changed her. Toughened her, I guess, so she learned how to pull in. I came down on you today more because of her than because of the job."

"I don't understand."

"If you turn away from her now, it'll kill her. She wouldn't want me to say it, but I'm saying it. There's nothing that means more to me in this world than Naomi. I don't want to see her hurt again."

"I'm not turning away. I'm not trying to hurt her. That may be a lot for you to take on faith, but I wish you would. I wish you could."

"You know, I figure anybody who can purge a horse and not run for cover's got to be trusted. See you in the morning."

"Sure." She started away, then looked over her shoulder. "It's a pretty evening."

"It is that."

"Women like to walk in the moonlight."

"I've heard that."

"There should be plenty of it in a couple of hours." Satisfied, Kelsey continued toward the house. She'd done her job, all around, she decided. Now she was going to let Gertie stuff her with anything available in the kitchen, then soak out all the aches in a marathon bath.

An hour later, she was dozing amid a swirl of bubbles and scent. Her world had smoothed out again.

She was in the middle of a lazy yawn when the door opened.

"Gabe." Flustered, she scooted up, spewing froth dangerously close to the rim of the tub. "What ar e you doing?"

"Gertie told me I'd find you up here." He hooked his thumbs in his belt loops and simply enjoyed the view. "I was going to get you and bring you home with me. But it doesn't look like you're dressed for the ride."

"I often bathe naked. It's a habit of mine."

"How about I wash your back, and any other hard-to-reach places?"

"I can handle it." She pushed her hair out of her eyes and struggled not to give in to the urge to cross her arms over her bubble-bedecked breasts. "Listen, why don't you wait downstairs until I'm finished?"

He considered, then shook his head and began unbuttoning his shirt. "Nope. I'm coming in."

"You are not. We're in my mother's house, for God's sake."

"She's not here."

"That's not the point." Hurriedly, she scooped her bangs out of her eyes. "Keep that shirt on, Slater.

Gertie's downstairs," she hissed.

"She'll have to stay there. There isn't room in that tub for the three of us." He tossed his shirt aside and sat down to pry off his boots.

"It's not a joke. It's just not appropriate."

"I need you, Kelsey."

Her protest turned into a sigh. She could see it now, the tension in the set of his shoulders. It was all but coming off him in waves. "Dammit," she murmured. "Lock the door."

"I already did."