His jeans joined hers on the floor, then he was easing himself into the steamy water behind her. His arms encircled her waist. He buried his face in her hair.

"God." He drew in her scent, wallowed in her texture while he fought off the fury that had roiled inside him since the confrontation with his father.

He needed it to go away, just for an hour. She could do that for him. She could do anything for him.

"Gabe, tell me what's wrong."

"Ssh." He slicked his hands up to the slippery curve of her breasts, skimmed wet fingertips over her nipples. "Just let me touch you. I only need to touch you."

He drowned her in tenderness. He'd never been so gentle before, so patient, so careful. With her leaning against him he did only what he'd said he'd needed. Only touched her. Fingers sliding along a long thigh, skimming down from knee to calf, flowing up again to dip inside her so that the heat melted her bones.

Shuddering, she tried to turn to face him, but he pressed her back. "Not yet." His mouth danced over her glistening shoulder, along the nape of her neck where falling tendrils curled damply.

So she surrendered, more completely than she had before, letting his hands take her where he chose.

Water lapped, bubbles dissolved. Each time she climaxed, felt her body tighten, tremble, explode, she was sure it was the last. Yet he slowly, patiently, quietly, built a new fire.

She could float on the smoke of it, drift, deaf to her own throaty moans. When at last he shifted her, letting water spill carelessly over the rim, over the tiles, she sank back through the clouds of smoke, into the flames.

CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

THAT HORSE WAS NOT GOING TO WIN. RICH HELPED HIMSELF TO Cunningham's scotch.

After all, a man shouldn't get himself hung up on one kind of liquor. Or one kind of woman. Or one kind of game.

The boy had never understood that, he thought as he downed a double and poured another. He'd never been able to teach that little son of a bitch anything.

Well, he was going to teach him now. Good and proper.

There would be no Triple Crown this year. No, indeed. He was going to see to that. He'd come to do a job, and if it turned out it had the benefit of a little personal revenge, so much the better.

He settled into Cunningham's easy chair, propped his shiny new Gucci loafers on the footstool. And smiled. This was the life for him, all right. Lord of the manor. A fine house in the country, a couple of spiffy cars in the garage, a hungry woman in bed.

He was going to have it too. Once he tied up this last loose end, he was taking his winnings out to Vegas. They knew him in Vegas. Yes, sir, they knew good old Richie Slater in that town. He'd be a high roller, penthouse suite at Caesars, a top-heavy babe hanging on his arm.

When he'd cleaned up there, he'd buy himself a house. Maybe right in Nevada, come to that. One of those fancy digs with cactus and palm trees and a pool in the backyard. Then when the urge struck him, or the level got low in his billfold, he'd just slip on into town and clean up again.

He sat there, dreaming a bit about a wheel that always spun to his tune and cards that fell like angels into his hand.

"What the hell are you doing?" Flushed and breathless, Cunningham stood in the doorway. Rather than the commanding tone he'd hoped for, his voice came out in a squeak.

"Hey there, Billy boy. All finished talking with your partners? Word is you're syndicating that filly for a million flat."

"That's my business." The deal was nearly set, and nothing, nothing, he promised himself, was going to interfere. There was a loan to pay off, and it was nearing deadline. "You got your money, Slater. You and I are done."

Lips puckered, Rich contemplated his last swallow of scotch. "Now, that's downright unfriendly, Billy."

"What are you doing in my house?"

"Can't an old pal drop by for a visit?" He grinned guilelessly. "That pretty little bed-warmer of yours was a lot more welcoming when she let me in. On her way out shopping, she said. Down to Neiman Marcus. Needless Markup, that is. Get it?" He chuckled at his own wit.

"Marla," Cunningham said with what dignity he could muster, "is my wife."

"No shit?" After slapping himself on the knee, Rich rose to pour another drink. "Got yourself a ball and chain with first-class tits, did you? Well, congratulations, Billy boy. You're a bigger fool than anybody could've guessed."

If he wasn't a fool now, Cunningham thought, he'd certainly been one when he'd slid back into a deal with Rich Slater. But now, and from now on, everything was legitimate. The syndication deal, which Cunningham had just shaken hands on down at his barn, was every bit as big as Rich had heard. So it was time, way past the time, to cut old ties. All of them.

"I'm going to ask you to leave, Rich. We're square, you and me, and it isn't smart for us to be seen together."

"Nobody here but you and me." Rich winked and settled back in the chair again. Oh, he knew what Cunningham was thinking. Yes, indeed, he did. Billy boy figured he didn't need good old Rich anymore.

"Now, don't you worry. I'm not here to squeeze you for more money. You just rest easy on that."

It pacified him, a little. "What is it, then?"

"A favor, that's all. Just a favor between old friends and former business associates. There's a horse that needs to be taken care of, Bill." He lifted his glass, enjoying the way the sun burst through the window and struck the facets.

"I don't want any part of it."

"What you want and what you've got are two different things." He shifted his eyes from his glass to Cunningham. "I'm going to take out my son's colt, Billy. And you're going to help me."

"You're crazy." Shaken, Cunningham swiped at the sweat beading on his upper lip. "You're crazy, Rich, and I don't want anything to do with it."

"Let's talk about that," Rich said, and smiled.

Kelsey's suitcases were neatly packed and lined up next to Gabe's by the bedroom door. They would leave for New York at seven A.M. sharp. Six hours from now, she thought as she gazed up through the skylight over the bed.

She sighed, shifted, and snuggled up against Gabe. It struck her, amazed her, as it always did, to find him there. Warm, solid. Hers. That body. She skimmed her fingers down his chest, up again. Long and hard and tireless. The face that could make her toes curl every time he looked at her.

And that was only the shell.

A terrific shell, she mused, tracing his jaw with her fingertip. But what was inside it was equally impressive. The strength, the kindness, the courage. He'd already beaten the odds, time and time again.

Overcoming a birthright of misery and meanness to make it on his own.

Right now, sleeping in his place of honor in the barn was a horse who had the same kind of strength and courage. Together, they were going to make history.

"It's no use," she murmured, nuzzling her lips against his throat.

"Hmm?" Automatically he stroked a hand down her back. He'd been enjoying the lazy caress of her fingertips for some time.

"I can't sleep. I'm too revved."

"Well, then." Always willing to accommodate, he rolled her over so that she was stretched on top of him. "Enjoy yourself."

She chuckled, wiggling away. "That's not what I meant." Kneeling, she looked down at him, letting herself linger over the long silhouette. "Not that it isn't a tempting offer." Leaning down, she gave him a smacking kiss. "I'll take you up on it when I get back."

He made a grab, but she was already scrambling off the bed. "Get back from where?"

"I need to walk. I want to look in on Double."

She tugged jeans over naked legs and hips, made his mouth water. "Darling, it's one o'clock in the morning."

"I know." Her head popped out of the opening of a baggy T-shirt. "In a little over eight hours, we'll be at Belmont. So who can sleep?" Tossing back her hair, she pulled on boots.

He could have, but it seemed a moot point. "I'll come with you."

"You don't have to. I won't be long."

He sat up, raked a hand through his hair. "I'll come with you."

"Okay. Catch up with me." She dashed out the door and down the stairs.

It was a perfect June night. Warm, just a little breezy, star-shattered. She heard the long, double-toned hoot of an owl, smelled roses and night-blooming jasmine. Moonlight showered on the outbuildings, lending them a timeless, fairy-tale aura.

Perhaps this was her fairy tale, she thought. Her personal happily-ever-after. It was true that tragedy had brought her here, opened the door to her future. But fairy tales were rife with tragedy. Orphans and spellbound princes, betrayals and sacrifices, evil intent and lost loves.

But right always triumphed. Maybe that was why the analogy appealed to her. If this was her fairy tale, she would see that right triumphed. She wouldn't give up on finding the truth.

She would see Captain Tipton again, and Charles Rooney. She would talk to Gertie, to Moses, and yes, to Naomi. To anyone who had had even the smallest role in the events leading to Alec Bradley's death.

She would convince Naomi to allow her lawyers to speak freely.

But for now, for the next week, there was only the Belmont. And she was a part of it. With a quiet laugh, Kelsey lifted her face toward the sky. She had a place in the grandeur and the grit, the sweat and the seduction of racing's finest hour.

In a week's time, she promised herself, she would watch Gabe and his spectacular colt accept the last jewel in the Crown.

A barn cat dashed across the path, his long sleek form a gray bullet that shot her heart to her throat.

Chuckling at herself, she rubbed a hand there as if to ease it back into her chest again.

The stable door opened with a thin squeak. The smells came first, old friends rushing at her through the dark. Horse, leather, liniment, manure. Rather than turn on the lights and disturb those sleeping, she groped along the wall from memory and found a flashlight. Its beam cut a narrow swath. Her boot heels clicked after it.

From the second stall a pair of eyes gleamed goblinlike from the shadows. Her breath caught; the beam bobbled. Fairy tales, indeed, she thought, and was grateful Gabe wasn't with her to see how she jumped at a couple of barn cats.

She smiled when she saw the cot pulled in front of Double's box. The security system aside, a warrior like this merited a personal guard. Well, she wouldn't disturb the groom, she promised herself. Just one quick peek over the cot and into the box, and she'd leave them both sleeping.

But the cot, she saw with some surprise, was empty. Alarmed, she shone her light into the box. Double was there, fully awake, staring back at her.

"Sorry, fella. I guess I'm jumpy. Did your friend here go off for a smoke, or a call of nature? Are you all packed?" She laughed and reached for the box door.

It wasn't latched, was open fully three inches.

"Oh, God." A movement behind her had her swinging about, flashlight gripped like a weapon. The blood thundered in her ears as she zigzagged the beam and cursed the cats who hunted at night.

But a cat, however quick and clever, hadn't unlatched and opened the stall door. Her one clear thought was to protect, to defend. Kelsey shoved the door open and rushed to the colt's side. Even as she pivoted, to shine her light into the corners of the box, the blood in her ears exploded.

She was aware of one vivid flash of pain, the high, alarmed whinny from the colt. Then nothing.

While the figure dashed from the box, breath harsh and panicked, the colt danced, lethal hooves arching over Kelsey's unconscious form.

Halfway between the house and the barn, Gabe balanced two mugs of tea. It appeared to him that they were going to be up most of the night, but the herbal brew Kelsey preferred was a better idea than coffee at this hour. Particularly if he could coax her back into bed and channel her nervous energy into a more intimate arena.

They hadn't been wasting much time on sleep in any case, he thought. Not since the night he'd joined her in her tub. It had been tricky to convince her to move in with him for a few days. He'd shamelessly used the race as a reason for it-his need for some moral support.

It worked, he reminded himself, grinning as he sipped from his mug. He intended for it to continue working, stage by stage until it was a permanent condition. But he'd calculated that a woman still raw from a divorce needed to be eased into the idea of a second marriage.

The biggest surprise was that he hadn't needed to be eased into the idea at all. It had simply appeared, full-blown, in his mind. Or maybe in his heart. He'd never given a great deal of thought to the traditional boundaries of marriage, wife, family. With an upbringing like his, the idea of it was absurd, even destructive.

But not with Kelsey. With her he wanted the promise, the future. The chance.

Together they would share all of this. He skimmed his gaze over the outbuildings, the hills, the fences.

Together they would make more.

And maybe, while they were doing it, they could help each other bury the past.

The shrill, frenzied cry of the colt split the quiet. Both mugs shattered on the gravel as Gabe lunged forward. With Kelsey's name bursting from his lips, he dragged at the barn door, slapped the lights.

Ice-edged panic chased him between the boxes, sliced nastily into his spine.

She was sprawled on the straw, facedown, the colt backed into the rear of the box, eyes rolling as he pawed his bedding. The world upended, draining the blood from Gabe's head out through the soles of his feet.

He moved like lightning, shielding her with his own body as he gathered her up. He took a blow to the shoulder, unfelt as he lifted her. Her face was corpse white, her body limp as rags. Ignoring the flailings of the colt, he laid her on the cot. His fingers trembled as he pressed them to the pulse at her throat.

"Please, baby. Please."

It was there, that quick flutter of life. He kept his fingers pressed to it, as if by removing them that life beat would drain away, and buried his face in her hair.

There was only panic and relief, panic and relief, a bright and giddy pendulum swinging inside him. He stayed as he was, his fingers at her throat, his face in her hair, one arm cradling her.

"Gabe. Jesus Christ, Gabe."

The frightened voice of his trainer snapped him back. He lifted his head and watched the somehow dreamlike movements of Jamison stepping into the box to calm the colt.

"Easy, boy. Easy now." Jamison dragged the colt's head down, using his voice and his hands to soothe.

"Settle down." But his eyes were anything but calm when they focused on Gabe. "What happened here?