Page 82 of You'll Find Out
“Oh, Rebecca . . . don’t twist the truth.” He felt raw from the torture of her words. “I asked you to marry me, or have you conveniently forgotten that, too?”
“I remember,” she whispered.
“Then you can recall thatyouwere the one who couldn’t make a commitment.Youwere the one who had to prove yourself to the world.” The rage that had engulfed him six years before began to consume him once again, and he had to fight to keep his temper under control. How many times would he let her deceive him? His fingers curled angrily around the bed sheet.
“I needed time.”
“I gave you time, damn it!” He sat upright in the bed and his fist crashed into the headboard. “You asked for time, and I gave it to you!” His ghostly gray eyes impaled her, daring her to deny the truth.
“But you couldn’t give me your trust, could you?”
“Do you blame me?”Pieces of their last argument pierced Brig’s mind. His accusations, her violent denials. If only she could have told him the truth! He didn’t wait for her to respond to his rhetorical question. Instead he grabbed his clothes and stood beside the bed. He was still naked and Becca could see the tension in all of his rigid muscles. His voice was uneven, but he managed to pull together a little of his composure. “Look, Rebecca, this argument is getting us nowhere. I’m going to take a shower and get cleaned up. I drank a little too much last night and I’m paying for it this morning. When I clear my head, we’ll talk.”
He turned toward the bathroom, but paused at the door and faced her once again. His voice was softer and his smile wistful. “I’m glad you’re here,” he admitted, wondering why he felt compelled to explain his feelings to her.
She didn’t move from her seat on the window ledge until she heard the sound of running water. Once she knew he was in the shower and she had a few minutes to herself, her tense muscles relaxed and the tears burning at the back of her eyes began to flow in uneven streams down her cheeks. She pinched the edge of her thumb between her teeth and tried not to think about the love they had found, only to lose.
Was it her fault, as Brig insisted, or was it fate that held them so desperately apart? If only she hadn’t been so blind when it had come to Sentimental Lady, if only she had listened to Brig’s wisdom. Perhaps they would still be together, would have married, and would share a child. Perhaps Sentimental Lady would still be alive. But Becca had been young and hellbent on making a name for herself as a horse breeder. Sentimental Lady had been her ticket to success. How was Becca to know that Brig’s prophecies would be proven correct, that Sentimental Lady’s legs were too weak for her strong body? Not even her trainer had guessed that the Lady would break down. And how was Becca to know that someone would inject her horse with an illegal steroid, a dangerous drug that alone might have permanently injured her horse? In the end, Becca had not only lost the fastest horse she had ever owned, but also the trust of the one man she loved. Was it her punishment for being overly ambitious, for fighting her way to the top in a man’s domain?
Becca stiffened her spine and tried to ignore the unyielding pain in her heart. Perhaps she was overreacting. Last night Brig hadn’t been overly upset when she had tried to explain about the horse; maybe she was blowing the problem out of proportion. But then again, last night Brig had been drinking and was shocked to see her. Everything that had happened between them was somewhat unreal, an unplanned reunion of two lovers suffering from the guilt of the past. This morning things were different. Gone were the excuses of the night, the passion of six lonely years, the feeling of isolation in the mountains. Today, the world would intrude and the mistakes of the past would become blindingly apparent.
She had decided to accept Brig’s decision concerning Gypsy Wind and the money. She realized that, legally, she had virtually no say in the matter. If Brig demanded repayment, she would have to sell the Gypsy. Nothing she owned even approached fifty thousand dollars. However, she would try her damnedest to make Brig understand what the horse meant to her, what Gypsy Wind represented. Before her resolve could waver, she went to her car and grabbed the overnight bag she had stashed in the back seat. She cleaned herself in the guest bath and changed into her favorite forest green slacks and soft ivory blouse. The outfit was a little dressy for the rugged mountains, but this morning Becca wanted to look disturbingly feminine. She wound her hair into a gentle twist and pinned it loosely to the back of her neck before touching a little color to her pale lips and cheeks.
Without consciously listening, she knew the exact moment when the shower spray was turned off. Apprehension rose in her throat. She had to keep busy and hold her thoughts in some sort of order, because like it or not, she knew that she and Brig were about to become embroiled in one of the most important arguments in her life. She planned her defense while putting together a quick breakfast from the sparse contents of the refrigerator. By the time she heard the bedroom door opening, the hasty meal was heated and the aroma of freshly perked coffee mingled with the scent of honey-cured ham to fill the rustic kitchen and dining alcove.
She thought she heard Brig coming, but his footsteps paused, as if he had entered another room in the house. She waited and then heard him continue toward the kitchen. She was just sliding the eggs onto a plate when he strode past the dining alcove and through the door. She was concentrating on her task and didn’t look up.
“What’s this?” he asked, just as she set the plates on the table.
“What does it look like? It’s breakfast.” She turned to face him and found that he wasn’t looking at the table. Instead he was staring intently at her, as if he were trying to put together the pieces of a mysterious puzzle. He looked more like the man she remembered from her past. Clad only in jeans and an old plaid work shirt, he seemed younger. His head was still wet from the shower and his jaw cleanly shaven. The slight hint of a musky aftershave brought back provocative memories of living with him in a rambling beach house overlooking the moody Pacific Ocean.
“I’m not talking about the food,” he replied cautiously. His eyes turned steely gray. “Your clothes, did you bring them with you?”
Her eyes met his and refused to waver. “Yes.”
“Wait a minute. Are you saying that youintendedto spend the night with me? Don’t you have a hotel or something?” When she didn’t immediately respond, he grabbed her arm and his fingers tightened painfully. Suspicion clouded his gaze. “Just what’s going on here?” he demanded.
“What do you think?”
“Ithinkthat you planned last night.”
“I only planned to find you . . . not seduce you, if that’s what you’re implying. I didn’t even know if you would see me. I had no idea that we would end up making love.”
His grip tightened on her arm. “Then why the change of clothes?”
She couldn’t help but blush. “I really didn’t know where I’d be spending the night. I only guessed that you would be here, and I knew that it was too late to head back to a hotel in Denver.”
“And what if you hadn’t found me? Did you plan to sleep in the car?” He couldn’t hide the sarcasm in his voice.
“I don’t know.”
“I’m just trying to understand you.” He sighed, releasing her arm.
“I tried to explain everything last night, but you wouldn’t listen.”
“I’m listening now.” He crossed his arms over his chest and leaned against the counter.
Becca took a deep breath before she began. “I told you that I owed your father some money . . . fifty thousand dollars to be exact.” She watched his reaction, but he didn’t move a muscle, stoically waiting for her to continue. “I needed the money to breed a horse.”
