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“What about your brother?” Brig asked.

A startled expression clouded Becca’s sculptured features. “Dean?” She shrugged her slim shoulders. “Dean doesn’t seem to have much interest in the Thoroughbreds anymore . . .” her voice trailed off as she thought about her brother.

“Why not?”

Becca smiled wistfully. “Who knows? Other interests, I suppose.”

“Such as?”

Suddenly defensive, Becca set her mug on the table and gave Brig a look that told him it was really none of his business. “I don’t know,” she admitted. “People change.”

“Do they?” he asked, his voice somewhat husky as he stared at her. He felt the urge to trace the pouty contour of her lips with his finger.

“Of course they do,” she replied coldly. “Didn’t we?”

“That was different.”

“Why?”

“Because of the horse . . .”

“Dean was involved with Sentimental Lady, probably just as close to her as either one of us. It was hard on him.”

“I didn’t say it wasn’t.”

She ignored his remark. Angry fire crackled in her eyes. “It might have been more difficult for him than for either of us,” she pointed out emphatically.

“I doubt that.”

“Of course you do! That’s because you weren’t here, were you? You were gone, afraid to be associated with a woman whom you thought intentionally harmed her horse. Dean was the one who pulled me up by my bootstraps, Brig. He was the one who made me realize that there was more to life than one horse and one man. All the while you were afraid of ruiningyourreputation, my brother helped me repair mine!”

“I never gave a damn about my reputation!” he shot back angrily. “You know that,” he added in a gentler tone.

“I wish I did,” she whispered. “When I was younger, I was more confident . . . sure of myself . . . sure of you.” A puzzled expression marred the clarity of her beguiling features. “And I was wrong. Now that I’m older, I’m more cautious, I guess. I realize that I can’t change the world.”

“Unless Gypsy Wind proves herself?”

“Not even then.” She smiled sadly. “Don’t misunderstand me—Gypsy Wind is important. But I feel that maybe what she represents isn’t the most important thing in my life, and what might have been of greater value is gone.”

His chair scraped against the floorboards. He stood behind her and let his palms rest on her shoulders as she sat in the chair. “What are you trying to say?”

“That I’m afraid it might be too late for us,” she whispered.

His fingers pressed against the soft fabric of her sweater, gently caressing the skin near her collarbones. He felt cold and empty inside. Rebecca’s words had vocalized his own fears. “So you think that destiny continues to pull us apart?”

She slowly swept her head from side to side. The fine golden strands of her hair brushed against his lower abdomen, adding fuel to the fires of the desire rising within him. The clean scent of her hair filled his nostrils, and he had difficulty concentrating on her words.

“I don’t think destiny or fate has anything to do with it,” she answered pensively. “I think it’s you and me—constantly at war with each other. It’s as if we won’t allow ourselves the chance to be together. Our egos keep getting in the way—mine as well as yours.”

The line of his jaw hardened. “Are you trying to say that you want me to leave?”

She sighed softly to herself and closed her eyes. “If only it were that simple. It’s not.” She shut her eyes more tightly so that deep lines furrowed her brow as she concentrated. “I’m glad you’re here,” she admitted in a hoarse whisper. “There’s a very feminine part of me that needs to know you care.”

“I always have . . .”

“Have you?” She reached up and covered his hand with her long fingers. “You have a funny way of showing it sometimes.”

“We’ve both made mistakes,” he admitted. The warmth from her fingers flowed into his. He lowered his head and kissed her gently on the crook of her neck. The smell of her hair still damp from a sprinkling of raindrops filled his nostrils. It was a clean, earthy scent that brought back memories of their early autumn tryst in the Rocky Mountains.