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“Now, Missy,” Ian interjected kindly, “don’t be jumping to conclusions.”

“I’m not!” Becca retorted. “Sometimes I don’t think I understand you—any of you.” She tried to force her attention back to the dinner she was preparing, but found it an impossible task. Too many unanswered questions hung in the air like unwelcome ghosts from the past. It made her shudder inwardly. “What were all those questions about Martha and her daughter? Good Lord, Brig, half of the argument didn’t make any sense whatsoever!” She placed a pan of rice on the stove and added under her breath, “At least not to me.”

She pulled off her apron and tossed it onto the counter as she turned to face Ian. The unmasked guilt on his crowlike features added to her suspicion of collusion. It was obvious that both he and Brig knew something she didn’t. “Okay, what’s going on?” she demanded. “This has something to do with Dean, unless I miss my guess.” She folded her arms over her chest and waited for an explanation. Fear slowly gripped her heart as the men remained silent, but she ignored the apprehension, realizing that the truth, no matter how painful it might be, was far better than the doubts that had assailed her for the past few weeks. “What is it?” she asked in a low voice that betrayed none of her anxiety.

Ian couldn’t meet Becca’s exacting gaze. “I shouldn’t have said anything,” he mumbled to himself.

“About what?” Becca asked.

“About Jackie McDonnell,” Brig supplied. Ian pursed his thin lips together impatiently.

“What does Martha’s daughter have to do with anything? I don’t see that the fact that she dated Dean a couple of times means anything.”

“It was more than a few casual dates,” Brig explained.

Ian interrupted, his wise eyes anxious. “Look, Chambers, I don’t think that we should say anything. We’d be out of line. It’s really none of our business—”

“What are you talking about, Ian?” Becca demanded.

“He’s trying to protect you, Rebecca.” Brig came closer to her and she could see the worry in his dark eyes. Was it for her? He placed a steadying hand on her shoulder, but she pulled away from him in defiant anger.

“Protecting me?”she repeated incredulously. “From what? The truth?” Ian avoided her indignant gaze. “Well, I’m sick and tired of people trying toprotectme. Just because I’m a woman doesn’t mean I fall apart under the least little bit of pressure. Dean caused a major misunderstanding by lying to me and refusing to let Brig’s calls get through to me, all for the sake ofprotectingme. I would think that you of all people, Ian, could trust me with the truth!”

“It’s not a matter of trust, Missy.”

Becca’s eyes grew softer as she gazed down at the worried ex-jockey. He wore his heart on his sleeve and his face clearly reflected his concern for her. “Ian, can’t you explain to me what it is that’s bothering you? It’s not fair for you to carry the burden all by yourself.”

His silver eyebrows pinched together. “As I said, it’s none of my affair.”

Brig took charge of the conversation and Ian dropped his small frame gratefully into the nearest chair. The grizzled old man removed his cap and rotated it nervously in his fingers as Brig spoke.

“You thought that Martha left the farm to take care of her daughter, who was ill—right?”

Becca nodded pensively. The stern tone of Brig’s voice reinforced her fears. Nervously she rubbed her thumb over her forefinger. “I wasn’t here when she left,” Becca whispered, her gaze locking with Brig’s. “I was visiting a friend in San Francisco at the time and when I got home she had gone . . . without even a note of explanation.”

“Didn’t you think that was odd?”

“For a little while, and then Dean explained that Martha’s daughter, Jackie, was seriously ill and Martha had taken Jackie to a specialist in L.A. They had relatives that lived in Diamond Bar, I think. Anyway, the only thing I considered strange was the fact that Martha never bothered to call or come back even for a short visit. What exactly are you saying here, anyway? That Dean lied? Wasn’t his story the truth?” Her green eyes fixed on Ian.

“Partially,” Brig allowed.

“Meaning what?”

“Meaning that Martha did leave to help her daughter.”

“But?” she coaxed.

“But Jackie wasn’t sick, not really.” He paused for a moment and Becca’s heart began to race.

“I don’t understand . . .” Her voice was uncertain.

“The girl was pregnant.”

Becca swallowed with difficulty and had to lean against the counter for support. Her voice was little more than a whisper. “And Dean was the father,” she guessed. A sickening feeling of disgust rose in her stomach as Brig’s dark eyes confirmed her unpleasant conjecture.

“That’s right, Missy,” Ian agreed in a hoarse voice. He stared at the table and coughed nervously.

“Someone should have told me . . .”