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“I think she has.”

There was an impatient edge to the promoter’s voice. “Well, then think about Ian O’Riley, will you? He was the one who really bore the guilt for your brother’s crime six years ago. He was the trainer who was brought before the board. His reputation was scarred irreparably when it turned out that Sentimental Lady was drugged while in his care.”

Becca was silent and intuitively Lon knew he’d hit a sensitive nerve.

“Look, Mrs. Chambers, I think I can convince the owners of the other horses to agree to a race nearby. That way you wouldn’t have to ship your horse all over the country. You could prove to all those people who watched Sentimental Lady run that you knew what you were doing—that Ian O’Riley is still a damned good trainer. And Gypsy Wind would have the home-court advantage, so to speak.”

“She doesn’t need any advantage.”

Lon laughed jovially. “Of course she doesn’t. She’s a winner, that filly of yours.” Becca wondered if she were being conned. “So what do you say—do we have a horse race?”

“I don’t know . . .”

“You would be doing Ian O’Riley a big favor, Mrs. Chambers. I think he’s done a few for you.”

Becca’s decision was quick. “Okay, Mr. Jacobs. I’m willing to race Gypsy Wind one last time, against the colts, as long as it’s here, at Sequoia. And after that she’ll retire. I don’t want to hear anything more about racing my filly.”

“Wonderful,” Lon cooed as he hung up the phone. Becca was left with the uncanny feeling that she might have made the worst decision of her life.

She couldn’t hide her unease when Brig entered the room. “Who was on the phone?” he asked.

“It was Lon Jacobs.” She managed to meet Brig’s wary gaze squarely. “He wants a match race at Sequoia. I agreed.”

“You did what?” Brig was astounded and an angry gleam of fire lighted his eyes. “Becca, love, why?”

“It was a weak moment,” she confessed, explaining about Lon’s arguments for the race.

Brig’s jaw hardened in suppressed anger. “I don’t think Ian O’Riley thinks you owe him any favors. You’ve always stood up for him, and Gypsy Wind’s career added luster to his. Dean confessed to drugging Sentimental Lady. Ian was absolved of the crime.”

“I suppose you’re right,” she said wearily.

“You know I am!” He shook his head and looked up at the ceiling as if he could find some way to understand her. When his eyes returned to hers they were as cold as stone. “Why don’t you face up to the real reason you’re racing Gypsy Wind?”

“The real reason?” she echoed, surprised by his sudden outburst.

“This is what you wanted all along, wasn’t it? To prove that your horse could handle the colts. Six years ago, Sentimental Lady was beaten, and you’ve never gotten over it. You still have some goddamn burning desire to prove yourself!”

“Not true, Brig,” she argued. “I told Lon Jacobs that Gypsy Wind would retire.”

“Right after she races against the colts,” he surmised. “What is it with you, Rebecca? Are you a glutton for punishment? Wasn’t once enough”—his eyes narrowed savagely—“or don’t you give a damn about that horse of yours?”

His biting words slashed her heart. “You don’t think she can do it, do you?”

“I don’t care if she can win or not. I’m only concerned about you and Gypsy Wind, and I don’t like the fact that you were manipulated by the likes of Lon Jacobs!” Rage blazed in his gray eyes and his jaw clenched. Before she could defend herself, he continued with his tirade. “Why take the chance, Becca? You know that match races are hard on any horse . . . whether she wins or loses.” His anger began to ebb and he looked incredibly tired. Becca’s heart turned over. “Oh, Becca, why?”

“I told you why,” she whispered.

“And I told you that you’re not being honest with me . . . or yourself.”

He reached for the decanter on the bar and poured himself a stiff shot of bourbon before turning back to his den. Becca felt alone and depressed. The reconstruction of the house and the barns was finished, the grounds were once again well tended, but there was a black void within her because she had disappointed Brig. Was he right? Did she still feel the need to purge herself of Sentimental Lady’s unfortunate death, prove to the world that her filly could outdistance the colts? She felt the bitter sting of tears burn in her throat. Why had she been so foolish?

* * *

In the month it took to arrange the race, Brig and Becca avoided the subject of the event. Perhaps if they chose to ignore the argument, it would disappear. Brig reluctantly agreed to go with her to the track, but he advised her in no uncertain terms how he felt about the race. He was against it from the start and considered it a monumental risk on her part. Even Ian O’Riley, the trainer who had predicted Gypsy Wind’s supremacy over the colts, seemed unusually pensive and out of sorts as the day of the race drew near.

From the moment she arrived at Sequoia Park, Becca was enveloped by an eerie feeling. The doubts she had pushed into the darkest corners of her mind resurfaced. She should never have agreed to the race, or she should have insisted upon another track instead of the very same place where Sentimental Lady had run her last horrifying race. Though Gypsy Wind had raced before at Sequoia, a thousand doubts, plus Brig’s fears, came to rest on Becca’s slim shoulders. She attempted to tell herself that it was her imagination, that she shouldn’t let the feeling ofdéjà vutake hold of her, but the noise of the crowd, the hype of the race, and the poised television cameras added to her overwhelming sense of unease.

Ian O’Riley was concerned. The tension in the air had affected Gypsy Wind. Though she had never been as nervous as Sentimental Lady, in the last two days Gypsy Wind had appeared distressed and off her feed. The veterinarian hadn’t found anything physically ailing the horse and yet something wasn’t right. Ian O’Riley wrestled with the decision of scratching her from the race. In the end, he decided against it. This was the filly’s last chance to flaunt her speed and grace.