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Before she could disagree, the screen door banged against the porch, announcing Dean’s departure.

* * *

Ten days had passed and the argument between Becca and Dean was still simmering, unresolved, in the air. Although they hadn’t had another out-and-out confrontation, nothing had changed concerning the status of Starlight Breeding Farm and its large outstanding debt to Chambers Oil. In Dean’s opinion, no news was good news. To Becca, each day put her more on edge.

Becca had considered calling Brig and trying to explain the situation over the telephone, but just the thought of the fragile connection linking her to him made her palms sweat. What if he wouldn’t accept the call? Did he already know about the note? Could he guess about the horse? Was he just waiting patiently for her to make the first move so that he could once again reject her? Though the telephone number of Chambers Oil lingered in her memory, she never quite got up enough nerve to call.

Excuses filled her mind. They were frail, but they sustained her. Brig would be too busy to talk to her, now that he was running the huge conglomerate, or he would be attempting to sort out his own grief. Not only had he lost his father in the plane crash, but also a friend. One of the persons on board the ill-fated plane was Melanie DuBois, a raven-haired model who had often been photographed on the arm of Brig Chambers, heir to the Chambers Oil fortune. Her slightly seductive looks opposed everything about Becca. Melanie had been short for a model, but well proportioned, and her thick, straight ebony hair and dark unwavering eyes had given her a sensual provocative look that seemed to make the covers of slick magazines come to life. Now Melanie, too, was gone. Dead at twenty-six.

On this morning, while packing a few things into an overnight bag, Becca tried not to think of Melanie DuBois or the young woman’s rumored romance with Brig. Instead, she attempted to mentally check all of the things she would need for a weekend in Denver. Knowing it might be impossible to get hold of Brig at the office, Becca had vowed to herself that she would go back to the Chambers mountain retreat and find Brig if she had to. She had visited it once before when she was forced to borrow the money for Gypsy Wind from Brig’s father. Becca was willing to do anything necessary to keep Gypsy Wind. That was the reason she was packing as if she would have to stay for weeks in the enchanting retreat tucked in the slopes of the Colorado Rockies. Wasn’t it?

“I don’t suppose there is any way I can talk you out of this.” Dean said as he leaned against the doorjamb of Becca’s small room.

“No.” She shook her head. “You may as well save your breath.”

“Then you won’t begin to listen to how foolish this is?”

Becca cast him a wistful smile that touched her eyes. “Save your brotherly advice.”

“When will you be back?”

“Monday.”

Dean’s bushy eyebrows furrowed. “So long?”

“Maybe not,” she replied evasively. She snapped the leather bag closed. “If I can get everything straightened out this afternoon, I’ll be back in the morning.”

“Uh-huh,” Dean remarked dubiously. “But you might be gone for the entire weekend?”

“That depends.”

“On what?”

“Brig’s reaction, I suppose,” Becca thought aloud. Her heart skipped a beat at the thought of the man whom she had loved so desperately, the man she had once vowed never to see again.

“Then you really are going to tell him about our horse, aren’t you?”

“Dean, Ihaveto.”

“Or youwantto?”

“Meaning what?”

Dean strode into the room, sat on the edge of the small bed, and eyed his younger sister speculatively. How long had it been since he had seen her look so beautiful? When was the last time she had bothered to wear a dress? Dean couldn’t remember. The smart emerald jersey knit was as in vogue today as it had been when Becca had purchased it several years ago, and her sun-streaked dark-blond hair shone with a new radiance as she tossed it carelessly away from her face. Becca looked more alive than she had in months, Dean admitted to himself. “Examine your motive,” he suggested with a severe smile. He started to say something else, changed his mind, and shook his head. Instead he murmured, “Whatever it is you’re looking for in Denver, I hope you find it.”

“You know why I’m going to see Brig,” Becca replied calmly. She hoisted her purse over her shoulder, but avoided Dean’s intense gaze. Unfortunately, she couldn’t hide the incriminating burn on her cheeks.

“Yeah,Iknow,” Dean responded cynically, while picking up Becca’s bag, “but doyou?”

* * *

The cedar house seemed strangely quiet without the presence of his father to fill the rooms. Though it was still fastidiously clean and the only scent to reach Brig’s nostrils was his father’s favorite blend of pipe tobacco, the atmosphere in the room seemed . . . dead.

It’s only your imagination,he chastised himself as he tried to take his solemn thoughts away from his father. It had been nearly two weeks since the company plane had gone down, and it was time to bury his grief along with the old man.

In the past twelve days Brig had come to feel that his life was on a runaway roller coaster, destined to collide with any number of unknown, intangible obstacles. There had been the funeral arrangements, the will, the stuffy lawyers, the stuffier insurance adjusters, the incredibly tasteless press, and now, unexpectedly, a wildcat strike in the oil fields of Wyoming. It appeared that everyone who remotely knew Jason Chambers had a problem, a problem Brig was supposed to handle.

Damn!Brig ran his fingers under the hair at the base of his head and rubbed the knot of tension that had settled between his shoulder blades. In the last week he hadn’t had more than two or three hours sleep at a stretch and he was dog-tired. The last thing in the world he had expected was for his robust father to die and leave him in charge of the corporation.