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“Nonsense!” Ian’s wise blue eyes sparked dangerously. “He knows better than that—or at least he should! Sentimental Lady’s legs weren’t strong enough, and I’m not about to make the same mistake with Gypsy Wind. That’s the trouble with this country! In Europe many Thoroughbreds never set foot on a racetrack until they’re three. And when they do, they run on firm but yielding turf.

“Gypsy Wind’s legs won’t be fully ossified until she’s three, and I’m not about to ask her to sprint over a hard, fast track. It’s a good way to ruin a damned fine filly!”

Becca smiled at the wiry man’s vehemence. “I agree with you.”

Ian’s gray eyebrows raised. “I know . . . and I’m proud of you for it. It would have been easier to run her this year and make a little extra money. I know you could use it.”

“Not if it hurts Gypsy Wind.”

Ian’s grizzled face widened into a comfortable grin. He winked at Becca fondly. “We’ll show them all, you know. Come early next year, when Gypsy Wind begins to race, we’ll have ourselves a champion.”

“We already do,” Becca pointed out.

“Have you given any thought to moving her to Sequoia Park?”

The smile left Becca’s face and she blanched. “I was hoping that we could keep her somewhere else.”

Ian put a gentle hand on her shoulder. “It holds bad memories for me, too, Becca. But it’s the closest to the farm and has the best facilities around. I thought we would start her in a few short races locally before we headed down the state and eventually back East.”

“You’re right, of course. When would you want to move her?”

“Soon—say, right after the holidays.”

Becca felt her uncertainty mount, but denied her fears. “You’re the trainer. Whatever you say goes.”

Ian paused and shifted the wooden match that was forever in his mouth, a habit he’d acquired since he’d given up cigarettes. “I appreciate that, gal. Not many owners would have stood up for a trainer the way that you did.”

It was Becca’s turn to be comforting. “Don’t be ridiculous. We’ve been over this a hundred times before. You and I both know that you had nothing to do with what happened to Sentimental Lady. I never doubted it for a minute.”

“She was my responsibility.”

“And you did everything you could do to protect her.”

His wizened blue eyes seemed suddenly old. “It wasn’t enough, was it?”

“It’s over, Ian. Forget it.”

“Can you?”

Becca smiled sadly. “Of course not. But I do try not to brood about it.” She stared pointedly at the bridle Ian held in his gnarled hands. “Is there something else that’s bothering you?” It wasn’t like Ian to be melancholy or to second-guess himself.

Ian shook his gray head.

“How did the workout go this morning?” Becca asked, changing the subject and hoping to lighten the mood of the conversation.

Ian managed a bemused smile. “Gypsy Wind really outdid herself. She wanted to run the entire distance.”

“Just like Lady,” Becca observed.

“Yeah.” Ian replaced the bridle on a rusty hook near a yellowed picture of Sentimental Lady. He stared wistfully at the black and white photograph of the proud filly. “They’re a lot alike,” he mumbled to himself as he turned toward the door. “Got to run now, the missus doesn’t like me late for supper.”

“Ian—”

His hand paused over the door handle and he rotated his body so that he could once again face Becca.

“After the race at Sequoia . . .”

Ian pulled his broad-billed cap over his head and nodded to encourage Becca to continue.