It stuck to her skin as she rose from the bed, panic still clutching her. She tried to breathe, but couldn’t seem to suck in any air.
It’s just the nightmare, she told herself. You’re all right.
A moment later, her chest relaxed and precious air poured into her lungs. She clung to the oak bedpost, gasping for more. That was the worst part of the nightmare—the sense that she was suffocating on smoke and couldn’t breathe. She closed her eyes, trying not to think about the fact that her parents had probably experienced that same suffocating panic, that same desperate need to escape.
Only they hadn’t made it out of the house alive.
Gillian took a deep, calming breath as her anxiety began to ebb. She didn’t understand what was happening to her. The fire that had killed her parents and destroyed her home happened over twelve years ago. Why was she suddenly dreaming about it now? For the last few months she’d been plagued by this same nightmare almost every time she closed her eyes.
She tore off her sodden nightgown, then stood in front of the open bedroom window. She welcomed the cool breeze as it washed over her body. Combing her fingers through her long, damp hair, Gillian knew she wouldn’t be sleeping again tonight. That was the worst of it. After one of her nightmares, the adrenaline pumping through her veins made sleep impossible.
She turned toward her bed and looked uneasily at Morris, the teddy bear that lay propped on a pillow. Half of his tawny brown fur was gone and one black bead eye. He was the only thing she’d had left after the fire.
That and the nightmares that now plagued her.
This one had been particularly creepy. Morris had never talked to her in the dream before.
You’re too late. That eerie singsong voice kept echoing in her mind. She didn’t know what it meant.
Too late to save her parents? That was true.
Too late to save herself? No, she’d been saved. But she had no memory of their horse trainer, Ian Wiley, rescuing her from the house before it had burned to the ground. She had no memories of the fire at all except for this nightmare that kept plaguing her.
Gillian had been trying to put the past behind her for the last twelve years, concentrating on her art and looking toward the future. Only now the past was haunting her and she couldn’t seem to escape it.
Which left her with one choice. After all these years, maybe she finally had to stop running and walk back into the fire.
One
Carter Phillips stood in the foyer of the hotel ballroom, trying to determine the perfect time to make his escape. He didn’t feel comfortable at fancy parties like this—hating anything that took him away from his horses.
As a veterinarian, Carter preferred spending his time in a barn rather than a ballroom, but working for Quest Stables made events like this a necessary evil. Even if it was for a good cause.
The black-tie affair would raise money for an organization that provided horse therapy to disabled children and adults. Andrew Preston, stable manager at Quest and heir apparent to the family business, had helped Carter organize several of these horse therapy camps back in Kentucky. Carter had seen for himself what a thrill riding a horse could be for a child who wasn’t able to walk or run.
Carter slowly scanned the ballroom, relieved that he didn’t see anyone he knew. He wasn’t in the mood for small talk. His plane had arrived in San Diego at six o’clock this morning and he was still adjusting to the three-hour time difference.
Quest Stables had six horses running at Del Mar this season and Carter had spent most of his day evaluating them at the racing facility. All six horses seemed to have weathered the long flight from Woodford County without any difficulty.
The hardest part of the trip so far was ignoring all the whispers and curious glances at the Del Mar stables. Everyone in the racing world knew about the scandal brewing around Quest and how its most famous prizewinning horse, Leopold’s Legacy, was at the center of the storm.
After winning the Kentucky Derby and a stunning victory at Preakness, Leopold’s Legacy had been poised to wow the entire racing world by running for the Triple Crown.
Then disaster struck when it was discovered that the stallion might not be a Thoroughbred. A reconfiguration of the Jockey Association’s computer system had led to an accusation that Apollo’s Ice wasn’t the sire of Leopold’s Legacy as recorded in the official records. It had stunned the Prestons and Carter himself, who had been certain there was some kind of mistake.
A certainty that had crumbled over time.
Now people in the racing world were throwing around words like fraud and deception while everyone at Quest Stables was scrambling to separate the fact from the fiction. It was a scandal that could cost the Preston family their reputation as well as a business worth millions.
A scandal that could ultimately cost Carter his job as head veterinarian at Quest.
He raked a hand through his short hair, bristling at the uncomfortable fit of his tuxedo. It was too tight across the back and shoulders, making him feel as though he was bound up in a straitjacket. Something he might need if this issue wasn’t resolved soon.
Hell, he’d overseen the covering of Leopold’s Legacy’s dam, Courtin’ Cristy, by Apollo’s Ice, a prizewinning stallion at Angelina Stud Farm. He’d even been present at the foal’s birth. But he knew DNA tests didn’t lie, and when the results had come back with solid evidence showing that Apollo’s Ice wasn’t the sire of Leopold’s Legacy, as recorded in the Stud Book, it had shaken Quest Stables to its very core. The Prestons had pulled Leopold’s Legacy from the Belmont Stakes and were now working to solve the mystery.
A buzzing sensation in his pocket pulled Carter’s mind away from the scandal that had occupied his every waking thought since the discovery two months ago. He tugged the slim cell phone from his pocket, then suppressed a groan when he saw the name on the Caller ID screen.
“Hello, Noah,” Carter said into the phone.
“Hey, big brother, I’m surprised you remember my name,” Noah teased. “How long has it been since we last talked? Three or four years?”
He swallowed a sigh, all too aware he’d been neglecting his family lately. He missed them, and hearing his brother’s voice deepened the ache of loneliness that had been gnawing at him lately. “I was home over Christmas,” Carter reminded him.
“That’s right,” Noah concurred. “I guess it just seems longer because I was stuck in Chicago all winter with the folks while you were soaking up the sun and all those beautiful Southern belles in Kentucky.”
He knew his little brother never lacked for female companionship, even at the tender age if twenty-one. Noah’s wit and charm provided him with plenty of friends. He lived to party and Carter missed hearing Noah’s funny stories even as he worried that his brother would never take life seriously
“It gets cold in Kentucky, too,” Carter told him, moving toward the display cases set up in the center of the ballroom.
The California Horse Breeders Association was holding a silent auction as part of the fund-raiser. Since he and Andrew Preston shared an interest in the charity, Andrew had asked him to buy something
