The Second Sister

After a second, Leigh nodded sadly. “He was still our father.”

“‘It takes more than a biological act to be a father’ isn’t just a saying, it’s a fact. You know as well as I do that the only thing Marcus loved was his roses. Come on, we need to get out of this heat.”

Leigh let her sister lead her away. When she cast a final look over her shoulder, Gavin was gone, but she glimpsed another figure darting between the headstones. Definitely not a mourner. Maybe a celebrant who’d come to make sure Marcus was really dead?

She chided herself for the nasty thought. More than likely, a photojournalist had been snapping pictures for some tabloid. The recent events at Heartskeep had made the Hart family headline news once more. Marcus would have hated that.

As far as Leigh was concerned, the media could print whatever they liked. Still, as they reached the car, she couldn’t prevent her gaze from sweeping the cemetery once more. Gavin was gone. She told herself she was relieved. He was the last person she wanted to talk with.

Was his presence the reason she couldn’t shake the uneasy feeling that something bad was about to happen?

“YOU WILL HELP ME,” Martin Pepperton snarled. The horse at his back danced several steps sideways and snorted, reacting to his angry tone.

Nolan backed to the stall opening to give the large animal more space. He shot a quick glance around the empty barn, feeling dangerously exposed.

“This is no place for this discussion,” he told Martin, noting the too-wide pupils and the man’s sagging jowls. Martin Pepperton was Nolan’s age, but at twenty-nine, Martin was not aging with grace. The youngest member of the illustrious Pepperton family was beginning to show the effects of his years of substance abuse.

Martin sneered. “What’s the matter, Nolan? Afraid of a little horse? Panteena won’t hurt you. Will you, girl? You should put some money on her next time she runs.”

The high-strung animal stomped its hoof, jerking hard on the lead Martin held. Nolan had a strong urge to walk away and not look back. It was unfortunate that he was still tied to Martin with bonds only death would sever.

“I’ve got to get back to my group,” he told Martin. “The answer is no.”

“Remember old man Wickert?”

Nolan glanced wildly around again to make sure the barn was still empty. “Shut up, Martin. That was a long time ago, and it was an accident. The old man wasn’t supposed to die.”

“Think the police will care?”

“What’s wrong with you? Even your drug-soaked brain ought to know if one of us goes down for that, all three of us go down.”

Stepping away from the horse, Martin scowled at him. “You want a bigger cut, is that it?”

Nolan swore. “I don’t want your money,” Nolan told him, seriously worried now. Martin was crazy—and dangerous. More dangerous than Nolan had realized.

Martin took a menacing step forward, startling the horse into almost rearing. He yanked hard on the beast’s halter. The animal kicked out and whinnied in protest.

“I’ve already transferred ownership of Sunset Pride to you. Except, of course, the horse isn’t really Sunset Pride,” he said with a vicious chortle. “Anyhow, I need you to front for me on this deal.”

“Why the hell did you put that nag in my name? I told you on the phone that I didn’t want any part of your scheme.”

“My family’s been part of the racing circuit here at Saratoga Springs since the early 1900s. That bastard made a fool of me when he sold me that worthless colt. But I’ll show him. I have a reputation to protect.”

“What about my reputation?”

“You aren’t in racing,” Martin scoffed.

“Exactly. No one’s going to believe I bought a racehorse. Why would I? I don’t even like the blasted animals.”

“Businessmen buy racehorses all the time. They’re investments, a simple business transaction. All you need to say is that you bought the horse and now you need the cash for something else. The paperwork on this deal won’t be challenged. Until they run a DNA sample, no one can prove a thing. And they won’t. Why should they? Besides, no one will be surprised that someone outside the racing world was fooled into buying a worthless horse. The only one who will look like a fool is Tyrone Briggs.”

Nolan shook his head. “No way, Martin. I told you, the risk is too high. I want no part in selling Briggs or anyone else a worthless horse. They’re going to trace it right back to you anyhow. You aren’t thinking clear.”

Martin’s face underwent a dark change. “I’m thinking just fine,” he snarled. “You’re the one who isn’t thinking. I need you to do this for me. You act as owner on this sale or, so help me, I tip the cops about what really happened seven years ago.”

Fear sent Nolan’s pulse racing. His friend wasn’t bluffing.

“Will you listen to yourself? You’re so high you’re acting nuts, Martin.” A trickle of sweat started down his forehead.

When a gun appeared in Martin’s hand, Nolan’s mouth went dry. Martin had become unpredictable at the best of times, but now, as Martin’s generally florid cheeks flushed a brilliant shade of red, Nolan knew real fear. The bastard was just crazy enough to pull the trigger.

“Don’t be a fool, Martin. The minute you fire a gun in here, people will come running.”

“Maybe I don’t care.”

His eyes glittered with a drug-induced sheen. Nolan had no doubt Martin was high enough to pull the damn trigger and worry about the consequences later.

“You don’t need this kind of petty vengeance,” Nolan said in an effort to placate him.

“The guy screwed with me. He’s going to pay. No one’s going to make me look like a laughingstock. By the time Briggs learns the horse is worthless, he’s the one people are going to laugh at.”

Reason wasn’t going to work. The drug was in charge. Nolan took a half step forward into the cramped stall and tried not to look at the nervous animal shifting restlessly.

“Okay, okay. If it’s that important to you I’ll make the call.”

Martin grinned. Sensing victory, he lowered the gun. Nolan sprang forward. Panteena squealed and kicked the wood sharply as the men came together, struggling for possession of the weapon. The gun discharged, muffled by the press of their bodies.

Nolan wrenched it free. For a second, Martin stood there with a blank look of surprise on his face. Then he folded with a groan. That was too much for the frightened animal. The horse reared with a loud shriek of protest. Nolan jumped back just in time. The wicked hooves came down with deadly accuracy. He heard the crunch of bone even as he hurried out of the stall and closed the gate.

He didn’t waste time fooling with the lock as Panteena reared again. In a maddened effort to escape, the horse put all fifteen hundred pounds behind the blows it inflicted on the mangled form at its feet. Nolan ran toward the opening at the far end of the barn and heard the splintering sound of hooves against wood.

Any second now, the horse would hit the gate and be free. That was fine with him. At least he wouldn’t have to worry about Martin Pepperton again. No way could he have survived those hooves. A quick glance over his shoulder nearly stopped Nolan’s heart cold.

A woman stood framed in the opening at the opposite end of the barn, looking right at him. She turned away quickly and at that moment, the horse kicked open the un-latched gate and erupted from its stall. With a sinking feeling, Nolan began to run.

She must have recognized him. He hadn’t changed that much in the last few years. And he realized Martin’s gun was still clenched in his fist.

Nolan shoved the weapon in the belt under his jacket and altered his course. He needed to establish an alibi—fast. There was a chance the cops wouldn’t listen to the bitch, especially if he could produce a solid alibi.

Hell. Maybe he’d get lucky. Maybe the horse would run her down and kill her too, saving him the effort.

LEIGH STEPPED from the beauty shop and swung her hair experimentally. Her head felt several pounds lighter. The sensation was strange. She couldn’t ever remember having short hair, but she liked the feeling. And as a bonus, all those long, golden-brown strands were going to be put to good use. The beautician had suggested donating her hair to a local group that made wigs for people undergoing chemotherapy. She’d been only too happy to agree.

All in all, she felt pretty good as she walked down the street to meet her sister at Rosencroft and Associates. The lawyer’s office had called Hayley right after Marcus’s funeral. Eden had announced her intention to attend the meeting and Hayley hadn’t argued.

“Let Mr. Rosencroft explain that she has no authority at Heartskeep anymore. It isn’t worth an argument.”

Leigh agreed. She’d never understood the relationship between Eden and Marcus, any more than she’d understood the relationship between Marcus and her mother. There had been no affection between any of them. Yet Marcus had married both women.