Backlash Tender Trap Aftermath - Lisa Jackson Page 0,177

His voice had dulled from a roar to a whisper. “This is really what you want?” he asked Cassie.

“Yes!”

Ivan’s Adam’s apple moved up and down his throat. He struggled with words that wouldn’t come. “I—uh—I won’t stand in your way.” Lifting his eyes to meet Colton’s gaze, he added through tight lips, “You’ll be welcome in my house anytime.” Then, without another word, he yanked open the door and marched stiffly outside.

“This isn’t going to be easy,” Colton said, staring after the older man.

“Did you think it would be?”

“Sure—a piece of cake.” He chuckled and drew her to him, taking her lips in his. He kissed her for an endless moment, then chuckled. “And if you think this was bad, wait until we talk to Denver.”

“Oooh,” Cassie groaned. “Let’s not think about it.” Happiness swelled deep in her heart. Resting her head against Colton’s chest, she looked through the slats of Sylvia’s stall just as the newborn turned his face to hers. For a minute she didn’t say a word—just stared at the perfect little horse with the crooked white blaze. Her blood seemed to freeze in her veins as the curious colt lifted his head and tossed his ebony head. He was so like Black Magic.

Colton’s eyes followed her gaze, and the blood drained from his face. His fingers curled tight.

Cassie’s eyes pleaded with his. Don’t say it, she seemed to whisper, though not a sound passed between them, don’t spoil this beautiful night.

He didn’t. His eyes narrowed on the little horse, but he didn’t say a word. A cold stone settled in her stomach.

The stables seemed suddenly cold as if a wind from the north had silently blown through.

“I think I’d better go,” Colton finally said, his voice suddenly distant, his eyes filled with an anger so hot it burned through her heart.

“You don’t have to . . .”

He took a step toward her, then hesitated. “I think we both have a lot to think about.” Turning, his broad shoulders stiff beneath his jacket, he left without another word. Cassie slumped against the wall, her fingers sliding down the rough wood. It couldn’t be possible. Or could it?

Her feet felt like lead as she made her way to the open door and watched Colton get into his Jeep and drive away. Searching her heart, she tried to push her suspicions aside. Ivan wouldn’t have stolen Black Magic; he couldn’t have. The colt was sired by Devil Dancer and that was that.

But her throat was clogged with nagging doubts, and her mind wouldn’t quit spinning with misgivings. The coldness that had started in her stomach chilled her heart as well. Oh, please, she cried inwardly, let me be wrong!

She took several bracing breaths, knowing what she had to do. Dread mounting with each step, she ran to her truck, found her veterinary bag, then headed back to the barn. She didn’t like the idea of taking a vial of blood from a newborn colt, but she had to know the truth. And she had to know it soon.

And then what? What if you find out your father’s been lying to you? Her legs threatened to give out on her, and she had to force herself onward.

At the door of the barn she paused, glancing down at her left hand. The diamond ring twinkled in the night, and she wondered if she’d made a gigantic mistake in not telling Colton.

“Too late now,” she whispered pragmatically, and shoved the door to the barn open again.

* * *

Colton didn’t drive back to the ranch. He was too keyed up. That foal—that new little Aldridge horse—had to have been sired by Black Magic. Cassie had seen the resemblance, too. Only a blind man wouldn’t have recognized Black Magic’s genes in the little ebony colt.

“Damn it all to hell!” he ground out, instinctively driving toward the hills. He couldn’t ignore this—act like he didn’t know. Obviously Ivan Aldridge had stolen Black Magic a year ago and bred his mare, Sylvia, to him. He must have stolen him again this year, and this time the horse could’ve died.

The Jeep hurtled off the main highway and up the twisting road leading to Garner’s Ridge and the old ghost town. Once there, he climbed out of his rig and walked the desolate main street. But he didn’t see the decrepit buildings, sagging porches or broken windows. No, each time he looked down that street, he envisioned Cassie. Cassie pointing the barrel of a gun at his chest,