An hour and two plates later, and I was stuffed as a Thanksgiving turkey. While Tristan poured himself into his afternoon emails in the spare study, I meandered through the halls of the estate, reminiscing. The scent of lemon oil and leather clung to the air as it always did. Miss Pat ran a tight ship and I knew I could trail a finger underneath every table, dresser and cabinet in this place and not find a lick of dust anywhere.

Deciding I could use a bit of a walk to stretch my legs and work off Miss Pat's calorie laden feast, I crossed out the back terrace and down the winding dirt road slicing between the paddocks and fields, surrounded by warm sun, the cry of the cicadas and the heady perfume of wisteria. The barn was white washed wood panelling and red-shingled roof. Doors thrown open, I strolled inside and breathed deep the musk of sweet hay, ripe horse, dust and dirt. Heads poked out of the stalls with large, dark curious eyes. One or two tossed their glorious manes with a welcoming whinny, hoping for a pat or a carrot.

A strong, rich tenor tugged on my eyes, a soft and low voice, soothing as a summer's kiss on naked skin and I followed it to the end of the barn where he stood, a hind leg wedged between his knees, busy working a file over the hoof. The creamy brim of a cowboy hat pulled low over his face.

Smiling, I took hold of the lead tethering the glorious male, stroked a hand across his elegant neck.

"Hello, Daddy."

My father, Harold Weston Pierce went still as stone, that hat popped up and I saw the deep, heavy lines carved into the folds of his face, once so handsome. More a mark of genes than age as I recalled Grandpa Leslie had looked the same. A map of experience, my daddy often said, stroking a finger over the creases above and between his brows. And a testament of a life full of love and laughter in the deepest ones carved around his mouth and winging above his cheeks. But his eyes were a starling blue, the sort that had cowed many a political opponent and packed more of a punch than a bullet to the heart.

"Baby." Harold dropped that hoof, dusted off his hands then caught me in his arms and swung me clear off my feet. "Oh baby. When did you get in? I wasn't expecting you till later in the week?"

"I wanted to surprise you," I said, tugging his hat off his head so I could comb my fingers through that silver streaked mop of brass and gold. He'd let the length go, now that he was a retired congressman there was no need for the picture perfect and polished tresses of a man set before the cameras. And he'd traded in his tailored suits for worn denim, leather and plaid. Every bit the country cowboy in appearance that he'd always been at heart.

"Oh baby." He smiled. "My little girl." Moisture gathered in his eyes and knuckled them away. "Every time I look at you I miss your Ma. You're the spit of her, through and through. Right down to this here stubborn chin." He pinched mine, angling my face so he could kiss my cheek.

My belly tightened with knots of regret. Her loss was a recent blow from which I had yet to recover.

"I'm sorry I haven't been around much...since." I cleared my throat. Sighed. "It's been a tough year without her around. I guess working made it easier to forget."

"I know, baby. I know." Brow to brow, Harold stood a moment, then he broke from me and stroked his hands down my arms. "There's someone who'd like to see you, I think."

I followed as he led me down to the adjoining stable where to the mares were kept and excitement fluttered in my chest as we drew to a familiar stall. Inside a lovely face appeared, her coat a glistening soft gold-pale as a most incredible champagne and expressive brown eyes. She whickered at the sight of me, and pawed the stall door with her hoof.

"Stargazer." I gathered her face in my hands, nuzzled into that soft, soft coat that glistened with the lustre of a polished diamond. "Hey girl."

"She'd missed you," Harold said and I could hear the smile in his voice. "I'm sorry," I said, to them both as I searched her face. "I shouldn't have stayed away so long."

Stargazer shook her head, twitching her silver mane and nudged a soft nose against my shoulder.

"I think that means you're forgiven." Harold reached for the lock and swung the door open. And the sight of Stargazer's swollen belly had me reel back a step.

"Oh my god!" I squealed and approached her carefully, my hands gliding over the wide girth of a very pregnant belly. "When? Why didn't anyone tell me?"

"You had enough on your plate, I think. Besides, the first two didn't take so didn't want to say anything until...well, until we knew this one would make it."

Beneath my hands that swollen, hardened belly rippled and Stargazer raised her head, a measure of pride unmistakable. Harold laughed, slapping a hand on her neck.

"She's awful pleased with herself, as you can see. Should be due anytime this week or next. All up to the foal now to make his debut."

"His?" I said, snapping my eyes to him. "She's having a colt? How do you know?"

Harold's smile spread and he rocked on the heels of leather cowboy boots. "Upgraded to this fancy new equipment last spring. Let's us scan the womb in an ultrasound to determine gender before birthing. Allows me to make certain decisions up front regarding sales and mating lists for the coming year. This little guy is going to be one of my prize studs when he's grown. We had this one sired by Black Star, a gorgeous male I bought three years ago."

"I remember him," I said, clearing the stall. Contrary to the ominous name, he was a gorgeous silver with a sheen of black that gave his coat a depth and dimension from the metallic glint of the Akhal Teke breed, making him, like Stargazer, a true beauty to behold. Her mother's side of the family bred horses for racing and had a long-standing equine reputation as being one of the best. ButHarold had taken a shine to the unique beauty of the Akhal Teke and now Ronin Estate was the most sought after breeder, known for producing some of the most beautiful specimens in North America.

"I was hoping I could saddle her up for a run, but I think I'll have to make do with one of the others, in her condition."

"Gilly hasn't been exercised yet. Brimstone and Hawthorne, too."

"Ah, the twins," I said, remembering the rambunctious fillies fondly. I'd helped birth them five years ago and the pair, though a complicated birth that had almost killed the mare, held a special place in my heart. "I'll saddle them both. I brought a guest with me and he could use a bit of a run, too."

My dad's brows, brass and silver, quirked over amused eyes. "A guest, huh?"

"You'll meet him at dinner, I expect, by the time you finish up in here."

"Can't ask my staff to break their backs if I'm not willing to break my own," he said, plucking his hat off my head he adjusted that wide, sloped brim over his face. "It's good to have you home."

I found Hawthorne and Brimstone in the ring and at my approach they both cantered over to the fence, jockeying for position, soft noses pushing and prodding along my side and pockets in search of something sweet or juicy. "Easy, girls," I laughed, moving those questing noses away.

Disappointed, Hawthrone jerked back her head, nostrils flaring with a derisive snort.

"Spoiled as ever," a voice called out and I turned as Sheila sauntered my way, removing her working gloves so she could gather me into a hug. "I swear those two will ever be a couple of devious little imps."

"Mind if I take them out for a run?" I asked.

"Take 'em," Sheila said, shooing me with her hands and a smile. "And good riddance. I'm still mad at you," she said, pointing a finger at Brimstone who had the decency to look away, abashed. "Damn horse snatch my Snickers clean out of my hand this morning. Can you imagine? Snorted it like it was cocaine right before my eyes. See if I sneak you anymore apples this week."

Laughing, I swiped a hand across my mouth, unable to contain it. "Sounds like the twins are still keeping you on your toes."

"Giving me grey hair before my time, more like." Sheila rolled her lovely hazel eyes, but her lips twisted into rueful grin. For all her posturing, her heart was soft as porridge.

"I heard from your dad that you were about and wanted to come say a quick hi, but duty calls and I've got a busy afternoon ahead of me. Shall I send Jimmy to help with the tack?"

"No, I can manage them on my own. Can't I, girls?" I asked and puckered my lips for a kiss, Hawthorne happily obliged, swinging her nose my way.

"Oh please, you big swindlers." She slapped a hand playfully against Hawthorne's neck. "Kissing up to the boss's daughter. Why am I not surprised." Shaking her head with a laugh, she said a quick goodbye and was off, leaving me with a couple of pleased looking fillies.

"Alright, ladies," I said, opening the gate for them to pass through. "After you."

I enjoyed the simple work of tending to horses. I'd almost forgotten how soothing the task could be. Brushing hand and comb over a coat until it sparkled and gleamed with the lustre of a polished gem, the soft, nickering of a contented horse munching on a bucket of grain and straw.

With the pair of them saddled and bridled, I walked them out from the barn and up the sloped path and caught Tristan headed my way. At my approached he cocked a hand over his eyes, shielding them from the sun as I drew closer, a back slung over his shoulder.

"The lovely Miss Pat sent me down this way to find you," he said. "Brought a packed lunch. Said you were likely mucking out stalls with your father." "Not today," I said, handing over a length of black reins for him to take. "How do you feel about joining me for a ride?" I asked and watched as his eyes slid over Brimstone with a measure of distrust. She eyed him right back and gave a silky shake of her head-always the flirt. Where her sister Hawthorne was dark, she was fair and the both of them had the signature blue eyes of the Ahkal Teke breed.

Next to me, Hawthorne pawed the ground, eager to kick up her hooves and run. She wasn't the only one. I'd missed that rush of wind and sky-the power of a horse between my thighs and the wild, reckless abandon of a break neck dash over nothing but open, open grass.

"Why not?" Tristan said and set a foot in the stirrup, he vaulted over, clean and smooth, a man accustomed to holding his seat in a saddle. "Well?" he asked, gathering the reins, his heels cocked against the sides of a lean belly. And was off like a shot through the opened paddock gate.

I leapt onto Hawthorne's back in a single sweep, my blood already thrumming with exhilarating promise. Hands fisted in reins and mane, I let out a hollering whoop, set my heels and flew.