struggled to her feet, the ice bag slipping crookedly off her arm. “Kentucky Kiss isn’t for sale.”
“She’s a valuable dam.”
“No.” Her father had given her Kentucky Kiss when she turned fifteen, and for nearly two weeks after her birthday, Daisy had slept in the stable, snuggled in a sleeping bag inside the yearling’s stall.
“Surely you’ve had offers.” Dante persisted.
Daisy dropped the ice bag on the desk. “That’s not the point. She’s not for sale. Kentucky Kiss is the heart of Collingsworth Farm.” And was her heart, too.
“Daisy, we should at least discuss this.”
“I’ll consider other horses. We have a dozen dams—”
“My interest is only in Kentucky Kiss. I know her pedigree. Four foals, three to race, two winners. She’s the one I want. She’s extremely valuable. If you sold her to me, you’d erase the debt.”
Daisy couldn’t speak. Words were impossible. She simply stood there, fingertips braced on the desk, heart beating so slowly she felt the weight of every second, the pressure building inside her until she felt like a balloon about to burst.
So much had been taken away from her. Her mother. Teddy McCaw. Her father’s health. Her college education.
And now her horse.
But Kentucky Kiss was more than a horse. She’d been Daisy’s best friend. When Daisy groomed Kiss, she’d told her everything, confided everything, shared her secrets and her longing and her dreams. And maybe it sounded stupid, but Kentucky Kiss understood Daisy. Kentucky Kiss loved her, and accepted her, and just let her be herself.
Daisy took a shaky step toward the water cooler but then couldn’t take another. Her legs were too weak. She couldn’t move in either direction. “Kentucky Kiss is the heart of our breeding program.”
“Yes, now she is, but her foal, Miracle Baby, will be your future.”
She pictured Kentucky Kiss’s foal, Miracle Baby, who’d just turned twelve weeks old and was still all gawky legs. She could see him tripping about behind his mother in coltish ecstasy.
If Miracle Baby went to auction as a yearling, it had already been speculated that he’d go for at least a million dollars, probably two to three times as much if in the next year he was raised by the right trainer, handled as a champion should be handled.
Daisy knew she needed to hire a big-name trainer for the foal, but she didn’t have the money to do it. She wouldn’t be able to attract a reputable trainer if the farm continued to hover on the verge of bankruptcy. Reputation meant everything in this business. And horse people were susperstitious. You had to have a good name. You had to have wins. And you needed luck.
Which was why Daisy had told no one about her father’s illness. Collingsworth Farm would be finished if people knew her father was as sick as he was.
“We need a trainer,” she said slowly, staring out the window and yet seeing nothing.
How could she sell Kentucky Kiss? But the farm had been in the family forever, and there was Zoe’s future to think about. How could she not sell Kentucky Kiss? “You can have Kentucky Kiss for six hundred thousand. That will settle the debt and pay for a trainer for Miracle Baby.”
“Six hundred?”
“And you leave her here until Miracle Baby is weaned.”
He seemed to consider this. “You’ll put this in writing?”
“I’ll get the paperwork together later tonight. We can take it to a notary first thing tomorrow.” At least she wouldn’t have to part with Kentucky Kiss immediately. She’d have another four months. Six, if she was lucky.
And she did feel lucky, luckier than she had in a year. Keeping the farm was what mattered. Keeping her father in his own house. Keeping Zoe’s inheritance intact.
Selling Kentucky Kiss was a personal sacrifice and maybe one her father wouldn’t approve of, but she was doing it for the right reasons. She was doing it for the right people.
“I’ll meet you tomorrow downtown,” she said, naming a prominent law firm that handled transactions like this one. In Lexington, breeders and buyers left nothing to chance.
He waited outside as she locked up the office for the night. She didn’t intend to return until morning. In the evenings Daisy liked to give Zoe a break from taking care of their dad. Earlier in the year Zoe used to drive into town to meet her old high school friends. They’d catch a movie, get coffee, just hang out together. But lately Zoe didn’t go out anymore, and her friends didn’t call that often, either.
Dante opened the truck door for Daisy. “Your hand is bothering you,” he said.
“It aches,” she admitted, knowing she only had herself to blame. Losing her temper was stupid. It just made her look immature.
“Take something when you get home. It’ll help with the swelling.”
“Right.” Daisy slid behind the wheel, wanting nothing more than to escape. It was embarrassing having Dante worry about her bruised hand. She’d been the one to lose control. She’d thrown the punch.
But Dante held on to the green truck door, his foot resting on the old Chevy’s riser. He studied her for a long minute, his expression impossible to read. “I have an invitation to the Lindleys’ black-tie party tomorrow night,” he said finally. “Would you consider going with me?”
“The Lindleys?” she repeated, wrapping one hand around the steering wheel, gripping the ridges tightly.
“It’s the big horse event of the year.”
Daisy knew all about the Lindleys’ preauction party. It was an annual event, and the funds raised went to charity. Last year it was literacy. This year a women’s shelter. But this year, like last year, the Collingsworths hadn’t been invited.
Her lips parted, but no sound came out. She struggled to put voice to words and still came up with nothing. Peter Lindley had been her father’s best friend. Peter Lindley had dropped her father like a hot potato.
“I don’t think so,” she said at length, her voice a squeak, her throat so tight she couldn’t say more. She didn’t hate the Lindleys, but there was no love lost between the families.
But Dante didn’t take no easily. “Why not?”
“We’re not exactly popular people in Lexington.”
“Then fake it.”
He smiled, and she’d never seen him look more confident. “I … can’t. I hate those things. I hate the snobbery, the superficial small talk, the absurd money the women spend on clothes. It’s just not me.”
“You’re not a fashion darling, then?”
She felt herself blush. He was making fun of her. It was obvious she wasn’t into high fashion. She lived in her boots and jeans. They were comfortable and practical. “No.”
He reached out, touched her cheek gently. “You don’t need designer clothes to make you stand out. You’re beautiful, Daisy. You turn heads just as you are.”
His fingers scorched her skin, and heat flooded her limbs. She drew a shaky breath and was suddenly grateful she was sitting down because she didn’t think she’d have the strength to stand. “You don’t need to flatter me, Count Galván. I can live without compliments.”
His lips twisted. “We’re past the formalities, Daisy. It’s Dante now. It has to be. Once a woman hits me, there’s no going back.”
Heat surged through her. She felt herself blush yet again, the color staining higher, hotter beneath her skin. He was having the worst effect on her. “I don’t know what to say.”
“Say