Dear Reader,

As an animal-science major, I’ve always been fascinated by horses, so it was a thrill for me to write this third installment of the wonderful THOROUGHBRED LEGACY series.

There’s something special about people who love animals, and veterinarian Carter Phillips is no exception. When he meets artist Gillian Cameron, she throws his life completely off track—especially when a dark secret threatens them both.

The world of Thoroughbred horse racing is full of exciting twists and turns, so hold on to your cowboy hat and enjoy the ride!

All my best,

Kristin Gabriel

Picture of Perfection

Kristin Gabriel

www.millsandboon.co.uk

MILLS & BOON

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KRISTIN GABRIEL

is an author of more than twenty-five books. She is a two-time Romance Writers of America RITA® Award winner for best traditional romance. Her first book was made into a television movie entitled Recipe for Revenge. Kristin lives in rural Nebraska, and her favorite hobbies are snacking and procrastination.

For the awesome members

of Prairieland Romance Writers:

Sherry James, Julie Miller, Sue Baumann,

Mary Ann McQuillan, Kathleen Pieper,

Noelle Ptomey, Pam Crooks, Brenda Kranz,

Robin Rotham, Heidi Aken, Margaret Cowan McGrath,

Cindy Kirk, Elizabeth Parker, Yvonne Weers,

Patricia Riley and Ellen Ambroz.

Thank you for inspiring me, making me laugh and making me a better writer.

Contents

Prologue

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Seventeen

Chapter Eighteen

Chapter Nineteen

Chapter Twenty

Prologue

Smoke.

Thick and black, it blinded Gillian as she stumbled toward the door, her arms outstretched to feel her way along the wall of her bedroom. The smoke filled her nostrils and throat, threatening to choke her. She tried not to breathe it in as she sought escape, her eyes burning and thick with tears.

Almost there.

She could hear glass breaking somewhere in the ranch house and a strange rumbling beneath her feet. There was only smoke and darkness in her second-floor bedroom, no flames to light her way. She imagined those hot flames licking the floor below her, like a ravenous beast consuming everything in its path. The image frightened her, making her long for the comforting arms of her parents.

She tried to call out for them, but smoke filled her lungs as soon as she opened her mouth. Her cry was lost in a fit of coughing that made her chest ache. Surrounded by the smoky darkness, she felt a sense of hopelessness begin to seep into her veins, making her body feel so heavy that it was difficult to move.

Where was the door?

It took all her strength to extend her arms over the wall as she searched for the door frame. She felt as if she’d already walked several miles rather than just the few feet that led from her bed to the hallway.

Had she gone in the wrong direction?

No, surely not. It wasn’t possible to get lost in your own bedroom, was it? She paused, indecision clogging her brain. She was so tired. She just wanted to lie down on her pink shag carpet and go to sleep again, but the desperate need for air kept pushing her forward.

Her next step landed on something small and soft. It emitted a mournful squeak as her foot pressed it against the floor. The sound came from Morris, her favorite teddy bear. Gillian bent down and snatched him up, reveling in the familiar feel of him. He was like a signpost in the night, telling her this dark, scary place really was her home.

She held the teddy bear tightly against her chest. Gillian couldn’t let Morris burn. She’d had him for ten years, ever since she was born. She had to save him.

She had to save her parents.

Gillian kept moving, her chest beginning to ache as she took short, shallow breaths to keep from inhaling too much of the poisonous air. At last her hand hit the wood frame of her door.

She moaned in relief as her fingers gripped the brass doorknob. It wasn’t hot. Relief gave her strength as she tugged it open and staggered into the hallway, clutching Morris with all her might.

Gillian fell to her knees and began to crawl, recalling some faraway instruction that she was supposed to do this in a fire. In truth, she simply didn’t have the strength to stand any longer.

That’s when she saw him, standing at the end of the hallway. She opened her mouth to shout to the man, but nothing came out.

She looked down at the teddy bear in her hands, pushing on his furry belly with all her might. Trying to make him squeak loud enough for the man to hear so he could help her.

Instead, Morris smiled up at her and said, “You’re too late.”

Gillian awoke with a start, gasping for breath. A soft yellow glow emanated from the night-light near her bedroom door. It took her a moment to realize that she was safe in her four-poster bed, not in a smoke-filled hallway.

Sweat drenched her white cotton nightgown. 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 on behalf of the Preston family and make sure the bid was high enough to win. Although the Preston’s made generous contributions to several worthy charities, this year Quest Stables needed all the good publicity it could get.

“I’m sure Kentucky is nice and hot in August,” Noah replied.

“You’re right, but I’m in San Diego at the moment,” Carter replied. “We’ve got horses running at Del Mar.”

“So this Leopold’s Legacy problem hasn’t screwed things up for the other horses at Quest?” Noah asked him.

He should have known his brother would have heard about the scandal. The news about Leopold’s Legacy had been splashed across every newspaper in the country with headlines like: Derby Winner a Phony and Triple Crown Contender from the Wrong Side of the Track.

ESPN Magazine had added to the feeding frenzy with an in-depth article about the horse’s mystery sire entitled: “Who’s Your Daddy?” That was also the question Carter was trying so hard to answer.

Right now, it was only Leopold’s Legacy who was not allowed to race, but if they didn’t find answers soon, the local and regional racing commissions would enact a ban against all horses majority-owned by Quest.

He grabbed a glass of champagne from a passing waiter as he entered the ballroom and took a deep sip. It wasn’t to his taste, since he preferred his liquor hard and strong, just like his women. Not that Carter had found much time for romance since this scandal with Leopold’s Legacy had erupted.

“Hey, are you there” Noah asked.

Carter blinked, realizing he’d let his mind wander again. “Yes, I’m still here.”

“Well, one of the reasons I’m calling is that you just got a late invitation to your fifteenth high school reunion. It’s this weekend.”

“Just throw it away,” Carter told him.

“You’re not coming back for it?”

He heard the disappointment in Noah’s voice, but Carter knew he couldn’t even consider going home until this mess with Leopold’s Legacy was cleared up. The Prestons were like a second family to him and he couldn’t abandon them now. “There’s no way I can make it. I’ve got too much work to do.”

“That’s what you always say,” Noah replied. “I think you should try to have some fun for a change and the reunion sounds like a blast.”

He checked his watch, realizing he didn’t have much time left to bid. “I’m at a charity auction right now and while I wouldn’t exactly call it fun, I do need to bid on something.” Carter scanned the multitude of items on display. “I’m trying to decide between a set of Limoges china, an authentic silk kimono, and an old saddlebag that was used on the pony express. Which one do you think I should bid on?”

“Can’t you just fly to Chicago for the weekend?” Noah persisted. “I’d like to talk to you about something….”

That’s when Carter saw it.

His heart skipped a beat as he stared at a breathtaking portrait of Leopold’s Legacy. Or rather a bay horse that looked like Leopold’s Legacy’s identical twin. The stallion in the painting had the same clover-shaped star on its forehead and the same unique flaxen color in its tail.

But there was something more.

The artist had captured the same spirit that Carter saw in Leopold’s Legacy. The majestic stallion in the painting had his head turned toward the sun, the light gleaming off the powerful muscles in his neck and shoulders.

Carter couldn’t believe this was just a coincidence. The horse in the painting wasn’t Leopold’s Legacy, but it looked as if they might have the same bloodline and very possibly the same sire.

“Carter?” Impatience laced Noah’s voice. “Are you still there?”

“I’m sorry,” he said, barely able to think, much less talk coherently. “I’ve got to go.”

“All right, but call me back. I really need to talk to you.”

“Okay,” Carter said, barely comprehending his brother’s words as he slipped the cell phone back into his pocket. He was too fascinated by the portrait and the possibility it presented.

Carter watched a man wearing a ten-gallon hat make a bid on the painting. The silent auction was ending soon and he didn’t have time to waste.

“Only fifteen minutes left, sir,” said a middle-aged woman with a name tag that proclaimed her as Shirley Biden. “So make your bid count.”

Carter picked up the pencil and a bidding slip from the table. “What can you tell me about this painting?”

“It’s called Picture of Perfection,” she replied. “That’s the name of the horse, too. If you’re the top bidder, I’ve arranged it so you not only win the painting, but get an opportunity to meet the artist.”

He stared at the painting, his gut telling him that Picture of Perfection might hold the key to his search for Leopold’s Legacy’s true sire. At the very least, it could be a first step toward solving the mystery that plagued Quest Stables.

“Ten minutes, sir,” Shirley said cheerfully.

Although Carter had been asked to bid on an item for Quest Stables, he’d find something else for them. He scribbled down a figure that would make his accountant drop him as a client, but he wanted this painting for himself.

He signed his name to the bid, then handed it to the woman. Her eyebrows shot up when she looked at the number. “Thank you very much, sir. And good luck.”

Carter placed another bid on the vintage leather saddlebag for the Preston family, knowing how much matriarch Jenna Preston liked antiques. Then he paced the ballroom, waiting for the silent auction to end.

He found himself wondering about the identity of Picture of Perfection’s dam as well as when and where she had been bred. Artificial insemination was forbidden by the Jockey Association and the International Thoroughbred Racing Federation, which meant Thoroughbreds had to be conceived the old-fashioned way. He and Brent Preston, Andrew’s brother and Quest’s head breeder, had actually watched the breeding between Apollo’s Ice and Courtin’ Cristy at Angelina Stud Farm. That’s what made the DNA results for Leopold’s Legacy so incomprehensible.

Carter declined the offer of a second glass of champagne from a passing waiter, wanting to keep a clear head. He needed information about Picture of Perfection such as breeding date, birth date and genealogical data before he could make any solid determinations. Anything that might point him toward a possible connection with Leopold’s Legacy.

Carter found himself standing in front of the portrait, staring at the horse. There was no denying the talent of the artist. The horse looked as if it could leap off the canvas at any moment. He read the artist’s signature at the bottom left corner.

G. Cameron.

He wondered if Mr. Cameron had any of the answers he sought. Not likely, but he could probably lead Carter to the owner of the horse.

The chime of bells sounded in the ballroom, signaling the end of the auction. Carter tensed as the director of the charity took the stage. He was a robust man with a full mustache and beard. Carter recognized him as one of the bigwigs at the Del Mar racetrack.

“First, I want to thank each and every one of you for your generous contributions this evening. With your support, we can make a difference in the lives of so many people.”

Carter didn’t begrudge the money he’d bid on the painting. If he won, at least he knew it was going to a good cause. During college, he’d spent his summers working at a horse camp for disabled kids. That’s when he’d developed a love for horses. He’d seen the way they reacted to the children, exhibiting a gentleness that had amazed him.

The director signaled the band for a drumroll, then beamed at the crowd gathered around the stage. “And now it’s the time we’ve all been waiting for—the winners of tonight’s auction.”

Carter tensed, wondering if he should have placed a higher bid. He had no experience with the art world. Perhaps the painting was worth three times the amount he had bid. Maybe he should have kept Noah on the line and asked his opinion.

His brother had taken a couple of art appreciation classes along with some other courses that Carter had considered pretty worthless for an economics major. Not that Noah ever listened to his advice. However, now Carter saw that there might be some value to them.

“The high bid of the evening is for the lovely horse portrait by local up-and-coming artist Gillian Cameron of Robards Farm.”

Gillian?

For some reason, Carter had just assumed the artist was a man, since the sport of horse racing tended to be dominated by men. That was slowly changing and Quest Stables jockey Melanie Preston was proof of it. She could definitely hold her own with any man on the racetrack.

“And the winner is….”

The director paused for dramatic effect and Carter felt as though he might burst out of his skin.

“Dr. Carter Phillips.”

The crowd applauded as he released a deep sigh of relief. He’d bid high enough after all and won the painting.

The director moved onto the next item on his list and Carter forced himself to pay attention until he heard that the Prestons had won the vintage saddlebag.

Shirley approached him, her face wreathed with a smile. She reminded him of his favorite aunt back in Chicago.

“Congratulations, Dr. Phillips,” she gushed. “I could see how much you liked that portrait.”

“Thank you.”

She turned toward the painting and clasped her hands together in delight. “Picture of Perfection is such a beautiful horse. I’ve actually seen him run in some California races this summer. He’s very fast and causing quite a sensation around here.”

Just like Leopold’s Legacy.

Carter shook that thought from his head, not ready to leap to any conclusions. He needed to find the evidence to support his theory.

“Would you like to take the portrait with you now or have it delivered?”

“I’ll take it with me,” Carter replied. “Can you wrap it up?”

“Certainly. What about the saddlebag?”

Carter thought about it for a moment. “I’d like you to mail that to Jenna Preston at Quest Stables in Woodford County, Kentucky.”

“Very good,” she said, then leaned toward him and lowered her voice. “I’m so sorry about all the trouble you folks are having. I hope everything works out for the best.”

“I appreciate it,” Carter said, then broached the subject that really interested him. “I also won the opportunity to meet the artist, right? I’d like to set that up as soon as possible.”

Shirley chuckled at his enthusiasm. “Of course. I’ll just need your contact information.”

Carter took out one of his business cards, then jotted down the name of his hotel and his room number. “My cell phone number is on here, as well, so you can reach me anytime.”

“I’ll get in touch with the artist and let you know what time works best for her,” she replied, taking the card from him.

“The sooner, the better,” he said, hoping she’d be free tomorrow. He’d only be in San Diego a couple of weeks and wanted to make every minute count. He loved this area of the country and looked forward to spending a little time outside of the Del Mar racetrack.

As Carter left the ballroom, he wondered if the artist had been at the charity benefit tonight. She might have been able to tell him something about the horse and its lineage.

Then again, she might only want to talk about her art. He admired people with that kind of talent, but had almost nothing in common with them. He was a man of science and the art world was completely foreign to him.

Thanks to Gillian Cameron, he owned a painting of Picture of Perfection. Now all he wanted was the horse’s DNA and he’d be happy.

With any luck, she just might be able to help him get it.

Two

When Gillian Cameron opened the door to the main house on Robards Farm, Carter forgot everything he was going to say.

The woman in the doorway was not what he expected. Her mane of chestnut hair reached almost to her waist and her eyes were the deep, rich green of Kentucky bluegrass. Her face captivated him, as well, open and expressive. Her creamy skin seemed to glow from within and looked so soft that he had to stifle the urge to reach out and stroke her cheek. It was a ridiculous reaction and one that he’d never experienced before.

Carter blamed it on fatigue. He’d been unable to sleep last night, too keyed up by this new lead into finding Leopold’s Legacy’s true sire. He’d spent hours in front of his laptop, studying the DNA test results of Leopold’s Legacy and Apollo’s Ice. He’d even looked up Picture of Perfection’s lineage online and confirmed that he was also reportedly sired by Apollo’s Ice.

Now all he needed was to convince the owner of the horse to let him take a blood sample so he could compare the DNA of all the horses involved. He was fairly certain Picture of Perfection didn’t come from Robards Farm. The only horses he’d seen grazing in a nearby pasture were an eclectic assortment of quarter horses, draft horses and even a few miniature horses.

His meeting with the artist was simply meant to be a starting point in his search for the truth, but now that he’d seen Gillian he found himself faltering at the gate and forgetting the real reason he’d come here.

A smile lifted the corners of her generous pink mouth. “You must be Dr. Phillips.”

He gave a stiff nod, trying to gather his scattered thoughts. He’d pictured her as some middle-aged hippie woman with immense talent and an eccentric sense of style.

Gillian looked more like a sexy model for the designer jeans she wore. The low-slung blue denim molded the delicious curve of her hips and hugged a pair of long luscious legs that seemed to go on forever. The tail ends of her white cotton blouse were tied just below her perfect breasts and revealed a golden tan on the generous expanse of bare skin that made it all too east to picture her naked.

“Dr. Phillips?” she said, her brow furrowed.

He met her gaze, suddenly aware of the heat of the California sun on the back of his neck. “Please call me Carter.”

“It’s very nice to meet you, Carter.” She reached out to shake his hand.

“So you’re the artist,” he said, stating the obvious. He noticed a smudge of yellow paint on her hand as she joined him on the front porch.

“That’s right.” Gillian hitched her thumbs in the front pockets of her jeans, the movement revealing a tantalizing glimpse of her cleavage. “Are you ready?”

“Ready?” he echoed, sounding like an idiot. It might help if he could string more than one or two words together at a time. “Ready for what?”

Amusement danced in her green eyes. “Ready to see Picture of Perfection. That’s why you came here today, isn’t it?”

“The horse is here?” he asked in surprise, looking around the place. He was no snob, having grown up in a working-class neighborhood in Chicago, but horse racing was an expensive business. Robards Farm looked too run-down to support such an endeavor. There was paint peeling off the house and outbuildings, as well as several pieces of farm machinery that looked as if they were in disrepair.

There were homey touches, as well, like the old tire swing hanging from the oak tree in the center of the yard and the gingham curtains in the window.

“Where else would he be? Gillian asked. “He’s in the south pasture.”

Carter nodded, aware that he was still adjusting to his surprise that the artist was a beautiful young woman instead of an eccentric. He needed to refocus and concentrate on his purpose for coming here.

“I can’t wait to see how close your portrait of Picture of Perfection comes to the real thing,” Carter told her.

“Then let’s go,” Gillian said, stepping off the porch to lead the way.

Carter enjoyed the sexy view from behind for a moment before lengthening his stride to catch up with her. Gillian moved briskly, the sun shining on her hair and turning some of the stray curls bouncing over her shoulders to a deep, burnished copper.

She glanced over at him and smiled, the gleam in her beautiful green eyes giving him the same sensation he used to feel when doing belly flops into the beach on Lake Michigan as a kid.

Femme fatale.

Those were the perfect words to describe Gillian Cameron. Carter had never really known a woman who fit that description the way she did. He hesitated to use the phrase now, although the effect she was having on him left no doubt that he found her desirable.

“We’re almost there,” Gillian promised.

She stopped to unlatch a white gate that hung crookedly on its hinges. Then she lifted the gate up on one end so it swung open wide enough for them both to pass through it.

Carter waited while she closed the gate and latched it again. He wanted to ask her why Mr. Robards hadn’t used some of his prize money from the races Picture of Perfection had won to do some upkeep on the farm. As a veterinarian, he knew faulty gates and fences could lead to animals escaping and getting hit by a car or falling prey to a predator.

“Looks like you could use a handyman to fix that gate,” he said.

She sighed. “I’ll get to it one of these days. It just seems like there’s never enough time to get everything done around here.”

An artist and a farmhand. He wondered what other talents she possessed.

They climbed a small knoll, the meadow grass reaching almost to his knees. Then he saw a white gazebo in the distance.

“That’s my refuge,” Gillian announced.

He followed her there, impressed at the way she’d transformed it into a makeshift artist’s studio. There was an easel with a partially completed painting on it, as well as a small table full of bristle brushes and paint.

“It’s very nice,” he said, noting how the breeze fanned her hair around her face.

Gillian smiled. “It might be a bit unorthodox, but I do my best work out here. I have the most inspiring view in the world.”

He turned to look beyond the gazebo and his breath caught in his throat. Lush green valleys dotted with horses lay between her gazebo and the Pacific Ocean. He recognized the horizon as the same one in the painting he’d just bought. Somehow, she’d been able to embrace the beauty of nature around her and make it come alive on the canvas.

“Come and have a look at my work in progress.” Gillian led him farther into the gazebo. “I could use a second opinion.”

Carter followed her inside, his eyes going immediately to the easel. “You’re doing another painting of Picture of Perfection?”

She sighed. “I can’t seem to stop painting him. His name is my curse, because no matter how hard I try I can’t seem to achieve perfection.”

Carter disagreed. Everything about her was perfect. Her painting, her eyes, her bewitching smile. He moved closer to the easel. “It looks perfect to me. What’s wrong with it?”

“I don’t know,” she said, shaking her head. “It just feels like something is missing. No matter how many times I paint this horse, I’m just not able to move on. I guess I’m looking for something I can’t explain.”

Carter turned to her. There was a vulnerability about Gillian that touched him, yet she definitely wasn’t the damsel-in-distress type. The dichotomy only deepened his curiosity about her.

“How long have you been painting?” he asked.

“About twelve years. I started shortly after I moved here. Herman Robards is my godfather and has never discouraged me from trying new things.” She smiled. “Even really stupid things.”

“We’ve all done really stupid things.”

She arched a winged brow. “Including you?”

“Sure,” he replied. “Some are easy to forget, but others stick with you for much too long. Sometimes forever.”

She moved closer to him. “Tell me one stupid thing you’ve done.”

He blinked, surprised by the request. This was supposed to be a simple meeting between an artist and the buyer of her painting. Now it was becoming surprisingly personal.

“Well, let’s see…,” he began, trying to think of something innocuous.

It had been a very long time since he’d done anything impulsive. Carter had gotten so used to suppressing his own needs and desires to help others that sometimes he felt as if he were just going through the motions of life. It had created an emptiness inside of him that he could usually ignore until someone like Gillian came along. Her vitality and spirit stirred something long dormant inside of him.

“I think you’re stalling,” she teased.

“I got a tattoo when I was a freshman in college,” he blurted.

She wrinkled her brow in confusion. “Why is that stupid?”

He smiled. “Because I’d had too much to drink at the time and did it on a whim. I didn’t give any thought to what the tattoo image should be, I just picked one that appealed to me. Then I spent the next two years covering it up with a bandage.”

Gillian laughed, a sound so enthralling that he ached to hear again.

“Was it that bad?” she asked.

“The art was okay, I guess. Quite good, actually. It was the image I chose that was stupid.”

Curiosity lit her face. “What was it?”

“A butterfly.”

Her eyes widened. “I think that’s a wonderful choice!”

He laughed. “But not the most masculine one. I was a skinny college kid trying to impress girls. Telling them I had picked a butterfly tattoo because I liked the colors wasn’t the best pickup line in the world.”

“It would have worked on me,” Gillian said softly, then she flushed. “I mean, I’m an artist, so I like colors. May I see it?”

Again, Carter was surprised by the request. Gillian didn’t stand on pretense. She was forthright, yet in a way that made him want to accommodate her.

Carter removed his jacket, then rolled up the short sleeve of his shirt to reveal the small butterfly on his bicep.

“Oh, it’s gorgeous,” she breathed, stepping closer to him. Her slender fingers reached out to trace the intricate design.

His body tightened at her soft touch and he had to remind himself to breathe. Standing this close to Gillian made him realize how very long it had been since he’d held a woman in his arms.

Gillian stepped away from him all too soon. “I think it’s a perfectly wonderful tattoo and does not in any way qualify as a stupid mistake. At least you don’t cover it with a bandage anymore.”

“I’ve gotten past the embarrassment, for the most part. I’m certainly not a teenager anymore and stopped trying to impress people years ago.”

She cocked her head to one side. “So how old are you, Carter?”

“I’m thirty-three.”

She grinned. “I’m twenty-two.”

Her age his him like a punch in the gut. Twenty-two. The eleven-year age difference gaped as wide and deep as the Grand Canyon in his mind. She was barely out of her teens and he’d been fantasizing about her naked….

Carter closed his eyes, realizing that she was almost the same age as Noah, his impulsive and immature little brother. Noah had often scoffed at Carter’s stoic predictability and no doubt Gillian would feel the same if she got to know him better. They were both too young to realize that life had a way of interfering with your dreams.

“I’ll be twenty-three next month,” she proclaimed.

Next month he’d be back in Kentucky. He looked at her, aware that her age had come as a shock to him because Gillian had painted a portrait with such a mature and unique perspective. There was something about her, something he couldn’t name. That made her seem wise for her years.

The whinny of a horse drew their attention to the magnificent stallion in the pasture. He stood only a few feet from the gazebo, close enough for Carter to get a good look at him.

“There he is,” Gillian said with a note of awe in her voice. “Picture of Perfection. I think his name fits him, don’t you?”

Carter’s breath hitched. Picture of Perfection really was the spitting image of Leopold’s Legacy. “He’s a three-year-old?”

She nodded. “He turned three in February. I was there when he was born. I’ll never forget that night.” She looked up at him. “You’re a veterinarian, right? So it’s probably pretty routine for you.”

“A birth is never routine. It always feels like a miracle to me.”

She reached out to grasp his forearm. “Exactly! The only thing I can compare it to is the feeling I get when I’m painting a horse and everything is going just right. I’m completely focused on what’s happening in front of me and tuning everything else out. It’s like I’m….”

“Touching the horse’s soul?” Carter ventured, then realized how much of himself he’d revealed. That was how he felt whenever he participated in a birth, only he’d never been able to find the right words to describe the experience.

“Yes,” she breathed, staring up at him.

Their gazes locked for a long moment, then she looked away, breaking the connection. “I suppose we should head back. Herman’s making lunch today and he always worries if I’m late.”

He wondered why she lived with her godfather instead of her parents, but unlike Gillian, he wasn’t about to ask such a personal question.

“Why don’t you come to the house and I can introduce you to him?” Gillian suggested. “He wants to meet the man who bought his favorite painting. In fact, he’ll probably invite you to stay for lunch.”

The thought of spending more time with Gillian appealed to him. She had a way of making him forget his problems and that was a rare experience for Carter.

As they walked back to the house, Gillian made small talk all the way. She asked him about his work at Quest Stables and how he’d gotten interested in veterinary medicine.

To his surprise, Carter found himself talking about the injured squirrel he’d nursed back to health when he was ten and the horse camps he’d worked at as a teenager.

Then their conversation turned to Quest Stables and the horses running at Del Mar.

“Do you have any horses entered in the Pacific Classic?” she asked, referring to the annual million-dollar horse race at the Del Mar racetrack. “Picture of Perfection will be racing there.”

“Not this year.” Carter was surprised that she seemed unaware of the scandal surrounding Leopold’s Legacy, who had been scheduled to run in the Pacific Classic, too. The winner of the race earned an automatic berth in the Breeders’ Cup Classic.

“Quest Stables has several horses running their maiden race at Del Mar in the week prior to the Pacific Classic,” he continued. “We like the competition here and the quality of the track. It’s a good place for a horse to start its career.”

“Then I look forward to seeing you there,” Gillian said. “I want to paint Picture of Perfection at the racetrack. So far I’ve limited myself to pasture portraits, so this will be a whole new challenge for me.”

The challenge for Carter would be keeping his mind on his work if Gillian came around. His busy schedule usually didn’t leave much time for socializing, especially with a tantalizing femme fatale who was much too young for him.

The door opened when they reached the front porch and a big bear of a man walked out to meet them. He was the same height as Carter and twice as wide.

“Hello, Herman,” Gillian greeted him, confirming for Carter that this was Robards.

Herman grinned at his goddaughter. “Have I got a surprise for you.”

Three

Gillian Cameron didn’t know if she could take any more surprises today. She was still reeling from finding Carter Phillips at her door. The man was gorgeous, with his short dark hair and eyes as blue as the California sky. Better still, he wasn’t one of those insufferable men who knew he was handsome and expected her to fall at his feet.

He was older, too, which was a welcome change from some of those goofballs she’d dated in art school. Even though she’d just met Carter, Gillian liked what she saw. Not only his physical appearance, but the thoughtful way he talked to her and, even better, the way he listened.

She could feel his gaze on her now and it made the back of her neck tingle. He hadn’t thought she was a freak when she talked about how painting made her feel. He didn’t question why she was twenty-two years old and still living in her godfather’s house. He didn’t try to make a pass at her, which was a nice change from her usual encounters with men.

Not that this was a date. Far from it. Carter was simply the man who had bought her painting. The fact that he seemed so interested in Picture of Perfection was probably one the reasons she was so drawn to him.

Not that she’d mind a date with him. More than one, if she was honest with herself. She was definitely tempted to run her hands over a lot more than his tattoo. The man was the textbook definition of tall, dark and sexy.

“Herman, this is Dr. Carter Phillips,” she said, making the introductions. “He bought my painting at the charity fund-raiser last night.”

“Nice to meet you,” Herman said, reaching out to pump the man’s hand.

Unlike most people that Gillian observed, Carter didn’t wince at Herman’s powerful grip.

“I didn’t mean to be rude before,” Herman told him. “I was just so darn excited to see Gillian at the door that I couldn’t keep it in any longer.”

“Excited about what?” Gillian asked, perplexed by his demeanor. Herman looked as if he was about ready to jump out of his snakeskin cowboy boots.

“That gallery owner called,” he replied with a twinkle in his brown eyes. “You know, the guy who likes your horse portraits so much.”

“Jon Castello?” She’d met the owner of the Arcano Gallery at an art symposium last spring. He’d given a lecture and offered critiques for individual artists. To Gillian’s delight, he’d been impressed with her work. She’d been to his gallery a couple of times since then and he’d insisted on becoming her mentor.

“That’s the one,” Herman replied. “Anyway, he wants you to do a show at his gallery.”

Gillian’s heart skipped a beat. Her dream had always been to have her art on public display, but she’d never expected it to happen so early in her career.

“Oh, Herman,” she said, trying not to get too excited, “are you sure you understood him right? You know how you get phone messages confused sometimes.”

“I’m sure,” Herman affirmed. “I made him repeat it to me three times just so I wouldn’t get the message wrong. I think he was getting a little irritated. No offense, but I think the guy’s kind of a jerk.”

That didn’t surprise her. Like many artists, Jon could be temperamental and had a quick-fire temper. There were times that Gillian wondered if his interest in her was more that professional, but he’d never said or done anything inappropriate.

“I wrote down his number and put it on the desk in your room,” Herman continued. “You’re supposed to call him as soon as possible to set up a date for the opening of your show.”

Her show.

Gillian leaped into Herman’s arms, hugging him tightly. He’d always supported her art, even when she’d been plagued with doubts about how long she could keep her dream of an art career alive before she had to give it up to pursue another profession.

Now it seemed her goal of making a living as an artist was coming true even sooner than she’d planned. If it was a success…

Gillian shook that thought from her head, still not allowing herself to look too far into the future. She needed to take this rare opportunity one day at a time so she didn’t screw things up.

“Why don’t you go make that call to Mr. Castello,” Herman suggested, “while I offer your young man here a cool drink.”

A hot blush crawled up her neck. “He’s not my young man,” she said quickly, glancing at Carter. “He just came to see Picture of Perfection.”

Herman winked at Carter. “Seems to me we’ve got a picture of perfection standing right in front of us. Don’t you agree, Phillips?”

The heat burned her cheeks. “Herman, please.”

Her godfather chuckled as he turned to Carter. “It’s my goal to make her blush at least once a day. I hear it’s good for the complexion.”

“I need to go make that phone call,” Gillian said, eager to escape before Herman embarrassed her any further.

Herman liked to tease her, but he didn’t usually do it in front of strange men. She couldn’t help but notice Carter had avoided answering his question about her so-called perfection.

Gillian retreated to her bedroom suite, the walls plastered with her paintings. Most of them were of horses, although she had tried one of Herman and Marie a few years ago. It wasn’t very good and led to her decision to stop trying to paint people. She just couldn’t seem to capture them as well as she did horses.

Gillian found the message Herman had left on her desk and stared at the name and number scribbled in his bold, distinct handwriting. It was amazing how this simple phone call might change her entire life. She’d learned early that life was a series of sudden twists and turns, often leading in an unexpected direction.

Like the fire that had killed her parents.

She’d gone to bed that night the beloved daughter of Mark and Cara Cameron, then found herself orphaned before dawn the next morning.

It was all so long ago. That’s why she didn’t understand why she’d been having these nightmares lately. She hoped her upcoming gallery exhibit would keep her too busy to worry about the past. Her nightmares had become so disturbing, she’d even thought about contacting a hypnotherapist. Yet, she couldn’t quite bring herself to do it. Some part of her was still hoping these nightmares would go away on their own.

As she sat down at her desk and picked up the cordless phone, she wondered what Herman and Carter were talking about. Hopefully, Herman wasn’t bragging about her as he had a tendency to do. That might drive Carter right out the door and she wanted the chance to tell him goodbye.

What she really wanted was for him to ask her out on a date.

“First things first,” Gillian murmured to herself.

Daydreaming about the sexy hunk downstairs wouldn’t get her any closer to her dream of a gallery exhibit. She just had to dial the number and let fate lead her the rest of the way.

Herman led Carter into the sunny kitchen, where the savory aroma of chili filled the air.

“What’s your pleasure?” Herman asked him as he opened the refrigerator. “I’ve got some good Mexican beer or do you prefer something stronger?”

“Beer is fine,” Carter replied, glancing around the room. Faded linoleum covered the floors and a small table and chairs stood in the center of the room. He could smell the aroma of cilantro in the air and his mouth watered. Carter liked to cook, but didn’t find much time to do it during racing season.

Herman pulled two frosty bottles of beer out of the refrigerator and handed one of them to Carter. Then he took a seat at the table. “Pull up a chair and make yourself comfortable. Gillian will be a while. That Castello guy never stops talking.”

It occurred to Carter that he didn’t need to stay until Gillian returned. He just needed to get Herman’s permission to take a blood sample from Picture of Perfection and he could be on his way.

On the other hand, he wasn’t in a hurry. He had looked over the Quest horses this morning and would do so again tonight. They all seemed to be in good shape and ready to be put through their paces tomorrow.

Carter sat down and took a long sip of his beer, savoring the way it washed down the back of his throat.

“Hope you don’t mind waiting for her in the kitchen,” Herman said. “This is where I spend most of my time. My Marie always wanted me to entertain guests in the parlor, but that’s much too fussy for an old cowboy like me. Now that she’s gone, I just bring folks here. Seems more homey, don’t you think?”

Carter agreed, hoping the informal atmosphere would make the man agreeable to his request. He took another sip of his beer, wondering how best to broach the subject of a blood test.

“You’re a veterinarian, aren’t you?” Herman asked him. “I think that’s what Gillian told me.”

“That’s right. I work for Quest Stables in Woodford County, Kentucky.”

Herman nodded. “They raise some mighty fine horses there. Do you suppose they’d mind my asking you for a second opinion? I’m sure they only hire the best. I’m willing to pay of course.”

Carter leaned forward, sensing an opening. “I’m always happy to offer advice. Is this about a horse?”

Herman shook his head. “No, my dog, Ranger. He’s a border collie and he’s come up kinda lame these last few weeks. My old vet retired to Florida last Christmas. I’m just not sure this new vet we hired knows what’s really wrong with him.”

“What’s he told you?

“That it’s probably a muscle strain and it just needs time to heal. The only thing is that Ranger doesn’t seem to be getting any better.”

“I can look at him now, if you want.”

Herman chuckled. “Well, the thing is, he’s not so bad that he can’t wander off. I haven’t seen Ranger in a while. He’s probably out chasing rabbits, though he certainly can’t run fast enough to catch them.”

Carter could see that Herman cared about his dog, just as the Prestons cared about all the horses at Quest. His respect for the man was growing by the minute.

“Did your vet do any lab work on him?” Carter asked him. Maybe instead of taking money for his opinion, Herman would agree to let him have a vial of Picture of Perfection’s blood. A barter that would satisfy both of them.

“Nope. I’ll show you what I’ve got.” Herman slid off his stool and disappeared from the kitchen. He returned a few minutes later with a thin file folder in his hand. “Here’s Ranger’s health records from the day he was born.”

Carter took the file from him and scanned the pages inside.

“It all looks fairly normal.”

“That’s good I suppose.” He tipped his beer bottle up and drained it. With a satisfied sigh, he set the empty bottle on the table. “Are you ready for another round?”

“Not quite yet.” Carter wasn’t certain he could keep up with the man. He watched Herman retrieve another beer from the refrigerator, then waited until he sat back down to broach the subject that had brought him here today.

“I’m hoping you might be able to do a favor for me.”

Herman reached for the bottle opener. “Name it.”

“I assume you’ve heard about the problem with Leopold’s Legacy?”

Herman nodded. “A real shame. That horse had Triple Crown winner written all over him. Any idea what happened there?”

Carter shook his head. “We’re still trying to figure it out. Despite all the rumors, there was no fraud involved. Somehow, Leopold’s Legacy was sired by another stallion. We just don’t know which one or how it happened. If we don’t figure it out soon, all the other horses majority-owned by Quest will be banned from racing.”

Herman furrowed his brow. “And you think I can help in some way?”

Carter sucked in a deep breath. “I knew you could help as soon as I saw that portrait of Picture of Perfection at the silent auction. He looks like the identical twin of Leopold’s Legacy.”

Herman was silent and Carter gave him time to soak in the information.

“I think it’s very possible,” Carter said at last, “that the same stallion that sired Picture of Perfection was also the sire for Leopold’s Legacy. But the only way I can prove it is with a blood test.”

“You don’t need a blood test. I can tell you that Picture of Perfection was sired by Apollo’s Ice.”

“We thought the same thing about Leopold’s Legacy.”

Herman got up from his stool and walked over to the large kitchen window that overlooked the rolling meadow. He stood there a while, not saying anything, and Carter wondered what he was thinking about.

At last, Herman turned around, an odd expression on his face. “So let me get this straight,” he said slowly. “You want me to give you permission to do a blood test to prove that Picture of Perfection wasn’t sired by Apollo’s Ice? Even when all his records say otherwise?”

“Quest Stables found out the hard way that the records for Leopold’s Legacy were wrong. The same thing could happen to Picture of Perfection.”

“That would be a strange coincidence, don’t you think?’

“I’d think you’d want to know the truth, one way or the other.”

Herman met his gaze. “It’s a hell of a lot for someone to ask.”

“I know.” He didn’t have a clue what Herman was thinking, but Carter knew he couldn’t back down now. Not when he was this close. “Will you let me do it?”

Gillian suddenly appeared in the open kitchen doorway, her green eyes blazing with anger. “Over my dead body.”

Four

Gillian hadn’t meant to eavesdrop, but Carter’s words had frozen her in the doorway, their impact hitting her like a fist. He hadn’t purchased her portrait of Picture of Perfection because he liked her art. He hadn’t spent time with her because he was interested in her as an artist or as a woman.

It had all been a ruse.

Carter turned around to face her. “Gillian…I didn’t see you…”

She held up one hand, refusing to let him fool her again. “It’s time for you to leave.”

Herman’s eyes widened at her tone, but he sat back in his chair without saying a word.

Carter cleared his throat. “I don’t know what you heard, but…”

“I heard the real reason you’re here,” she interjected. “And the answer is no, so there’s nothing left for you to say.”

Carter glanced at Herman, then back at Gillian. “If you’ll just let me explain…”

“Explain what?” she cried. “That you want to try and prove that Picture of Perfection isn’t a Thoroughbred? That the reputation of Quest Stables is more important to you than your own integrity?”

His blue eyes hardened. “You’re wrong about me. I’m not out to hurt either one of you, but the truth has a way of coming out.”

“Is that supposed to be some kind of threat?” she asked incredulously.

“Take it as a friendly warning.”

Something twisted inside of her. She hated the fact that her instincts had let her down. Again. Carter had fooled her completely. What he wanted could only hurt her, and Gillian wasn’t about to let that happen.

“Picture of Perfection looks identical to Leopold’s Legacy,” he explained. “It’s only logical to suspect that they might share the same sire. I’m not trying to pull a fast one on you.”

“Really?” she exclaimed, wondering how he could keep a straight face. “You’ve been deceiving me since I met you. Pretending to be interested in that portrait and in my art.”

And in me, she added silently to herself.

“I am interested,” he insisted.

Gillian couldn’t listen to him anymore. She walked out of the kitchen and headed for the front door, disappointment welling inside of her. All she wanted to do was escape to the sanctuary of her bedroom and forget she’d ever met him.

“Gillian, wait,” he implored. “I don’t want to leave like this. Why don’t you and I and Herman sit down and talk this out.”

She turned around, steeling herself against a change in his tactics. “There’s something you should know before you leave. My ranch borders Herman’s land, I use his pasture, but Picture of Perfection belongs to me. I’m the only one who can give you what you want.”

Carter stared at her. “All I want is one small vial of blood.”

“The answer is no.”

He hesitated for a moment, as if he wanted to say something else, then he walked out the door.

Gillian slammed it behind him, wishing she’d never set eyes on Carter Phillips.

“He sure got you all riled up.”

She turned to see Herman standing in the foyer, a bemused smile on his face.

“I can’t remember the last time I saw you lose your temper like that,” he said, rubbing his hand across his gray whiskers. “Seems like it might be about more than the horse.”

She took a deep breath. Maybe she had overreacted just a bit. In truth, the constant nightmares and the lack of sleep had left her with a hair-trigger temper. Her emotions had been so raw lately that Carter’s deception had caught her completely off guard.

As her anger ebbed away, a deep sadness filled the void. “I’m just tired of men who can’t be trusted.”

His smile faded as walked over to her and looped one arm around her shoulder. “I’m sorry, Gilly.”

“You know I don’t mean you, Herman.” She leaned into his shoulder, grateful for the comfort he always provided her. Her godfather might have let her down in the past, but she’d never doubted his love for her.

He kissed the top of her head. “Forget about Dr. Phillips. The way you laid into him, I don’t think he’ll be back here again.”

She forced a smile. “I hope you’re right.”

“I’m always right,” he said with a chuckle, then he headed for the door. “Maybe I should make sure he doesn’t take a detour around the pasture on his way out. The man doesn’t strike me as the sneaky type, but then you never know.”

Gillian watched him leave, then headed to her room. Once inside, she grabbed her sketch pad, seeking the solace that drawing gave her.

The charcoal pencil flew over the paper, the lines coming together to form Carter’s square jaw and strong mouth. She worked intensely, never stopping as his face gradually appeared on the paper in front of her.

Shortly after the fire, Gillian’s psychologist had suggested art therapy as a way of working through her grief and providing an outlet for her emotions. Gillian had been so full of rage and sadness and confusion and hadn’t known how to deal with any of it.

The art therapist had told her to literally draw out her feelings on paper, then dispose of them in some way that would symbolically represent discarding the negative emotions inside of her.

She was certainly ready to dispose of Carter Phillips. As she sat cross-legged on her bed, the sketch pad in her lap, she remembered the way his eyes crinkled when he smiled. The curl of his lashes. The tiny bump in his nose.

As an artist she often noticed little details around her that other people missed. The shape of his ears. The thin scar just above his left eyebrow. The tiny nick in his chin.

Her pencil slowed as she worked on the wave in his dark hair and tried to perfect the set of his blue eyes. When she finally looked up at the clock, she was surprised to find that two hours had passed since she’d begun drawing.

She sucked in a deep breath, realizing that the last time she’d been this absorbed in a sketch was shortly after the fire. That sketch had been of her parents and it had hung in a frame above her dresser for the last twelve years.

Her sketches and paintings had proven more powerful than any antidepressant in releasing the chains of grief that had bound her soul after the fire. They had also revealed a latent art talent that had flourished under the skilled tutelage of her art therapist.

At last, Gillian put the charcoal pencil down and straightened her legs, wincing at the ache in her stiff knees. She’d been sitting in one place for too long and now her right foot was asleep. She paced the floor, trying to get rid of the pins and needles sensation flooding her foot.

Then she turned back to the bed and stared at the sketch of Carter Phillips. He stared back at her, looking so honest and handsome that she wanted to cry.

Her anger had faded and the desire to crumple up the sketch of Carter and toss him into the trash no longer burned inside of her.

She closed the sketch pad, then set it on her desk. After so many years of therapy, she knew her overreaction to his motives for buying the portrait was a symptom of a deeper problem. The nightmares were starting to take a toll on every aspect of her life. She couldn’t prepare for a gallery showing with the lack of sleep she was experiencing. That wouldn’t be fair to her or to Jon.

She’d tried sleeping pills in the past, hoping they’d prevent the nightmares or, at the very least, stop the debilitating aftereffects. But the pills only seemed to make things worse. The tranquilizing effect had made it harder for her to waken from the nightmare and left her shaky and dizzy.

Gillian opened the center drawer of the desk and pulled out a slip of paper with a phone number on it. Her best friend had given her the name of a respected hypnotherapist over a week ago, but she’d been putting off making the call.

She stared at the telephone on her desk, wondering if she’d be strong enough to let someone take her back into the past. The nightmares were already painful, but this time she’d be volunteering to relive the heat of the fire, the smoke-filled air, and the panic-stricken terror that had engulfed her that horrible night.

Taking a deep breath, Gillian picked up the receiver and dialed the number.

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