Behind the Shadows Read Free

dollars on another horse.”
    He watched her face turn to marble. Leigh Howard was a pretty woman. Maybe too pretty with the naturally blond hair and striking blue eyes. Most men would consider her lovely. But he knew her too well. She was more like a wayward younger sister to him than a desirable woman.
    He liked her. He had known her since he’d been an assistant—more of a gofer—for her grandfather. He’d taken her to the zoo and driven her to dancing classes. She had always been polite except for a few tantrums, relying more on charm than temper to get what she wanted.
    She exasperated him, just as she had her grandfather. She was smart; Max knew that. But underneath the polished exterior, she was still—in many ways—the six-year-old who almost died in the accident that killed her parents. That night had left more than the physical scars on her legs and arms.
    â€œMax, just consider it. My riding instructor says I’m a natural in the show ring. She says I’m ready to start jumping.”
    He hesitated. “Jumping is dangerous. You know how you—”
    â€œI’ll be very careful,” she broke in eagerly. “I won’t take chances.”
    â€œIf you get hurt again …”
    Her face clouded. “My instructor says I have a real talent, Max. A real feel for the horse. I’m a good rider. I really am.”
    â€œI know you are. I’ve watched you.”
    She looked surprised, and he kicked himself. Ed Westerfield never praised her for anything. Neither had Max. Perhaps he’d picked up more from the old man than he’d thought. He cleared his suddenly thick throat and continued, “You’re good at most things you do. You just don’t stay interested very long. And I know how you feel about hospitals and …”
    â€œI won’t get hurt. The … car is just as dangerous, and I drive.”
    But not easily. He knew how long it had taken for her to learn to drive. She still didn’t like it, and after the accident, he didn’t blame her. He also knew from Mrs. Baker about the nightmares that didn’t go away, and the way her face stiffened when she had a doctor’s appointment.
    â€œI’m ready,” she persisted. “My instructor says this jumper is perfect. Well trained and gentle. I’m not rushing into this, Max. I’ve become familiar with horse people. You know I’m chairing the South Atlanta Regional Horse Show.”
    He knew that, too. Westerfield Industries was a sponsor. And that, he thought cynically, was exactly why she was asked to chair the committee. Yet she probably would be good at it. Her problem had never been lack of brains. It had been lack of confidence. If she didn’t succeed in something immediately, she abandoned it. Though she would deny it forever, her grandfather had instilled a deep sense of inadequacy in her. It had led her into one very bad marriage, almost into a second, and into some terrible investments.
    After buying off one husband and then a husband-to-be, Ed Westerfield put most of his fortune into an unbreakable trust for his only grandchild. She would receive the bulk of the money if and when she took a responsible place in Westerfield Industries or married someone who met Max’s approval. She’d reached neither requirement. Until then she was on an allowance. A healthy one, but not enough to buy a $50,000 horse.
    Max hated the promise he’d made to the old man when he was dying. At the same time, he knew how susceptible Leigh was to someone who pretended to care about her. She’d never truly been loved, and she hungered for it. He sympathized to some extent, but now he just wanted to say, “Get over it.” He sure as hell had.
    â€œTell you what,” he said. “Six months. If you still want this, then we’ll talk about it again.”
    â€œSamara will be sold by then,” she protested.
    â€œThere will be