"Long day?"

"You could say that." And more, Zach thought. Ever since Katherine Whitfield had come careening around that corner, his life had turned upside down, and he still hadn't gotten it back right side up. He'd spent most of the afternoon thinking about her, remembering the softness of her skin under his hands, the sweet scent of perfume in her hair, and the blue, blue eyes that expressed every emotion.

He'd been right to tell her to go home. No good could come from trying to find a man who didn't want to be found.

Justin tipped his head to the television set where the results of the sixth race from Keeneland were being posted. "King Meadows likes the mud."

"I saw that."

"Rogue ran like the wind the other day. Too bad about that early slip."

Zach nodded. He would have loved to win the Bluegra.s.s Stakes. But Rogue hadn't broken well and ended up in second. At first he'd been disappointed, worried that he'd chosen the wrong race for Rogue to use as a warm-up for the Derby. He'd spent the last two days second-guessing himself, but he had to put all that aside. Rogue had won in the past and he would do so again. Maybe it was better this way. His odds would go up come Derby time. And Zach was far more used to running his horse as an underdog than a favorite.

"What does Morgan think?" Justin asked, referring to Cohn Morgan, Rogue's trainer.

"You know Morgan, he doesn't say much."

"Probably why the two of you get along."

Zach shrugged. He'd known Colin Morgan for almost six years, and while Morgan wasn't the top trainer in the country, Zach liked the way the Irish-bred trainer worked with Rogue. He also liked Colin's lack of pretensions. While Sam and Zach oversaw Rogue's training at Stanton Farms, Colin took over once Rogue got to the track.

"Is Perdito going to ride Rogue in the Derby?" Justin asked.

"I hope so. I wasn't impressed with Carmine's start."

"I'll tell you something, Zach. I've watched you grow up," Justin said. "Been serving you beer since before you was legal, and my money's on you, kid."

"Thanks," Zach said with genuine pleasure. There weren't many in Paradise who saw him as a success. People outside the valley were starting to know him from his work at Stanton Farms, but the people in Paradise still saw his father's face when they looked at him. Some days he thought he should leave, start over fresh, but that was too easy, and he'd be d.a.m.ned if he'd make life easy for the folks who blamed him for their own stupidity.

"No thank-you required," Justin said, bringing him back to the conversation. "You're your own man. About time folks realized that. But I expect you'll be showing 'em real soon."

"Show us what? That he doesn't know horses.h.i.t?" John Thomas Baker stumbled over the chair across from Zach, setting it aside with his big beefy fingers. "Maybe you do know horses.h.i.t. Alter all, you've cleaned up enough of it. But horses, racehorses, thoroughbreds ... you don't know squat."

Zach felt his body stiffen at the sudden attack. For a moment, he'd let himself get too comfortable. A big mistake. J.T. Baker was one of the good ole boys in Paradise. He ran Pederson Stud, and while it had once been a thriving horse farm, J.T. was steadily driving it into the ground. Two of his wealthier clients had recently moved their horses to Stanton Farms, and having lost one of his prize stallions the previous year, J.T. was not getting the roll of the dice that he wanted.

Instead of trying to turn things around, J.T. had turned to bourbon. Not that anyone in Paradise would admit one of their most admired citizens had a h.e.l.l of a drinking problem. No, they preferred to think that Zach was stealing J.T.'s business by some underhanded means.

"I know what you're up to, Tyler," J.T. said. "You're just like your old man, trying to con Harry Stanton out of the farm he's sweated blood over the past forty years. Why he can't see it, I'll never know."

"That's enough, J.T.," Justin interrupted. "Harry Stanton knows his business, and if he wants Zach to run his farm, it's no business of yours."

"You're sticking up for him, the son of the man who nearly put this entire town out of business?"

"He's not his father."

"That's what he'd like you to think, but I can see right through him. Now, get me another bourbon, straight up this time."

Justin hesitated.

"Go ahead, get his drink," Zach said, his gaze resting on J.T.'s bright red, bloodshot eyes. "Maybe if he gets drunk, he'll believe his own c.r.a.p."

"No fighting," Justin said to J.T., shaking his finger in his face.

"I'm not going to fight this piece of s.h.i.t."

Zach silently counted to ten, feeling the familiar rage build within his body, tense his muscles, stiffen his face, making him feel like it would be so easy to hit someone. There had been a time when he'd let the fists fly, but no more. J.T. Baker was an a.s.s, a drunken a.s.s tonight, but the townsfolk would still take his side. J.T. was one of their own.

Although Zach could hardly believe J.T. was accusing him of doing exactly what J.T. himself had done. Maybe John Thomas Baker hadn't conned a stud farm out from under the Pedersons, but he'd done the next best thing-married the only daughter, the only heir, the beautiful, compliant, ever-suffering Mary Jo.

"My hound dog has better bloodlines than that rogue horse of yours," J.T. said with a sneer. "You're an embarra.s.sment, Tyler. No wonder Crystal MacIntyre left you standing at the altar. You tried to fool her, but it didn't work, did it?"

Zach sent him a steady look.

"Say something, dammit."

Zach didn't even move a muscle, much less open his mouth, and he could see the fury build within J.T.'s eyes, his face growing redder, his pulse racing out of control. It was a pleasure to watch him go up in flames. J.T. was far better at self-destructing than anyone Zach had ever met.

"Someone ought to teach you a lesson." J.T. made a futile grab at Zach's arm.

Zach stood up so abruptly the chair fell over behind him. "Time for you to go home, J.T."

"Who's going to make me?"

It was a wild, drunken challenge from a balding, paunchy forty-nine-year-old man who probably couldn't see straight enough to land his fist anywhere near Zach's face. But J.T. was itching for a fight, Zach realized. There was a wildness in J.T.'s eyes, the frantic, desperate look of a man trying to hang on to life by his fingertips, a man who was battling something deep and personal.

Justin stepped between them with a gla.s.s of bourbon on a tray. "This is it, J.T. And you can hand me your car keys."

"You can stick your head in your a.s.s."

"No keys, no drink," Justin said evenly. "Why don't you go home to your wife? I'm sure Mary Jo is worried about you."

"Why don't you mind your own business?"

Justin didn't budge.

"Oh, to h.e.l.l with you, and to h.e.l.l with your watered-down drinks."

J.T. grabbed the gla.s.s off the tray and threw the contents toward the wall. Unfortunately, the door to the bar opened at the same time J.T. launched his attack, and the splash of bourbon hit Katherine Whitfield right in the face.

Everyone in the bar was stunned into silence.

Zach was the first one to move. He walked over to Katherine, who had frozen in disbelief.

"Are you all right?" he asked.

She wiped her eyes with her hand. "What-what happened?"

"You got hit by a shot of bourbon."

"Bourbon?" she echoed in confusion. "Maggie said you were trouble."

His spine stiffened. He should have known somehow this would turn out to be his fault. "I didn't throw the drink at you, sweetheart."

"You didn't?"

"No." Zach glanced over at J.T., who seemed to be in shock. He was staring at Katherine and shaking his head, as if he had no idea what had happened.

"I thought this was going to be a nice place," Katherine said with a sigh. "Golden's. It sounded so romantic."

"Romantic? If you want romantic, you'd better get the h.e.l.l out of Paradise," he said sharply. "Because this town isn't about nice-it's about winning. And you just got in the way."

"Are you all right, miss?" the bartender asked, handing her a dry towel.

"Yes, I'm fine," Katherine said, wiping her eyes. Now that the shock had worn off, she was acutely embarra.s.sed at being the center of attention. The entire room seemed to be filled with men-big men, small men, hairy men, bald men. Katherine blinked her eyes a few times, trying to clear her vision. But there was no doubt that the half circle surrounding her was all male, and their expressions ranged from curiosity to embarra.s.sment at the behavior of one of their own. "Could I just sit down for a minute?"

"Sure," the bartender said, pulling out a chair for her at a nearby table. "She's all right," he said to the crowd. "Go back to your seats. Show's over." He turned to Katherine, concern etched in his dark blue eyes. "Is there anything I can get for you?"

"No, I'm fine. Who-who threw the drink at me?"

The bartender tipped his head toward a man standing against the bar dressed in a gray plaid shirt and old blue jeans that were buckled under his protruding gut. "He did."

"Was he aiming for me?"

"No," the bartender said. "He was just mad at Zach."

Katherine looked into Zach's grim face. "I guess I should be grateful I didn't walk into a fist."

"I told you to go home. You should have taken my advice."

"What's his name?" she asked, ignoring his comment.

"J.T. Baker."

"J.T." she echoed, her stomach twirling in sudden madness upon hearing his name. Her gaze darted back to the man. He had to be in his late forties, early fifties-the right age. But the thought of this man, with his red sweaty face and glazed, drunken eyes, being her father was hard to swallow.

The bartender leaned forward, lowering his voice. "J.T.'s going through a rough patch, miss. Lost his prize stallion a few months back."

Oh, G.o.d, this was about another horse. She should have figured. How the heck had she landed herself in a town where folks cared more about their horses than people?

The man called J.T. suddenly moved. He stumbled over to the table, looking both embarra.s.sed and angry. "I'm sorry about that. I didn't mean to hit you with my drink. I don't know why..." He shook his head in bewilderment. "I don't know why I did that. I guess I had a little too much to drink." He rubbed a hand over the top of his balding head.

"A little?" Zach interrupted. "You-"

Katherine squeezed Zach's arm, sensing that there was more between these two men than bourbon in her face. "It's all right. It's over. In fact, I think I'd like to go back to the hotel. Would you walk me out?"

Zach looked like he wanted to say no, but then he shrugged. "Sure. Why not? I was leaving anyway."

Katherine stood up and walked toward the door. Zach put a steady hand on the small of her back. It was a simple, polite gesture, but it felt good, especially with so many people watching. She needed to ask questions about her father, but she could hardly do it now with half the town wondering who she was and what she was doing there.

Zach opened the door for her and she stepped out on the sidewalk. Twilight had come to Paradise, the crescent moon rising higher in the sky as the stars began to shatter the darkness with their light. For a moment Katherine simply breathed in and out and looked at the night sky, calmed by the cool quiet and the dark shadows.

"This is better," she murmured.

Zach watched her through narrowed, dark, unreadable eyes. "This is better?"

"Yes." She raised her hand toward the sky. "There are so many stars. It's a different sky than in L.A."

"Maybe you can just see it more clearly."

"Maybe. I don't seem to have gotten off on the right foot here."

"That's because your foot doesn't belong in Paradise."

"You're not going to start that again?"

"Katherine, you've been in town less than twenty-four hours and you've already totaled your car and walked into the middle of a bar fight. Hasn't it occurred to you that this trip might be a bad idea?"

"What were you fighting about?" she asked.

"Nothing."

"Oh, come on. I got a drink tossed in my face. I'd at least like to know there was some purpose to that argument."

"Sorry, can't help you."

"Can't or won't?"

"Look, J.T. was drunk. He was itching for a fight, and I'm his favorite target. You just got in the way. Do you want a ride to the hotel?"

"It's only a few blocks."

"It's on my way. Come on. My truck is just around the corner."

"All right." She didn't really need a ride, but she wasn't quite ready to say good night. She followed Zach around the corner to a dark brown pickup truck and waited while he unlocked the door for her. "Thanks for helping me-again," she said with a small smile.

"No thanks needed." He held the door open for her.

"Why do so many people in town dislike you?"

He raised an eyebrow. "Who doesn't like me?"

"Well, that man in the bar for one. And Maggie Harper said you couldn't be trusted."

"Maggie Harper, huh? Well, she probably knows what she's talking about."

"I can't believe you're so bad. You've helped me twice in one day."

He gave her a warning shake of his head. "Don't start thinking of me as some sort of white knight. I've never beer partial to that color."