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and fell. “He’s buried himself up here for three solid years,” he said irritably, staring into his coffee. “No company, except these hunting parties that he tolerates because it gives some variety to his life. No women. No dating. He’s avoided women like the plague since Deanne left him. He uses that limp like a stick, have you noticed?” he asked, lifting troubled eyes to hers. “It isn’t all that bad, and he could walk well enough if he cared to try, but it’s as if he needs it to remind him that women are treacherous.”
    â€œI’d heard that he was something of a playboy in his younger days,” she probed, curious about Winthrop in new and exciting ways.
    â€œHe was,” Gerald agreed with a faint, musing smile. “He broke hearts right and left. But Deanne liked him because he was a new experience. I don’t think she really meant to hurt him. She was young and he spoiled her, and she liked it. But when he got hurt, she had visions of being tied to a cripple for life, and she ran. Winthrop was shattered by the experience. His black pride couldn’t deal with the humiliation of being lamed and deserted, all at once.”
    â€œPoor man,” she said gently, and meant it.
    â€œDon’t make that mistake, either,” he cautioned quietly. “Don’t ever pity him. He’s steel clean through, and if you give him half an opening, he’ll make a scapegoat of you. Don’t let him hurt you, Nicky.”
    She colored delicately. “You think he might?”
    â€œI think you attract him,” he said bluntly. “And I have a feeling that you aren’t immune to him, either. He doesn’t like being vulnerable, so look out.”
    Hours later, when she went up to bed, she was still turning that threat over in her mind. She could picture Winthrop behind her closed eyes, and the image made her sigh with mingled emotions. She’d never felt so empty before, so alone. She wanted him in ways that she’d never dreamed she could want a man. She wanted to be with him, to share with him, to ease his hurt and make him whole again. She didn’t quite know how to cope with the new and frightening sensations. Nicky had her own scars and she didn’t want involvement any more than Winthrop did. But there was something between them. Something that was new and a little frightening, and like an avalanche, she couldn’t stop it.
    She was almost asleep when she heard slow steps coming past her door. She knew from the sound that it was Winthrop, and her heart beat faster as he passed her room. Odd, how deeply she could be touched just by his step. She wondered if he was as curious about her as she was about him, despite his understandably deep distrust of women. He was like her, in so many ways, hiding from a world that had been cruel to him. They had more in common than he seemed to realize. Or perhaps he did realize it, and was drawing back because he didn’t trust her. She closed her eyes as she heard a door close down the hall. In no time at all, she was asleep, secure because the master of the house was back, and she was safe.

Chapter Three
    W inthrop’s horses attracted Nicole immediately, even though he’d given her a terse warning at breakfast about going too close to them. One of the happiest memories of her childhood was watching old Ernie at her home in Kentucky as he worked the thoroughbreds when they were ready to be trained.
    Besides his saddle horses, mostly quarter horses, Winthrop had at least two thoroughbreds with unmistakably Arabian ancestry, judging by their small heads. All American thoroughbreds, she remembered, were able to trace their ancestry to one of three Arabian horses imported into England in the late 1600s and early 1700s: Byerley Turk, Godolphin Barb and Queen Anne.
    Winthrop’s horses had the exquisite conformation and sleek lines that denoted thoroughbreds, too. She’d watched