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you’re concerned. I’m not as gullible as I used to be, thank God.” She stepped away from him and finished buttoning her blouse.

      His lips tightened and he pinched the bridge of his nose with his fingers, as if trying to thwart a potential headache. “Okay, Tory, so you aren’t interested in a relationship with me—the least you can do is help me a little. If you really believe your father’s name can be cleared, I’m offering you the means to do it.”

      “How?”

      “I want to go up to Devil’s Ridge tomorrow.”

      The request made her heart stop beating. Devil’s Ridge was a piece of land not far from the Lazy W. It had once been owned by her father and Calvin had willed the forty acre tract in the foothills of the Cascades to Keith. Devil’s Ridge was the parcel of land where the Quarter Horses were switched during the swindle; the piece of land that had proved Calvin Wilson’s involvement in the scam.

      “Tory, did you hear me?”

      “Yes.”

      “Will you come with me?”

      No! I can’t face all of the scandal again. “If you promise that no one else will know about it.” Tory saw the questions in his eyes and hastened to explain. “I don’t want any publicity about this, until you’re sure of your facts, senator.”

      “Fair enough.” He studied her face for a minute. “Are you with me on this, Tory?”

      “No, but I won’t hinder you either,” she said, tired of arguing with Trask, Keith, Neva and the whole damned world. “If you want permission to wander around Devil’s Ridge, you’ve got it. And I’ll go with you.”

      “Why?”

      “Because I want to keep my eye on you, senator.”

      “You still don’t trust me, do you?” he asked.

      “I can’t let myself.” It’s my way of protecting myself against you.

      A cloud of anguish darkened his eyes but was quickly dispersed. “Then I’ll be here around noon tomorrow.”

      “I’ll be waiting.”

      He had started toward the door, but turned at the bittersweet words. “If only I could believe that,” he said before opening the door and disappearing through it.

      Tory watched his retreating figure through the glass. The late-afternoon sun was already casting lengthening shadows over the plains of the Lazy W as Trask strode to his pickup and, without looking backward, drove away.

      * * *

      “WHAT BUSINESS IS it of yours?” Trask demanded of his sister-in-law. She was putting the finishing touches on a birthday cake for Nicholas, swirling the white frosting over the cake as if her brother-in-law’s tirade was of little, if any, concern. “Why did you confront Tory?”

      “It is my business,” Neva threw back coolly as she surveyed her artwork and placed the knife in the empty bowl. When she turned to face Trask, her small chin was jutted in determination. “We’re talking about the death of my husband, for God’s sake. And you’re the one who brought me into it when you started waving that god-awful note around here yesterday afternoon.”

      “But why did you try to convince Tory to stay out of it? She could help me.”

      Neva turned world-weary brown eyes on her brother-in-law. “Because I thought she might be able to get through to you. You don’t listen to many people, Trask. Not me. Not your advisors in Washington. No one. I thought maybe there was a chance that Tory might beat some common sense into that thick skull of yours.”

      “She tried,” Trask admitted.

      “But failed, I assume.”

      “This is something I have to do, Neva.” Trask placed his large hands on Neva’s slim shoulders, as if by touching he could make her understand.

      With difficulty, Neva ignored the warmth of Trask’s fingers. “And damn the consequences, right? Your integrity come hell or high water.” She wrestled free of his grip.

      “You’re blowing this way out of proportion.”

      “Me?” she screamed. “What about you? You get one crank letter and you’re ready to tear this town apart, dig up five-year-old dirt and start battling a new crusade.” She smiled sadly at the tense man before her. “Only this time I’m afraid you’ll get hurt, Don Quixote; the windmills might fight back and hurt you as well as your Dulcinea.”

      “Whom?”

      “Dulcinea del Toboso, the country girl whom Don Quixote selects as the lady of his knightly devotion. In this case, Victoria Wilson.”

      “You read too much,” he said.

      “Impossible.”

      Trask laughed despite the seriousness of Neva’s stare. “Then you worry too much.”

      “It comes with the territory of being a mother,” she said, picking up a frosting-laden beater and offering it to him. “Someone needs to worry about you.”

      He declined the beater. “I get by.”

      She studied the furrows of his brow. “I don’t know, Trask. I just don’t know.”

      “Just trust me, Neva.”

      The smile left her face and all of the emotions she had been battling for five long years tore at her heart. “I’d trust you with my life, Trask. You know that.”

      “Neva—” He took a step closer to her but she walked past him to the kitchen window. Outside she could watch Nicholas romp with the puppy Trask had given him for his birthday.

      “But I can’t trust you with Nicholas’s life,” she whispered, knotting her fingers in the corner of her apron. “I just can’t do that and you have no right to ask me.” Tears began to gather in her large eyes and she brushed them aside angrily.

      Trask let out a heavy sigh. “I’m going up to Devil’s Ridge tomorrow.”

      “Oh, God, no.” Neva closed her eyes. “Trask, don’t—”

      “This is something I have to do,” he repeated.

      “Then maybe you’d better leave,” she said, her voice nearly failing her. Trask was as close to a father to Nicholas as he could be, considering the separation of more than half a continent. If she threw Trask out, Nicholas would never forgive her. “Do what you have to do.”

      “What I have to do is stay here for Nicholas’s birthday party.”

      Neva smiled through her tears. “You’re a bastard, you know, McFadden; but a charming one nonetheless.”

      “This is all going to work out.”

      “God, I hope so,” she whispered, once again sneaking a glance at her dark-haired son and the fluff of tan fur with the beguiling black eyes. “Nicholas worships the ground you walk on, you know.”

      Trask laughed mirthlessly. “Well, if he does, he’s the only one in town. There’s no doubt about it, I wouldn’t win any popularity contests in Sinclair right now.”

      “Oh, I don’t know, you seem to have been able to worm your way back into Tory’s heart.”

      “I don’t think so.”

      “We’ll see, senator,” Neva mused. “I think Victoria Wilson has never gotten you out of her system.”

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