Read the book: «Picture Of Perfection»
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
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.
The free excerpt has ended.
