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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.
Two
When Gillian Cameron opened the door to the main house on Robards Farm, Carter forgot everything he was going to say.
The woman in the doorway was not what he expected. Her mane of chestnut hair reached almost to her waist and her eyes were the deep, rich green of Kentucky bluegrass. Her face captivated him, as well, open and expressive. Her creamy skin seemed to glow from within and looked so soft that he had to stifle the urge to reach out and stroke her cheek. It was a ridiculous reaction and one that he’d never experienced before.
Carter blamed it on fatigue. He’d been unable to sleep last night, too keyed up by this new lead into finding Leopold’s Legacy’s true sire. He’d spent hours in front of his laptop, studying the DNA test results of Leopold’s Legacy and Apollo’s Ice. He’d even looked up Picture of Perfection’s lineage online and confirmed that he was also reportedly sired by Apollo’s Ice.
Now all he needed was to convince the owner of the horse to let him take a blood sample so he could compare the DNA of all the horses involved. He was fairly certain Picture of Perfection didn’t come from Robards Farm. The only horses he’d seen grazing in a nearby pasture were an eclectic assortment of quarter horses, draft horses and even a few miniature horses.
His meeting with the artist was simply meant to be a starting point in his search for the truth, but now that he’d seen Gillian he found himself faltering at the gate and forgetting the real reason he’d come here.
A smile lifted the corners of her generous pink mouth. “You must be Dr. Phillips.”
He gave a stiff nod, trying to gather his scattered thoughts. He’d pictured her as some middle-aged hippie woman with immense talent and an eccentric sense of style.
Gillian looked more like a sexy model for the designer jeans she wore. The low-slung blue denim molded the delicious curve of her hips and hugged a pair of long luscious legs that seemed to go on forever. The tail ends of her white cotton blouse were tied just below her perfect breasts and revealed a golden tan on the generous expanse of bare skin that made it all too east to picture her naked.
“Dr. Phillips?” she said, her brow furrowed.
He met her gaze, suddenly aware of the heat of the California sun on the back of his neck. “Please call me Carter.”
“It’s very nice to meet you, Carter.” She reached out to shake his hand.
“So you’re the artist,” he said, stating the obvious. He noticed a smudge of yellow paint on her hand as she joined him on the front porch.
“That’s right.” Gillian hitched her thumbs in the front pockets of her jeans, the movement revealing a tantalizing glimpse of her cleavage. “Are you ready?”
“Ready?” he echoed, sounding like an idiot. It might help if he could string more than one or two words together at a time. “Ready for what?”
Amusement danced in her green eyes. “Ready to see Picture of Perfection. That’s why you came here today, isn’t it?”
“The horse is here?” he asked in surprise, looking around the place. He was no snob, having grown up in a working-class neighborhood in Chicago, but horse racing was an expensive business. Robards Farm looked too run-down to support such an endeavor. There was paint peeling off the house and outbuildings, as well as several pieces of farm machinery that looked as if they were in disrepair.
There were homey touches, as well, like the old tire swing hanging from the oak tree in the center of the yard and the gingham curtains in the window.
“Where else would he be? Gillian asked. “He’s in the south pasture.”
Carter nodded, aware that he was still adjusting to his surprise that the artist was a beautiful young woman instead of an eccentric. He needed to refocus and concentrate on his purpose for coming here.
“I can’t wait to see how close your portrait of Picture of Perfection comes to the real thing,” Carter told her.
“Then let’s go,” Gillian said, stepping off the porch to lead the way.
Carter enjoyed the sexy view from behind for a moment before lengthening his stride to catch up with her. Gillian moved briskly, the sun shining on her hair and turning some of the stray curls bouncing over her shoulders to a deep, burnished copper.
She glanced over at him and smiled, the gleam in her beautiful green eyes giving him the same sensation he used to feel when doing belly flops into the beach on Lake Michigan as a kid.
Femme fatale.
Those were the perfect words to describe Gillian Cameron. Carter had never really known a woman who fit that description the way she did. He hesitated to use the phrase now, although the effect she was having on him left no doubt that he found her desirable.
