JESSE TOOK THE STAIRS three at a time, desperate to get some fresh air. He was nauseous, his gut churning sickly as he realized he’d taken the last, irrevocable step necessary to end the relationship that had shaped most of his adult life. To sever all ties between himself and the love of his life. And he’d done it right before Christmas, on their daughter’s wedding day. Could he have picked a worse day?

      Slamming the front door behind him, he sucked huge gulps of air into his suddenly starving lungs. He closed his eyes, only to open them again as he saw Desiree’s stricken face dancing on the back of his closed eyelids. Guilt ate at him making him even angrier because she was so clearly the one in the wrong.

      He hadn’t planned on doing it today, had had no intention of hurting Desiree on what should have been one of the happiest days of her life.

      He’d been holding on to those papers for almost three weeks now—asking himself if he really wanted to go through with it. Telling himself he’d talk to her after the wedding, after Christmas, when things had settled down and they could discuss—rationally—what they should do about their pathetic excuse for a marriage.

      But when he’d found out about the new trainer—about his replacement, for God’s sake—he’d stopped thinking altogether. Fury had taken over, and it had been all he could do to keep from finding Mike and stuffing that damn article down his shrewd yet well-intentioned throat.

      Jesse’s hand slipped into his pocket of its own accord and he was staring at the fragment of newspaper before he realized what he was doing. As his eyes skimmed over the headline—again—he found himself thinking back on his conversation earlier that morning with Mike.

      “Jesse Rainwater. You’re just the man I’ve been wanting to see.”

      Startled by the unfamiliar voice booming from his living room, Jesse spilled some of the water he’d been pouring into the base of the eight-foot Christmas tree as he turned to investigate. A large sandy-haired man wearing a hat and suit was walking toward him, right hand extended.

      “Mike?” he asked, eyebrows raised as he recognized the famous Thoroughbred rancher from Kentucky. “What are you doing here?” He put the watering can on a nearby table and headed toward the living room, grasping the man’s outstretched hand in his own.

      “I’m in town for the ceremony, of course. I couldn’t miss my only nephew’s wedding, could I?”

      Jesse grinned. “Right. How did I manage to forget you were James’s uncle?”

      “Probably cuz things have been so crazy I wasn’t able to make the engagement party or much of anything else.”

      “That would do it. I’m not sure if James is even here yet, but—”

      “No, the boy’s still at the hotel with his folks. I came early because I wanted to talk to you.”

      “Really? Well, have a seat.” He gestured to the bar. “Can I get you something?”

      “Much obliged—whiskey, straight up.” Mike sat on the couch, stretching his long booted feet out in front of him. “I’m sure you’re busy today, so I won’t take up much of your time.”

      “All right.” Jesse hoped he’d make it quick. He had a number of things he needed to get done—including checking on a couple of the horses and making sure the garden was properly set up before he changed for the ceremony.

      “I’ve been watching you for a while, Jesse. Well, me and the rest of the horseracing community, that is.”

      “I’ve been watching you, too,” Jesse answered. “That’s part of the game, isn’t it?”

      “It is at that. But I’ve taken a personal interest in you, particularly with what’s been going on with Cherokee’s Dream and Born Lucky.”

      Stiffening at the mention of two of his own line of horses—a line that had been bred and trained away from the Triple H—Jesse stared at Mike through narrowed eyes. “They’re not for sale.”

      Mike snorted, a broad grin on his tough, sun-wrinkled face. “I didn’t expect they would be. I don’t want to buy either of those horses.”

      “Then what do you want?”

      “I want you to come and work with me.”

      Jesse laughed. “Yeah, right. Like that’s going to happen.”

      “I’m serious. I want—”

      “Look, Mike, I’m not looking for new employment. And if I was, my wife would have something to say about me going to work for a major competitor.”

      “I bet she would at that.” Mike took his hat off, tapped it against his thigh. “But I don’t want you to work for me. I want to make you a partner.”

      “A partner? In what?”

      “In my ranch, man. In Whistling Winds.”

      Thousands of thoughts whirled in Jesse’s head as he stared at the man sitting across from him, but none of them made any sense. “You want to partner with the Triple H? I’ll be honest—you need to be talking to Desiree. I don’t think she’ll go for it, but this is her ranch—”

      “I didn’t say anything about partnering with Desiree or the Triple H. I said I wanted to make you a partner in the ranch.”

      “Me?” Jesse ran a hand through his hair, totally bewildered by the completely unexpected offer. “Do you need money, Mike?”

      Mike’s laugh boomed out and he reached forward to slap Jesse on the back. “Not at all, man. Not at all.”

      “Then I don’t understand what you’re getting at. Why come all the way here and offer a partnership in your ranch? You’ve always guarded that ranch like a jealous fishwife.”

      “I still do. Much, I think, as Desiree guards this one.” He leaned forward, took a sip of his drink. “Am I right?”

      He was exactly right, but Jesse wouldn’t admit it. He might be unhappy with the state of affairs on the ranch—and in his marriage—but he wasn’t going to broadcast it. “That’s pretty much the nature of the beast.”

      Mike nodded, apparently satisfied at his response. “Exactly.”

      “So, that still leaves me in the dark as to why you want to offer me part of your ranch.”

      “Not just part, Jesse. I’m willing to offer you one-third of Whistling Winds, turned over to you as soon as you sign the papers.”

      “One-third? What the hell do you want from me in return? My firstborn?”

      “Hell, no.” Mike laughed again. “I’ve got four kids of my own—I don’t have room for any more. I want you to bring that small stable of horses you’ve developed away from here to breed and train on my ranch. I want those horses, and any others that you breed, buy or train, to run for the W.”

      “That’s not going to happen.”

      “Why not?”

      “My work is here. My life is here. I’m married to Desiree and I’ve been head trainer on the Triple H for over thirty years.”

      “What have you got to show for it?”

      He bristled before he could stop himself. “What does that mean?”

      “You