“And what was that?”
He wanted to tell her, but he couldn’t, for the plan involved her family. He knew that about ten years ago, Nate’s father, Cay’s father, had purchased a horse farm not far from Edilean. There was a house and a barn, a stream, a pond, everything a man could need to raise a family and horses. Nate had written about the place and said that his father had too much to do to take proper care of it, so the farm was losing money. When Alex wrote back that it sounded like his dream farm, Nate had begged his father not to sell it, hinting that he might someday want the place for his own.
It had been the possibility of someday owning a farm near his friend that had spurred Alex on in his life. His father had told him about the opportunities to be found in America, and Alex had long dreamed of going there. His plan had been to win enough money from racing his horses to buy the farm, then his father would come to America and live with him. Everything had gone a little off track when he’d met Lilith and married her before he had enough money to purchase the farm, but he knew enough to take love when he found it. Of course Lilith hadn’t exactly been what a man thought of as a farm wife, but he’d been sure all that could have been worked out.
“What was your plan?” Cay asked when he was silent.
“To make a lot of money. Isn’t that why everyone comes to America?”
“And did you?”
“Yes.” He opened his eyes to stare into the darkness. There was light from the fire, but the sun had gone down and evening had come quickly. “I boarded a ship with my three horses, the mother and her two children. My plan was to breed the mares and race the son. Tarka was a fast—”
“Tarka? That was the name of my father’s fastest pony when he lived in Scotland. I rode him when I was a girl.”
Alex almost said that Nate had written the story to him, and it’s why Alex had named his horse that, but he didn’t. “It’s a common enough name.”
“Is it? I thought it was rather unusual. So you brought your horses to America and you raced them? Or just Tarka?”
“My little mare could beat most of their horses. I saved Tarka for when I wanted to win a big purse.”
“I see. You made them think that they might be able to beat you, but then you brought out another horse. Did you keep him hidden?”
“You have a devious mind,” he said, but he was smiling.
“Is that what you did?”
“Aye, it’s exactly what I did. I kept Tarka hidden so far out in the country that not one of those rich boys could find him. I won races and lost them, but then I brought out Tarka.” His smile broadened. “You should have seen him. Tall and black and as beautiful as the sunrise. He was a magnificent animal, and he knew it. He walked with his head high and his tail up, and he wouldn’t so much as look at the other horses. And run! On a racetrack, he took off as though the other horses were there to graze. He beat them by lengths. There was nothing in America that could touch him.”
Cay was frowning. “You sound as though he’s . . .” She hesitated. “As though he’s no longer alive. What happened to him?”
“I don’t know,” Alex said, and the joy went out of his voice. “When I was accused of murder, everything I had was taken from me. I asked T.C. what happened to my horses, but he knew nothing and could find out nothing.”
“You should have told Uncle T.C. you’d found a plant that no one had ever seen before and he would have moved the earth to find it.”
Alex smiled, his good humor back. “You always make me laugh, lass.” He turned over on his side and looked up at her. “When I get my name cleared, I’ll get Tarka and his mother and sister back.”
“And how do you mean to clear your name?”
“I have—” He started to say that he’d already done a lot of work toward clearing his name, but since what he’d done involved her brother, he couldn’t tell her of it. When T.C. visited him in prison, Alex had written to Nate about the facts of what had happened to him. Alex knew the guards wouldn’t let him keep pen and paper, so he’d had to write the letter over many visits, and T.C. had taken the pages when he left. When Alex had written everything, T.C. hired a rider to take the long, detailed letter to Nate. Alex had thought there’d be enough time for Nate to come to him and they could talk about what had happened, but the judge said that Alex’s crime was so heinous that he was to be hanged two days after the verdict came in. There hadn’t been time for Nate to receive the letter, then get to Charleston and clear Alex.
“You have what?”
Alex got up and put more wood on the fire. “Nothing, lass. I have nothing at all.”
She knew he was lying. She was sure he’d meant
to say that he’d figured out something to do, but he wouldn’t tell her what it was. She was trusting him with her life, but he couldn’t so much as tell her what he was going to do to defend himself. She pulled her knees up and wrapped her arms around them. When she put the towel beside her, the scent of jasmine was all around them. “Could you please call me something besides ‘lass’?”
His mouth went up on one side in a half smile. “As soon as you call me anything at all.”
“That’s absurd. I call you . . .”
“Aye, what do you call me?”
“Mr. McDowell.”
“I like that.” When he stretched, his damp shirt clung to the muscles in his back. “It shows that you have respect for your elders. Perhaps you could add a ‘sir’ to it now and then, as is proper in our present situation.”