Free Almost Home by Barbara Freethy

leave?"
    "I'm trying to learn how to color outside the
lines."
    Zach laughed. He couldn't help it. She was so genuine,
so honest. He'd never met anyone like her.
    "You must get hurt a lot," he murmured.
    She looked at him in surprise. "Why do you say
that?"
    "Because you don't hide anything. You put
yourself out there for the world to like or dislike."
    Her face paled and her eyes glittered with emotion,
but he wasn't sure if it was anger or that very hurt he'd just mentioned. "You
don't like me?"
    "I didn't say that." He caught his breath as
a slight breeze lifted her hair and brought a strand across her eyes. They both
reached for it at the same time, their hands colliding.
    He could feel the softness of her cheek and a tingle
in his fingers when her hand touched his. Sparks. He'd heard of it happening,
but he'd never felt it before—until now. He let his hand fall back to his side,
and Katherine hastily tucked the hair behind her ear. She looked as stunned as
he felt, as if they'd both touched a hot stove and hadn't expected to get
burned.
    Zach looked away from Katherine, letting his gaze
drift along
Main Street
.
Everyone was going about their business in the bright April sunshine, enjoying
the nice weather, the green canopy of trees along the sidewalks providing
welcome shade and coolness. The birds were singing. The flowers were blooming.
And not one person looked like the world had just turned upside down, but it
had. He'd felt it right down to the tips of his toes.
    "I better go," Katherine said, heading
toward the sidewalk.
    Zach followed her, thinking he would leave, get in his
truck and go home. Then she turned and smiled at him once more, and he felt
like he'd been sucker-punched.
    "Thanks for checking up on me," she said. "That
was nice of you."
    "I told you I'm not nice. Ask anyone."
    "I prefer to make my own judgments, and I base
them on the man, not the father."
    "I could give you ten reasons not to believe I'm
innocent."
    Her gaze roamed across his face, searching for
something. He didn't know what.
    "I'd never mistake you for innocent, Zach, but
that doesn't necessarily make you dishonorable. Why don't you come to Golden's
with me," she suggested.
    "I should get back to the farm."
    "Walk with me. Tell me about your horse. Maggie
said everyone around here is worried that somehow your colt will sneak past
them and win the
Derby
.
Is that true?"
    "That they're worried or that Rogue will win?"
    "Either one."
    Against his better judgment, Zach couldn't help
falling into step with her. "I think he can win, but we'll have to wait
and see."
    "The last time I went to the horse races was at
Santa Anita. I sat in the Turf Club and lost every race."
    "The Turf Club?" He stopped, put his hands
on his hips, and shook his head in mock despair. "How can you pick the
right horse when you're sitting three floors up at a fancy table, eating off
china and drinking some high-priced wine?"
    "Where should I be?"
    "Down by the track, out in the paddock, watching
the jockeys mount up. Better yet, try an early morning workout when the steam
coming off the Styrofoam
coffee cups will curl your hair. That's when the horses show their real stuff."
    "Are you a gambler, Zach?"
    "I'm in the racehorse business, Kat. What else
could I possibly be?"
    "Oh, I don't know. I think there are gamblers and
there are gamblers."
    "The distinction being?"
    "Those who can stop when their wallet is empty
and those who would sell their souls for a two-dollar chance."
    "The latter."
    "I don't believe you."
    "Believe it. I've invested my soul in my horse.
With him goes everything I have."
    "That's an awful lot of weight to put on your
horse's back."
    "He can handle it."
    "What's his name?"
    "
Midnight
Rogue."
    "Rogue? Like his owner?"
    He wasn't about to touch that one. "
Midnight
for his black coat and rogue
because no one knows what he's going to do, including me. Not to mention the
fact that he has an eye for the fillies."
    "Like his owner?" she repeated