A Weaver Baby. Allison Leigh

      She hadn’t gone to him before to resign, though he’d thought so at the time. It was almost ironic, really. Even without knowing she was pregnant with his child, he’d seen that reality before she had.

      “I can’t work here anymore, Jake,” she said. “I’m sorry.” And she really was.

      “I don’t want you to go.”

      Something inside her clutched—hard. Her hands went sweaty and she swallowed. “Why?”

      His jaw flexed. “Latitude runs for you, J.D., and you know how much I want to be in the winner’s circle at the Derby next May.”

      She prided herself on having her eyes open where Jake was concerned. So the pang she felt was considerably sharper than it should have been. “Latitude runs because he loves it. But Miguel will have Platinum ready for the Kentucky Derby, too. He has just as good a chance as Latitude. And the Derby is still eight months away, anyway. Tell Miguel to put his nephew Pedro on his back for the Champagne Stakes. I’ve seen the kid on the track and with Latitude. He’ll do fine. And if Miguel isn’t the right handler, you’ll find someone else who is.”

      “I already did,” he said pointedly.

      The back of her throat felt tight and achy. On any other day, she might have felt like she was coming down with the bug that was going around the place. For Jake, everything revolved around him winning. And it was the height of irony that it was the colt she so loved that was now making it more impossible than ever. “I can’t stay, Jake.”

      “Because of what I did to you.”

      She closed her eyes for a moment, pained. “What we did.” Honesty wouldn’t allow her to let him shoulder that. “For heaven’s sake, Jake, I was more than willing, in case you’ve forgotten.”

      He shoved his hands through his hair, then scrubbed his palms down his face. “Willing or not, I should’ve known better.” He dropped his hands, but the grimace was still there. “You’re the kind of woman who probably thinks you’re supposed to want to marry a man when you’re sleeping with him. Or at least be in love with him.”

      She folded her arms across her chest. “Don’t be ridiculous.”

      He lifted an eyebrow. “You’re saying that you’re not old-fashioned when it comes to sex? You, who hadn’t done this in a long while?”

      She flushed. Trust the man to remember what she’d said to him that night. “Being discriminating doesn’t necessarily mean a person is old-fashioned.”

      “Then why the hell can’t you work here, anymore?”

       Tell him.

      The command circled inside her head. Her lips parted; the words sitting on the tip of her tongue, ready to trip off.

      That ache returned to the back of her throat. She’d seen him with his sons. She looked up at Jake. “Because I’m going home,” she finally said.

      His brows drew together. “Home. What the hell’s that supposed to mean?”

      Her eyes stung and she looked back at her practical, dusty pickup that looked so incongruous sitting behind his expensive sports car. “It means home. Where I belong,” she finished huskily. “Home to Wyoming.”