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Informationen zum Autor Laura Moore, an accomplished rider and art historian, lives north of Chicago with her family. She is also the author of several books, including the Silver Creek Series and the Rosewood Trilogy. Klappentext Growing up trapped by her father's wealth, awkward Ty Stannard found freedom on horseback. A talented equestrian, she yearned to ride as well as her idol, champion Steve Sheppard. Worshiping the handsome Kentuckian, she treasures the lucky medallion he gives her the day they chance to meet. But then a nasty fall changes everything, and Ty is forced to leave her dreams behind. Now a beautiful woman, determined to live life on her own terms, Ty learns that Steve stands on the brink of ruin. Moved by memories of his kindness to her, she offers him financial backing, but Steve perceives only a selfish socialite amusing herself at his expense. In a daring move, he challenges Ty to be not only a financial partner -- but a full-time farmhand as well, expecting she'll tire of the hardships of a working stable. To Steve's surprise, Ty takes up his challenge. As they rebuild Southwind, Steve's beloved stable, they find unexpected strength and comfort in each other -- and a passion neither can deny. But their fragile love will be tested by not only those who seek to destroy what they have built, but also the insecurities and doubts that shadow their own very vulnerable hearts. Chapter One Lake Placid, New York "Omigod! Omigod! Ty, Ty, it's him!" The force of Lizzie's elbow into her ribs sent Ty stumbling, smearing a thick coat of mint chocolate chip ice cream across the front of her nose. "Jeez Louise," Ty muttered in aggravation. She looked reproachfully at her perilously lopsided cone, now in imminent danger of landing on her beige breeches. Recognizing this as a crisis situation, Ty wiped with the back of her hand at the sticky green mess coating her face. Then she carefully brought the cone within range of her mouth once again and gave it a long, hard sweep with her tongue, righting the precarious lump. Unfortunately, the sharp mint flavor no longer tasted quite so refreshing, even in the heat wave that was currently roasting the Northeast. It was barely nine o'clock, and already the thermometer was in the upper eighties. The forecast predicted a weekend high of a hundred and one degrees, practically unheard of in upstate New York. A wholly unanticipated side effect of the stifling heat wave, and an especially low blow for Ty, was how it destroyed her enthusiasm for one of her favorite foods. Now the ice cream treat was little more than a sticky, melting mess clasped between her fingers. She wanted to get rid of it. Normally, Ty loved the liberty on show days to eat the most improbable foods at whatever hour caught her fancy. Pizza at eight, a hamburger with the works at ten, ice cream -- who was going to argue that it was still breakfast time when she'd been up for hours already? And if her father bothered to come and watch, he wouldn't arrive a minute before her classes were scheduled to begin, so she never risked his chilly disapproval at the sight of his only child doing something so vulgar as eating ice cream before lunch. This morning, however, it was simply too darn hot to eat -- even ice cream. Appetite gone, Ty spotted a trash can a few feet away, still three-quarters empty, with only a few bees buzzing around its rim, as very few of the spectators or competitors who'd arrived this early had begun eating in earnest. Ty dropped the offensive cone into its gaping mouth. Glancing down at her hands, she wished that earlier, back at the concession stand, she hadn't so hastily declined the offer of a napkin from the man scooping ice cream out of the enormous ten gallon cardboard drums. Now, she thought gloomily, she was doomed to walk around the show grounds with a patina of green goo all over her. Recalling what had caused t...
