And he had come from nothing. That he’d had to face, couldn’t be changed. Nor could he change the fact that it left a sore spot inside him that was never really eased.

He’d gone years telling himself it didn’t matter what his parents had been, how he’d grown up, or how he’d lived. But it did matter; now more than ever, he knew it mattered. There was a woman in his life who shouldn’t have been there.

Sooner or later, he had no doubt, she’d see that for herself. The insult of it, and the inevitability, made him push the colt for more speed. Not for a minute would he have admitted that he was racing away rather than toward. Nor would he admit, even to himself, that his emotions had been in turmoil from the moment he’d stepped inside the stables last night and found her.

As if she was meant to be there, with him. For him. As if he could take, and hold, maybe even deserve something as lovely and fine and vital as Laura. And be for her what she could be for him.

The hell with that, Michael told himself, squinting into the sunlight as the colt flew over the ground. No way he was going to start fashioning pretty little dreams about a life with Laura. If he was one thing, he was a realist. His time with her was temporary, and he would damn well pack as much into it as he could while it lasted.

He was already into the run, the colt bunched for the leap when Michael spotted the figure loitering at the paddock. They sailed over the fence, spewed up dirt and dust.

“That’s a hell of a horse,” Byron called out as Michael trotted to him.

“He is.” Bending, Michael slapped Zip’s neck, then dismounted. “Sold him today. Guy in Utah.” After uncinching the saddle, Michael hung it over the fence. “Wants to breed for speed.”

“He’ll get it.” Byron leaned over, patted the colt’s sleek throat. “Isn’t even winded.”

“Nope. He’ll tire his rider out first.”

“I’m surprised you’re not using him for stud yourself. He’s prime.”

“Yeah, he’s prime. But I have more foundation to build before I add a stud.” Couple more years, he thought, picturing the foal again, and we’ll both be ready. “Right now it’s horse trading and building on the investment.”

“You’ve got a good start. That walker there.” Byron gestured. “What are you asking?”

“Max?” Michael glanced around, watched the horse swish his tail. “I’d sell my own mother first.” He held up his hand, and Max walked over. “Glad to see me, Max?”

Max peeled back his lips so his teeth showed and split the air with a horsey laugh. “Give us a kiss, then.”