He caught her upper arms in his hands and gently turned her to face him. “Shay, get mad. Admit that the woman hurt you, disappointed you. You’re not going to be able to let go of that part of your life unless you face what you really feel.”

Shay’s chin quivered, but her eyes flashed as she looked up into Mitch’s face. “How do you know what I feel?” she choked out. “How could anybody know what it’s like to mean less than the latest tennis pro in your mother’s life? Less than a racehorse, for God’s sake?”

“Tell me what it’s like, Shay. I’ll listen.”

Shay trembled. “Making mental notes for your book all the while, I’m sure! Get out of here, Mitch, leave me alone. I’ve told you all I can.”

He gave her a slight shake. “Will you forget that damned book? I’m not talking about Rosamond, I’m talking about you, about us!”

“What about us, Mitch?” The question was a challenge, a mockery, an attempt to drive this man away before he could become important enough to Shay to hurt her. He already had become just that, of course, but there was such a thing as cutting one’s losses and making a run for it. God knew, she thought frantically, Rosamond had taught her that if nothing else.

Mitch’s hands fell slowly from Shay’s shoulders and, once again, he looked toward the carousel horse. She sensed that he knew all about Clydesdale.

After a long time, Mitch sighed and started toward the door. In the opening, he paused, his eyes searching Shay’s face for a moment and then shifting away. “You know, I really thought we’d be able to communicate, you and I. I really thought we had a chance.”

Shay’s throat tightened and tears burned in her eyes. She turned away from Mitch and took up her sandpaper.

“You can’t bring back your childhood, Shay,” he said, and then the door closed quietly behind him.

Shay wiped her eyes on the sleeve of her work shirt and sanded harder.

Chapter Eight

Shay stood back from the carousel horse, her hands on her hips, her head tilted to one side. She had been working on the project every night for a week and now it was done: Clydesdale was restored to his former pink, silver and pale blue glory. He looked fabulous.

She sighed, wiping her hands on her shirt. Now what was she going to do to keep herself from going mad? Hank wouldn’t be home for another ten days and Shay couldn’t stand the thought of reading another book or scanning another article on the internet on the management of a small business. She’d reached her saturation point when it came to studying. Besides, she had learned the rudiments of free enterprise by working for Marvin Reese; it was time to take real action.

Shay glanced at the clock on the wall above the TV and grimaced. It was nearly two in the morning, and the third commercial was scheduled for nine-fifteen. If she didn’t get some sleep, she would never get through it.