rack. He held it for her to slip into, his hand brushed against her neck as he settled the collar around her throat, the braid of hair pulled to the outside.
She shivered.
For a moment his hands framed her face and then with a sharp imprecation, he dropped his hands and stepped aside, opening the door for her.
Heart thudding erratically, she walked into the crisp autumn dawn, gravel crunching underfoot. Their breath formed steam wreaths, the stables, grotesque shapes in the gloom.
"Logan and Dad are down at the track." He was first to break the silence.
"You get on well with Logan?" Never overly interested in Logan’s family, now her curiosity knew no bounds.
"We've always been close. If you're imagining a hated stepbrother syndrome, forget it."
"I wasn't," she retorted tartly. "Do you feel the same about your sisters?"
He gave a low growl, caught her arm and turned her to face him, eyes glittering with banked emotion. "What do you know about my sisters?"
"Only that you have three." Victoria was bewildered by his reaction.
"Who told you? Logan wouldn’t. He's too damn loyal."
"Your father told me."
"Dad told you?" His dark eyes flashed with anger and—betrayal.
"He mentioned it last night." Upset by his reaction, she laced a hand through his.
"Were you surprised?"
Unsure how to answer that observation, she nodded.
"Then try to imagine how I felt when I discovered I even had sisters. And the shock of learning my dead mother was very much alive. And had another family."
Victoria stopped abruptly, stared at him, shaking her head in horrified disbelief. "You’re kidding? Right?"
His stern lips had a cynical twist. "Wrong."
"That’s iniquitous." She winced, struggling to imagine his shock. Her grip on his hand tightened. "How old were you when you found out?"
"Seventeen."
"What happened?" she asked, his expression so grim her breath caught in her throat.
"It’s an old story." His grimace tore at her heart. He continued walking, their hands entwined. "My mother ran off with another man. At four I didn't understand. I was told my mother was dead."
"And you believed it?" She glanced at him through her lashes. His expression was impassive.
"Why wouldn’t I?"
The flat toneless words revealed far more than he knew.
"That's just plain wrong." Victoria fumed. "No matter what happens between parents, every child has an inalienable right to know their mother."
And its father. Here’s my chance. Tell him about Connor now. He has the right to know.
Maybe, but not while we're guests under his father’s roof.
Coward!
Keir maneuvered her back against the trunk of a huge plane tree. "Intellectually, I know you’re right. But practically, given Muriel’s hatred of my mother, I can understand the lie."
Apprehension hindered her breathing. This subject touched far too close to the bone. The temptation to confess was squelched by fear of his reaction.
Chicken!
"No matter the cause, such a lie is never justified."
Hypocrite!
A loaded silence fell.
Would their lives have been different had Keir been straight with her that summer? He looked at her, his expression wry.
"You're right, of course. In my defense, my mother did always call me Seth."
My mother calls me Seth Donahue. That's what he'd told her that long-ago summer.
"Why? Why not Keir?"
They continued walking, his boots crunching fallen leaves, the sound loud in the stillness, her smaller hand secure in his. It seemed to Victoria that even the birds were silent, awaiting his answer.
"A major difference of opinion. She hated the name Keir, my father hated Seth."
Outrage rendered Victoria almost speechless. Compassion warred with indignation.
Whatever were his parents thinking to put any child in the middle of such an awful tug of love? Didn't they know how damaging such a stance would be to a small child?
"That’s awful," she said, indignantly. "Why let me think Seth Donahue was your name?"
He gave another of those expressive