“Hell, Brennan, this is a nice deal.” Construction company owner Ray Elliott riffled through the pages of the thick business proposal with the diligence of a general readying for a campaign.

Relaxing his shoulders, Camden Brennan sank back into the plush leather chair across from Elliott’s polished cherry office desk. He crossed one crisply-pressed trouser leg over the other and brought his fingertips up to touch his lips in a thoughtful steeple as he studied the man who held the future of Brennan Equipment Company in his hands.

With practiced indifference, he hid his true feelings. Half-closed eyes shrouded the gleam of excitement he knew to be in them. Slow and even breathing belied the adrenaline pumping through his veins. Not yet time to celebrate. He was willing to wait for Elliott’s decision, willing to bide his time like a cat stalking its prey. The rewards were huge. A multi-million dollar deal was in the works; a deal which, if he landed it, would restore a longtime customer to the Brennan fold and prove to his adoptive father that the fifty-year-old company tradition was safe in Cam’s hands.

Winning the Elliott contract had been too important to leave to a mere salesman. With the weak economy and over two hundred employees depending upon him for work, Cam brought the bid to Chicago himself. Brought it straight into the lion’s den with the confidence of a biblical Daniel.

Ray Elliott was a cagey and worthy foe. Cam knew him well. Elliott hadn’t built the biggest road construction company in the Midwest by being timid. That’s why playing it cool was important. It was part of the game and prelude to the incredible rush he always felt when he landed a big contract.

Yet there was more at stake this time. His mother’s cancer and subsequent long recovery had taxed even her second husband’s ability to pay. Cam owed it to the man who adopted him to make the company succeed.

Elliott looked up from the paperwork, his gaze steady and thoughtful, gauging Cam’s reaction. “Vince Clayton submitted a bid yesterday that was equally as attractive as yours.”

Never flinching to show his surprise, Cam let the words sink in. He wouldn’t put it past Elliott to play bidder against bidder with both heavy equipment companies vying for the business. Cam dropped his hands and sat forward, striving to keep his face blank. Only the trace of movement in his jaw hinted at his anger.

“My offer is solid.”

“Why should I do business with Brennan Equipment when I’ve bought from Clayton for five years?” Elliott asked in a clipped voice.

Why? Because you can’t turn me down. I’ve waited for this big deal all my life.

The question was a direct challenge to him. To his management of his father’s company. Okay. If Elliott wanted a recital of what he already knew, Cam would give it to him.

“As you know, my equipment comes from Sweden. Clayton’s doesn’t,” Cam said. “The European parts are assembled in the United States. You can’t beat the manufacturer’s quality or Brennan’s A-1 service department. We have a twenty-four hour a day hotline. Your broken equipment will be up and running within twenty-four hours after you place a service call.”

Before Elliott had the chance to respond, his secretary tapped twice and opened the office door. “Sorry to interrupt, Mr. Elliott,” she said, “but you told me to let you know if Aimee called.”

“Thank you, Cynthia.” Elliott reached for his phone. “Hate to do this, Brennan, but I’ve been trying to talk to my daughter for three days. Her mother is driving me crazy because we can’t get in touch with the girl. She doesn’t even own a cell phone.” He shook his head. “You married?”

“No, sir.”

“You’ll be married some day, and then you’ll understand how women can make your life miserable. Can’t live with ’em. Can’t live without ’em. Excuse me a moment.”

“Certainly.”

Cam shifted his gaze away from the man he’d come to do business with. This was awkward. Damn awkward. He didn’t want to eavesdrop, but Elliott was shouting into the phone. A vein pulsed in Cam’s neck.

He stood abruptly and walked to the window of the corner office, putting distance between him and the conversation carried in upper decibels. On the twenty-ninth floor of a high-rise, he had a panoramic view of the Chicago. Beneath him, the El snaked through downtown, and as he looked to the south, the city tapered off into industrial nothingness about a mile away. To the east he spotted landmarks—Grant Park and the Art Institute. He watched as glints of sunlight sparkled off Lake Michigan.

“Damn it, Aimee, your mother wants you home for the Renfro’s party in three weeks!” Elliott paused as if to steady himself. “Your mother wants you to meet their nephew from California,” he continued in a controlled whisper.

Cam took a deep breath and glanced back at Elliott. The businessman didn’t know Cam had a history with his treasured daughter, Aimee. Granted, not a long one, but he didn’t want Elliott to find out he had once slept with her. They had met at a frat party at the University of Kentucky. He was in graduate school at the time, and she’d just finished her freshman year.

He shrugged mentally. The fling hadn’t lasted long, but it had been hot and intense. It had been fun, if he remembered correctly. Aimee had been full of spunk and a real tigress in bed. No, Elliott didn’t need to know that particular detail about his daughter.

Cam glanced at the cherry credenza in the corner where pictures of Aimee were displayed—a blond child playing with a dog, dressed as a witch for Halloween, and wearing a prom dress. Aimee riding a horse. Always riding a horse.

In all of them, Aimee was smiling at the camera, her blue eyes sharp with determination. A determination he recalled well. His mouth tensed. When she told him it was over, he had gone willingly, but not happily. She wasn’t the only fish in the sea, or the only coed at UK.

Still, he had his pride. The gut-wrenching pain of her rejection was something he had tried to forget. He had loved her, but she’d taught him a lesson. He didn’t need that kind of emotional involvement. She had been his last serious relationship.

“Your mother won’t be happy about this,” Cam heard Elliot predict. Then his host slammed down the phone.

Interesting. Steely Ray Elliott bested by his only daughter. Cam’s instincts honed in on the tiny detail in hopes of finding a use for it later.

“The girl is too damn independent for her own good,” Elliott grumbled under his breath. “What she needs is a husband.”

Cam returned to his chair and sat down. He leaned back. “Problems?”

Elliott glanced up, as if just remembering his existence. “No,” he snapped after a brief hesitation. Then he sat up, visibly pulling himself together. He shuffled through the proposal again, his eyes narrowing on the documents.

A clock chimed somewhere. Minutes ticked away. Looking up again, Elliott leveled a pointed gaze at Cam. “You’re from Kentucky. What do you know about horses?”

“Thoroughbreds?”

“Hell, no. You can bet on them. They’re worth something,” Elliott replied with gruff disgust. “I’m talking about show horses. Prissy things with set tails and shaved manes. All they do is go around in circles.”

Caught off guard, Cam shifted in the chair. “I know there are big horse shows in Kentucky during the summer.”

“You’re right.” Elliott nodded. “Been there when Aimee was showing. Cost me a pretty penny, too. I even let the girl go to school in Kentucky. At the state university. She would have done better at Northwestern or Purdue, but no, nothing would do for her but to be in the heart of ‘horse country’ as she called it.”

Cam didn’t know where this was going. He cocked his head and waited. It didn’t seem as if his opinion was required, for Elliott carried on the conversation without any input from him.

“She’s got this wild idea about becoming a horse trainer. Hell, that’s a man’s job, but no…” He drew out the word no to emphasize it. “The girl thinks she can make a career out of it. Now she’s going to disappoint her mother by not coming home for the gala at Renfro’s. I’m going to catch hell for this.”

Elliott flipped through the proposal, focused, and once more returned to business. “I need to have time to digest the figures.”

“That’s fine.”

“I’ve got Clayton’s to review, too.”

Warning bells rang. “How long do you expect to take?”

“Hell, I don’t need the new equipment for another six months. I was just putting out feelers.”

“Six months?”

“That’s right. You got a problem with that?”

“No.” Cam shook his head. “But can you tell me how my proposal stacks up? Perhaps I can adjust the figures.”

Elliott stood. “No need for that. You and Clayton are dead even. I’ll let you know.” He extended his hand.

Muscles in Cam’s stomach tightened. He felt as if he’d been sucker-punched. Elliott had been trolling the waters. He had no intention of buying new equipment now. Six months, he’d said. It would be September before Elliott made up his mind. Five more months to sweat it out. This deal was big. Bigger than any other deal in his thirty-year-old life.

Cam jumped to his feet and accepted the offered handshake. “Good, I’ll keep in touch.”

“Yes, do.” Elliott ushered him to the door. “And Brennan, if you see my daughter in Kentucky, keep an eye on her, will you?”

Cam walked through the outer office, offering a thank-you smile to the secretary and exiting into the hall. He pushed the button for the elevator.

He didn’t mind waiting when he was in control of the situation. He could play the game as well as any of his competitors. But he didn’t like not winning the contract outright.

The door opened. Cam stepped into the empty elevator and pushed the first floor button. How could he influence the decision?

Once again he heard Ray Elliott’s soft words—words the businessman spoke only to himself. What she needs is a husband.

A spike of inspiration jarred Cam, and he straightened his shoulders. Aimee had flustered her old man. Got to him bad. Somehow Elliott’s daughter was the key to this whole deal.