Inside the stables at Ten Acres, a few months later...

Jim Frayne kept his tone soothing as he rubbed down the big black stallion in the stall. "That's right, Jupiter," he said. "Almost done. That was a good ride we had, wasn't it?" He smiled to himself, remembering the thrill of the fast-paced trot through the preserve. The smile disappeared as he reminded himself that it was the only freedom he was likely to enjoy for quite some time. Jonesy always found a way to spend the meagre income Ten Acres provided. College was out of the question now, as Jonesy had seen fit to turn down, on Jim's behalf, the scholarship he'd been offered. His favourite place in the world, Ten Acres, had become his prison while he laboured to return it to its former productive and lucrative state.

But that would change, starting with Jupiter. He'd breed horses and raise them to be just as strong and swift as the black stallion. If he couldn't have the education he'd dreamed of, he'd at least find a way to work with horses for the rest of his life. After all, breeding horses didn't require a university degree. Just practical knowledge and a love of animals. He had both in spades. And it wasn't as if Jonesy could live forever. Someday, somehow, Ten Acres would be his. His, as it would have been had his mother not married the conniving, manipulative jerk he now called step-father.

Jupiter whickered and nuzzled Jim's arm, prompting him to reach into the pocket of his light jacket and retrieve a good-sized carrot. The horse accepted it, snuffling Jim's hand as he took between his ticklish lips. The young man felt his anger and resentment ebb as he focused on the animal. Jupiter was helping him, in more than one way. With a final pat to the head and a satisfied grin, he set about returning the grooming utensils to their proper positions. Someday, he'd have to hire a groom. Until then, he resolved to make the most of every opportunity he had to care for the horse.

A shuffling noise at the stable doorway alerted him to another presence. Both he and Jupiter pricked their ears, and correctly identified that it was not the limping shuffle both had come to loathe. No, the man entering the stable was a favourite of both the man and the beast.

"Brom!" Jim said. "How's the arthritis today?"

The elderly man shrugged, and Jim could tell that even that small action was painful for him. "Not worth mentioning," Brom replied gruffly in a thin, wheezy voice.

No, Jim knew that Brom wouldn't consider the debilitating pain worth mentioning. He smiled affectionately and waited until the older man had settled himself, leaning against the wall of an empty stall.

"Out here with the horse again?" Brom inquired with mild censure. "You'd think you lived in the stable, and not up at the house," he reprimanded.

Jim's bitterness returned with a vengeance. "I'd sleep out here if I could," he muttered under his breath.

Brom clucked his tongue. "That's no way for a Frayne to talk," he chided gently. "You have a fine home that's been in the Frayne family for years. I know," he continued with a wry grin. "I've been here for most of those years."

Jim looked away, towards the ramshackle home. "It's seen better days," he pointed out, thinking of the siding that needed painting, and the lamentable state of the garden. His Aunt Nell would have had a heart attack if she'd seen her home reduced to such straits. His own mother had cried when she'd realized that Jonesy was misusing the money that had been set aside for the upkeep of Ten Acres. But by then it had been too late. The money was gone, the glory and the mistress of Ten Acres with it.

"Now, James," Brom began, but stopped when Jim held up a hand. Jonesy's heavy, stumping tread was clearly audible as he approached the stable. Within seconds, the dark, looming shadow appeared in the doorway, the stooped figure emitting malevolence by its very presence.

"There you are," Jonesy said, his frustration evident. "I've been looking for you, boy."

"I'm hardly a boy," Jim pointed out calmly. "And I was working."

Jonesy snorted. "Working? You call standing and talking to that devil you like to waste your time with working?"

"I'm standing right here," Brom protested weakly.

Jonesy's eyes narrowed as he studied his elderly servant. "I was referring to the horse," he said. "But..." he shrugged, as if to say that the description could apply to the man, as well.

"What else am I supposed to do?" Jim demanded, choosing to ignore for the time being the slight to the loyal employee. "You stopped me from going away to school, but you give me no real responsibility at Ten Acres. Other than mucking out the stalls, of course." He gestured to the pitchfork propped against the stable wall. "Which I completed over an hour ago."

"Too big for your britches," Jonesy hissed, taking another step into the stable. "You would have flunked out of college and you know it."

Jim flushed in anger. "I would not! You know that I was accepted based on my grades."

He snorted derisively. "No. What I know is, you think you're too good to work," he accused. "There's no way I'm dishing out money for you to attend some hoity-toity school."

Jim took a step closer to his step-father. By the time they were almost chest to chest, Jonesy had managed to straighten his stooped shoulders and rise to his full height. He was still three inches shorter than Jim, but the young man knew that a fight between them was not a guaranteed victory for either man. Jim had youth and strength on his side, but Jonesy had years of cruelty and manipulation behind him, and he wasn't afraid to inflict permanent harm. Though Jim burned with indignation, he knew that he was incapable of the ruthlessness that would be necessary to win in an all-out fight with his stepfather. Still, that didn't mean he couldn't intimidate the man a little...

Jim straightened his own form, muscles honed by years of hard labour straining. Jonesy's expression hardened, and Jim wondered, for the millionth time, what his mother had seen in him.

"Now, now," Brom cut in, moving to stand between them. The frail man was physically incapable of carrying his point, though. Jonesy was never one to listen to any opinion other than his own, and Jim was too angry to listen to reason.

"What would the late Mrs. Frayne say?" Brom beseeched. "You know that she desperately wanted the two of you to get along."

Jim's shoulders sagged as he recognized the truth of the old man's statement. Katje Frayne's fondest wish had been for her second husband and son to develop a close and loving relationship like the one Jim had enjoyed with his father. They had negotiated an uneasy truce while Katje was alive, but it had deteriorated into scarcely controlled hatred after her death. Jonesy turned away from Jim to face the servant, the hardened planes of his face like chiselled granite.

"Mrs. Jones. Her name," he said, enunciating each word clearly, "was Mrs. Jones. Not Mrs. Frayne."

Jim's hatred flamed, but this time it was a cold, contained burn.

"Let it go," Brom whispered, placing his hand on the young man's forearm.

"I can't," he said desperately. "I can't! Don't you see? I'm wasting my life here! I can't leave the Frayne home, and I can't stay."

"Stand down, boy," Jonesy ordered.

"I'm not a boy," Jim hissed. "And even when I was, I wasn't your boy." With a contemptuous look, he brushed past Jonesy, deliberately slamming his shoulder into the older man's. Stopping in the doorway, he spoke without turning around. "I'll leave Ten Acres. For now. Since you've prevented me from going to college and refused to make me anything more than a hired hand at Ten Acres, I'm taking Jupiter."

"You think you can make it on your own? Boy, you'll be back here, tail tucked between your legs, in two days," Jonesy boasted.

Jim ignored the parting jab and strode into the preserve, leading Jupiter.

"And as for you," Jonesy hissed, turning his attention back to Brom, "it's obvious where your loyalty lies. You're fired. I want you off my land by nightfall."

Brom's face drained of the scant colour it had possessed to begin with and he appeared to become even more frail. "Sir?" he asked, his voice shaky.

"You heard me." Jonesy turned away, heading toward the rambling Frayne ancestral home instead of following his step-son into the preserve. "I have no use for you."

"No," Brom agreed, straightening his stooped back and regaining his dignity. "I imagine you don't. You've used up the last of my strength and dignity. Nothing much left," he concluded sadly.

Jonesy didn't answer, as he was already halfway across the expansive yard. When his cell phone rang, he flipped it open with such vigour that it nearly snapped. "Jonesy here," he barked, hoping he'd be given just half a chance to tear into someone.

"It's Bill Regan," he heard, and Jonesy's anger evaporated as a solution to all his problems presented itself.

"Regan," he said, a grin twisting his face into a caricature worthy of a Halloween mask, "you're just the man I was hoping to talk to."

"Looking for more gossip?" the groom for Matthew Wheeler's extensive stables asked reluctantly. "I know I promised you I'd keep you informed, but there's nothing new. The latest news is still the fact that Matthew Wheeler found a way to run Peter Belden out of town."

Jonesy idly fished a cigarette out of his shirt pocket and flicked his lighter a few times before allowing the flame to catch. "Yesterday's news," he agreed. "Still..." He took a long drag on the cigarette and felt the familiar surge of relief. "What have you heard about the Belden girl? That blonde snoop that spends time with the Wheeler girl. She gone, too?" He took a smaller puff and closed his eyes in contentment. Nothing calmed the nerves and engaged the brain like a good hit of nicotine.

"Trixie? She's still here," Regan said, clearly surprised by the question. "Honey's a sweet kid, but she'd raise hell if her daddy scared her friend away, too."

Jonesy grunted his agreement.

There was a brief pause, and Regan's voice lowered. "Most people think Peter Belden took off for the Cayman Islands and an unregistered account, but there is another theory floating around..."

Jonesy flicked the cigarette away and watched it smoulder in the dry grass. The embers grew until he carelessly ground the stub into the earth. "You think he's six feet under?"

Regan's chuckle was tight, and Jonesy was reminded that the groom was almost as anti-social as himself. "No. Just that the good banker might not have moved quite as far away as Mr. Wheeler had hoped."

Jonesy considered the information. It was an interesting theory, and one well worth investigating. Over the years, he'd found that it was impossible to have too much information on his neighbours. "The big race is tomorrow," he said, changing the subject abruptly.

Regan blew out a breath, sounding uncommonly like the horses he raced and cared for. "Might be my last one," he said. "Mr. Wheeler's always on the lookout for new riders."

And with that statement, the pieces fell into place. "You should know," Jonesy said slowly, "that my step-son, Jim, might make an appearance tomorrow."

Regan whistled. "On Jupiter?"

"That's right." He patted the package of smokes in his breast pocket, but didn't remove it. He could be patient, when it was called for. "He's a good rider. A bit too competitive, but..." He let his voice trail off.

"Doesn't play fair?" Regan asked shrewdly.

"No, he's fair," Jonesy admitted, knowing that his lie had to be at least half-way believable. "He won't break any rules. He just might be a little, shall we say, overzealous. Rough." He paused and let Regan digest the information. "You might want to strike first, if you hear what I'm saying."

"I do," Regan said thoughtfully. "Thanks for the info. I can't afford to lose this race."

And Jonesy couldn't afford to let Jim win the race, and a reputation along with it. Though no one would expect the young man to make a career of racing horses, it would elevate his standing in society if he rode with distinction among the big wigs constantly touring the stables at the Manor House. No, Jim needed to either stay and pay his debt (he'd fed the boy for eight years, hadn't he?) or disgrace himself so badly that Jonesy would never have to deal with him again. Causing a ruckus at Matthew Wheeler's prestigious and exclusive race fit the bill perfectly.

Jonesy flipped the phone closed, knowing that he'd effectively set the pieces of the game in motion. All he had to do now was sit back and gloat while Jim destroyed himself. An expression of pure malevolence crossed his face as he contemplated ruining his step-son's life. From the day they'd met, he'd hated the red-haired boy who made him feel like a failure in every area of his life. It had been plain that Jim knew Jonesy wasn't capable of taking Winthrop Frayne's place. Deep down, he'd known it, too, but it had been pure agony seeing the contempt on Winthrop's look-alike every bleeding day. Worse still had been the knowledge that Jim didn't respect him as a person, either. All Jonesy's worst faults were at the forefront whenever Jim was around him.

And Jonesy hated him for it.

     In a riding field close to Manor House stables...

Trixie Belden kicked dejectedly at a tuft of grass, and then plopped to the ground, prompting her best friend to sink gracefully down beside her.

"Cheer up," Honey Wheeler begged, throwing a slender arm around Trixie's sturdy shoulder. "It's going to be okay."

Trixie scowled, but didn't bother looking up from the blades of grass she was systematically tugging from their roots. "This is me pretending to be cheerful," Trixie protested. "You have no idea how badly I want to break something, or kick someone, or—" She stopped. "Unless Mr. Wheeler is willing to give up his vendetta against my dad..." She tore ruthlessly at a clump of grass, pulling up the roots along with the blades. "I can't pretend everything is okay. And I can't believe he just left! Not even a note! It's been almost three months!"

Honey sighed. "He would if he could have," she said in an attempt to console her best friend. "When my father makes up his mind to do something..." She shook her head. Both girls knew that Peter Belden had done the only thing he could. Probably the only thing that would ensure his children remained safe.

In an attempt to lighten the conversation, she nudged Trixie's shoulder with her own. "And, just so you know, if our roles were reversed, you wouldn't find me taking it out on the poor grass that has never done you any harm."

Trixie blinked and dropped the blades of grass she was systematically tearing to shreds.

"I'd simply employ the patented Wheeler Stoic Face," she continued loftily, and demonstrated. The long, solemn, expression she pasted on had Trixie's lips twitching at the corners, just as Honey had hoped.

"No! Not the Wheeler Stoic Face!" Trixie protested, pretending to shield herself from the intensity of Honey's expression. She covered her eyes, only to peek between her fingers as Honey nudged her, forcing her to continue looking at her.

"Works every time," Honey said smugly, adopting her usual open and kind expression.

Trixie sighed and lay back on the earth, spreading her arms wide. "I wish it wasn't like this," she said. "And I know you'd handle it better than I am if our situations were reversed." She grimaced in apology. "Probably you wouldn't be spending all your time thinking of new and unusual ways to curse my father, either."

Honey grimaced. "Probably not," she agreed, her tender heart recoiling at the notion of revenge.

"And it could always be worse," Trixie said, now determined to talk herself out of her melancholy state. "At least one of us still has her family and her home. That's certainly better than both of us being..."

"And what I have is yours. You know that, Trixie," Honey said earnestly, her hazel eyes pleading with her friend to understand. "I know Daddy has stolen from your family, but, technically, that money is in my family now, and you know I'll do my best to give you everything I can. And I'll start by being the best friend you've ever had," she vowed.

"You already are," Trixie told her, sitting up to envelop her in a tight, brief hug. "Now," she said, straightening and wiping away a suspicious drop of moisture from her eye, "we need a distraction." She glanced around the field, but, though the day was fair, there was nothing particularly exciting to see. "Oh! I know! We could talk about..." she paused, and lowered her voice, though there was no one around to overhear them, "...boys." She waggled her eyes suggestively, and was pleased when Honey giggled, proving that her plan had succeeded.

"But only cute boys," Honey stipulated. "Mindless eye candy who we couldn't possibly develop feelings for."

"The best kind!" Trixie agreed. If there was one thing she had learned, admiring the male of the species was best done from a distance, and without hope or expectation of anything more than a pleasant view. Watching her father struggle to carry on after her mother's death had taught her that much, at least. And Honey, though more romantically inclined, had no illusions about the man she would eventually be pressured to marry. Her own parents' marriage had been based on the accumulation of property and political alliances, and certainly not love.

These thoughts, coupled with the crippling blow of losing her father, had Trixie desperately wanting to forget everything that was going on in her life. In a bid to completely distract herself, she added, "We could even do makeovers!"

Honey's jaw dropped in surprise before she recovered herself. Trixie Belden suggesting a makeover was akin to Mrs. Wheeler suggesting mud wrestling, after all. "Nope," she said, shaking her head. "No makeover for you. You're beautiful as you are. Plus," she said, leaning forward to confide in her, "You don't want to be too pretty. If there's one thing I've learned from Mother's friends, it's that the prettier you are, generally the less nice you are. And I like you just fine as is."

Trixie blushed and swatted at her."Well, then, we'll just have to stick to day dreaming about buff men."

Honey grimaced, her eyes staring at a pointed somewhere past Trixie's shoulders. "Not right now, though," she said reluctantly.

Trixie followed her gaze and saw her almost-twin brother heading their way.

"Oh, no!" she groaned, eliciting a chuckle from her friend. "What's he doing here?" Her annoyed expression turned apprehensive in a heartbeat, though. Though Mart irritated her endlessly, she was still feeling the effects of having her family ripped from her. What if Mart was here with bad news? What if their father had been discovered? Or hurt? Or—she couldn't bring herself to continue the thought. The last few months had taught her that life was uncertain at best, and that anything could happen in the blink of an eye. Her childhood home had been taken from her, her father was in hiding, and she wasn't even entirely sure what had happened with her oldest brother. It wasn't uncommon for them to go for long periods of time without communicating, especially when he was finishing up his medical degree, but the emails had grown further and further apart, and finally stopped a few weeks ago. The desperate longing for family that she felt welling up was quickly assuaged when she saw that her brother was smiling as he strode across the field to join them. Or was that a smirk? In any case, he didn't appear to be on the verge of imparting unpleasant news.

"Greetings!" he called to the girls when he was a few feet away. "I've been looking for you."

Trixie blew out a breath, her relief at his jovial turning her snippy in an attempt to hide her true feelings. "Then you should probably get glasses, brother dear," she said, glancing down at the bright print of Honey's dress and her own red tee shirt. "We're not exactly hard to spot."

"But the estate covers a lot of land," Mart pointed out. "And I had no idea where you'd chosen to spend your idleness."

Trixie sniffed impatiently. "Idleness! As if what you do is actually work," she said disdainfully. "I mean, really. A monkey sitting at a typewriter could do your job!" she claimed, thinking of the endless press releases he wrote for Wheeler Enterprises. "And they would probably be a lot more exciting, too."

Mart grimaced. "Wheeler Enterprises has an image to maintain. It's not like I'm writing a lurid romance," he said, dropping his grimace to waggle his eyebrows suggestively. "Is that what you two are doing out here? Reading romance novels for a little excitement?" He shook his head in feigned disgust. "Or maybe you were just coming to get the best seats before the action started?"

Trixie frowned and exchanged a mystified glance at her best friend. "Action?"

Honey shook her head, just as confused as Trixie.

"He's pulling our legs," Trixie stage-whispered. "We both know that there's never any action out here."

"That's not true!" Honey protested. "Remember when we discovered old Mr. Frayne lying at the foot of his driveway?" She shuddered. "That's one excitement I hope I'll never have again!"

"And then there was the time that Mart tried to sic a snake on me," Trixie recalled, planting her hands on her hips and glaring at her brother.

"Hey!" he protested. "You can't complain! You got a pet out of it!"

"Well, yes," she said, her smile crafty. "There is that. And I did enjoy hearing you squeal that time you found it in the shower with you."

Mart shuddered. "Outside. Snakes belong outside. Not in the shower."

"He was making friends with you!" Trixie said, giggling. "Why, I'm not sure, but..." She shrugged. "Maybe he was looking for conversation?"

"Probably screaming doesn't count as conversation," Honey pointed out, her normally serene expression ruined by a grin.

"Honey! I expect this kind of abuse from my sister, but not from you!" He clutched at his tee shirt, right above his heart. "You're killing me!"

"Hardly," Honey said, eyes twinkling. "You put up with worse teasing from your siblings most of your life. And I'm sure the other people in your office have found plenty of things to rib you about."

Mart grimaced. "Let's not talk about work, shall we?" His expression turned serious, all trace of joviality gone.

Trixie felt a stab of sympathy for him. She lived at the Manor House, where Mr. Wheeler made only rare appearances on weekends. Even then, he was busy with the horses, and whatever else wealthy, evil men did in their down time. Mart, however, spent his days in Wheeler Enterprise's high rise tower, writing press release after press release, putting a positive spin on whatever mark they were making on the world of finance. It wasn't an easy job, especially when his hatred for Matthew Wheeler ran just as deeply as hers did. Still, they'd discussed it, and decided that they were safer staying where they were, and keeping an eye on the business mogul. If they were to leave, they'd have no idea if it would ever be safe to return.

Trixie's gaze drifted to the direction in which Crabapple Farm lay. The family farm house was empty now, deserted. She hadn't had the heart to go down, not since the day she'd arrived home to find the house locked against her. Matthew Wheeler had invited her to live at the Manor House, as a companion to Honey, and she'd agreed, knowing that if she didn't, she'd find herself mysteriously disappearing. Mart had kept his job out of the same fear. Somehow, it just seemed safer to do what Mr. Wheeler wanted. And for now, he seemed to want the two Sleepyside siblings firmly under his thumb. But who knew how long that would last?

Trixie felt the familiar surge of impatience, the desire to take the situation into her own hands and do something about it. Sure, she'd exhausted every possible avenue trying to locate her father. She'd managed to con her way into her dad's office at the bank, but the desk had been removed, and the computer wiped. There was no way for her to trace internet usage, so she had no idea if he'd booked a flight, rented a car, or hopped on a train. Maybe he'd hitchhiked? It seemed unlikely, but it would be the least easy for tracking his movements. Or maybe he hadn't done anything. Maybe Mr. Wheeler had taken care of him in a more permanent way. She shivered, not wanting to consider the possibility. Chief Molinson seemed to be convinced that Peter Belden had left town on his own two feet, and she planned to cling to that theory for as long as she could. But the fact that they had no clues to go on was grating on her nerves. As was the fact that she was so very sheltered at the Manor House. She didn't dare do any internet searches that would raise Mr. Wheeler's ire, and she didn't doubt that her internet usage was tracked. He'd probably been tracking his own daughter's internet activities for years, she thought. Of course, Honey never had anything to hide. But this inactivity couldn't last forever. Something had to give, and give soon. She only hoped that when it happened, it would lead to a favourable resolution. Still, knowing what had become of her father had to be better than not knowing. She hoped.

"So, what's this about excitement?" Honey asked, drawing Trixie's attention back to reality.

"I can't believe you forgot!" Mart exclaimed, chiding her affectionately. With a snort, Trixie recalled that Mart had always treated Honey like the sister he wished he had. As opposed to the one he did have.

Honey frowned. "I know Daddy was talking about something the other day..." Her voice trailed off and she paused before smacking her forehead. "Of course! He has one of his silly races again, doesn't he?"

Trixie laughed at Honey's wording. "I doubt he'd appreciate you referring to them as silly," she chided.

"But they are!" Honey protested. "They're practically barbaric!"

"Barbaric?" Trixie questioned, amused. "They ride horses. If that's not hoity toity English behaviour, I don't know what is. Half the time I expect them to drink tea from a china cup while they're jumping the fences!"

"It's not the riding that's barbaric," Honey said with a sigh. "At least, not mostly. Regan does seem a tad too competitive sometimes. I've often wondered if he hasn't done something to ensure that he always wins..." Her voice trailed off. "No. That's crazy, right? Really, the barbaric part is how competitive Daddy and his friends get over it! It's like a person has no value to them if they can't ride. I've seen them cull prospective hires by forcing them to participate in the race."

Mart grimaced. "And that's the truth! I had to do some pretty fancy riding when I was looking to get hired." He lowered his voice. "And Regan is scary competitive."

"Of course he is!" Trixie said with a sigh. "He knows he's in danger of losing his job if he doesn't win. It's his job to win."

Honey nodded solemnly. "I love riding, but I hate watching Daddy's races. The riders always look so nervous, as if so much is riding on the race." She sighed. "I feel awful for them."

The three were silent for a moment as they considered the upcoming race. As Trixie watched the sun climb higher in the June sky, she caught a glimpse of movement in the trees. She cocked her head to the side, trying to make out the identity of the shadowy figure.

"Came early for the best seats in the house, I see," the newcomer said, approaching them with a swift and confident stride.

Trixie sighed as the blond man approached. He was dressed impeccably as always in linen slacks and a tailored shirt. "Not riding today?" she asked, deciding to at least pretend to be polite. He was Honey's cousin, after all.

Ben Riker shook his head. "No. But I have it on good authority that there's a competitor to keep an eye on today."

"Oh?" Trixie inquired, her naturally curious mind desperate for something to focus on other than her father's plight.

"A local man has asked to race," Ben said, earning raised eyebrows from the other three.

"Really? The last time someone asked to join..." Honey's voice trailed off, and she paled, remembering how the three young men from a new family in town had entered the race at the Wheeler stables. The usual participants and audience had resented them. No one was sure what exactly happened out on the furthest parts of the course, but two brothers had been thrown, and the third injured by another horse and rider. The message had been clear.

"Lives right around here, too," Ben continued, relishing his place as the centre of attention. "He's the heir to Ten Acres, I've heard."

Trixie's ears pricked up. "Really?" she questioned. "That awful Jonesy man goes into town once in a while, but we hardly ever see his step-son," she said, thinking of the few glimpses she'd caught of a tall, broad-shouldered man riding a gleaming black horse.

"Well, you'll get your chance today," Ben informed her. "They'll be gathering in this field shortly."

"Are you sure you want to stay?" Mart asked Honey, and, for the first time, Trixie noticed her friend's pallor.

"Of course," Honey said faintly. "I just hope that..." Her voice trailed off, but they all knew what she was thinking. She hoped that no one would come to harm, either accidental or intentional, during the race.

Trixie felt the same, but couldn't help being grateful for a chance to finally get another look at the mysterious young man who lived only a half-mile away from her, but who seemed to have been hidden away from society ever since he'd moved to Ten Acres, right after old Mr. Frayne's death. He hadn't attended Sleepyside Junior-Senior High, though he had been the right age. The rumour was that he was home-schooled, though she couldn't picture Jonesy patiently instructing anyone in anything. Her face still flamed with embarrassment and anger from the one time she and Honey had "accidentally" ridden Susie and Lady onto Ten Acres property. Jonesy had appeared, in all his stooped and twisted glory. He hadn't yelled. He hadn't threatened them. Just the look of complete and utter hatred in his weasel-like eyes had sent the girls back to the Manor House at a gallop, never to return. She shivered just thinking about it.

No, if James had, in fact, completed his education, she was certain it was due to his own efforts.

After their one and only attempt at exploring the Frayne property, she and Honey had caught only occasional glimpses of James Winthrop Frayne II as he strayed close to the boundaries of the extensive Ten Acres holdings. He'd been on a stunning black horse each time, riding as if he and the horse shared a mind.

"He's a good rider," Trixie said, a sinking feeling in the pit of her stomach. In a fair competition, he and Regan would be evenly matched. Odds were strong that Regan would resort to strong-arming his way to victory against him.

"And here he comes now," Ben said, his eyes on a group of men and horses entering the ring.

Trixie scanned the group, her eyes flicking over several men before coming to rest on a tall red-headed man leading a huge black horse. The sunlight glinted off his hair, causing it to look like a live flame. She sucked in a breath as she took in his supple, athletic form.

"That's James Frayne?" she asked, her tone breathless. He'd certainly... filled out... since her last glimpse of him.

"Goes by Jim, I hear," Ben told her, his eyes still on the competitors.

Jim. Trixie repeated the name to herself, unable to take her eyes off of the handsome man. It suited him, she thought. Strong. Not flashy. No pretence or subterfuge. Simple. Probably the man didn't have an iota of drama in his life.

He was perfect.

"Uh oh," Mart said with a low whistle. "Look at Regan."

The red-haired groom was standing in the middle of a group of riders, but his hands were planted firmly on his lean hips, and he was sending a glare in Jim's direction. Jim, however, was completely focused on his horse, running a hand over its flank and speaking softly in its ear.

"That doesn't look promising," Honey said, her voice tainted with worry.

Ben shrugged. "All's fair in horse racing," he said, appearing to be unperturbed by the probable cheating.

"And that's why we're not going to fall in love," Honey murmured under her breath to Trixie. "There are even more rules to be broken then. With even worse consequences."

Trixie nodded distractedly, her eyes flickering between the two red-heads. "We have to warn him," she said suddenly. The idea of Regan using under-handed means to win the race at Jim's expense was intolerable. She lunged to her feet, but Mart placed his hand on her elbow, holding her back.

"Let me go," she said, eyeing the other riders who were mingling with riders and spectators alike.

"You don't want to draw attention to yourself," he reminded her.

She nodded, scowling. Technically, she and Honey shouldn't be observing the race at all. Mr. Wheeler had antiquated opinions on many issues, and he didn't think that his daughter watching the sport was at all lady-like. Mart was right—it was better if they kept a low profile.

She watched as Mart eased his way through the crowd, stopping to speak briefly to several people before reaching Jim, who, amazingly, was surrounded by a circle of empty lawn. It was clear that no one wanted to make contact with the man sure to lose, and lose spectacularly. The two men exchanged a few words, and then headed towards the secluded area where Trixie, Honey, and Ben waited.

"You wanted to talk to me?" Jim asked, his tone polite but curt.

Trixie shoved aside the prickles of awareness that she felt at his presence. "Yes," she said, looking up at him earnestly. Belatedly, she realized that he was even taller than she had guessed. Almost a foot taller than herself, in fact.

"You shouldn't race," she told him, daring to place her hand on his tanned, muscular forearm.

"I'm a perfectly competent rider," he assured her, seemingly amused by her concern. "I can assure you I won't be thrown from my horse at the first jump."

"That's the problem!" Trixie said, keeping her voice low. "This race is very... competitive," she warned him. "There's a good chance you'll be injured."

Jim placed his own hand over hers before gently removing it. "Unlikely. Jupiter and I have ridden together for years. We'll be fine."

"But—" Trixie protested.

"I've made up my mind," he told her, and she could see that he had, and that there would be no changing it. "I need to win this race. Even if Matthew Wheeler doesn't offer me a job, maybe one of his friends will. In any case, it will be a start to making a name for myself, away from Ten Ares. I need to win this race," he repeated.

"I'll ask him to remove you from the race," Honey offered. "You won't lose face, and you'll be safe."

Jim bristled with indignation. "Thanks, but no thanks," he told her firmly. "I'm not changing my mind."

Unable to resist, Trixie gave his arm a squeeze as he turned away. "Good luck," she told him, biting her bottom lip in concern.

From behind him, she saw Regan approach. "Ready, boy?" he asked Jim. "We're about to start. That is, if you still think riding against me is a good idea..."

Jim's lips compressed to a thin line, but he held his temper. "My name is James Winthrop Frayne, the second," he said through gritted teeth. "Not 'boy'. And you'd have been better off waiting until the end of the race to insult me."

Matthew Wheeler approached, his eyes flickering over Trixie, Honey, and Mart in annoyance. "We're ready to begin," he said, and both Regan and Jim turned away from the spectators.

"Good luck!" Trixie repeated, following them with her eyes.

Beside her, Honey watched as the riders positioned themselves. "What I wouldn't give to ride along, and run Regan off the course if he tries something," she whispered under her breath.

Trixie blinked in surprised at her gentle friend's harsh words, but couldn't disagree with the sentiment. The crowd quieted as the riders prepared to begin the mad dash around the lengthy course. Almost all of it would be out of view of the spectators; whether by Matthew Wheeler's design, or chance, Trixie wasn't sure.

At least Jim had some sort of advantage, Trixie thought, small though it was. He may not have spent a lot of time on Wheeler land before, but he was very familiar with the preserve, just the same. It was impossible to spend any time in the area without crossing the preserve. The trails, which had been in existence long before the modern division of property, ensured that. Would it be enough, she wondered?

Mr. Wheeler fired the starting pistol, and the horses and riders took off in a mad charge across the field, jockeying for position as they entered the trail. Trixie held her breath, noting that Jim stayed close to the front of the pack, seemingly content to follow Regan's lead. And then they disappeared from view, swallowed up by the preserve.

It wasn't a long race. Though it normally took a good twenty minutes for the riders to complete the circuitous route through the preserve, leaping over small streams and fences, the sound of pounding hoof beats could be heard only a quarter hour later, mere seconds before a rider burst into view. For a moment, Trixie thought it was Regan, but the rider seemed taller and broader.

"He won!" Ben said, blinking at the sight of Jim bringing Jupiter to a halt.

Moments later, the other riders came into view, with Regan on his own horse trailing behind. Thunderer walked with his head down, the picture of shame. Regan's normally immaculate riding habit was wet and muddy, as if he'd been thrown into a stream.

Honey clapped a hand over her mouth. "Oh, this can't be good!" she exclaimed softly, her eyes alight with both sympathy and amusement. "Regan is not going to let this go."

Sure enough, the horse master had manoeuvred to a place beside Jim, and was staring him down, bristling with anger. Trixie couldn't be certain, but it looked as if one of Regan's arms was hanging limply. Before the incident could escalate, Mr. Wheeler joined them, shaking both of their hands. At Regan's sharp wince, Mr. Wheeler ordered him to see Miss Trask, who would examine his arm and decide if he needed medical attention.

Trixie found herself drifting closer to the two men, Honey, Mart, and Ben following in her wake.

"I don't believe I know your name, young man," Mr. Wheeler said, still speaking to Jim. Trixie blinked, surprised that Honey's father didn't appear to know one of his neighbours. Or perhaps he was pretending? Maybe not. Jim was rarely seen in public...

"I'm James Winthrop Frayne, II," he said, meeting the older man's gaze steadily.

Mr. Wheeler's expression hardened, and Trixie shivered at the change. "You'd do better taking your step-father's name," he said coldly. "I have no use for the Frayne family. Your father was no friend of mine." Without another word, Mr. Wheeler turned his back on the winner and walked away, his stride quick and purposeful. Trixie's heart sank, knowing that Mr. Wheeler would do nothing for Jim in reward for winning the race. There would be no job offer or recommendation.

"Sometimes it's hard to believe that I'm related to him," Honey said sadly, disturbed by her father's treatment of Jim.

"My father always had good things to say about Jim's dad," Trixie said. "Even though they hadn't seen each other in years."

"Let's go talk to him," Honey said impulsively, eager to make amends for her father's behaviour.

Trixie nodded, gnawing at her lower lip as she took in Jim's rigid posture and defeated expression. When they reached him, Honey instinctively placed her hand on his forearm.

"Congratulations," she said softly. "You must have ridden remarkably well to beat Regan so handily, and I wish that my father had acknowledged it."

Jim stiffened, apparently unsure how to react to Honey's kindness.

"And I wish I could put in a good word for a job for you somewhere," Trixie said with a frown, "but the only one I have any clout with is my dad, and..." Her voice trailed off as she realized that she had nothing to offer him, no way to help him. In an impulsive move, she gave him a brief, hard hug, nearly squeezing the air out of him with her intensity. When she released him, she stepped back quickly, and refused to look him in the eye. "Let's go, Honey," she urged.

Honey nodded. "Good luck, Jim," she said. "I hope everything works out for you."

They turned to leave, but Jim called them back. "Thanks," he said awkwardly, his face flushing to match his hair. "I appreciate it."

The friendly grin he gave them caused Trixie's heart to stutter, and she tugged on Honey's arm, desperate to distance herself from Jim before she did something to make a fool of herself. Or before she could throw her arms around him again...

Jim watched them go, the thumping of his heart echoing loudly in his chest. He was just over-exerted from the ride, he told himself. Certainly he couldn't have been that affected by a simple hug from the little blonde girl. But the goofy grin he couldn't shake said otherwise. His reverie was interrupted the presence of one of the men who he had noticed with Trixie and Honey.

"I hate to say this," the tall blond man said, "but it would probably be best if you made yourself scarce."

Jim blinked in surprise.

The other man held out his hand. "I'm Ben Riker, Matthew Wheeler's nephew." He looked over his shoulder, relieved to note that his uncle was nowhere in sight. "For your own safety," he elaborated, "you really should go. Mr. Wheeler isn't being reasonable," he continued in a quiet voice. "He's more likely to run you off your land than reward you at this point."

Jim blinked again. "Why?" he demanded. "All I did was participate in the race!"

Ben shook his head. "You didn't just participate. You beat Regan. His temper is piqued."

"And he hated my father," Jim added, sighing. He thought back to the two girls who'd congratulated him. "Those two girls..." he said.

Ben nodded knowingly. "The brunette, Honey, is Mr. Wheeler's daughter. Not that you'd ever guess it—they have almost nothing in common."

"And the blonde?" Jim asked, curiously compelled to seek information on the beautiful girl who'd flung herself into his arms as if she belonged there.

"Ah." Ben nodded knowingly. "That's Peter Belden's daughter. He's the banker who was accused of embezzlement a few months ago. The one who disappeared."

"I remember reading about that," he said thoughtfully. "The name seemed familiar."

"There have been Beldens in this area for as long as it's been settled. Longer than the Fraynes, even," Ben offered. "Trixie and Honey have been best friends since the day the Wheelers bought the Manor House. Mr. Wheeler even hired tutors so that Honey and Trixie wouldn't have to go to public school. Wanted them to go private school, but Honey put up such a fuss… And the trouble those two get up to! These days, though..." He shook his head. "Mr. Wheeler seems to resent that Trixie is more outgoing and gets more attention than Honey does. There's talk that he's going to separate them soon." His voice dwindled away, as if he knew that he'd said too much. "In any case, if I were you, I'd leave, and I wouldn't look back. You've managed to make an enemy of Mr. Wheeler, and Regan isn't too happy with you, either. If you're thinking about starting up a stable of some sort, you don't want them against you." He gave him a sympathetic smile and clapped him on the back before turning away.

Jim sighed heavily and turned to Jupiter, who had been waiting more or less patiently while he visited. "From the frying pan, into the fire," he muttered. "I guess this is it," he told his loyal companion. "Between Jonesy and Wheeler, I'm in a bad place."

He gazed thoughtfully into the preserve as he led Jupiter away from the Manor House grounds.

Inside the Manor House...

Trixie picked morosely at the brownie that Celia, the maid, had brought them ten minutes earlier. Seated beside her on the queen size bed, Honey delicately swiped the last of the frosting on her fork with her tongue, and placed her plate on the desk beside the bed.

Eyeing Trixie's still un-eaten dessert, she asked, "Trixie, are you feeling okay?"

Trixie dropped her fork and they both winced at the clatter as it landed on the fine china plate. "I'm fine," she said, setting aside the dessert.

"But you're not eating! Or talking!" she protested. Grabbing one of the many decorative designer pillows strewn artfully on the bed, she rolled onto her stomach and studied her friend thoughtfully. "Are you thinking about your dad again?" she asked, sympathy causing tears to well in her eyes at the very thought of the injustice that Peter Belden had been served.

"No," Trixie said wryly. "Some of my thoughts are actually about my father's daughter this time." She sighed and grabbed a pillow of her own, tucking it behind her head as she threw herself into a prone position on the bed. "Sometimes life just doesn't seem fair, you know? It's just so unnecessarily cruel at times."

"And it feels like there's nothing you can do about it," Honey agreed. "You just have to ride it out."

"Ride," Trixie snorted, thinking of the race they had just witnessed. "Right."

Honey giggled and gave her best friend a push. "That's not what I meant and you know it." She sobered and studied Trixie's face carefully. "You liked the Frayne heir, didn't you?" she speculated.

Trixie shrugged, though her flaming face answered the question. "My dad always said good things about Winthrop Frayne. And you know me—I've always been curious about his son."

"But that doesn't mean you have to like him!" Honey exclaimed. "Should I dislike him, just because my dad does?"

"Of course not!" she protested, but they were interrupted by a knock at the door.

Before Honey could even invite the guest to enter, the door was flung open, and Matthew Wheeler barged into the room, his face red with anger.

"It's time for you to leave," he demanded, his large frame towering over the girls as they stared up at him from the bed.

Honey gasped, struck speechless by her father's words.

"Me?" Trixie asked, her voice squeaking in surprise. She knew that Matthew Wheeler had a volatile temper, but she hadn't expected him to unleash it on her. The fact that she was Honey's best friend had always saved her from his ire, when she'd managed to land them both in one of her many scrapes.

"Yes, you!" he shouted, his strident voice echoing even in the spacious room. "Immediately, if not sooner! I want you gone from the Manor House by nightfall," he demanded.

"What have I done?" she asked, genuinely curious as to what had provoked his ire. "Because I can't think of anything that you'd need to kick me out for..."

"Just like every traitor," he sneered. "It's not what you've done or said. I don't trust you."

Trixie frowned. "Just because you don't trust me doesn't make me a traitor," she pointed out in what she considered a reasonable tone. "What has happened that you want me gone so badly?"

"You're a Belden, aren't you? That's reason enough for me."

"I was a Belden when you moved here and I became friends with Honey!" she pointed out. "And I was definitely a Belden when you took me in after my father disappeared. And as for being a Belden..." She clenched her hands into tight fists. "My dad is as honest as the day is long, and you know it. Even if he weren't, dishonesty isn't hereditary! Just because I don't have any money doesn't mean that I'm going to try to take advantage of you!"

"Dad!" Honey exclaimed, finally finding her tongue. "Listen to her, please! For my sake!"

"For your sake," he repeated, his tone contemptuous. "It was for your sake that I took her in when her father abandoned her!"

"I didn't have to ask you!" Honey protested. "You knew that it was the right thing to do. And if she's a traitor, then I am, too. You know that we do everything together, Dad. If she's plotting against you, then I must be, as well."

"She's fooled you," Mr. Wheeler hissed. "She knows everyone in Sleepyside. She's friends with the Chief of Police! She's looking for a way to ruin me! She insinuated herself into our family and became your best friend—it's obvious that she has an ulterior motive!"

His expression softened and he placed a heavy hand on her shoulder. "Once she's gone," he said in a voice that was almost kind, "you'll see. People will pay more attention to you," he said earnestly. "You'll make your own place in this town, and not have to hide in her shadow."

Honey started to protest, but Mr. Wheeler shook his head. "No, Madeleine. I've made my decision. There will be no more discussion. She will not be allowed to continue living in my home."

"Then I won't continue to live in your home, either," Honey said quietly, but with steel behind her words.

"You don't mean it," he scoffed. "You'd never turn your back on the Wheeler family." Turning his attention back to Trixie, he gave her one last contemptuous look. "Remember. Be gone tonight, or you might disappear, just like your father." He turned and strode from the room, flinging the door closed behind him.

Trixie stared after him in disbelief.

"Trixie!" Honey wailed. "What are we going to do?"

"We?" she questioned. "Honey, there's no 'we' this time. I'm the one who's been kicked out. Not you!" She struggled to put a small smile on her face, all the while trying to figure out what she would do, and where she would go. Mart lived in a cramped bachelor apartment—he had no room for her. Maybe Brian? She paced the bedroom, trying to sort through her options. When she finally turned her attention back to Honey, she was horrified to see that her best friends was sitting silently, tears streaming down her face.

"Honey!" Trixie cried, plopping down beside her and throwing her arms around her. "Don't cry! I'm the one who's leaving, not you!" she said, trying to cheer her up.

"How can you say that?" Honey protested, sniffling delicately. "You can't honestly think that I'd stay here without you!"

"But—" Trixie protested. "But..." she repeated, unable to comprehend the notion of Honey Wheeler leaving behind her family, wealth, and privilege.

Honey leaned forward and fixed earnest hazel eyes on her. "Don't you see, Trixie? You're my family. You have been, since the day we moved here." She waved a dismissive hand at her lavishly decorated suite of rooms. "I don't need any of this. I have some money stashed away that we can use to get away. We can go anywhere we want! Do anything we want! Well," she said, frowning, "I suppose we'll have to get jobs, but..."

Accepting the fact that her best friend wasn't letting her go anywhere without her, Trixie smiled, her eyes twinkling with sudden hope. "Or," she said, "we could stay a little closer to home."

Honey looked at her in surprise. "What do you—"

Trixie pressed a finger to her lips. "Not here." Feeling infinitely better with at least the beginning of a plan under her belt, she began throwing her belongings together and directed Honey to do the same. By the time the sun rose, they would be well on their way to a brand new life.