Stephanie clicked on one of two ceramic bedside lamps. “Or do you think you’re insane to leave the fiancé?”

“He’s not going to be happy,” Amber admitted.

“Does he, like, turn all purple and yell and stuff?” Stephanie looked intrigued and rather excited by the prospect.

Amber couldn’t help but smile. “No. He gets all stuffy and logical and superior.”

Hargrove would never yell. He’d make Amber feel as though she was a fool, as though her opinions and emotions weren’t valid, as though she was behaving like a spoiled child. And maybe she was. But at least she was out of his reach for a little while.

“I hear you.” Stephanie opened the double doors of a tall, cherrywood armoire, revealing a set of shelves. “My brothers are like that.”

“Royce?” Amber found herself asking. In their admittedly short conversation Royce hadn’t seemed at all like Hargrove.

“And Jared,” said Stephanie. “They think I’m still ten years old. I’m a full partner in Ryder International, but I have to come to them for every little decision.”

“That must be frustrating.” Amber sympathized. She had some autonomy with her own credit cards and signing authority on her trust fund. She’d never really thought about independence beyond that.

Well, until now.

“There’s this stallion,” said Stephanie, selecting something in white cotton from the shelves. “Blanchard’s Run, out of Westmont Stables in London. He’s perfect for my breeding program. His dam was Ogilvie and his sire Danny Day.” She shook her head. “All I need is a million dollars.” She handed Amber what turned out to be a cotton nightgown.

“For one horse?” The price sounded pretty high.

“That’s mine,” said Stephanie, nodding to the gown. “You should help yourself to anything else in the dresser. There’s jeans, shirts, a bunch of stuff that should fit you.”