Chapter 1
Kat
The rhythmic sound of hooves striking the soft earth in the training arena accompanies my instructions. “Sit back in your saddle, Eliza.”
I scrutinize the young rider post atop Bentley, one of Blackburn Farm’s lesson horses. The morning sun filters through the open doors at the south end, throwing slivers of dappled light across the ground. Bentley tosses his head, ears pinned back as they approach, and he tries to decide how menacing those splotches of pale color may be. Saddlebreds are spirited horses and some even consider them a little crazy. Bentley’s a good boy, but sometimes he gets easily spooked.
Which is what he does, skittering sideways to avoid the light and throwing Eliza slightly off balance.
The sudden motion from the big bay scares the young girl and she leans her body forward, a counterintuitive move that actually makes her less stable in the flat English saddle.
“You’re fine,” I say, my tone a mixture of discipline and calm instruction that horse training demands. “Get him back in a trot.”
The girl straightens.
“Trot,” she commands, and Bentley falls in line, his big head held high as he slips back into the cadence of alternately lifting each diagonal pair of legs. Eliza rises and falls in the saddle appropriately, bringing the gelding back under her command.
I stand in the center of the arena, my keen eyes observing every movement—the way she holds her hands, her posture, heels down and toes up—as Eliza guides Bentley around the edge, sticking close to the rail as she should.
“Good. Now bring him to a walk and two point,” I say.
“Whoa,” Eliza says with a slight pull on the reins and the horse slows. They plod along as Eliza stretches out of the saddle, legs straightening, body bent forward.
“One trip around and then you can bring him to his stall. Excellent ride.”
Eliza grins because that’s indeed high praise from me.
I start across the arena, intent on grabbing my water bottle. Eliza was my last lesson of the day and I’m looking forward to a long, hot shower. I haven’t had a break yet except for a quick pee, and I’m starved.
My phone buzzes in the side pocket of my riding jods and I pull it out. It’s Ethan, asking me to come up to his office at the main house. Such a request would ordinarily annoy me at the end of long hours in the barn, but I’ve got an extra well of compassion for my oldest brother these days. He’s been through so much lately that I’ll be cutting him lots of slack for the foreseeable future.
“I’m heading up to the main house,” I call out to Sara, one of the grooms waiting to help Eliza remove Bentley’s tack.
“Got it all covered, Kat,” she replies with a wave of her hand.
Outside of the training arena, I tip my face back to the May Kentucky sun and relish the late-afternoon warmth. The light hitting towering oaks casts long shadows across the verdant pastures, highlighting the vibrant greens of spring. The air is filled with the sweet scent of blooming wildflowers, freshly cut grass and bales of hay to feed the horses. It’s the smell of my favorite time of the year and I relish this quiet moment of solace in the bustling life of Blackburn Farms.
I’ve been at the barn since six this morning, working on lesson plans and making sure the schedule of horses was ready. It’s been a ten-hour day, which I’ll repeat tomorrow, and I’ll go to bed with a smile on my face because I’m doing what I love. Being a horse trainer is in my blood—I’m a Blackburn, after all—and our lineage has been producing and training the best saddlebreds in the world for over a hundred and seventy-five years, give or take a decade. This is what I was born to do.
My gaze sweeps over the rolling hills of our acreage, bordered by white rail fencing and dotted with grazing horses. In the distance, I can see the broodmare barn where Ethan has been burning the candle at both ends. This is his time of year… helping to bring into the world all the babies our breeding program produces, but that responsibility is just one of a million he has as the CEO of Blackburn Farms.
To add to his load, within the last six weeks, he learned he has a ten-year-old daughter he didn’t know about—the product of a drunken one-night stand with Alaine Mardraggon—enemy to our family by virtue of her last name. Sylvie was born and raised in France and Ethan only found out about her after her mother Alaine died of cancer. Since then, it’s been a bitter struggle with the Mardraggons over Sylvie’s custody.
It culminated in an ending none of us saw coming when Lionel Mardraggon, Sylvie’s grandfather, tried to kill her so he could assume control of the winery in France that Alaine left to her daughter. The thought of what that monster nearly did causes fury to well in me so hotly, I know I have the capacity to murder in defense of those I love. If Lionel Mardraggon were standing in front of me right now, I’d rip him apart with my bare hands. He’s a monster through and through.
As it stands, he’s in jail, charged with attempted murder, and I’m going to have to let the justice system do its thing.
So, yeah… Ethan’s been dealing with a lot and I’m happy to go up to the main house to see what he needs. I jump onto my Gator that I had custom painted in pink camo, a nod to my femininity that often gets overshadowed since I’m usually covered in horse hair and barn dust. I crank the motor and head off toward the main house, over a series of dirt and gravel paths that traverse the thousand acres of pastures, barns, training arenas and medical facilities that make up the Blackburn Farms enterprise.
Hundreds of horses and an army of grooms, stable hands, veterinarians, trainers, instructors and administrative staff, and Ethan is in charge of running it all. It’s a task he took on when our parents, Fi and Tommy Blackburn, decided it was time to retire and hand over the literal and metaphorical reins.
I see my brother Trey at one of the yearling barns, directing a tractor trailer loaded with hay. He and my other brother Wade are also trainers, but we pitch in to help wherever we’re needed. I expect Ethan asked Trey to oversee the deliveries today as he’s got his hands full dealing with this Lionel Mardraggon mess and the fallout it has caused for our family, but most of all, for Sylvie.
The main house comes into view, a symbol of homecoming to me. I was raised here, although I currently live in an apartment above one of the tack rooms. My need for independence at the age of nineteen meant I left the big house eight years ago, although I still return for meals throughout the week. Only Ethan and Sylvie live there now. My parents occupy a cottage on the farm, and Trey and Wade share a house in Shelbyville.
I pull my Gator alongside Miranda’s MINI Cooper. She’s been our housekeeper and cook for over twenty years and, as expected, I find her in the kitchen working on this evening’s meal. She’s breading pork chops and my stomach rumbles because that’s one of my favorite meals. She glances up as I walk in and gives me a pointed glare. “Boots off.”
Grinning sheepishly, I unlace my boots and toe them off, grabbing an apple out of the basket on the counter as I walk by. “What else are we having tonight?”
“Green beans, roasted potatoes and creamed corn,” she replies as she coats a chop in a seasoned blend of breadcrumbs and flour.
“Biscuits?”
“Sourdough rolls. I’m trying a new recipe.”
I shoot her a wink. “It will be fabulous. Can’t wait.”
Taking a bite of the crisp red apple, I make my way out of the kitchen, down the hall to the parqueted main foyer, and right into Ethan’s office. A portrait of our great-great-great-grandfather, Robert Blackburn, hangs behind the solid oak desk. He’s the patriarch who built this house in 1902.
The office is a stark contrast to the barn—orderly, quiet, a place of decision and contemplation. Ethan looks as at home bent over paperwork as he does helping to deliver a breech foal. He’s a man who can do it all and has my utmost respect on top of my undying love.
He looks up as I enter, his green eyes dulled with frustration, but he still manages a smile. “How was your day?”
I plop down in a chair opposite his desk. “Typical. Sixteen lessons. How was yours? You know, between managing an empire, birthing foals, dealing with a homicidal Mardraggon, and raising the cutest little girl east of the Mississippi.”
Ethan’s shoulders relax as he laughs, a rare moment of lightness breaking through his usual stoicism. “You mean the cutest little girl in the United States.”
“Can’t say,” I reply, considering another bite of my apple. “I haven’t been west of the Mississippi.”
“Well, I have and it’s time wasted,” he mutters, pushing aside a stack of papers he’d been reading.
“You look tired,” I say, a casual observation and not one meant as a put-down. I take a small bite of the apple.
Ethan rubs a hand over his stubbled jaw, his fingers lingering as if trying to soothe the weariness. He exhales slowly, the weight of countless restless nights reflected in his eyes. “Sleep hasn’t been easy,” he admits as he leans back in his chair, the leather creaking under his movement.
“How’s the kiddo today?”
“She’s good.” I note that Ethan’s voice doesn’t sound strained, which means he’s telling me the truth. “She’s at Marcie’s now.”
Marcie is Sylvie’s school principal, but more importantly, Ethan’s girlfriend. I expect she’ll be more than that one day, but she’s been a godsend the last few weeks. Not only did she single-handedly help bridge the gap between Sylvie and our family—due to all the lies the Mardraggons had been feeding her—but Marcie has managed to bring out a softer side to my brother that I haven’t seen before. Even with the weight of the world on his shoulders, for the first time I can recall, he’s actually incredibly happy—despite the shit show going on in his life.
Guess love works a miracle now and then.
“Listen,” Ethan says tentatively and picks up a spiral notebook. “I hate to ask this of you, but I was wondering if you might take over managing the medical on all the horses. Being in the middle of foaling season and then dealing with all this Lionel mess, and trying to figure out the winery business—”
“Say no more.” I lean across the desk and grab the notebook from him. “I’ve got it covered. What else can I do?”
“I don’t know.” He huffs, waving his hands at the stacks of papers strewn across the desktop. “I’m trying to parcel stuff out as I come across it.”
I take in the tight lines on Ethan’s handsome face. He has the same black hair and green eyes as I do.
Same as Trey, Wade, and my twin, Abby, all of us siblings bearing such a striking resemblance, no one had a doubt that Sylvie was Ethan’s daughter when she showed up in court that day bearing the same raven hair and ferny eyes as ours.
“What’s your biggest source of frustration?” I ask, setting the notebook aside and chomping on my apple again. I chew quickly and swallow just as fast to keep the conversation flowing.
“This fucking trust that Alaine left,” he grumbles.
“That says you have to manage the winery with Gabe,” I lament.
Ethan nods with a mirthless smile. “It galled me before, having to work with the scumbag, but now it makes my skin crawl knowing…”
His words trail off, but I can fill them in. Knowing that Gabe’s father, Lionel, tried to kill Sylvie.
I shouldn’t have to point it out, and I hate doing it because I can’t stand Gabe Mardraggon either, yet I find myself saying, “But he is the one who turned his father into the police. We’d have never known what happened without him.”
“Yeah, I know, and I hate to give the bastard credit, but it still doesn’t mean I have to like working with him.”
I’d hate to work with the asshole too, but that doesn’t stop me from saying, “Let me handle all the winery stuff with Gabe.”
Ethan snorts, leaning forward in his chair. “I wouldn’t wish that on my worst enemy.” He seems pensive, then laughs at an internal joke. “Although I bet Wade and Trey would kill to have the opportunity to go after him.”
“They’d kill him and then rot in jail with Lionel,” I drawl. I consider another bite of my apple, but toss it into Ethan’s garbage can at the side of his desk. “I’m serious. I’ll handle Gabe Mardraggon. I’d kind of relish being a thorn in his side.”
Ethan blinks as if he’s just hearing my offer for the first time. “What? No! I couldn’t ask you to do that. I can’t stand to be in the same room with him, so I’m not about to put my baby sister in that position.”
I glare at my brother. “I might be your baby sister, but I’m a capable woman, tough as nails and not about to let some snot-nosed Mardraggon cause havoc for our family. I can handle this for you.”
Ethan’s face is inscrutable, his thoughts a mystery as he strokes his chin. “You don’t know anything about running a winery.”
“Neither do you,” I point out. “But at the very least, I can be the go-between. Let me be the one to liaise with Gabe and I’ll pass information back and forth for you to make decisions. I can totally handle that jerk.”
“No doubt you can,” Ethan muses but still doesn’t accept my offer. His reluctance to interact with Gabe is understandable. Although he might be completely innocent in Lionel’s plot to kill his own granddaughter, he’s still a Mardraggon, and that’s a hard pill for any Blackburn to swallow.
I wait out Ethan’s decision, prepared to argue further with him if he’s not hip to the idea. I have as much reason as anyone in our family to hate Gabe Mardraggon, but I can put that aside to help Ethan. He and Sylvie are the ones who matter.
After a long silence, he finally says, “Okay. I’ll let him know that I don’t have time to handle the winery stuff and you’ll be acting in my stead, but keep me informed. Every step of the way.”
“Every step,” I assure him.
Ethan leans to the side, pulls open a deep desk drawer and flips through some folders. He pulls one out and hands it to me. “That’s the trust agreement and basic financials that Gabe sent over. He’s pushing to do some expansion and needs my agreement to move forward. I don’t know if the deals are good or bad, but I want to do what’s best for Sylvie’s interests. Hear what he has to say and then we can discuss what to do.”
I’m slightly intimidated taking the thick folder from him, feeling the weight of my new duties. I didn’t finish college and don’t have the same business savvy that Ethan does. I’m a horse trainer, although I think I’m fairly intelligent.
Ethan must sense my uncertainty. “You don’t have to make any decisions, Kat. Just be my mouthpiece.”
I nod, taking the folder and putting on a bright smile. “I’ve got it handled. Like I said… if I can make Gabe’s life hell while doing this, that’s just a bonus.” I stand from the chair. “Now, I’m going to grab a shower before dinner.”
“Sounds good,” he says, his attention dropping back to his stack of papers.
I head out of his office but stop in the doorway, turning back to my brother. “Are you going to let Sylvie see Gabe at all?”
Ethan’s countenance is troubled as he lifts his head. “Not right now. Even though Gabe is the one who turned in his dad, what if he had something to do with the plot? I mean… what if he was in on it and turned in his dad just so he could take control of the Mardraggon empire?”
Something to consider. The winery aside, the Mardraggons are known for their Kentucky bourbon. Even as successful as the Blackburns are, we don’t have the type of wealth the Mardraggons have, and they made it all on the amber liquid aged in oak barrels in the heart of Kentucky.
As much as I despise Gabe Mardraggon, I can’t see him being involved in a plot to kill Sylvie. I truly believe he loves his niece, but I can’t lose sight of the fact that he comes from a long line of cheating, lying and stealing assholes. The past clings to the present like a stubborn stain, the whispers of the original feud between our families coloring our lives in shades of bitterness and hate.
It’s not only the very distant past that has me despising Gabe but more current events that have given me a firsthand view of just how despicable the man is.
Ethan’s phone rings, pulling his attention. I give him a wave as I leave his office, my mind racing. I’ve had little interaction with Gabe since… well, since my freshman year of college. The few times we’ve run into each other have been an exchange of acerbic words and hate-filled stares. I’ll never admit it aloud—the thought of dealing with him churns a tumultuous mix of dread and… something else—but I remind myself I’m not the starry-eyed girl I was when I went off to college
And Gabe Mardraggon is nothing more than a spoiled, wealthy heir trying to control things because power makes him feel good. He’s pathetic, really, and with that thought, I’m emboldened.
Working with Gabe will be a challenge, but I’m a Blackburn. Challenges are what we thrive on.
In the back of my mind, a voice whispers that this is more than just a business arrangement. It’s a dance on a tightrope strung between past and present, hatred and something dangerously close to fascination.
Chapter 2
Gabe
The stark modernity of my parents’ contemporary mansion echoes the chill of their affection—or lack thereof. I didn’t live here by choice or necessity but rather by lack of caring to live anywhere else. The twenty-two-thousand-square-foot abode ensured I could have complete sanctuary from their icy influence but all that space feels suffocating now.
I can’t really bemoan the gilded cage I grew up in or the fact that my parents were emotionally absent from my and Alaine’s lives. My father, Lionel, was always at the helm of our bourbon empire and my mother, Rosemund, was always at the country club drowning her woes in dirty martinis. But that was the only life I knew and it never felt lacking to me in all the years I’ve been alive. Many people consider me as cold as my parents and they wouldn’t be wrong.
Even now, I don’t think I’ve missed out on anything, but it feels wrong staying here. The halls are tainted with Lionel’s treachery and I’m drowning in guilt by association because of what he did to Sylvie. I might be a hard-hearted bastard but if there is one person on this earth who owns whatever softness hides within me, it’s my niece.
How can I stay in this place when it shelters such betrayal? Such downright evil?
Rosemund’s voice cuts through the air, sharp and unyielding as I head toward the front door, a designer leather duffel bag in hand. I’ll send someone else for the rest of my bags but for now, it’s enough to make my escape. “Gabe, you cannot be serious. Leaving now is madness—abandoning your father when he needs us most.”
I set my bag down, adjust the cuff of my custom Italian suit and face my mother. “You mean sticking by the man who tried to kill his own granddaughter for profit? That’s where you set the line of family loyalty?”
She bristles, her facade of perfection trembling as her mouth presses into a flat line. “We are Mardraggons. We stand together.”
“Not this time,” I growl, my resolve as solid as the gray marble floor I stand on. “Not after what he did.”
“Your father is innocent. His attorney said all they have is circumstantial evidence. It’s why he was granted bail.”
I grimace at the reminder he’s getting out of jail and will, in fact, be arriving here within the hour. It’s why I’m not delaying my exit. The judge was moved by dad’s attorney enough to grant bail for a million dollars, forfeiture of his passport, and house arrest outside of work hours until his trial.
“This is all your fault,” she hisses as she takes a step toward me, her gray eyes chilly with blame. “He wouldn’t be in this predicament had you kept your mouth shut.”
I’ve not had this out yet with my mom and it takes hardly anything at all for me to lose my shit. I glare at her, my voice dripping with scorn. “He tried to kill Sylvie. Your own flesh and blood. Alaine’s daughter. How can you stand by his side?”
“He did not,” she asserts, her voice sharp as she sniffs disdainfully. Her chin lifts, a clear gesture of defiance and dismissal. Her eyes, cold and calculating, lock onto me. “And we cannot afford to have this scandal hanging over us. The future of our company depends on these charges going away. So, we need to rally—”
I erupt with laughter, my head tilting as genuine but dark amusement overtakes me. I fix my gaze on hers, unblinking and piercing. “Oh, I see what’s really going on here. You’re afraid of all this going away. Your cushy lifestyle being swept out from under you.”
It’s a legitimate worry to have and she snaps her mouth shut because she knows I’m right. Rosemund does not love Lionel, nor does he love her. But she does love this lifestyle and he does love having a woman who will do his bidding no matter what.
I’m not about to let this company falter. I’ve called an emergency meeting of the board of directors and I’ve got plans of my own that will ensure the Mardraggon empire will continue to flourish. I don’t share that with her though.
Bending over, I grab the duffel and pivot away from my mother. As I swing open the left side of the double doors, her voice cuts through. “Where are you going?”
“Far away from here,” I mutter and step out onto the flat portico that’s as austere as the rest of the house. All gray concrete and boxwood bushes trimmed with such precision, you could cut yourself on a corner. I always appreciated the clean lines and lack of frills but again… it all somehow seems wrong now and I’m not sure why.
I only know I’ve got to get the fuck out of here.
I leave Rosemund watching me with condemnation as I stalk toward the sleek red Ferrari SF90 Spider. Seven hundred and sixty-nine horsepower that I often take advantage of on Kentucky’s winding back roads and I didn’t blink an eye at the $580,000 price tag.
I toss the duffel in the passenger seat, rev the engine and peel out of the driveway, hoping the speed by which I exit is further proof to my mother that I can’t get away fast enough.
Leaving all the poison behind.
It’s guilt you’re leaving behind, Gabe.
That thought comes unbidden and I push it away. I will not feel guilty about what I did to my father. He brought that upon himself.
But what if he didn’t give her penicillin? What if Sylvie really has a heart condition or some other medical unknown that caused her to nearly die almost a week ago? The doctors didn’t test her for penicillin poisoning at first, and the only proof the police have is the prescription pad I found in my father’s office that had the faint imprint of what looked to be a prescription written for penicillin, but even that is dubious.
On the other hand, the police told me that it’s more than just finding the prescription pad in his office. Lionel knew she had an allergy to the drug and it was damning that he would inherit the winery if she died. Couple that with the fact the prescription was written just three days before Sylvie came to stay the night and it was filled at a local pharmacy, Lionel was arrested because the circumstantial evidence was overwhelming.
Still… it was just circumstantial. No one saw him dose her.
But you know he did it, my subconscience pokes at me.
I pound on the steering wheel in frustration. I can’t let these doubts surface. What’s done is done and I have to trust that justice will prevail. If my father is innocent, then the truth will out. That’s all I can hope for.
But until such time, I’m moving on with my life and my main priority is to keep Mardraggon Enterprises prospering and profitable.
I glance at my wrist, eyeing the sleek Patek Phillipe that circles it—a timepiece I snagged for just half what this car cost. The watch’s elegant face, framed by a polished gold bezel, marks me fifteen minutes behind schedule for my appointment. Even though I’m used to people catering to me—I’m a Mardraggon, after all—I don’t like to be late. It’s bad business, so I put a quick call into the Realtor and let her know of my delay. She assures me it’s fine as I drive the ten miles deeper into Shelby County, past saddlebred and thoroughbred farms.
While I guide the Ferrari past undulating hills, the heated conversation with Ethan Blackburn from this morning replays in my head like a bad track stuck on a loop. I’d received a cryptic email from him two days ago, telling me he doesn’t have time to devote to the winery business and that he’s going to have his sister, Kat, work on it. While Ethan will make joint decisions with me on big items, he’s going to rely on Kat to serve as his liaison because he’s simply too busy with “other things.”
I called bullshit on that. It’s clear that Ethan is creating a divide he won’t let me cross. Not that I want to get any closer to him, but Sylvie stands on the other side of the chasm with him and I would very much like to see my niece.
I called him four times in a desperate attempt to bridge the distance that the feud and my father’s heinous actions have created, and the fucker finally deigned to call me back this morning.
The first order of business was to nip his insane idea to have me deal with Kat on the winery. “I’m not dealing with your sister. She’s a horse trainer, not a businessperson.”
“She’s smart as hell,” Ethan retorted sharply and while I actually know this about Kat, I’m not about to validate it. “But she won’t be making decisions. Just taking some of the workload off me.”
I don’t want to deal with Kat. She will be a royal pain in my ass and a distraction I don’t need. In the end, I have no choice because Ethan said, “Deal with her or you’ll have to wait until I’m in a position when I have time.”
I suppose it is plausible he’s just too busy but then the next part of the conversation devolved quickly—and that’s how I know he’s avoiding me.
“I would like to see Sylvie,” I requested politely.
“Not going to happen,” Ethan replied, the razor edge to his tone telling me I’d hit directly on his reticence.
“She’s my niece,” I stated evenly. “I love her.”
“Your father tried to kill her,” Ethan barked.
“And I turned him into the police,” I grit out. Ethan remained silent, so I plunged forward. “I’m moving out of their house today. Sylvie has to be very confused, Ethan. She needs to hear the truth from me. She has to understand I was not a part of that and I’ve broken ties with my parents.”
Ethan’s voice conveyed a blend of irritation and defeat. “She knows you turned your father in, Gabe. But that doesn’t change the fact that she needs space from all Mardraggons right now.”
“For how long?” I asked, knowing I couldn’t do a damn thing but abide by whatever he said.
“Until she’s ready. It’s not just me who has a problem with your family. Sylvie is scared. It’s going to take some time.”
“Is she seeing someone? A counselor or therapist?” I’m not a big believer in therapy. I navigated my family’s dysfunction by hardening myself. But Sylvie still has a chance at a normal life, despite the horrors she’s been through.
“Yes, she is. And she’s working through things.”
“I’m willing to go to therapy with her,” I proposed earnestly. “You can be there too. Or at least let me see her in your presence.”
“When she’s ready,” Ethan says, and then adds, “and maybe not even then. I have to be sure about things too and I don’t know if the police have cleared you.”
Hell, I didn’t even know if the police had cleared me yet. They’d swept through the Mardraggon mansion with search warrants and crime scene technicians, pulling out boxes of documents, every computer, tablet and phone in the house. I knew they’d find nothing tying me to any plot to kill Sylvie, but I guess until they officially clear me to Ethan, I won’t be getting anywhere near my niece.
“Kat will reach out to you to go over the winery stuff,” Ethan said. “Make sure you treat her with respect.”
“Or else you’ll kick my ass?” I taunted.
“Don’t have time,” he replied with a snide laugh. “But I’ll send Trey and Wade out to do it. Although now that I think about it, Kat’s more than capable of handing you your own ass.”
Didn’t I know that firsthand?
The conversation ended, but his words lingered, stoking the fire of my determination. I won’t let my father’s sins screw the future I’m trying to build—for Sylvie, for the winery, for me. I press the accelerator, the engine’s roar a defiant cry against blacktop roads.
When I pull up to the house that was just listed for sale three days ago, I don’t give it much of a once-over. I’ve driven by this estate hundreds of times in my life and have always admired the sprawling sixty-two acres that house a seventeen-thousand-square-foot mansion complete with ten bedrooms and eighteen baths, a separate indoor pool house that’s another thirteen thousand square feet, a detached ten-car garage, an eighteen stall barn and four ponds.
It is far more than one man needs, but if there’s one thing the Mardraggons know how to do just as well as making money, that’s spending it. The seven-and-a-half-million-dollar price tag is a bargain, considering the home comes fully furnished.
Jeanette Littleton walks down the porch steps wearing a bloodred skirt suit with black pegged heels. Her hair and makeup have been done to perfection, her long nails the color of her outfit. We exchange greetings and she coolly sweeps her hand toward the front door. “Shall I give you the tour?”
I nod and follow her inside, blown away by the opulence that wasn’t quite translated by the pictures in the official listing.
The entry foyer is an architectural marvel with a grand staircase creating an elegant focal point as it curves gracefully upward. The glossy checkered marble floor reflects the natural light pouring through the floor-to-ceiling windows that offer an uninterrupted view of the estate’s lush grounds.
Beyond the foyer is a luxurious living space, the grandeur amplified by towering columns and a striking mezzanine balcony under which sits a grand piano on a raised dais. Sumptuous armchairs and a sleek glass table suggest a blend of modern comfort with classic style, more suited to my personal tastes.
Jeanette leads me through the house, each room grander than the last. The master suite is a room unlike any I’ve ever seen and I’ve stayed at some of the finest hotels in the world and some of the most expensive homes of billionaire friends. Nothing compares to this lavish space. A four-poster bed anchors the room, surrounded by plump chairs you can sink down into and gleaming rich hardwood floors. Overhead, the ceiling features an intricate coffered design and skylights flood the space with natural light.
More floor-to-ceiling windows framed by crisp plantation shutters maintain the estate’s southern vibe. The color palette is soft and natural with creamy whites, which are a welcome change to the dull gray of the Mardraggon estate. Every detail, from the ornate chandelier to the delicate floral arrangements, speaks to me on a softer level.
I’m taken on a golf cart tour of the acreage, over to the pool house and the barns but truly, I’d made my decision before we left the master suite.
At the conclusion of the tour, I tell Jeanette, “I’ll take it.”
“What would you like to counter at?” she asks, pulling out her iPad to make some notes. “And do you want any concessions?”
“I’ll pay the asking price but I want to move in today. I’ll gladly pay rent until we can close and I’ll be paying cash.”
The real estate agent blinks, stunned at the easy deal. “If that’s the case, we can close fairly quickly.”
“Make it happen,” I instruct, and then I’m heading back to my Ferrari to drive into Frankfort where Mardraggon Enterprises are headquartered. Got more important business to attend to.
Chapter 3
Kat
Hustling through my shower, I ignore the rumbling in my belly. I haven’t eaten since breakfast because I’ve been going at a hundred miles an hour since I woke up at five a.m. I’m already bemoaning the fact I won’t be joining the family tonight for some of Miranda’s amazing meatloaf and mashed potatoes.
Agreeing to help Ethan with the medical management of the show horses was far more work than I’d anticipated, and I did a horrible job of planning out my day. Trying to manage the training schedule, actually training horses and giving lessons, and the host of administrative complications that come with it is a full-time job in and of itself. Add on the nightmare of managing the more than three hundred horses between the broodmares, foals, yearlings, studs, show horses, lesson horses and retired horses, it’s enough to make my eyes cross.
What I learned today is that I can’t bounce back and forth between the two. I tried to pour through the countless spreadsheets that track routine vet visits, supplements and vitamins, chiropractic appointments, floating teeth and other illnesses in between training and lessons, and it was a disaster. I learned today that I’m not a multitasker of any great magnitude so my game plan on how to manage my day has changed.
Before leaving the barn today, I worked out a feasible schedule to compress my training lessons and hand off some to the other instructors. I then opened up my afternoons to be able to work on all the administrative stuff, including the medical management. I vowed I would do that here in my apartment so I wouldn’t get distracted by the horses or the slew of people who are in and out of the barns each day. When it’s all said and done, I’m proud of myself for figuring this out. It’s vital that I’m able to help Ethan. Even if I have to put in twenty-hour days and sleep only four, I’ll do my part to take the burden off his shoulders.
And it’s with utter resolve and determination to include the unpleasant necessity of having to deal with Gabriel Mardraggon.
I’m already soured to our upcoming meeting this evening because his unwillingness to meet during the day means I’m missing Miranda’s meatloaf. I’ve been trying for three days to force a meeting, but it seems he’s as reluctant to work with me as I am with him.
Can’t say I blame either one of us, given our history.
After my shower, I work at breakneck speed to dry my hair enough that I can put it in a messy topknot. I don’t bother with makeup because I’m not trying to impress anyone and I slip into my favorite jeans before tugging on a Blackburn Farms T-shirt and a worn pair of Adidas. I glance at myself in the closet’s full-length mirror, smirking as I think of the contrast between my casual comfort and someone like Gabe Mardraggon who dresses in only the finest designer clothing. I suppose if I made an effort to dress nicer, he might see me as more professional, but I really don’t give a rat’s ass what he thinks of me. I’ll never care about that.
Glancing at my watch, I realize I’ve got enough time that I can probably swing through a drive-through for a hamburger on my way to see the Mardraggon. Nowhere near on par with Miranda’s cooking but at least my stomach won’t be threatening to eat itself.
I snag my keys, phone and purse before heading to the door. I switch off a tasseled lamp as I move past it, crossing the entire space in about ten steps.
My abode is small but full of charm and I can’t imagine living anywhere else. Yes, I live above the main tack room next to one of the training barns but this place is wholly mine, not only in possession but in character. I’ve spent time over the years upgrading and decorating the place, mostly by myself, but sometimes with Trey and Wade helping out with the heavier lifting. The walls are beadboard, painted a soft cream that contrasts beautifully with the natural wood beams that stretch across the ceiling. A squishy, deep-blue sofa adorned with throw pillows featuring horse motifs is the focal point of the living area which is only big enough to hold said couch. There’s a small, antique coffee table overloaded with The Saddle Horse Report and National Horseman that I really need to clean out.
Adjacent to the living room is the kitchen, separated by a breakfast bar made from reclaimed barn wood that Trey and Wade helped me install. The kitchen is practical yet charming, with open shelving that holds mismatched plates and cooking pots above the compact, four-burner stove.
My bedroom sits on the other side of a sliding barn door, reclaimed from one of our yearling barns that we renovated a few years ago. The space is so small it only fits my queen-size wrought-iron frame and one tiny wooden nightstand with a vintage coin glass lamp with a beaded shade.
It’s cozy but perfect for me.
When I throw open the front door, pausing to pat my back pocket to make sure I do indeed have my phone, even though I know in my head I picked it up just seconds ago, I’m brought up short by Sylvie standing on my stoop at the top of the wooden staircase. Her right hand is raised as if poised to knock.
She gives a startled yelp and then a sheepish grin. “You scared me.”
Laughing, I press my hand to my own beating heart. “Ditto. What’s up, kiddo?”
Her smile falters a tiny bit. “Can we talk?”
I don’t glance at my watch or try to calculate how this will cause me to miss a swing through a fast-food joint or even possibly be late to my meeting. I only see my niece, who I’ve known for just a handful of weeks but for whom I would lay down my life.
Brave, sweet Sylvie who has the weight of the world evident in her eyes but is still trying to keep my worry at bay by projecting a shining smile.
“Of course. Come in.” She slides by me and I set my purse, phone and keys on the kitchen counter. Sylvie moves to the blue couch and settles in. We’ve had a few movie nights here and I’m happy to see she’s comfortable in my place. I didn’t know I was born to be a doting aunt until I became one. I plop down on the opposite end, throw my arm over the back. “How was school today?”
I know she came here to talk about something specific but figured a little chitchat would be good. Today was her second day back as Ethan kept her out all of last week. Not only did he want Sylvie to have some more rest after her overnight hospital stay necessitated by the allergic reaction after her grandfather intentionally dosed her with penicillin, but Ethan knew the town would be rife with gossip following Lionel’s arrest. He wanted Sylvie to have time to settle into the notion that her grandfather is a very bad, evil man and people are going to be extremely interested in following this developing story.
Sylvie lifts a shoulder. “It was fine. I mean… most of the kids were nice but a few were assholes.”
God, she’s so cute cursing with her sweet French accent. I don’t chastise her. I’m the cool aunt who lets her get away with that stuff when times are tough and she’s been swept up in a shit show. Six weeks ago, her mother died. Five weeks ago, she came to live with Ethan, the father she’d never met, and with him, she inherited the motley Blackburn lot. It’s been a difficult adjustment, but Sylvie is starting to flourish. Then, ten days ago, her own grandfather tried to kill her, all so he could gain control of the winery his daughter Alaine had left to her daughter.
My inclination is to pull Sylvie into my arms to comfort her, but she looks at me with pleading eyes, not to help her fracture but to be strong. “Bullies feed on reactions, my dear sweet niece. Starve them of it, and they lose their power.”
She considers my words and nods. “I know.” She then lifts her chin. “It doesn’t bother me.”
“That’s my warrior girl,” I praise.
“Much,” she adds on. “It doesn’t bother me much.”
“You wouldn’t be human if it didn’t affect you in some way.”
Her gaze drops to her hands and I know she wants to get to the heart of the matter, the reason she sought me out. When it comes, I’m not prepared for it.
Her green eyes—same as Ethan’s, same as mine, same as all my siblings and my sweet Irish mom—rise to meet mine. “I know you’re going to see Gabe. I overheard you and Dad talking.”
“Oh,” I murmur, mind racing to the conversations I’ve had with Ethan the last few days about this meeting with Gabe and whether we specifically talked about Sylvie, or rather… Sylvie and Gabe’s relationship.
“I was wondering how he is.”
“How who is?” I ask, not trying to play dumb but to give myself more time to make sure I will say the right things. Gabe is dangerous territory to discuss.
Sylvie rolls her eyes, knowing I’m being deliberately obtuse. “I want to know how Uncle Gabe is. I want to see him.”
“Oh, wow. Um… okay, that’s not up to me, kiddo. That’s your dad’s call.”
“I know,” she huffs, crossing her arms over her chest and settling back against the cushion. “He doesn’t want me to see him, but I thought maybe you could talk to my dad. And since you’re going to be seeing my uncle today, I was hoping you could… you know… let him know that I don’t blame him.”
I ignore that for the moment. “Honey… have you really talked to your dad about this? Does he know how you feel?”
She shakes her head. “I only asked once but he’s got a lot of worries on him. I don’t think he wants to hear that I want to see Uncle Gabe because he hates the Mardraggons so much.”
“He’s just protecting you.”
Sylvie’s face screws up with frustration. “Yes, I know. But I don’t believe Gabe had anything to do with it. Do you?”
I can’t tell Sylvie that I probably know Gabriel Mardraggon better than any Blackburn does, including herself, and while what I know gives me far more reason to despise him than any of the others, I truly can’t see him being involved in a plot to kill Sylvie. I know he was close to Alaine. I know he loves Sylvie.
I shake my head. “No, I don’t think Gabe had any idea Lionel was going to do that. But it’s very complicated, Sylvie. That’s his father and he will be loyal to his family. Maybe not to Lionel in particular but to the Mardraggon name. Gabe’s interest in protecting that worries your dad.”
“But Uncle Gabe wouldn’t hurt me,” Sylvie insists, and my heart constricts painfully as I see how tortured she is about this. “He’s the last tie to my mother.”
“I know,” I murmur, reaching over to rest my hand on her shoulder. “Tell you what… I’ll talk to your dad after I meet with Gabe, okay? We’ll try to figure out something.”
“And you’ll tell Uncle Gabe I don’t blame him?” she presses.
“Of course I will. In fact, would you like to write him a note and I’ll give it to him?”
Sylvie’s eyes light up and she nods exuberantly. “Yes, that would be awesome.”
I have no clue if Ethan would approve of this, and I fully intend to let him know what I’m doing.
But after I hand the note over.
This is important to Sylvie and I’ll take the heat if it pisses Ethan off. But at this point, I can’t see the harm in making her feel good about maintaining the hope of a relationship with the one person who loved her mother the way she did.
The Forbidden (Bluegrass Empires, Book #2) is a standalone contemporary hockey romance within the Bluegrass Empires series. See the full details and get your copy HERE.