Total pages in book: 81
Estimated words: 75592 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 378(@200wpm)___ 302(@250wpm)___ 252(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 75592 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 378(@200wpm)___ 302(@250wpm)___ 252(@300wpm)
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.