Shattered Dreams (Dreams Series Book 1)

by Hicks, Braxton

  Shattered Dreams

  Book #1 - Dream Series

  AUTHOR: Braxton Hicks

  Text copyright © 2015 by Braxton Hicks. All rights reserved. Except as permitted under The U.S. Copyright Act of 1976, no part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, or stored in a database or retrieval system, without prior express, written consent of the author.

  All characters and events in this book are fictional. Any resemblance to actual persons or events, living or dead, is purely coincidental.

  This book is intended for adult readers only.

  Cover Design: Generic Inc.

  The unauthorized reproduction or distribution of a copyrighted work is illegal. Criminal copyright infringement, including infringement without monetary gain, is investigated by the FBI and is punishable by up to five years in FEDERAL PRISON.

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  Chapter 1

  I wiped the sweat from my brow with the back of my hand, capturing a stray lock of brown hair that had escaped from my ponytail. Angrily, I twisted it behind my ear as I had countless times today.

  Damn it's hot!

  It was only 2 p.m. and I had to endure two more hours in this sweltering stable. Sweeping my pitchfork the length of the stall, I studied the piles of manure and chunks of straw that reeked of horse urine, fantasizing about the cold shower that awaited me back at my cottage when my shift ended. I

  Just then, Luke Winslow came into the stable leading Ariel, a gray dappled mare, down the aisle between the stalls. I noticed him taking off his wide-brimmed straw hat and wiping sweat from his brow with his forearm. Luke was tall, strawberry-blond, and leanly built.

  “Hey, Tylar, looks like you could use a beer about now,” he remarked, bringing Ariel to a halt outside the stall I was picking. I glanced in his direction briefly, keeping my focus on the straw. The college hands liked to party after hours.

  “Sounds tempting, Luke. All I can think about now is finishing up here and getting a cold shower back at my place. My shift ends at four.”

  “Oh, that’s right. Well, I get off at three. I got a keg at the cottage. Some of the others are coming over later. We’re going to have a bonfire. Why don’t you stop by? It's Friday, you know!”

  “I’ll see, maybe. Is Jenna going to be there?”

  He smiled wickedly. “Sure thing. You know Jenna. She doesn’t miss a chance to party," he winked.

  He flashed me a grin, pulling on Ariel’s halter and clicking his tongue as she finished her business. “It’s cottage number eight on the end,” he called out as he led the horse down to her stall. “Hope to see you later.”

  “We’ll see,” I called out after him.

  I was the new kid on staff, and among the youngest at age twenty, soon to turn twenty-one. The others had worked at Sinclair Stables on weekends and summers since high school. Most were in college and one was even in grad school; they came back to work summers to pay for college.

  I wasn't a local, having been born and raised in Kentucky and now attended nearby Virginia Intermont College. My major was equine studies. My dream was to work with quarter horses and warm bloods in breeding science.

  My parents divorced when I was a baby; I'd never known my father. I knew that he had financially supported me over the years. I was using the trust he’d established to pay for college. It'd had become active when I turned eighteen.

  Mom was a part-time secretary at the law firm that handled my trust. She often came to me for help especially after the child support payments stopped. She couldn't afford the lease payments any longer on her new Mustang; I'd given her my old Jeep. She'd bitched about how the Jeep wasn't sexy like her 'Stang had been.

  A loud snort and whinny brought my attention back to the present. Derringer, the most beautiful black Lipizzaner I'd ever seen, was pawing the ground in the stall across from me. He was skittish and spirited and he intimidated most of the other help here. His temperament suggested he was missing something or someone.

  “Easy, boy,” I said quietly, unlatching the gate to his stall. I entered slowly; pulled a carrot from the back pocket of my jeans, and held my open palm out to him to take it.

  “Ahh, I get it. You want to walk don't you boy? I don't know," I said, rubbing his mane. It didn't go so well last time, did it? You promise you'll behave today if I take you out? You embarrassed the hell out of me the other day over at the Belle."

  He whinnied, moving his hindquarters almost in a dancing motion. I had to giggle; he was a show-off, if nothing else. Perhaps he'd been trained in dressage. That would definitely explain his frustration with never being exercised with the other horses.

  "Okay," I clicked my tongue as I led him out of the stables, "But remember your promise. No showing off for the pretty little fillies over at the Belle this time."

  I led him out to the pasture and then over to the gate that opened to the trail leading over to the Sinclair plantation on the other side of the woods. The estate was called “La Vie Belle,” which meant “The Life Beautiful.” We all called it the Belle for short.

  In addition to their estate and stable, the Sinclairs owned and operated a horse farm, a summer horse track, a winery, and a tourist attraction, which was an immaculately restored antebellum mansion. There was a turf racetrack where horseracing events were held on weekends during the summer months, attracting hundreds of tourists. The mansion and winery hosted tours all year round.

  Leading Derringer through the woods offered some relief from the sun and presented a more pleasant, slightly cooler atmosphere than the stable had for sure.

  "Hey wanna go by the mansion and make fun of Jenna in her hoop skirt and prissy little bonnet?" I laughed.

  Jenna lived a few cabins down from mine; she worked at the Belle. She and Rodney were tour guides in the mansion, wearing period costumes of the Civil War era. Jenna as a southern belle absolutely hated the hoop skirts, frilly undergarments, and button-up leather boots required. When she was in character, she wore her bleached blond hair in a tight bun, and no make-up.

  Rodney came from Mississippi. Along with helping Jenna, he also provided horse and buggy rides for the tourists. Rodney was a serious guy with a fun-loving side.

  I led the horse up the brick, half-circle drive in front of the colonial mansion. I saw Jenna in her floor-length hooped skirt with the layers of crinoline underneath to pouf it out nicely. She had a frilly parasol opened and positioned over her head, tilted at an angle to shade her face from the sun while she was talking to some worker, I presumed.

  He was leaning up against one of the massive columns on the front veranda, muscular arms crossed in front of him as Jenna was peering up at him smiling and talking; she occasionally pointed over towards the brick smokehouse off to the side, fanning her face vigorously as if telling him of some problem.

  I wondered how long she would've lasted shoveling horse shit. I continued leading the horse and noticed that Jenna had caught a glimpse of me and Derringer as we'd started up the stone driveway. It seemed that she was working even harder at trying to keep the guy's attention. I could now see why.

  He looked a bit older than the usual college workers employed during the summers. Probably a local who worked full-time year round. He was around 6'2", muscularly built with dark brown hair that was thick and tousled at the moment; he had a firm flat belly, and broad shoulders. He had a white tee-shirt on that hugged his ripped abs in all the right places. It was my turn to fan myself and Jenna caught it. I heard her flirtatious giggle float down the drive as we closed in.

  "Well, well," she called out, "I see you're out with
the beast again, Tylar! Ever going to get enough nerve to put a saddle on him and ride over?"

  I see Scarlett's trying to impress ole Rhett here with her Southern charm.

  The guy turned his attention to me and Derringer; immediately a look crossed over his face that was not good. I was close enough now to see the color of his eyes and they were blue. No, that's an understatement; they were more than blue, they were piercing sapphire blue and, at that very moment, they were an extremely pissed-off blue.

  He immediately excused himself from Jenna and jumped down from the porch, taking long, angry strides towards me and the horse.

  What the hell?

  As he reached us, he immediately looked me over top to bottom, then bottom to top, his hands now resting on his hips, standing in a half-slouch that was really, really hot, and I noticed his chin dimple.

  My first instinct was to flinch because beneath my faux street-smart demeanor, I'm actually quite passive and avoid confrontation whenever possible. The fact that Jenna was standing on the porch observing us and probably expecting me to high-tail it out of there was just enough to spark a bit of courage in me so as to hang on to the faux cocky attitude I was trying to pull off.

  "Why do you have Derringer over here?" he asked abruptly.

  "I'm just taking him out for some exercise is all."

  "What's wrong with letting him out in the fenced pasture?" he pressed.

  "Well, there's nothing wrong with it, I guess," I faltered. "I mean sometimes he just likes it when I lead him, you know, to different places for a change of scenery."

  "I see," he said, regarding me beneath his thick lashes, his anger dissipating somewhat.

  "I mean, if you're worried I'm going to let him loose around the pigs or your smokehouse, you don't have to worry about that; I keep his reins firmly in my grasp. I don't allow him to wander without me."

  "That's good to know," he replied tersely, his eyes flickering over the horse as if I'd allow some harm to come to him.

  What's his deal?

  "So, if you'll excuse me, I'm going to take him over to the horse barns so he can visit with some of his buds," I said, clicking my tongue to get him moving. Derringer didn't budge.

  "Come on, boy," I urged, tugging a bit harder on his lead rein, clicking my tongue again.

  Nothing.

  I saw a smile flicker over the guy's face, a cheek dimple now appearing.

  "Yes, I see the control you have over the beast," he said. "I can't imagine that spirited animal would give you any problems at all."

  Okay. Now he's making fun of me which is so not cool.

  This was no time for Derringer to morph into a stubborn mule, and yet he had. From the porch, I heard Jenna's delighted cackle as she observed the horse's refusal to comply with my commands.

  I was clearly irritated that I was providing comic relief to her and this guy who seemed a bit arrogant for just another co-worker here.

  "Don't you have a pig or…something to roast, Rhett?" I lashed out at him, tugging harder on Derringer's lead, forcing the horse to take a step.

  "Derringer halt," his smooth and silky voice called, as he took the reins from my hands, and dropped them to the ground.

  What the??

  Derringer didn't budge; dropping his head to graze on the grassy patch beside the drive. My eyes immediately flew back to look at the townie who was now smiling at me wickedly.

  "The name's Trey," he said. "And yours?"

  "Tylar Preston," I replied. "I take it you don't work over at the smokehouse…"

  "No, I don't. At the moment, I'm overseeing the entire operation here while my parents are in Europe."

  "Ah, so then your last name must be…Sinclair." I mumbled.

  "We can't keep a thing from you, can we?" he teased.

  "And that means Derringer is uh…your horse?"

  “He is. How is it that you were able to get him out like this?” he asked.

  "Frankly, no one else wants to mess with him. I guess I liked the challenge of getting him to trust me. We’re friends now. I bribe him with carrots, groom him, and talk to him. I was hoping to start exercising him over in the arena at the Belle. He's had some dressage training, right?"

  Trey's face darkened in anger. "You misunderstood the question, Ms. Preston. I'm asking why you would disregard the orders I've given with respect to this horse by bringing him out of the pasture?"

  "I'm not sure that I've disregarded any orders, Mr. Sinclair. I'm being paid to take care of the horses and that's what I'm doing. I'm simply working to gain his trust so that I can mount him."

  He took a step closer to me, to the point where I was pretty sure it would have thrilled Jenna if she were in my place. I had to force myself from taking a nervous step backwards.

  “No one mounts Derringer, the only exception being me. He’s an expensive piece of horseflesh, and I won’t have some novice equestrian-wannabe taking risks with him, is that understood?”

  I could feel my eyes widening to the point where my eyelashes were probably spreading out. His eyes were cool as a cucumber, ablaze with a splash of ice as he continued to look down at me.

  “Is that understood?” he repeated, his voice now carrying a steely edge to it.

  I nodded and took a step back from him. "Yes," I squeaked. "Perfectly."

  "Good," he said, bending down to grab Derringer's reins from the ground. He looped them around his hand, and with one swift and lithe movement, Trey swung himself up and onto the horse's bare back, turning to peer down at me, as Derringer did a side-step. "Because, Ms. Preston, if this happens again, your ass will be fired."

  He pressed his calves into the horse's sides, taking off, presumably for the stables leaving me standing there feeling humiliated, chastised and idiotic in front of Jenna.

  I seethed in anger the whole way back through the woods to the stables. I hoped like hell he was gone by the time I got there. I had no desire to be at the receiving end of his wrath again.

  Jenna would probably broadcast to everyone that I'd had my butt ripped by Trey Sinclair. She had done her share of gossiping about him in the few weeks I'd been here. Something about him being a high-powered attorney somewhere else, owning shares of the family business, a scandalous broken engagement in his past, and oh yeah, Jenna dreamed of 'doing him' one day soon.

  I tried to put it all out of my mind as I crossed the pasture heading toward the bank of cottages and the cold shower that awaited me. Suddenly, the loud roar of an engine caught my attention as I spotted a black Lamborghini Gallardo convertible speeding down the Sinclair estate driveway. The driver wore sunglasses. There was no mistaking the burnished brown hair flying back from that sinfully handsome face. As the car passed the pasture to my right, the driver glanced over. For a split second, I thought I could actually make out his smile. Despite his assholiness with me, there was no denying Trey Sinclair was smokin' hot.

  Ah yes, that shower's going to cool me off nicely.

  Chapter 2

  The bank of eight identical cottages was spread across two acres of land on the estate. Two of the eight housed full-time year-round hands who’ve been employed by the Sinclair family for years.

  The first cottage was Ray Gillespie's. Ray was awesome. He was gray-haired, with soft green eyes, a bushy moustache, and a kind smile. He had a girlfriend in town named Denise.

  The second cottage belonged to Charlie Roberts, also in his fifties, and full-time like Ray. A quiet man who kept mostly to himself, no one knew much about his past. Charlie was thin, with close-set small eyes, graying auburn hair, and a weak chin.

  The college help inhabited the rest of the cottages. There was Clint who helped Luke and me at the stables. Clint was tall, blond, and lean. He had a great sense of humor, and was sort of protective of me. He was very patient and not hesitant to share his knowledge.

  My cottage was the fifth one down. Like the others, it was made of cedar wood, with a small, railed front porch.

  Jenna's cottage was
next to mine and I laughed to myself as I passed it seeing a clothesline strung across her front porch with all of her fine delicates dancing in the summer breeze. Friday was her day to hang her thong underwear out on the line to display. She claimed she'd never dream of machine washing such fine silk.

  Skank.

  I entered my cottage, hooking the screen door behind me to allow some air inside. I went into the bedroom and switched the window A/C on to full blast. I stripped to my bra and panties and sprawled out on the bed. Grabbing a Cosmo from my nightstand, I flipped the pages while the cool air washed over me. Cosmo was reporting on yet another type of female orgasm. I'd be happy just to know what one (non-self-induced) one felt like. I was so curious about sex, and especially about good sex, yet my experience with guys had amounted to nothing more than making out and some "no-risk" petting.

  I liked guys. I loved the way they walked. I loved the way that their muscles moved. So why had I never had a man?

  Maybe being around my mom and the array of boyfriends that had come and gone over the years had turned me into some frigid bitch. She had certainly learned to hate men as a result, telling me over and over again none of them could be trusted, and that they wanted one and only one thing from a woman.

  I remembered something that had happened around the time I was ten or eleven. Something had startled me from my sleep one night. There were strange noises coming from my mom’s room. It sounded like she was in pain. She was moaning and it scared me. As I approached her bedroom door, I heard her bed creaking rhythmically and a man’s voice. At the time, I thought someone was hurting her until I heard his voice.

  There was no mistaking it. It was my best friend Jenny Marcotti's dad!

  I was frozen both with shock and disgust. At eleven, I understood more than I should have about the birds and the bees; and about sexual relations between a man and a woman. It was hard to remain ignorant with the way my mother pranced the men in her life past me like some ill-gotten trophy. It mattered not if they were single or married, but my best friend's dad? I was sickened and ashamed. She'd gone too far