The Bluegrass Billionaire Trilogy: An Alpha Billionaire Romance Box Set

by Alice Ward

  I thought about Liane’s remark regarding trees and looked at her, squeezing her hand. She smiled in encouragement.

  “I had no money and no way to pay for my living, as you both know.” I couldn’t do anything but let the sarcasm out like putrid air in an old tire. “I was attacked by a group of boys who thought I had money, and they did this to my face. I was lucky to live through it. That happened while Bernie was still alive and he sewed my face together as best as he could. He wouldn’t get a doctor because he was afraid we’d be found out.”

  Mother piped up, her eyes finally taking on some life. “We can have plastic surgery and make that all better,” she said in a voice that was authoritative, as if she was planning a barbecue.

  Anger burned hot in my chest. “I like my face as it is and Liane loves me the way I am. I’m sorry you don’t. I’m also sorry that I won’t let a surgeon at me just to make me more presentable to your friends.”

  Mother’s hand went up over her mouth as my words sunk in and Father quickly said, “Now, Ford — errr, Hawk, let’s not make this harder than it already is.”

  I nodded and went on. “I managed to get back to the States and spent most of the last decade in California building a business and going to college. As you’re probably now aware, I bought the farm west of here not long ago and moved in.”

  “That was you? The man on the horse Mark kept seeing?” Mother asked. Evidently Father didn’t know she knew for he had a surprised look on his face and looked to Mark.

  “Dad, I had to tell her. When you’re gone, she needs to know if there’s anything dangerous, and he looked dangerous sitting up on that horse, watching us.”

  I took that in the stomach. Me? Dangerous? Well, perhaps I was because I wanted to punch Mark’s perfect white teeth down his throat at that moment.

  “Mark, I hardly think that’s fair. I know you didn’t know who it was but Ford, Hawk, never did anything to indicate he intended you or this family harm. That was your imagination.” Father put him in his place, and Mother nodded, but the act was less than convincing.

  Why was I seeing all their reactions with such a black suspicion? I knew why. I had been picturing this moment for the last decade. Every time I went without, had to sleep on a floor or be approached by a pimp to become a toy, I hated this family, and most particularly the perfect brother. He was the good brother, and I was the trash they’d taken out.

  “When are you getting married?” Mother asked, not as if she cared about Liane, but because she wanted to know whether it would fit into her social calendar.

  “Don’t worry, Mother. You won’t be expected to come. Liane and I will be married privately by her father, and then we’re leaving immediately on an extended honeymoon.”

  “Oh.” Her face was the definition of disappointed.

  On one hand, I knew she was disappointed that she wouldn’t have a chance to reign supreme over her friends with a fabulously extravagant wedding. On the other hand, she was probably relieved she wouldn’t have to explain the scar-faced son who had been institutionalized and then wanted by the authorities after murdering his uncle. It would be so much easier, so much cleaner to begin her weddings by creating lavish events for Marga and the perfect Master Mark.

  I stood. “Well, we’ll be going now. I agreed, at Liane’s request, to make myself known and now we’ll be leaving. We have a life to live.”

  “Wait!” Mother’s voice was ragged. “You can’t mean that. You can’t just reappear after all these years and then leave after ten minutes, especially so angry!”

  “Oh, yes, Mother, I can do exactly that. Goodbye.” With that, I took Liane’s hand and left the house, putting her in the car and sliding into the driver’s seat. We drove through the development, and I had a good look at all that I wouldn’t be inheriting. We circled about and left the development, and I could see Mother standing on the porch of their white farmhouse, dabbing at her face with a tissue. I wasn’t sure I’d ever see her again. I wasn’t sure I ever wanted to see her again.

  I got onto the expressway and headed south.

  “Where are we going?” Liane asked.

  “One parent down, one to go,” I said, and she was about to protest, but thought better of it and let me drive. She gave me directions once we got into town and soon we were pulling up before an old, stone church and its rectory that stood to the rear, next to the cemetery. It was obvious by the exterior and stone construction that the building was very, very old. It probably pre-dated the Civil War, and I noticed there were some Confederate white headstones in the corner of the small cemetery.

  Liane let herself out of the car and came around to take my hand. She led me to the door of the rectory and opened it. “Dad?” she called out, and a stooped old man with white hair came through the doorway and into the small, eclectic parlor. I’d seen him several times from the back of the church, but up close, his presence created an enormous impact. It was as though I’d stepped back in time. He looked every bit the fabled British vicar and the leather-bound books and leather wing-back chairs could have been straight out of a black and white movie.

  “Dad, this is Hawk. You know, I’ve told you about him.”

  I reached out my hand, and his glasses slid down his nose as he squinted at me, returning the gesture. He had a firm grip, a fact that surprised me for a man his age. “Won’t you sit down, Hawk?” he offered, pointing to a chair. He looked at Liane and said, “Daughter, you’ll leave us for a bit?”

  She nodded and winked at me as she went through the doorway and out to the garden beneath an ancient tree that seemed to crawl toward the sky. Through a thick glassed window, I saw an old swing tied there and she settled into it with a certainty born of years of having done so.

  “Do you mind?” asked Vicar Coventry, holding out a pipe.

  “No, sir, of course not,” I said respectfully. I truly meant it when I thought of him in a respectful manner. He was soft-spoken and yet completely in control of his environment. He had a peace about him and it occurred to me that I felt that same way when I was around his daughter.

  “I’ve heard a good deal about you, my boy,” the vicar began and although I cringed internally at being called a boy, from him it somehow didn’t sound condescending.

  “And I, you, sir,” I returned. “You have raised a wonderful daughter. You and the late Mrs. Coventry, sir.”

  “Thank you, Hawk. Hawk, that’s an unusual name.”

  “Yes, sir, it’s a nickname. My birth name is Worthington LaViere, IV. I was born just east of town and my family was and still is, in the equine industry.”

  “Yes, I know,” he said, and I looked at him quizzically.

  “I knew your paternal grandfather,” he said cautiously, and I felt my stomach turn over.

  There was no way this could be good.

  “Yes, sir. Unfortunately, I don’t remember him. He died before I was born, sir.”

  “Yes, I know. I actually know quite a bit about your family, Hawk. I also happen to know why you go by the name you do. You see, I’ve been here many years, and your family is well-known throughout the community. Your grandfather was, shall we say, a character? Your father, I believe, is also a highly successful and prominent psychologist?”

  I would let him tell me what he knew rather than filling in the ghastly pieces of the puzzle for him. I heard myself think the word “ghastly” and realized that Liane was having an effect on me. I looked through the window to where she sat on the swing, and she smiled and waved. She knew what was being said and was feeding thoughts to me. I would have to talk to her about that little hobby once we were married. It was fascinating to be sure, but it was also an invasion of privacy, and as much as I loved her, we needed our individual space.

  “Yes, sir, that’s true.”

  He tamped his pipe and peered at me over those glasses. The room swam in the scent of cherry tobacco and if anything, the leather chairs seemed to soften as though they were familiar and comforting to them. I wo
ndered what was coming next.

  “I understood there was a bit of a rift between you and your family. Have you resolved that?”

  I didn’t know what to say. He continued before I had the chance to frame my response.

  “I know it seems a bit impertinent for me to be asking you these private questions. You’re entitled to your privacy, to be sure. But I suppose by now you’ve learned that with Liane around, and her mother before her, there was very little privacy of thought to have under this old roof.” He drew on the pipe and the tobacco glowed red, sizzling a bit. “I also have reason to believe you’re not here to sell me stock or Girl Scout cookies.”

  “No, sir, I’m definitely not.” This was my chance. He was giving me an opening and even introduced the topic himself.

  “Vicar Coventry, I’ve come to pay my respects to you, sir, and to tell you that I’ve fallen in love with your daughter. I’m asking your permission to marry her, sir.”

  “I see,” he nodded. “I assume you wouldn’t be here unless Liane was in favor of your proposal?”

  “That’s true, sir. She laid down the rules of ‘engagement,’ shall we call it. I love your daughter and respect her name, your rules and now the conditions she laid down before she would accept my proposal. Reuniting with my family, in some sense, was the first, and naturally, meeting with you and asking your permission was her second.”

  He nodded. “So, you think you’ve jumped the hurdles and deserve an answer, is that it?”

  “I do.”

  “What do you do for a living, Hawk, or will you be taking back your real name before you marry my daughter?”

  “Hawk is my nickname, sir. My family used to call me ‘Ford’ for my mother’s side of the family, but I felt that Hawk was more in keeping with my, shall we say, ‘situation.’ It’s a bird I’ve long admired. A loner, not a songbird. Neither am I, sir, and I probably don’t have to tell you that.”

  I paused, waiting for a response, but when I got none, stumbled on.

  “I’ve had a troubled past, but in all fairness, it wasn’t all my doing. I believe my parents left me alone too often, and I’ve been told I’m a product of genetics, the worst of the genes coming to me. When my parents couldn’t control me, they sent me off to military school and later put me in the hands of a doctor who drugged me. My behavior deteriorated in a way I still don’t remember but regret to this day. I truly believe it wasn’t my true character, sir, but an effect of the medications I was being force fed. I got into trouble, did some damage and was resentful and willful. The result was a judge’s decision that I be institutionalized.”

  He nodded. “Go on, son.”

  I flushed a bit before I continued. “I was beaten up by some boys and managed to escape. A friend of the family took me to Mexico and after a few leaps and jumps, I wound up back here.”

  “Haven’t you left out a small detail?” When I simply stared at him, he added, “Murder?”

  I thought I would vomit on the flowered rug. “Sir, that’s not fair. That man was my uncle, but he was waging vengeance against my family and kidnapped me to force my father into something he didn’t want to do. My uncle intended to kill me. I got to him first. I believe, sir, that’s called self-defense.”

  The vicar nodded and tamped his tobacco down before taking another long inhale. He squinted through the cloud of smoke hovering around his head. “Hawk, I knew all of what you’ve shared, but I wanted you to cleanse yourself of the guilt, and because I wanted to know if you would be truthful with me. A man who is truthful with his worst secrets can be trusted.”

  My entire body seemed to exhale. “Thank you, sir.”

  “It seems my daughter has her heart set on you. What was it you said you do for a living?”

  “I own a tech company, sir. I employ outside sources to build apps for company employees to connect securely to their intranets.”

  “I would say ‘I see,’ but obviously perhaps more to myself than anyone else, I’m behind the times and don’t understand what you do, but apparently it provides you a good living?”

  “Yes, sir. Your daughter won’t want for anything. I don’t look to my family’s money and have made a substantial fortune on my own.”

  “Hawk, can you tell me sincerely that your anger and less than ideal behavior is behind you?”

  “Sir, I’ve behaved in the way that I had to in order to survive. I cannot excuse that and if put in the same position again, I would behave in the same way. Your daughter knows me, sir, as only you can understand. She has already made me a better man, and I give you my word, you’ll never regret letting me be responsible for her.”

  As I spoke, emotion clogged my throat. I swallowed it down, amazed that my face was also burning. The vicar said nothing, just studied me, his pipe tapping his lower lip.

  “She’s a rare jewel,” I said when I was able to continue, “and I understand that only too well.”

  “Very well. You’ve answered admirably under pressure, and I admire that. So, I will give you my permission, but with one condition. You must never take her away from here for good. She is all that I have left, and I don’t wish to die without her at my bedside. Call it selfish, if you will, but I believe you will understand when I say that she has powers that no one else exhibits. As far as anyone I know, that is. She will be a comfort to me, and when I’m gone, she will have no one but you. I want her to know that when I go, I will be in God’s hands so she need not worry or be overly sorrowful. Can you promise me that, Hawk?”

  I stood and presented my hand. “You have my word, sir.” We shook, and I knew we had come to an agreement.

  Liane already knew. She was crossing the yard and coming in the door. She went to her dad and hugged him, kissing him on the forehead. “See why I love him so?” she asked me.

  “You are indeed a lucky young lady.” That said so much about who she was and who I wished I’d been. It was enough, however, that I be given a second chance to make the most of my life. I thanked her God and all the others for the opportunity.

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  Auggie

  Lily, as it turned out, was absolutely ideal for the farm manager’s job. She had that rare combination of understanding the business and a love of horses. She could help a mare to foal and be dressed and groomed for a business conference by lunchtime. I was amazed at the coincidence that had brought our paths to cross on that flight.

  I set her up in the farm manager’s mini-farm and she promptly began settling in, having her belongings shipped from the west coast. The male farm hands had no problem with her. Indeed, she was single and certainly eye candy, but hey recognized immediately that she knew what she was doing, and that earned her their loyalty and support. I couldn’t have been more thrilled. I began to take days off from time to time to see how she’d do when I wasn’t there, and often found she made better decisions than I might have.

  It was no wonder my prowess had been compromised, however. Learning that my long-lost son had been living next door, yet clearly held such resentment was very hard on me. A mother’s instincts are not lessened by her children growing older. If anything, they’ve escaped the parameters of observation, and I found myself worrying all the more.

  I hadn’t gotten any opportunity to talk to Liane at all. Now she would be a part of our family, and the lack of normalcy of our situation was disturbing. I tried to talk to Worth about it, but he seemed angry and withdrawn over the entire mess. I let him be. Pushing him always resulted in some sort of revolt among the LaViere men, both Worth and my son, “Hawk” included. It pained me that he had given up the connection to my family name, but it was his choice.

  From a mother’s point of view, I understood why he felt abandoned. In the light of reality, he had been. A mother tends to forget the crime committed and remember only the punishment. After a time, it seems over-reactive and unjust. Bernie, although I knew he had loved Hawk in his own way, had made a poor substitute for a full set of parents. Well, the set of par
ents we should have been.

  In retrospect, we should have never sent them out of the country. In doing so, he had magnified the crime, and there was no resolution short of imprisonment for Bernie, a man who knowingly kidnapped a minor under judge’s orders.

  Would it have meant Hawk’s survival? Who could say? I knew it seemed the only solution at the moment, but in hindsight, dozens of possibilities could have been chosen.

  God, the guilt wanted to eat me alive. I knew I hadn’t done my best job at being a parent. I had been horribly selfish. I had wanted things tied up with a neat bow so I could go back to my life. I had wanted to do the things that interested me and let someone else make the sacrifices of parenthood.

  That’s when I realized the horrible truth. I had become my mother.

  I was exactly like the woman I had resented and later despised. It had all come full circle. The realization stunned me, and I actually became ill for a few days. My head ached, and I felt as though I had the flu. I kept to our room, and although Worth kept insisting I see a doctor, I declined. I knew what was wrong with me. It was a big case of old-fashioned guilt. The only cure was to face it and deal with its reality — and to make sure that I changed my ways from that point forward.

  I called Dad, and we talked at length about what happened. While he was thrilled that his grandson was back, I think he also felt guilt at what had taken place. He held himself accountable for Hawk, just as he had for Mother.

  The world was made up of many people, and although Worth’s science broke them into types, I thought they were more like mutts. A little of one breed, or quality, and some of another. Some came out wonderfully, inheriting the best traits of the lineage while others seemed to take the garbage left over and had to do the best they could with that. Did that make one life worth more than another?

  Those who inherited the good traits wanted to believe so. My mother was one of those, and now I realize, I probably was as well. We grew up having everything given to us and expected that would always happen. When life served up a different meal, we refused it; denied it had been given to us. We continued to live in our selfish fishbowl and believed that just because we willed it so, it was. Well, it wasn’t.