“Can’t afford no attorney,” Mr. Brown said.
“Me neither,” another rancher agreed.
“I’m not asking you to. My attorney will handle it for all of us.”
Johnson Holbrook had finally noticed our little gathering and was trying to extricate himself from the councilman. Oh, crap, I didn’t want him to overhear anything, especially since Reid was still talking. “Trust me, I have—”
“Hey, Reid,” I said a bit too loudly. “Hi, Mr. Cameron, Mr. Brown, Mr. Kirby.” Darting my eyes to my left repeatedly, I tried to get Reid to turn and look. “It was so nice seeing you all this evening.”
“Holland, can you give us a few minutes?” Mr. Kirby asked.
But Reid had finally caught on to what I was trying to do. “Holland, I wanted to talk with you. Gentlemen”—he turned toward Johnson—“Mr. Holbrook, if you all will excuse us.” Reid walked over and held out one hand to me, palm up. “Shall we?”
I stared down at it as if it were a trap. “Shall we what?”
“Go over there and talk.” He motioned toward a corner. I nodded, and he led the way. Once we were out of earshot of everyone else, he said, “Thank you. Nice save. I don’t want Holbrook getting a heads-up before we can get all of our shit together.”
“What shit?”
“I don’t know yet, but that’s where you come in. I’d like your help to figure out what we can do to stop this because something isn’t sitting right with me.”
“He just threatened to take all of my land if I don’t fall in line. Reid, he wants to take a quarter of our property for this. The quarter that houses the barn.”
His eyes widened a bit and he pulled the packet from my hands. “He can’t seriously think you would give up the stables, paddock, and training area.”
“He does, and he threatened to take it all if I didn’t agree. It’s one thing for me to lose my tiny apartment above the stables, but I can’t let him take my sisters’ houses.”
“But you’ll give up yours?”
“If I have to.”
“Well, I’m not selling without a fight, and I don’t think you’ll have to sell either. Will you meet me tomorrow so we can go over this paperwork and come up with a plan? If you don’t feel better about all of this when we’re done, I’ll do whatever I can to help you.”
I thought about his offer and let a bit of hope in. Maybe I would be able to keep my stables. “Fine. What time?”
“Anytime, I’ll be home all day.”
I wasn’t sure this was a great idea . . . me on enemy territory. But right then Reid didn’t feel like an enemy, he felt like my only ally. “Okay. I have a few lessons tomorrow, so it will be later in the afternoon, is that all right?”
“Fine by me. We can have dinner together.” I stared at him and didn’t say a word. What? He and I having dinner together was not only a no, it was a hell no. It would feel too personal. “Holland, I said that we—”
“Stop, I ignored what you said just fine the first time. It’ll be before six, I have dinner with my family then.”
“What a coincidence, so do I. I’ll have enough for both of us just in case you’re running late. See you then.” Reid didn’t wait for me to answer or tell him it would be a cold day in Hell before I had dinner with him. Nope, he just strode through the doors, once again leaving me at a loss for words.
Chapter Two
Holland
I wasn’t a morning person. Okay, mornings had nothing to do with it. I wasn’t a people person. Fine, that wasn’t true either. I had just stayed up most of the night tossing and turning and debating whether talking to Reid Brooks was a good idea. That made me extra cranky.
I peered out the small dormer window from my studio apartment above the Iron Horse Stables, the stables my family owned, and saw him standing in the sunroom or whatever that room was called holding a cup of coffee. The man looked like he was way too happy to greet the day.
I gave him the middle finger, and then I gave him another one for being such an asshat. Okay, he couldn’t see me, but it wasn’t about him seeing me, it was more about making me feel better, which it did.
Ever since he moved next door, something about my world seemed off. The truth was, he didn’t belong here. He belonged back where he came from . . . Kentucky, home of the Kentucky Derby, racehorses, men who wore ascots, and women who wore frilly dresses. He had no business here in Podunk, Florida.
Our stoplight town was full of people who reused their butter bowls and jelly jars. It wasn’t because they didn’t have the money for new ones; it was because they understood the values in things. Most days, you could drive through the back roads and see sheets hanging on clotheslines because nothing beat air-drying. We wore cowboy boots and Wranglers, lived for John Deere and Tractor Supply, and preferred Western riding and barrel racing. In other words, Reid Brooks did not belong here.
Letting out another yawn, I finished getting ready and then pulled on my boots. After grabbing my peacoat, I headed down the stairs. The stables were temperature controlled, but they were still cold in the mornings—not like Canada cold, but cold for Central Florida. We had been dropping down into the thirties at night, which was glacial for us.
After turning on the lights, I filled several buckets of oats, added some sliced apples and carrots, and then started feeding the horses. I began with Balthazar. He had been my dad’s stallion and was the oldest in our stable, so patience wasn’t his strong point. Once he was taken care of, I moved on to Madam Mim, Ursula, Jafar, and the others. Yes, we had a penchant for naming our horses after Disney villains. But I always saved Sher Khan for last, he was mine, opening his stall door, he whinnied several times before leaning toward me so I could rub his gray muzzle. The horse was a beast at sixteen hands, but what he didn’t let most people know was that he was a gentle giant.
“Morning, fellow.” He shoved his head toward my coat pocket, looking for his apple. He wasn’t dumb; he knew that I was a sucker for his charm. “Here you go.” I held my jacket pocket out wide so he could grab it before moving to his feed pail and pouring in the oats.
While the horses ate, I got started on my morning chores of mucking out the stalls and filling them with fresh hay. When that was done, I saddled Khan and the two of us broke free, which was our morning ritual. I let him run at his own pace because I knew how much I enjoyed that feeling of freedom first thing in the morning as well. It was almost as if my soul needed to be free after being locked up all night.
When Khan and I were in the open there were no cares in the world and no asshole neighbor. Shit, why did I have to think about him?
“Come on, Khan, let’s go.” Digging my heels into his sides, Khan took off at breakneck speed, cutting across the pasture before looping back up around the two houses. The one off to the left belonged to my older sister, London, and I trotted past it and up to the main house. It was where I grew up, my childhood home, and my sister, Paris, lived there with Asher, her husband. I finally slowed Sher Khan as the stables came back into view, and he kicked up some dirt with his refusal before giving in. I dismounted and walked him the rest of the way to the barn as part of his cool-down process. I didn’t lead him to his stall, instead, I guided him to the drain bay so I could brush him down.
If Khan had been a racehorse, his name would have been Street Walker because the animal was a whore—well, a whore for attention. “Okay, dude, stop shoving your body against me. I’m rubbing you down.” He slid his giant head under my hands again to remind me not to stop petting. “You aren’t a cat, you freak.” I placed a quick peck on his muzzle. “Go, you’re done.”
I led him back to his stall and then headed up to talk with my sisters. All my life each of us had had our place on the ranch. Mine was in the stables, curled up on a bale of hay talking to the horses. I didn’t care about friends, not human friends, why should I, when I had the truest of friends right here in each stall.
When Daddy couldn’t get me interested in the ranch, and I n
ever went boy crazy, I think that was when he realized that my love truly was horses. So he built the stables and training area then signed me up for Western riding classes.
Opening the door to the house, I was greeted by the giggles of Tera, my niece. “Morning, sunshine, don’t you look like a mess?”
“She’s just finished her breakfast.” London moved to wipe Tera’s face, but Tera was having none of it.
“That’s it, girl, give her hell.”
“Hey, watch it, she’s starting to repeat shit,” London admonished me.
I raised one eyebrow. “Did you even listen to yourself?”
“No, why?”
“Never mind.” I laughed. “So, last night’s meeting was a clusterfuck.” I plopped down into a seat and took the cup of coffee Paris handed me.
“Why? What happened? It’s too early for the gossip mill to be in full swing yet.” London and Paris both took seats opposite me.
I curled one leg under myself and tugged on the sleeves of my sweatshirt to cover my cold hands before cupping the mug in front of me. Once I was settled, I started at the beginning and ended with how worried I was they were going to have to gather bail money for me because I was ready to bury those men’s bodies.
“Wait, you lost your temper? How shocking.” London smirked.
“Please. I admit my faults even though they are few.” London threw her hands over her head as if to protect herself. “What are you doing?”
“Shielding myself from lightning, you know God is going to strike you down for that one.”
“Ha, ha.”
“So, what’s the plan now?”
“This is where I seriously contemplated the demise of both of you, I have to meet with Dick Brooks today so that he and I can formulate a plan.” Paris let out a giggle, and I shot her the stink-eye. Then London joined in laughing. I pushed my chair back and moved to get up.
“Stay. Tell us about the plan.” London reached out for me.
“Not totally sure yet. We’re going to meet and see what we can come up with. Sort of a divide-and-conquer thing, I think, but don’t hold your breath that it will actually do any good.”
“Why not?” London asked.
“He isn’t from here, so when it comes down to it, how hard will he really fight to save our town? I can’t see him going to the mats for us.”
“I don’t know about that. I think that he has found peace here, and I think the two of you are more alike than you care to acknowledge,” Paris said as she gave me a wink. “If you found a place you loved, I don’t think it would matter whether you grew up there or had lived there one year, it would be your sanctuary, and you would fight.”
“Awww, to be a fly on the wall when you two put your heads together.”
“Screw you both, this isn’t funny.” I flipped them off and then strode out.
Heading to my small one bedroom apartment, I made a mental list of things to do, and most of them required good old Google. As soon as I walked in, I snagged my laptop and then set it on my kitchen island. I turned the television on for background noise and then started my internet search.
Eminent domain was the first thing I pulled up, and as I read, I rolled a pen between my fingers as if it were a tiny baton, only stopping the motion long enough to make random notes. According to the website, most of the time land must be taken by state or federal authorities, but occasionally, a third party can be delegated. In those cases, there are contracts showing that the third party will devote the property to public or civic use and in some cases economic development.
I bounced the tip of the pen against the counter as I flipped through site after site and my hopes elevated. When I began reading about bad coverage of eminent domain and how many states had started refraining from using it because the last two cases that went to the supreme court had caused such a public outcry that many states had even rewritten their laws concerning eminent domain.
I made a note about the supreme court rulings over the city of New London, Connecticut, and Norwood, Ohio, and then I made another note of the 2006 executive order signed by President Bush . . .
Chapter Three
Reid
I wasn’t sure if it was even possible for me to start my morning without Holland Kelly’s spitfire attitude. The little demon spawn did something to set my world right. Maybe I was a glutton for punishment, but every morning, I sat in my sunroom, holding a pad and my charcoal as I waited for her to give me the bird. She did it every morning, and every morning, I drank my coffee and sketched while I waited for it.
I constantly glanced between the pad and the window, not wanting to miss that moment she showed her attitude. It always made me laugh. The time she mooned me and I was frozen between yelling at her and asking her to do it again. I ended up not doing either because if she knew I could see her, she’d never do it again.
This morning I had waited for her shadow, and once it flashed in front of her window, I paused and just like clockwork, she appeared. Today, I hadn’t just gotten one middle finger—I had gotten two. It was probably a precursor for later, she was already in rare form.
I had returned to my sketch, until the old clock that hung on the wall moved, and the little bird came out and gave a cuckoo alerting that it was six a.m. and time for me to start my day. I had wanted to see Holland ride by on her gray gelding because I had a sketch that I wanted to finish and the angles seemed to be off in my mind. But I had a shitload of things to get done if I wanted to be ready for her when she got here later today. If I knew her, she would spend her free time on her computer, trying to discover as much as she could about eminent domain. The one thing that woman was . . . was intelligent, and she would relish in knowing more than I did about the topic. I wasn’t having it.
“Morning, Syd.” He always beat me here, but that was because he lived in the apartment above the stables and never actually slept.
“Good morning, I got Nostradamus saddled up for you.”
“Thanks.” I zipped my jacket and pulled on some gloves. Heading into Nostradamus’s stall, my one non-Thoroughbred. The moment I saw the Andalusian, we had bonded. There was something about him—maybe it was his warrior physique, he was seventeen hands, after all—but whatever it was, he was mine. Like the prophet he’s named after, the horse knew I was his.
He let me walk him out of his stall and then climb into the saddle. Once I was settled, we were out. Each morning, the two of us enjoyed our ride. Sometimes I saw Holland, and sometimes I gave her a hard time, but it wasn’t something I actively sought to do.
Nostradamus didn’t have to be directed, he knew our route and that we covered my property in a clockwise fashion. Since I didn’t have small animals, I kept the beauty of the property with a split rail fence. In a trot, Nostradamus led me around, occasionally stopping when I needed to dismount and check a fence post or a beam. Occasionally, a deer or some other animal got caught and thrashed their way through, knocking a beam or two loose, so I kept a special saddlebag full of supplies with me just in case I needed to mend something.
As Nostradamus and I approached the end of our ride, which took me along the property line between my and the Kellys’ properties, and something about the thought of not starting my day seeing Holland’s whiskey-colored eyes had me wanting to do another lap but there were chores to get done.
I stepped down, and before heading inside, I ran my fingers through Nostradamus’s black mane, thanking him for the ride, and then I handed him off to Syd.
“How was your ride?” Syd asked.
“It was good. I don’t miss the Kentucky snow, but I do miss cool mornings and breathing in the crisp morning air. There’s nothing like it on the back of a horse. I wish we had more of them here.”
“Bite your tongue. Winter happens about the third week of January, and that is long enough in my book.”
“If it were longer, it would kill off some bugs. Couldn’t you handle a few less fleas?” Syd didn’t answer. “Ticks?” He still did
n’t say anything. “Mosquitos?”
“I could do with fewer of those blood suckers. They ruin my summer evenings. As soon as I light up my cigar, they are all over me like white on rice.” I scratched my head, trying to comprehend his statement, white on rice? Whatever.
I was still thinking about it when he asked, “So, what do you want me to focus on today?”
“Got a call from the Winterheimers last night, they’ve decided to put their horses, Wellfleet and Nantucket, into claims races this year, so they want us to increase their exercise and work on carving some seconds off their long stretch.”
“Got it. I’ll have Noah get started on that right away.” Noah was a rider who I had come in. He was small and had the build of a jockey, so it helped us to get a better reading when we were working on time trials. “Anything else? Did you ever hear from Slipper’s owner?”
“Nope. I sent him a certified letter with the total amount of veterinary costs plus boarding and rehabilitation but he hasn’t answered. He has until the first or he forfeits ownership. I reckon we won’t hear from him. The guy’s a dick and is only worried about money, so what does he want with a horse that fractured a cannon bone? It’s a pet now, and he has no time for pets.” I walked over to the chestnut Thoroughbred. When she had heard my voice, she came to her stall door and waited. “Morning, beautiful, how’s that leg feeling, the cold weather making it hurt?” I opened the latch to her stall and moved inside so I could rub my hands along the bandages. “It doesn’t feel like it’s flared up, which is good. When you get a chance, let’s get an X-ray on her leg.”
“Will do.” Syd wrote a few notes in the small pad he always kept in his front breast pocket.
I watched him for a few minutes as he tapped his pen against the paper, even though he was finished writing. “What’s on your mind?”
Steadfast (Iron Horse Book 3) Page 2