Once Upon Forever

by Becky Lee Weyrich

  Once Upon Forever

  Becky Lee Weyrich

  Copyright

  Diversion Books

  A Division of Diversion Publishing Corp.

  443 Park Avenue South, Suite 1008

  New York, NY 10016

  www.DiversionBooks.com

  Copyright © 1994 by Becky Lee Weyrich

  All rights reserved, including the right to reproduce this book or portions thereof in any form whatsoever.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or locales is entirely coincidental.

  For more information, email info@diversionbooks.com

  First Diversion Books edition June 2014

  ISBN: 978-1-62681-330-4

  Also by Becky Lee Weyrich

  Swan’s Way

  Savannah Scarlett

  Rainbow Hammock

  Captive of Desire

  Sands of Destiny

  The Scarlet Thread

  Once Upon Forever

  Summer Lightning

  Silver Tears

  Tainted Lilies

  Almost Heaven

  Whispers in Time

  Sweet Forever

  Rapture’s Slave

  Gypsy Moon

  Hot Winds from Bombay

  The Thistle and the Rose

  Forever, For Love

  To Pat Laye, for being my specialfriend and #1 pen pal.

  To Bill Laye, for all those great lunches.

  My thanks and love to both!

  Chapter One

  Bluefield Farm, Kentucky

  August 20, 1861

  Everyone in Fayette County knew that eventually Larissa Flemingate Courtney would marry one of the Breckinridge twins of Bluefield. The question was, which one. No one spent more time pondering the matter than Larissa herself. In her own way, she loved them both. So how could she possibly choose between handsome, serious, compassionate Hunter, the elder by seven minutes, and his equally handsome, but unpredictable daredevil of a brother, Jordan? Jordan was the one who got the three of them into scrapes as they were growing up. Hunter always got them out.

  Larissa’s mother had sent her to the library earlier, demanding that she think through her choices and come to an immediate decision. But the harder she thought about it, the more confused she became. Then the storm had begun and the sound of the rain pounding against the tall windows had lulled her to sleep.

  Her dreams were anything but peaceful. She’d been fighting two men, screaming for help, while one of the horse barns went up in flames. The Thoroughbreds’ cries of pain and fear had torn at her heart. Wrenching free of her two attackers, she dashed into the burning building, mindless of the danger, bent on saving Bluefield’s prize mares and stallions.

  Larissa twisted in her chair, grimacing in her sleep as she felt the heat, the terror. Her sleeve caught fire. She felt the searing pain in her arm as she tried to beat out the flames. Suddenly, at the moment when it seemed that all was lost, she spied a shining bridge of light—all colors like a rainbow—and a voice called to her: “Come across, darling. I’m waiting for you. I need you, and there’s so little time.”

  Larissa rubbed her arm, shivering from the terrible dream that seemed almost real it was so familiar. She’d had this same vision many times before when she was visiting at Bluefield. She always woke up before its end.

  Her mother’s voice made her jump. “Well, Larissa? Have you made your decision yet?”

  Mrs. Courtney had entered the library at Bluefield without a sound. Now she stood by the door, waiting to hear her sixteen-year-old daughter’s answer to the perplexing question. She received only silence, however.

  “Larissa, you begged me to bring you to Bluefield so that you could make up your mind,” her mother reminded her. “We came here to settle this matter once and for all. You’ve had a week already, and it will soon be time to return to Lexington.”

  “But the week’s gone by so quickly. It isn’t long enough,” Larissa argued, smoothing her damp palms down the skirt of her lavender-sprigged cotton frock.

  Exasperated, Mrs. Courtney replied, “You’ve had your whole life to make this decision, Larissa. We’ve all been patient with you up till now, but you owe it to the Breckinridges to give Jordan and Hunter your answer before we leave.”

  Larissa stared out the library window at the rain pounding the rose garden, turning the ground below Mrs. Breckinridge’s prize bushes into a rainbow of fragile petals. Beyond the garden, the horse farm’s rolling fields of bluegrass looked like undulating waves on a restless sea. The storm had raged most of the afternoon. Even its high winds and sheeting rain fell far short of the tempest gripping Larissa’s mind and heart.

  “Why do I have to marry either of them?” she asked quietly, almost as if she were talking only to herself. “Why can’t life simply go on the way it’s always been—the three of us. One for all and all for one? We’ve shared such lovely times growing up. How can I put an end to all that?”

  Mrs. Courtney’s voice took on an impatient edge. “Because you’re not a child any longer, Larissa, and neither are Hunter and Jordan. It’s unseemly for the three of you to go romping about the countryside as you did when you were youngsters. Besides, you know very well that neither of the twins will marry until you decide between them. You, Larissa, hold their fate in your hands. Colonel Breckinridge has decreed that the son who marries first shall have Bluefield, while the other twin will inherit Broad Acres along with all its problems. So, you’re not only deciding your own future, but the fortunes of Hunter and Jordan and the entire Breckinridge line as well.”

  “It’s not fair to put this all on me!” Larissa cried, allowing some glint of childish resentment to slip out. “Why can’t I have more time?”

  “I wish it were in my power to grant you more, dear,” her mother answered with a sigh. “But now that war’s been declared, there’s simply no time left. Hunter is already drilling his cavalry unit for duty, and I’m sure Jordan will ride with his brother to fight. Need I point out the necessity for haste in this matter? Should they leave with this unsettled, you might find the choice taken out of your hands by a Confederate bullet, my dear.”

  Larissa shuddered slightly at the vision her mother’s harsh words evoked. This all seemed great sport to see Hunter and Jordan, strutting about in their fine new uniforms while they bragged about how they’d whip the Rebs in jig time and be home before Christmas. But the very thought of battle and bullets and blood froze Larissa’s heart. She didn’t want them to go. Why, without Hunter and Jordan, her whole world would be turned upside down. And she couldn’t bring herself to think of one twin without the other—the way the dark hair waved over their foreheads in identical fashion, the way the passionate lights in their black eyes always betrayed their emotions before she could read it in their faces, the way they both sat a horse with a slight list to the right so that from a distance she could identify a rider as one of the brothers. But which one?

  She closed her lavender-blue eyes for a moment, trying to think, trying to make herself give up one twin for the other.

  “I can’t choose,” she said finally. “I love them both.”

  “Larissa, shame on you! Why, that’s positively indecent! Besides, you needn’t love either of them to make your choice. Good common sense, not your heart, should be your guide in something as important as the proper marriage. I’ll leave you now to consider this matter further. But before I go, I must remind you that we leave for Lexington in only two days. I want the name of my future son-in-law before our carria
ge rolls out of Bluefield’s drive.”

  Larissa sat for a long time after her mother left her, staring out the windows at the retreating storm, and twirling one sausage curl the color of corn silk around her fingers. She had been certain until they arrived here that she’d made her decision. Deep down she had begun thinking of herself as Mrs. Jordan Breckinridge. She had decided upon Jordy because he could always make her laugh and forget the war or anything else more serious than which gown she would wear to which ball. But on closer consideration, she wondered if she could go through life with the same careless abandon of a bright butterfly flitting from flower to flower. She wasn’t sure. There were times when she needed calm and peace and thoughtful reverie, when she longed for a companion who shared that simple need.

  “Mrs. Hunter Breckinridge.” She tested the sound of the name in the silence of the library. It had a pleasingly calm ring. But the calm didn’t last. “Jordan and Hunter. Hunter and Jordan,” Larissa muttered, desperate for a flash from heaven that would give her the proper answer.

  The identical twin brothers had always seemed to her like halves of a single whole. Since earliest childhood, she had roamed the fields with the two of them, ridden Bluefield’s fine Thoroughbreds through the woods with them, danced with them, laughed with them, and adored both twins equally. But something had changed in the past week. Maybe, now that Larissa was a more mature sixteen, she was seeing the pair as they really were for the first time in her life. Or maybe the serious business of war was making her look at life from a different perspective.

  As hard as Larissa tried not to think of the war, it kept coming back to mind. The longer she waited to marry, the shorter time she’d have to be with her husband before he rode away. Tears came to her eyes just thinking about that parting. In spite of what both Hunter and Jordan said about how grand it would be to ride out against the Southern Rebels, defeat them in a month, and then return home victorious, she couldn’t quite believe it would be that simple.

  To distract her mind from the unpleasant subject, she rose and went to the bookshelves, searching until she found a naughty French novel she’d been reading the last time she visited Bluefield. She unlaced her tight shoes and slipped them off, then rolled down her stockings and discarded them as well. Finally, she was comfortable, with her bare feet tucked up under her in Colonel Breckinridge’s massive, leather reading chair.

  She plunged into the story eagerly. But to her dismay, the torrid tale of love and heartbreak only served to make her yearn for something, although she couldn’t quite put her finger on exactly what that something was. She wasn’t even sure it had a name, but the feeling made her more restless than ever.

  After a time, Larissa sighed and closed the book. She was in no mood to spend a quiet afternoon alone with her thoughts. She couldn’t imagine where Hunter and Jordan had run off to today, but whatever their plan, it hadn’t included entertaining her. By ignoring her and leaving her bored, they could both be faulted with contributing to her nagging indecision.

  She put aside the novel and chose another—a slender tome entitled Legends of the Moonbow at Cumberland Falls. The author was Hunter Breckinridge.

  “Why, I’d forgotten all about this.” She paused in thought. “Hunter must have written it ten years ago, when he was my age. I remember Jordy teasing him unmercifully about his ‘great literary accomplishment.’”

  Hunter had always been the man of letters in the Breckinridge family. Everyone knew that he kept a secret journal, but no one, not even Larissa, had ever been allowed to read its closely guarded entries.

  Larissa settled back in her chair with Hunter’s work. Beautifully illustrated, the book told in words that read like poetry of the natural phenomenon that occurred at Cumberland Falls in Kentucky’s eastern mountains on nights of the full moon—a shimmering lunar rainbow that appeared in the mist. Along with documented facts about the area, Hunter related tales of ancient Indians worshiping at the sixty-foot falls, of people disappearing over the moonbow, and of magic and mystery present at the site to this very day.

  For a long time, Larissa remained entranced by Hunter’s words. This was a side of him she seldom saw. He was a mystical, romantic visionary. A man who seemed as fascinated by the past and the future as he was with the present. Reading his words again after so many years touched Larissa deeply. She felt for the first time as if she knew the real Hunter Breckinridge. Not the man who worked tirelessly at managing Bluefield, who could calculate lists of figures in his head and tell the breeding of a Thoroughbred by simply gazing into the animal’s eyes. This side of him was not all facts and figures and work. No, not at all. He was a sensitive being with more heart and soul than his finest stallion.

  The short book came to an end all too soon. Without the stories of the moonbow to occupy her mind any longer, Larissa’s thoughts returned to her present delimma.

  “Which one?” she murmured. “Which brother will I wed?”

  She got up and walked over to the wide French doors that opened onto a terrace overlooking the west garden. The roses were a riot of pinks, golds, and scarlets. Their mingled perfumes hung heavy, almost cloying, in the hot, humid air. The whole farm looked half asleep. Nothing moved. Only the bees droned on in their never-ending search for sweetness.

  Suddenly, a movement in the distance caught her attention. Shading her eyes against the bright sun that had just broken through after the storm, she noticed a rider coming straight for the house at breakneck speed. As he galloped his horse through the arched gate to the garden, Larissa recognized the oncoming figure—Jordan Breckinridge—and her heart beat a bit faster.

  “Jordy!” she called, stepping onto the terrace. “Where have you been all day? If you’re looking for Hunter, he’s not here.”

  Jordan flung himself down from the saddle. His shirt was open to his belt, showing a sweating expanse of deeply tanned chest. Larissa found it hard not to stare at the dark man-hair that grew like a forest from his neck down. The sight made her feel a funny tingling inside.

  “Hell, I know Hunter’s not here. But you are. Why do you think I came in such a hurry? Ol’ Hunter’s right busy at the moment, so it’s just you and me, little darlin’.”

  In spite of how many times she’d heard it, Larissa always blushed when Jordan called her that. Hunter would never have taken such liberty. He treated her like a woman while it seemed that Jordan still teased her constantly and looked upon her as the girl she had always been. Their outrageous flirting had gone on for years—more a game between them than anything of a serious nature. But now it seemed different somehow.

  “Where is Hunter?” she asked, perching on the damp stone banister of the terrace.

  Without even thinking about what she was doing, Larissa allowed her skirt to ride up just enough so Jordan got a tempting glimpse of bare feet and ankles. His gaze went straight to the bait.

  Jordan cleared his throat, then looked up at her face. “Can’t tell you where he is. It’s a secret.” He let his hot, lazy gaze travel over Larissa’s sweat-dampened frock until it stopped at the tight cotton bodice.

  His refusal to answer annoyed Larissa. “Hunter’s never kept secrets from me. I want to see him. I’ve just finished reading his book about the moonbow and I’ve questions I’m dying to ask him. Besides, Mother’s just told me that we’ll be here only two more days. I want to make the most of my time. Why won’t you tell me where he is?”

  “Nobody’s keeping secrets from you, Larissa. I’m not sure where he is right this minute, that’s all.”

  Larissa’s attitude went instantly from anger to alarm. “You mean to tell me he’s off somewhere in this storm? Jordan, we’d better go find him. Anything could have happened. A tree might have fallen on him. Or that crazy, wild stallion of his might have been frightened by the lightning. He could have taken a spill. He could be badly hurt.”

  Scenes from the romantic novel she’d been reading flashed through her mind—the dashing hero, thro
wn from his mount, lying in pain until the heroine, weeping and sighing, came to rescue him and nurse him back to health. Larissa could see herself doing that for Hunter. Yes, she definitely could.

  “Don’t be a goose, darlin’. Hunter’s never been thrown in his life. But you’re right, he could well be in the saddle this afternoon.”

  Something about the smirk on Jordan’s face and the way he said the words made Larissa suspicious. The two of them were up to something and she meant to find out exactly what.

  Setting her chin at a haughty angle, she demanded, “Jordan, you take me to find Hunter right this instant! I mean to get to the bottom of what’s going on.”

  Jordan looked down at the lawn and dug the toe of his scuffed riding boot into a soft patch of clover.

  “Aw, hell, Larissa, what do we need Hunter for?”

  “Talk louder, Jordy. You know I hate it when you mumble.”

  In two long strides, he was on the terrace, standing so close to her that Larissa could feel his heat and smell horse and sweat and bourbon and musk on him. The heady scent fairly took her breath away. More amazing, the odor smelled sweeter to her than any roses that ever bloomed. She breathed him in deeply.

  “Is this better?” he asked in a husky whisper.

  “Well, I can hear you now, but you—” She paused, not sure what she was about to say. “You smell, Jordy.”

  “You do, too, darlin’,” he said with an impish grin. “You smell like sweet, hot woman flesh.”

  Larissa gasped and took a step back. “You stop saying things like that. It isn’t decent.”

  “It’s a lot more decent than what I’m thinking right about now.”

  Larissa felt uncomfortable suddenly. There was something about the hot glitter in Jordan’s black eyes and the tenseness of his stance that set her on edge. He’d been drinking, there was no doubt about that. And when he was in his cups, he could be highly unpredictable.