Kentucky Woman

by Jan Scarbrough

  “I know this is a surprise,” he conceded.

  She found her voice. “You bet it is.” Whatever Jack was up to, she didn’t need it. One Breckinridge man in a lifetime had been plenty, thank you very much.

  “Maybe I can explain myself better if we go into Johnny’s office.”

  Alex shrugged, not sure Jack could ever justify his crazy proposal. “This is one explanation I can’t wait to hear.”

  She strode down the shed row, paying no attention to the smells of manure, hay and horseflesh, and the early morning banter of Spanish-speaking voices.

  Inside Johnny’s office, she dropped her whip on the table beside the coffee pot, grabbed a Styrofoam cup and filled it with the strong coffee. Then she dumped three spoonfuls of powdered creamer into the cup. Ignoring Jack, who had come in behind her and shut the door, she perched on the edge of Johnny’s old desk and cradled the cup, letting the steam and aroma fill her nostrils.

  God, she needed the caffeine. She took a sip, lifting her gaze to rake it over the tall, black-haired man who filled the room with such authority.

  Her first sight of Jack Breckinridge in years had unnerved her, to say the least. Now in the close confines of the tiny office—crowded with a space heater, two hard chairs as shabby as the desk, and a small table against the far wall piled high with notebooks, racing magazines, bits of broken tack, an ancient radio and miscellaneous junk—Alex found it hard to breathe.

  The very air pulsed with tension. Or maybe it was her heart pounding. Or the fact that his spicy aftershave spiked her senses, making her alert and on edge.

  He slipped off his expensive camelhair coat, revealing a pair of dark gray cords and a lighter gray turtleneck sweater that looked like Armani. Jack draped the coat over a chair, his muscles bunching against the form-fitting sweater. Damn! He was hot, and she wasn’t thinking temperature.

  Even the way he poured himself a steaming cup of coffee from Johnny’s ancient coffee maker was a surprising treat to the eye. He didn’t add sugar or powdered creamer, just brought the cup up to his lips and cautiously tasted the strong brew.

  She tried not to stare. Tried not to act as if she cared about his presence in the office.

  What was this marriage proposal? It blew her mind.

  Alex took another sip of coffee. When she looked up, Jack was watching her over the rim of his cup. His steady gaze fired her body. This was damn awkward. She didn’t want to be melted by his chiseled features or by his eyes the color of a gray Kentucky morning. She didn’t need to complicate her already almost perfect life by stirrings of something she didn’t want.

  Or need.

  She had made the mistake of getting involved with the younger Breckinridge brother. And even though Jack had always been the responsible brother, he was still a Breckinridge.

  His expression softened. “You’ve loved horses all your life, haven’t you?”

  Where did that come from? She shrugged. “I’ve heard a theory that a person is either born with a horse gene or not. I guess I have it.”

  “I was born with it too.”

  “Horses are in your blood.”

  “My Kentucky blueblood,” he said with a touch of self-mockery in his voice.

  Alex offered a half-smile, tired of his stalling. “Are you ever going to explain yourself, Jack?”

  Jack felt his smile fade as he watched confusion sweep across Alex’s face and her eyes blur with questions. The spunky kid he had played with those long summers ago was all grown up. Those slim and delicate fingers holding the foam cup hardly seemed strong enough to control a galloping horse. Yet he had seen her do it with surprising skill and ease.

  She was tough and feisty. Brandon had found that out, hadn’t he? Alexis Marsden could be damn stubborn and independent, and she had no reason to feel warm and fuzzy about his family.

  Finishing his coffee, Jack tossed the cup into the trash can while Alex gazed at him. Could she read his heartache? Know of his dilemma? Certainly not. He was never one for revealing his emotions.

  “I don’t have all day, you know,” she pressed him. “I’ve got two more horses to ride and then a job to go to.”

  “Right.” He shuffled his feet. Shuffled his feet? Jackson Breckinridge Junior? The up-and-coming bank vice-president, workaholic and Jaycees Man of the Year? How could he stumble over the appropriate words?

  More importantly, how did he acknowledge his loss of respect for his kid brother? His need to salvage the family honor?

  Two weeks ago his parents had gotten the dreadful knock on the door. Some spit-polished Army chaplain had broken the awful news. Brandon lay dead along some god-forsaken Iraqi highway.

  Coming so soon after his grandmother’s recent death, Brandon’s passing had doubled his family obligations. The familiar pain of a beginning migraine throbbed behind Jack’s right eye.

  He schooled his features, pulling that comfortable mask of reserve over his face. “Did you hear about Brandon?”

  “Johnny told me.”

  Jack heard the raw emotion in her voice. He wanted to take Alex in his arms, but knew better than to try. After all, she had loved his brother enough to have his child.

  “I still can’t believe it. It’s shocking,” she said, averting her face.

  “It is hard to accept.” His voice sounded hollow even to his own ears. Moments of awkward silence followed.

  When she looked back at him, tears glistened on her lashes. She wiped them away. “How are your parents?”

  “They’re devastated, of course.”

  “I can understand.”

  Each held the other’s gaze. The back of his neck ached from the strain of the last month—and of the moment.

  “How are you doing, Jack?”

  He frowned and rubbed his neck, wondering how much to tell. “I must admit it’s a shock. First Nana and now Brandon.”

  “I heard about your grandmother’s death too. I’m sorry.” Alex sat her cup beside her on the desk. “You know I loved her.”

  He nodded. Alex had grown up on the farm where her mother had been his grandparents’ housekeeper and her father, the farm manager. “She loved you too, Alex, you and all your family.”

  “I know.”

  “Nana left Breckinridge Station to Brandon and me,” he said. “With Brandon gone, the farm is now mine.”

  Alex leaned forward. “Oh, Jack, that’s exciting for you, even under the circumstances.”

  His throat tightened. “Times like these cause people to take stock of their lives.”

  That was true to a point. He was at some sort of personal crossroads, what with the deaths of the two people dearest to him. Running Breckinridge Station would be a welcome change. He was tired of banking and all the social expectations that went along with it.

  “Is that why you asked me to marry you?”

  “Yes.” He fought the dull ache behind his eye.

  He’d never thought about marrying Alex until his brother died. He always hoped Brandon would step up and do the right thing by Alex.

  Jack let out a long breath full of frustration. His brother had been damn irresponsible to father Alex’s baby. Brandon had told him from the first. When he refused to marry Alex, Jack could have killed him.

  He didn’t go to their parents, but Jack made sure his brother didn’t continue his wild behavior by persuading him to enter the army. Whether it was fear of his father discovering the truth or fear of his own fatherhood, Brandon left Louisville after high school graduation.

  Ironically, their mother had never forgiven Jack for encouraging Brandon to enter the service.

  “Jack, we haven’t seen each other in a long time.” Alex’s stiff posture displayed her mistrust and hostility.

  “I realize that.” Alex didn’t deserve his brother’s betrayal. His parents didn’t deserve their youngest son’s dishonor.

  “You must have plenty of female friends to choose from,” she said reasoning aloud, “women better suited to your sort of lifesty
le.”

  “I do know many women,” he acknowledged.

  “Then why me?”

  “Because.” What could he say? He wasn’t at liberty to tell her the truth. He had to shield his parents. Jack’s head started to pound. His brother’s disgrace was his disgrace. He couldn’t tell Alex the primary motive for his proposal. Family honor. She had no reason to care about his obligation to protect the Breckinridge reputation and standing in the community. “Because.”

  No, he couldn’t tell her that any more than he could admit to secretly loving her a long time ago.

  “I hoped you’d do me a favor.” The words tumbled out of his mouth like a gift from a Greek muse. “My mother is pressuring me into marriage to a woman I don’t like.”

  Alex cocked a skeptical eyebrow. “What for?”

  “Mother wanted one of us to make a prestigious marriage, and with Brandon gone, she’s expecting me to do it. You know me, Alex. I don’t go in for that society stuff.”

  Alex seized upon his words. “This sounds like a movie. Not real life.”

  “It’s the truth.” Making up his mother’s matchmaking wasn’t far from the reality. Lately she had been pushing Miss Gloria Fenton, social-climbing debutante, at him.

  “Well, I guess I can see your mother pulling a stunt like that, but you’re a big boy, Jack. Why do you feel you have to do what she says?”

  “I’m the first born son, remember? It’s my duty to the family.”

  “I’m sorry.” She shook her head. “Find another candidate for your scheme.”

  “Alex, if you marry me, I’ll also provide a trust fund for you and your son. If things don’t work out between us, you’ll never have to worry about money again.”

  Alex folded her arms across her chest and glared at him. “I don’t want or need your money. I’m perfectly capable of caring for my family.”

  “No one is questioning your ability. I’m asking you to do me a favor and I’m making it worthwhile.”

  “I can’t marry someone I don’t love.”

  He gritted his teeth. He had anticipated her reaction, but not her bluntness. “No, I suppose you can’t.”

  Tension crackled between them. Now what? He had tried to do the noble thing and fix Brandon’s horrible mistake. Alex was as obstinate as he remembered. He wasn’t sure how to sway her.

  Johnny Marsden burst into the office at that moment, bringing with him a blast of cold air. It did little to cool Jack’s flushed face.

  The trainer seemed completely unaware of the friction in the room. He poured a cup of coffee and sat down. “Greco’s fine. Good piece of riding out there, kid.”

  “Thanks, Uncle Johnny.”

  “When it’s foggy,” Marsden explained, “you never know what might happen on the track.”

  “Yeah, the day’s been full of surprises,” Alex muttered, glancing at Jack.

  Marsden’s eyes narrowed. He slowly looked back and forth between them, taking stock of the situation. “Anything goin’ on I should know about?”

  Alex uncrossed her arms and put her hands flat on the desk beside her, leaning forward again. “Oh, no. Not a thing.”

  So Alex could avoid the truth when it suited her purpose. Jack touched his fingertip to his forehead in mock salute. She glared at him, evidently not amused.

  “Break’s over and the track’s open,” the trainer announced. “Best get going, then.”

  “Sure, Johnny.” Alex shoved off the desk. Grabbing her helmet, she stuffed her hair under it, buckled the chin strap, and started for the door.

  Jack grabbed her leather whip. “You’re forgetting something.”

  His words stopped her. She turned to face him.

  “Your crop, Ms. Marsden.” He placed the handle in her outstretched hand, but for some perverse reason, didn’t let go of the other end.

  She glared at him. “Thank you, Mr. Breckinridge.”

  “My offer still stands, Alex.” He released his hold.

  “Don’t hold your breath.” Snatching her stick, she fled out the door.

  Chapter Three

  What had she been thinking? Alex wanted to slap her palm against her forehead in frustration. Instead she took the wet, iron skillet from her mother’s grasp and began to dry it with a terrycloth dishtowel.

  “I can’t believe you, Alexis Anne.” Evelyn Marsden stood at the kitchen sink, her frown deepening. “How could you turn Jack down?”

  A familiar pang shot through Alex’s stomach. Why did her mother always make her feel like she was five years old? Defensive. As if her judgment was flawed.

  Alex took a deep breath, hoping to steady her nerves. Her relationship with her mother was complicated. One minute Alex was the child. Next, the parent. In rare moments, they were friends. That’s when she did dumb things, like complain about Jack Breckinridge’s idiotic proposal.

  “I’m sorry about Brandon.” Evelyn shook her head. “He was such a pretty boy.”

  Alex rolled her eyes at the thought of hard ass, hard muscled Brandon Breckinridge being called pretty.

  Her mother turned off the hot water and emptied the dish pan of suds down the drain. “With Brandon gone, you should marry Jackson.” She took the dry skillet from her daughter’s hands.

  Now Alex was in for a lecture. She could see it coming, big time. “I don’t love the man, and his proposal is purely self-serving.”

  “I don’t care what his motives are, if it can get us out of here and back to Breckinridge Station where we belong,” Evelyn said. “With Brandon dead and gone, there won’t be any more nice presents twice a year.”

  Alex set her jaw. Angry resentment shot through her. Hadn’t she busted her butt to make sure her mother and son had everything they needed? They weren’t destitute, by any means. Everyone had credit card debt, didn’t they? And a car payment.

  “We don’t need help from a Breckinridge.”

  Evelyn dried her hands. Her face softened, and she pressed her lips together while she surveyed her only child. “I’m sorry, honey. I know I must sound ungrateful and selfish. If it wasn’t for you, I wouldn’t even have a roof over my head.”

  Reaching out, Evelyn pulled Alex into a one-arm hug. Alex ducked her head against her mother’s thin shoulder and accepted the peace offering.

  How frail her mother felt. At sixty-six, Evelyn was still good-looking and vain enough to know it. But sometimes Alex forgot her mother wasn’t the robust woman of her childhood. The heart attack two years ago had zapped her mother of strength. Nevertheless, Evelyn always spoke her mind, which was something Alex had gotten used to over the years. Her mother didn’t mean half the things she said, and so Alex had learned to take her words with a grain of salt.

  No matter her faults, Evelyn had created a loving, safe atmosphere for Tyler in their cramped two bedroom apartment. Alex could always count on her to be there for both of them. Just like Alex had been there for her mother when Daddy died. That’s what families were for, wasn’t it?

  Alex shrugged out of the embrace, shaking free of the sentimentality that welled within her chest and threatened her burning eyes.

  “It’s time for Tyler to go to bed,” Evelyn said gently. “Do you want me to get him ready?”

  Alex smiled in appreciation. “No, I’ll do it.”

  She pushed open the kitchen door and walked into the darkened living room. A white glare pooled from the TV onto the floor. Dressed in red and blue striped pajamas, her son sat hunched on the sofa hugging his knees, his bare feet peeping from the flannel pajama bottoms. Big feet. Just like Brandon’s.

  Regret seeped through her. Brandon would never know his son. Long ago she’d given up thoughts of them being a family, but a man should know his son.

  Like a zombie with a glazed look in his eyes, Tyler was transfixed on the television screen. His only movement was an occasional flick of an index finger when he pressed a button on the remote control. Beside him, the family cat lay curled atop of a throw pillow.

  “Have you
finished your homework?”

  No answer.

  Alex reached out and confiscated the remote.

  That got his attention. “Hey! What are you doing?”

  “I asked you a question.”

  “Huh?”

  “Homework.”

  “Oh, I did that when I came home from school. Granny helped me.”

  Chalk up another debt to her mother. Alex smiled down at her tousle-headed son. “Well, then I guess you’re ready for bed once you brush your teeth.”

  “Ah, do I hafta?”

  She folded her arms across her chest and put on her stern, no-nonsense look.

  Tyler glanced up and frowned. “Okay, I’m goin’.”

  “Thank you.”

  Tyler untangled his legs and padded into the bathroom while Alex clicked off the TV and shooed away the cat. She started to remove the red chenille slipcover that covered their worn sofa.

  “Let me help,” Evelyn offered.

  The two of them made short work of converting the sleeper sofa into Tyler’s bed. It was lumpy in the middle and dreadfully uncomfortable, but for a slight boy, who slept like a log, it worked fine.

  Tyler tramped into the living room and crawled into bed. “Can I watch TV?”

  “Not on your life. Tomorrow’s a school day.”

  When had she started sounding like her mother? Of course, Tyler knew he had school the next day. Odd how one’s best intentions faded once becoming a parent. Responsibility for a child’s life was a heavy, although joyous, burden.

  Alex picked up a book from the stack beside the computer table. “How about a chapter from The Black Stallion’s Filly?”

  “Okay.” Tyler sounded resigned, but that was just for show. He was smart and possessed a vivid imagination. Alex had been reading to him since he was six months old. Unlike most kids, Tyler didn’t like Harry Potter. He preferred tales of horses or animals. They were slowly reading Walter Farley’s classic series of Black Stallion books, the ones she’d enjoyed as a child.

  Alex sat down beside him on the sofa-bed, circled him with her left arm and drew him close. Tyler’s hair smelled of baby shampoo.