by Mia Sheridan
We engaged in a stare-off for another tense couple of beats. He was right. If my father sold that label to him, it would be just the thing he needed to make a comeback. An exclusive, coveted collector’s brand brought back to life and only served in his establishment. Maybe a small renovation . . . some marketing. Yeah, it’d do the trick. My body tensed in anger.
And yet you couldn’t be bothered with it until you knew I was dying and would be out of the picture, my father had said. Hell, he was right. I had made my own success. I had never especially wanted or needed Caspian Skye because it belonged to my father. But to think of it in some stranger’s hands? And especially this stranger? It made my blood boil.
And yet Edwin Bruce had been making offers to my dad for years. Edwin had shown a far greater interest in Caspian Skye than I had. His business plan was solid, and he might have earned the Caspian Skye label. I, on the other hand, clearly had not. A fact my father had pointed out to me.
Then again, my father had also said he wasn’t interested in the bourbon business. That had been my grandfather’s hobby. My father loved Graystone Hill for the land, the horses. So if he wasn’t interested in the bourbon, why hadn’t he sold it to Edwin Bruce long before now? What had he been saving it for all this time? Or who?
Me? Was that even plausible?
A beat of emotion at the idea alone flitted through me, but I didn’t dwell on what I had no real way of knowing. What I did know was that I wasn’t going to give it up to Edwin Bruce without a fight.
I stood. Edwin didn’t so much as blink. Nor did he stand. “I think we both know how this is going to end, Edwin. Buy some golf clubs. It’s time to retire.” I turned, letting myself out of his office, not even glancing at his assistant as I stalked by and out the front door into the brisk New York air.
**********
I couldn’t fucking focus. I paced my office for a few minutes, finally standing in front of the window, looking out at the New York skyscape, unseeing. I felt antsy, uptight. I’d give anything to be able to hop on a horse and gallop somewhere fast and far, the pounding of hooves loosening the thoughts in my mind and allowing them to fly away, the air rushing at my face, the exhilaration of speed causing that soaring feeling in my chest.
I used to get this feeling inside me . . . sort of like a choir, rising, falling, only one without sound. It would squeeze at my heart one second and then make it feel lighter than air the next.
Belle. What are you doing right now? I needed to stop thinking about her. Her words. Her presence. But how could I? She consumed my thoughts.
I put my hands in my pockets, picturing her in the training yard with the horses, her auburn braid trailing over her shoulder, glinting red in the sun. I pictured the heartbreaking sight of her crying against Mona Lisa’s neck as the rain fell around her, envisioned the way she’d looked later . . . lying in the dying glow of the fire, her skin flushed, her expression filled with wonder-laced passion. “Ah, Christ,” I hissed, running my hands through my hair and holding on to my scalp for a moment. I couldn’t fucking stop thinking about her. She tormented me. Thirteen days of being tormented to be exact.
And you didn’t even say goodbye, you coward. You didn’t say goodbye, and you haven’t called her. What did she think? What could she think?
My thoughts scattered with the ringing of my cell phone. I pulled it from my pocket, glancing at the screen before taking the call. Derek. I gave him a brief rundown of my meeting with Edwin Bruce, ending the call quickly. I’d been brusque, I knew, but I wasn’t in the mood to talk.
When I turned from the window I was surprised to see Sondra standing in my doorway. How long had she been there? Her face morphed into a smile as she walked into my office, her body shapely in a fitted emerald-colored dress. “Well hello, handsome.”
Her floral perfume met my nose as she leaned in, kissing me on the cheek, and then using her thumb to wipe off the lipstick she must have left there. “Why the glower? Rough day?” she asked, her hips swaying as she walked to the chair and sat.
I sighed, moving to the front of my desk and leaning on the edge. “Yeah.” I rubbed at one eye. “And long. I’m just tired.”
“Poor darling.” She tilted her head. “Why don’t you let me cook for you tonight? We were interrupted that night at your place, and I only saw you for a minute at the fundraiser last week. Some alone time is overdue, don’t you think?” She gave me a flirtatious smile.
I frowned and Sondra looked wounded for a moment. “Don’t look so excited.”
I shook my head. “No, no, I’m sorry, Sondra. It’s just . . .” What did I say? I know we started something but . . . I met someone? I can’t get a different girl out of my head? I look at you and all I want is Belle? A girl I barely know, a girl with a messy braid, calloused hands, and dust smeared on her cheek? I let out a frustrated breath. I needed to forget about Belle. I’d already determined there wasn’t another choice. Still, I didn’t want to lead Sondra on either. I wasn’t interested. Not anymore. Maybe I never had been.
Maybe my whole life was a big game of pretend. Maybe? Like hell. “Listen, Sondra—”
“Brant, I know what this is. You’re all twisted up because your father is dying. It’s understandable, darling. What you need is a little time to get your head back in the game so to speak.” She moved toward me, taking my hands in hers. Her palms were baby soft, smooth, not a callous to be found. “Just remember.” She paused, her tongue darting out to lick her bottom lip. “I’m not the type of woman you keep waiting for long.”
She gave my hands one final squeeze and then turned, sashaying out of my office, the door clicking quietly behind her.
I let out a breath, relieved she was gone, but her final words repeated in my head. I’m not the type of woman you keep waiting for long.
And then the words my father had said, anger lacing his voice.
Isabelle’s the type of woman who will expect you to marry her.
Could my father have been right about that? I still didn’t think so, but . . . I mean, fuck, what if he was right? What if, because of her upbringing, Isabelle was so naïve she thought sleeping together meant I’d marry her? Me leaving like that must have felt like a desertion. Especially after she’d already been left to helplessly fend for herself once, even if under very different circumstances. Abandoned.
I dropped into the chair behind my desk, turning on my laptop. I had so much damn work to do, and yet I couldn’t fucking focus.
Look her up, my father had said. I hadn’t, because looking at her story as a news article on the Internet sounded intrusive, painful. Now that I’d heard the details from the woman who’d been there, the horror of the memory clear in her voice, the grief etched into her expression, how could I stomach experiencing it reduced to a few unemotional paragraphs typed out in black and white? And yet, despite my reservations, I brought up a search bar. I still didn’t know her married name, but now that I knew the crime she’d been a victim of and the rough timeframe, finding the information was easy using specific search terms: Kentucky home invasion, lone survivor, family murdered in their home. Fuck me. I already felt sick.
I pulled up the first article, scanning through it. It was a summary of what Isabelle had told me. I already knew the events, yet it still caused my chest to hurt, my jaw to clench. I clicked on the second article, speed-reading, scrolling down the screen. I stopped, one line jumping out at me that I hadn’t seen in the other article. Zeke Harvey, the man who’d invaded their home that evening, killing Isabelle’s family and leaving her with scars on her body and in her soul that she’d wear for the rest of her life, had held them tied up for four hours. Four. Hours.
I groaned aloud. She hadn’t told me that. I wondered why, wondered if the memory of those hours were filled with so much unfathomable anguish that she couldn’t even speak of them. To watch your child cry for you to save her the way her daughter must have done . . . I clenched my eyes shut, closing the top of my computer without even turning
it off. No wonder her heart had broken all over again the night Mona Lisa couldn’t comfort her foal, the one Isabelle must have known was crying for its mother. No wonder.
I leaned my elbows on the desk, holding my head in my hands for long minutes. What she’d gone through . . . it was even worse than I’d thought, if that were possible. And the feeling roiling through my gut, shooting into my limbs and compelling me to do something was possession. Protection. Distress that I was here and she was there. And yet, she was safe now, safe at Graystone Hill. Her refuge.
But what if . . . fuck, maybe my father was right. Isabelle needed more than a house and a job. She needed someone who knew. She needed someone who understood her emotions when a foal went missing, or a mother horse died during labor, or a million other things that might come up during a lifetime that would pierce her heart and cause her more suffering, even if only for an hour or two. Surely the people surrounding her at Graystone Hill knew that she’d been through a harrowing tragedy, if not all the details. Only I knew the details from her perspective. Only I had seen the look in her eyes as she’d recounted that horrific day. Only I had witnessed the way her strength waned and her composure crumbled in the midst of an event that triggered her terrible grief. That in itself was a certain responsibility, wasn’t it? Isabelle had suffered enough in this lifetime. I couldn’t knowingly leave her to fight her future demons on her own. If I could do anything to ensure she didn’t suffer anymore, that’s what I was going to do.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
Isabelle
“Hey, Is, come to Patty’s with us tonight. Let us buy you a birthday drink?”
I turned around, putting my hands on my hips. “Eli, how in the world did you know it’s my birthday?”
He winked, brushing his straight brown hair off his forehead. “I have my sources.” He smiled that boyish smile of his, his dimple deepening. “What do you say?”
I smiled but shook my head. “I don’t drink, Eli.”
He leaned his hip against the nearest horse stall. I hung up the bridle I’d just attempted to put on the stallion I was training. He’d been resistant. I’d been quietly persistent, and though I hadn’t bridled him, in the end I thought we’d had a good day. “I’ll buy you a birthday Coke. Come on, we’ll play some pool. It’ll be fun. I promise to have you home early.”
I opened my mouth to say no, but he looked so hopeful, and truth be told, all I would do was sit in the house tonight and stress over what to do with that money I’d found, who to call, where to begin to look for answers for where it came from. I sighed. “Okay, fine.”
Eli grinned. “Don’t sound so miserable. This is a party, not a funeral.”
I mustered a laugh, though the word funeral didn’t do much to move my mind, or heart, away from Ethan and the questions swirling in my brain. “I’m agreeing, as long as you don’t make it a party. And don’t tell anyone it’s my birthday.”
“You’re tough.” He winked. “But I promise. We will not party.” His grin told me he couldn’t be trusted, but I laughed, shooting him a look over my shoulder as I called, “Come pick me up at the house when you’re ready.”
“Will do. Gotta go home and change and then I’ll be back by eight.”
I waved my hand in acknowledgment of what he’d said, and continued up the hill toward the house.
At eight o’clock on the dot, Eli knocked once and then opened the front door, peeking his head in, his eyes lighting up when he saw me buttoning my coat in the foyer. “Hey birthday girl.”
I laughed. “Since when have you ever knocked?”
“I’m being a gentleman.”
“This isn’t a date, Eli.”
His face fell slightly and I felt a pang of guilt, but I also didn’t want to lead him on. I’d only ever had friendly feelings for Eli and I only ever would. But his expression morphed into what looked like a sincere smile as he took me by my arm. “It is a date. A friendly date. I’m taking my friend out for an anti-party birthday celebration.”
I laughed. “That doesn’t even make any sense.”
Eli grinned. “It will, birthday girl, it will.”
Patty’s was a casual bar just outside the downtown area. I’d never been inside but had driven past it before, and I knew from listening to the guys at the stable that it was a popular hangout. Eli parked his truck in the back parking lot and we went inside together, the smell of beer and fried food greeting my nose as we walked through the door. A country song played from the old-fashioned jukebox, reducing the chatter and laughter of the decent-sized crowd to a background hum.
Eli took my hand and led me to the rear of the bar where there were two pool tables. Several of the men from Graystone Hill were already standing around one, engaged in a game. They greeted me enthusiastically, a trainer named Joe throwing an arm around my shoulders. “Now how did that fool convince you to come out with us tonight when you’ve always turned me down cold?”
I laughed, nudging him in his side, opening my mouth to respond when Eli cut in, “Because you didn’t even remember her birthday.”
I shot him a glare. “I knew you couldn’t be trusted.”
He grinned and winked. “Not when it comes to birthdays. You deserve to be celebrated, Isabelle.”
I huffed out a breath, but I couldn’t hold on to my ire because Eli was sweet and his heart was in the right place.
“We got a birthday girl in the house?” Joe called out. “This calls for a round of drinks.”
“Just a Coke for me,” I said, and Joe gave me a mock look of horror but didn’t argue, making his way to the bar.
I sat on a stool at a high-top table and watched the game being played, chatting with Eli. I was glad I’d agreed to come. Birthdays and holidays were hard—a reminder of the missing people no longer there to celebrate them. A reminder that I was alone. For the past three years, they’d been days to endure, nothing more. But this year, despite my troubled thoughts about Ethan, I was reminded I had friends, people who cared. And perhaps I deserved one night to be among friends I trusted, to push aside the worries running rampant through my mind, and ignore errant thoughts of Brant that still persisted despite my best efforts. This was good. At the very least, this was a much-needed distraction. Tomorrow I’d call someone and ask for help, advice—direction—in what to do about the money I’d found in that storage unit. Normally, I would have called Aaron. After all, he’d been in business with my husband. But after what Paige had divulged . . . I no longer trusted him as a person. In fact, given what I’d learned about Aaron and the company’s financial struggles, I wondered if the briefcase was related somehow. Was Aaron stealing from the company and had Ethan been trying to protect it? Or was it the other way around? Or perhaps the money was simply a windfall from when the business was in better times, and Ethan was hiding it for an entirely different reason?
“Headache?” Eli asked.
I dropped my fingers from my temples. I hadn’t even realized they’d gone there of their own accord, attempting to ease away the headache my thoughts were bringing on. And here I was telling myself I was letting go for the night. “Just the beginnings of one.” I raised my glass of caffeinated soda. “This is already helping.”
“Good, how about a game of pool?”
I shook my head. “Oh, no, I’ve never played.”
“Say what? Well, it’s time you learned. Come on, it’s your birthday. Start the brand new year off learning something new.”
“I guess I can’t argue with that. Okay.” I stood and Eli handed me a pool cue, showing me how to hold it and explaining the simple rules of the game.
“Lean over the table,” he instructed from behind me. “Line up your shot. Good. Now—”
I held the pool cue pointed at the striped ball, waiting for the rest of Eli’s instructions, his words having suddenly cut off. Confused, I raised my head, my eyes meeting those of Brant’s staring at me from across the table. I started. What the . . . heck? His expression was enigmatic, his stan
ce casual, and yet his fists were clenched at his sides. Despite myself, my traitorous heart lurched with happiness. Damn. I stood, Eli’s warmth behind me falling away, my gaze still locked on Brant’s. His eyes moved from me to over my shoulder where I assumed Eli was still standing.
Flustered, I glanced behind me. Eli’s lips were thinned and there was disappointment in his gaze. Brant moved around the pool table, closing the space between us. I wasn’t sure what to do so I just watched him approach, not saying anything and not making a move to greet him.
Did he have to look so incredibly gorgeous? It really wasn’t fair, because all I wanted to feel at his reappearance was annoyed.
“This is the last place I expected to find you.” He looked behind me, raising his chin. “Eli.”
“Hey Brant. I didn’t know you’d be back.” Eli sounded less than excited by the discovery.
“Well. I am.” There was something sort of challenging in his expression and when I looked at Eli, he had a similar look on his face. Now I was annoyed.
I handed the pool cue to Eli. “That headache that was coming on has gotten worse. Mind dropping me at home, Eli? I appreciate you getting me out of the house for a little while tonight.”
“You sure, Is?”
“Yeah, I’m sure.”
“I’ll drive you home,” Brant offered.
I grabbed my purse off the table next to us. “You just got here. Don’t leave on my account.”
“I came here looking for you.”
I waved at the other guys.
“Night, Isabelle. Happy birthday.”
I turned, heading toward the door, hoping Eli would follow me. I should have driven myself. The crowd had grown and I pushed my way through, narrowly missing being spilled on as a guy turned, his beer sloshing out of his glass as he came up short.
“It’s your birthday?”
I whipped my head to the side as I pushed through the front door, looking at Brant who’d appeared next to me. “Where’s Eli?”