Chapter 1
I wiped the sweat from my brow with the back of my hand, capturing a stray lock of brown hair that had escaped from my ponytail. Angrily, I twisted it behind my ear as I had countless times today.
Damn it was hot and only two o'clock. I had two more hours to endure the sweltering heat of the horse stable. Sweeping my pitchfork the length of the stall, I studied the piles of manure and chunks of straw that reeked of horse urine, fantasizing about the cold shower that awaited me back at my cottage when my shift ended. I
Just then, Luke Winslow came into the stable leading Ariel, a gray dappled mare, down the aisle between the stalls. I noticed him taking off his wide-brimmed straw hat and wiping sweat from his brow with his forearm. Luke was tall, strawberry-blond, and leanly built.
“Hey, Tylar, looks like you could use a beer about now,” he remarked, bringing Ariel to a halt outside the stall. I glanced in his direction briefly.
“Sounds tempting, Luke. All I can think about now is finishing up here and climbing into a cool bath at my place. My shift ends at four.”
“Oh, that’s right. Well, I get off at three. I got a keg at the cottage. Some of the others are coming over later. We’re going to have a bonfire. Why don’t you stop by? It's Friday, you know. Time to get your party on, girl."
“I’ll see. Maybe. Is Jenna going to be there?”
He smiled wickedly. “Sure thing. You know Jenna. She doesn’t miss a chance to party," he said with a wink.
He flashed me a grin before pulling on Ariel’s halter and clicking his tongue as she finished her business. “It’s cottage number eight on the end,” he called out as he led the horse down to her stall. “Hope to see you later.”
“We’ll see,” I called out after him.
I was the new kid on staff, and among the youngest at age twenty. The others had worked at Sinclair Stables on weekends and summers since high school. Most were in college and one was even in grad school; they came back to work summers to pay for college.
I wasn't a local, having been born and raised in Kentucky and now attended nearby Virginia Intermont College. My major was Equine Studies. My dream was to work with quarter horses and warm bloods in breeding science.
My parents divorced when I was a baby; I'd never known my father. I knew that he had financially supported me over the years. I was using the trust he’d established to pay for college. Mom was a part-time secretary at the law firm that handled my trust.
I'd attended a local college my freshman year, but living at home wasn’t working out well. I felt uncomfortable living with her after high school with the constant parade of men in her life. So, I transferred to Virginia Intermont my sophomore year and lived near campus in Bristol.
A loud snort and whinny caught my attention Derringer was the most beautiful black Lipizzaner I'd ever seen. He was skittish and spirited and he intimidated most of the other help here.
“Easy, boy,” I said quietly, unlatching the gate to his stall. I entered slowly; pulled a carrot from the back pocket of my jeans, and held my open palm out to him to take it. He snorted loudly, eyeing me. Then he slowly lowered his head, and nuzzled my palm with his nose. Soon he was chomping happily as I rubbed his sleek, shiny neck.
“Ahh, I get it. You want to walk don't you boy? I don't know," I said, rubbing his mane. "You promise you'll behave today if I take you out? You embarrassed the hell out of me the other day over at the Belle."
He whinnied, moving his hindquarters almost in a dancing motion. I had to giggle. He was a show-off, if nothing else.
"Okay," I clicked my tongue as I led him out of the stables, "But remember your promise. No showing off for the pretty little fillies over at the Belle this time."
I led him out to the pasture and then over to the gate that opened to the trail leading over to the Sinclair plantation on the other side of the woods. The estate was called “La Vie Belle,” which meant “The Life Beautiful.” We all called it 'the Belle' for short.
The Sinclairs owned and operated a horse farm, a summer horse track, a winery, and a tourist attraction, which was an immaculately restored antebellum mansion. There was a turf racetrack where horseracing events were held on weekends during the summer months, attracting hundreds of tourists. The mansion and winery hosted tours all year round.
Leading Derringer through the woods offered some relief from the sun and presented a more pleasant, slightly cooler atmosphere than the stable had for sure.
"Hey wanna go by the mansion and make fun of Jenna in her hoop skirt and prissy little bonnet?" I asked with a laugh. If the horse could understand, I was sure he'd given me an approval nod of the head.
Jenna lived a few cabins down from mine; she worked at the Belle as a tour guide in the mansion, wearing period costumes of the Civil War era. She absolutely hated the hoop skirts, frilly undergarments, and button-up leather boots required. When she was in character, she wore her bleached blond hair in a tight bun, and no make-up.
Her work partner, Rodney, came from Mississippi. Along with helping Jenna do the tours, he also provided horse and buggy rides for the tourists. He was a serious guy with a fun-loving side.
I led the horse up the brick, half-circle drive in front of the colonial mansion. Jenna was in costume, with a frilly parasol opened and positioned over her head to shade her face from the sun. She was talking to someone I’d never seen before.
He was leaning up against one of the massive columns on the front veranda, muscular arms crossed in front of him as Jenna was peering up at him smiling and talking. She occasionally pointed over towards the brick smokehouse off to the side, fanning her face vigorously.
Ah, I bet she was bitching to him about the fumes whenever they roasted a pig over at the smokehouse. I'd heard her yapping about it the other day to Clint, complaining about how it made her nauseous day after day having to breathe in the stench of roasting pork.
It made me wonder how long she'd last shoveling horse shit. As I led the horse up the stone drive, I noticed Jenna had caught a glimpse of me and Derringer. She worked harder trying to keep the guy's attention. I could now see why.
"Hottie tomattie," I thought to myself.
He looked a bit older than the usual college workers employed during the summers. Probably a local who worked full-time year round. He had to be 6'2 or 6'3, with a lean but definitely muscular build. A mass of dark brown hair that was thick and tousled at the moment. I admired the way his white tee shirt hugged his ripped abs. I fought the urge to fan myself. Jenna let out a flirtatious giggle as we got closer.
"Hey Tylar!" she called out, "Are you ever going to get enough nerve to put a saddle on that horse?"
The guy turned his attention to me and Derringer. Immediately a look crossed over his face that was not good. I was close enough now to see the color of his eyes and they were blue. A piercing sapphire blue, and I could tell they were an extremely pissed-off blue.
He excused himself from Jenna and jumped down from the porch, taking long, angry strides towards me. Once there, he looked me over, his hands resting on his hips, a frown on his face. It was then I noticed his chin dimple.
"Why do you have Derringer over here?" he asked abruptly.
I was taken aback by the tone of his question. "I'm just taking him out for some exercise. It's my job."
"What's wrong with letting him out in the fenced pasture?" he pressed, as if it was any of his business. I bristled a bit.
"Hey, he's under my care. I take him to different places for a change of scenery, and to keep him calm. He's a spirited animal for your information," I snapped back.
"I see," he said, regarding me beneath his thick lashes.
"I mean, if you're worried I'm going to let him loose around the pigs or the smokehouse, you don't have to worry about that, I keep his line firmly in my grasp. I don't allow him to wander without me."
"That's good to know," he replied tersely, his eyes flickering over the horse as if I'd allow some harm to come to him.
"So, if you'll excuse me, I'm going to take him over to the barns so he can visit with some of his buds," I said, clicking my tongue to get him moving. Derringer didn't budge.
"Come on, boy," I urged, tugging a bit harder on his lead, clicking my tongue again.
Nothing.
I saw a smile flicker over the guy's face, a cheek dimple now appearing.
"Yes, it seems you have a wonderful way with the animal," the guy remarked sarcastically.
Of all the times for Derringer to morph into a stubborn mule, now was certainly not one of them. From the porch, I heard Jenna's delighted cackle as she observed the horse's refusal to comply with my commands.
Glad I was providing comic relief to this guy who seemed a bit arrogant for just another co-worker here.
"Listen," I said tersely, "Don't you have a pig or…something to roast, Buddy?" I tugged harder on Derringer's lead, forcing the horse to take a step.
"Derringer halt," his smooth and silky voice called, as he took the rope from my hands, and dropped them to the ground.
Derringer didn't budge; dropping his head to graze on the grassy patch beside the drive. My eyes immediately flew back to look at this man, who was now smiling at me wickedly.
"The name's Trey by the way," he said. "And yours?"
"Um . . . Tylar Preston," I replied somewhat meekly. "I, uh, I take it you don't work over at the smokehouse?"
"Shrewd deduction Ms. Preston. I'm overseeing the entire operation here while my parents are in Europe."
"Oh, so then I guess your last name must be…Sinclair?" I mumbled.
"It is," he replied, his eyes still taking inventory of me.
"And that also means Derringer is uh…your horse?" God I sounded like a complete airhead.
“We can't keep a thing from you, can we? I'd still like to know why you have him out here like this?"
I shrugged, shifting my weight. "Well to be honest, no one else wants to mess with him. I like the challenge. I'm trying to earn his trust. I'm hoping to start exercising him over in the arena at the Belle. Maybe some dressage."
Trey's face darkened in anger. "You misunderstood the question, Ms. Preston. I'm asking why you would disregard the orders I've given with respect to this horse by bringing him out of the pasture?"
I looked up at him and our eyes locked. "I'm not sure that I've disregarded any orders, Mr. Sinclair. I'm being paid to take care of the horses and that's what I'm doing. Derringer needs to be ponied right along with the quarters and jumpers daily. I'm simply working to gain his trust so that I can mount him."
He took a step closer to me, to the point where I was pretty sure it would have thrilled Jenna if she were in my place, and I forced myself not to take a nervous step backwards.
“My instructions were specific to Ray regarding this horse,” he said in a gravel-low monotone. “But maybe they weren’t clear enough. No one mounts Derringer, the only exception being me. He’s an expensive piece of horseflesh, and I won’t have some novice equestrian-wannabe taking risks with him, is that understood?”
I could feel my eyes widening to the point where my eyelashes were probably spreading out as he continued to look down at me.
“Is that understood?” he repeated, his voice now carrying a steely edge to it.
I nodded and took a step back from him. "Yes, perfectly."
"Good," he said, bending down to grab Derringer's reins from the ground. He looped them around his hand, and with one swift and lithe movement, Trey swung himself up and onto the horse's back, turning to peer down at me, as Derringer did a side-step. "Because, Ms. Preston, if this happens again, your ass will be fired."
He pressed his calves into the horse's sides, taking off, leaving me standing there feeling humiliated and idiotic in front of Jenna.
I seethed the whole way back through the woods to the stables. I hoped like hell he was gone by the time I got there. Once there I peeked in the window to make sure he was gone.
Derringer was back in his stall. Jenna was probably broadcasting to everyone that I'd had my ass ripped by Trey Sinclair. She'd done her share of gossiping about him. Something about him being a high-powered attorney somewhere, owning shares of the family business, and a scandalous broken engagement in his past.
I tried to put it all out of my mind as I crossed the pasture toward the bank of cottages and the cold shower that awaited me. Suddenly, the loud roar of an engine caught my attention as I spotted a black Lamborghini convertible speeding down the Sinclair estate driveway. There was no mistaking the burnished brown hair flying back from that sinfully handsome face. As the car passed me, the driver glanced over. For a split second, I thought I could actually make out his smile. Despite his assholiness with me, there was no denying Trey Sinclair was smokin' hot.
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