1869 Outskirts of Lexington, Kentucky

“Don’t pinch, Esmie! It hurts!”

The blond woman propped against the foot of the metal bed giggled and fondled her own breast. She glanced at the man lounging against the headboard and ran the tip of her tongue around her lips. “Tillie seems put out, sweetheart. Why don’t you and me have some fun?”

“I like to have fun, too, Esmie. I’ll play,” the redhead lying on her side next to the man said.

Matt Gentry took another swig of whiskey from the bottle in his left hand. He was drunk, but not so far gone that he couldn’t enjoy himself with the two naked women in his bed, but it had been a day or so, he thought, since he’d done much of anything but drink his rye and screw. He was almost tired of it. Almost.

Esmie crawled to him, eyes on him, and began to kiss and lick his bare leg. He leaned back against the pillows and gave a hum of contentment as Esmie found other things to run her tongue over. Not to be outdone, Tillie crouched near him, swinging one enormous breast in front of his face as she did. He sucked her nipple until it stood straight and hard. His hips were starting to pump when the door to his hotel room flew open.

Matt’s right hand shot up, aiming a six-shooter at the man in doorway, and he disengaged himself from Tillie’s breast to take a look-see at who he was pointing his gun at. “Ben? Is that you?” he asked.

“Who else would it be?”

Matt shook his head and started to laugh. “Who else would it be? Ha! How about that, girls? Who else would it be?”

Ben Littleship, the ranch manager for Paradise, his family’s spread in Virginia for as long as Matt could remember, was staring at him. Ben was as stone-faced as a man could be, but even Matt in his stupor and having been away from home for well on eight years could tell he was disgusted with what he saw. Matt pushed Esmie away and sat up. The room tilted even though he had two feet on the floor. “Go on girls. Get some clothes on and take a walk.”

“We could entertain ourselves, honey,” Esmie said and winked at Ben Littleship, “and your new friend, too.”

“Does he owe you any money?” Ben asked the two women.

“He pays us good but we’d do it for free,” Tillie said.

“Go on,” Matt said. “Time for a break.”

The two women walked around the bed and to the door. Ben held out a coin as they went by. “Have a pot of coffee and two meals sent up. Right quick.”

Esmie took the coin, bit down on it, and dropped it in the pocket of the silky robe she wore. “Sure thing, honey.”

Ben sat down in the one chair in the room, a dainty velvet-covered item, and looked out the window of the second-floor room.

Matt pulled on his pants and ran a hand over the stubble of his beard. His hair was dark red, nearly brown, just like his mother’s, and he was as powerfully built as his father with a broad chest and thick arms. He rubbed at his left shoulder where a horse had kicked him years ago.

“What are you doing here, Ben?” Matt waited while the old man casually watched the passersby on the street below. “Are you going to tell me why you’re here?”

“Eat first.”

“Mother send you? She worried the devil in me finally won? Sure as hell wasn’t Daddy that sent you, that’s for damn certain.”

Ben turned his head to stare at him. The two men were quiet together for nearly a quarter of an hour.

Tillie opened the door and let in a young boy carrying a tray of food and an older woman behind him carrying coffee and tin mugs. Tillie winked at him, and he could see Esmie over her shoulder, smiling wickedly. The two women suddenly looked cheap and sordid, but he imagined he looked the same to them. A young drunk with plenty of money, little judgment, and a reckless glint in his eye. Ah . . . what had he become?

The woman and boy left the room and Matt shooed the two women out the door. He eyed the beefsteak and fried potatoes and burped. He filled a mug with coffee, hoping Ben did not see his hands shaking as too much liquor, too little sleep, and no real food he could remember had taken their toll.

Ben pulled a plate from the tray and sat it on the table beside him. He opened the napkin, shook it, and laid it across his lap. He cut the meat into small pieces, speared a potato, and ate. Matt found himself staring at the ranch manager as if he’d never been taught any fine manners or courtesies and did not know what to make of the behavior of a gentleman. Matt went to the washstand, lathered up his hands with the scented soap beside the bowl, washed his face and arms, and rinsed out his mouth, gargling with the warm water and nearly gagging. He combed back his hair and tied it with a piece of rawhide.

Matt dragged a second chair to the small table, thinking the food smells were appetizing now, more than the aroma of coffee or the stench of the booze on his clothes. He ate in small bites and chewed slowly, not trusting his stomach to manage a large or quick meal. The food and coffee cleared his head, leaving him to wonder what the ranch manager was doing here. He looked up from his plate now, searching the face of the man staring at him with an unrelenting gaze. A shiver trailed down his arms, a ghost or a memory, flitting over him and leaving him with the sure knowledge that there was bad news coming.

Matt wiped his mouth with his napkin and laid it on the table. “What is it? What has happened?”

“Your father’s dead. Almost a month now.”