CHAPTER ELEVEN

 

Brant

 

The Graystone Hill stable came into view just as the sun had crept over the horizon. The sight was welcome yet caused a hollow feeling of melancholy in my gut. Real life was upon us—the night of intimacy we’d shared already feeling like a distant dream. Maybe we’d stepped through that portal in the circle of trees after all, and yesterday and last night had only been part of a vivid dream. Or at least that’s how it felt.

We’d woken as the first gray light of dawn filtered in the windows overhead. Belle’s naked body had been curled against mine and for a moment I’d simply lain there, allowing myself to enjoy this last sweet moment with her. But she must have sensed that I was awake because she’d stirred, opening her eyes, and we’d risen, pulled on our clothes sleepily, and gathered our things. Belle was sleepy-eyed and reticent, which I attributed to the early hour. I hoped things wouldn’t be awkward between us, but I felt unusually distracted, off balance. I’d never felt that way after spending the night with a woman. I supposed it was because we’d not only shared our bodies the night before, but Belle, at least, had shared her heart with me. And even though I hadn’t divulged any deeply personal information, it felt as if I’d shared something with her I’d never shared with anyone else.

I’d picked up the key hanging on a silver chain from where I’d set it on the old trunk the night before and handed it to her. Our eyes had met as I’d placed the necklace in her open palm, something flashing between us—the memory of what had happened directly after I’d removed it from around her neck. The places my lips had trailed . . . I’d felt the memory of those moments arcing between us. Pulsing. Her eyes had moved from mine, and she’d continued gathering her belongings.

The ride back to the stable had been slow-going with Starshine being led behind us on a rope, but the rain had stopped, the sun was out, and at least we could see where the horses were stepping, and what areas to lead them around. I looked over my shoulder to make sure Starshine was okay, and considered how I’d surprised myself the night before with how much I’d remembered about this acreage. Even though this farmland stretched for farther than the eye could see, I’d never forgotten each hill and hollow. I hadn’t realized what an integral part of me it was.

I glanced at Belle, at the elegant lines of her profile, the way she held her spine and wondered what it would be like to know a woman like I still knew this land—to know the flash of her eyes just as I still knew the way the sun glinted off the dew-heavy hills. To know the curves and lines of her flesh the way I still knew every hill and valley. To know the specific flavor of each place on her body the way I still knew how sweet the stream water would be on my tongue after a long day riding. At the thought of Belle’s taste, blood rushed south, skin heated. What would it be like if she were mine? If I could stop right now, pull her down from her horse, and kiss away the wariness in her eyes, rid her of that faraway look so she could focus on nothing but my hands on her curves, my lips on her—

Christ. I grimaced, painfully hard now, adjusting myself in my saddle. Dangerous thoughts. And though they filled me with desire, they also filled me with fear. Too strong. Too possessive. Belle glanced over, her eyes widening on whatever was in my expression, but she didn’t question or comment. She looked toward the stable and spurred Mona Lisa on as she patted her on the neck. “Look at that, girl, we made it home.”

Home.

Belle did consider this place home. And after everything she’d told me last night, I was so glad she’d found one. If anyone deserved peace, comfort, belonging, it was this woman.

We dismounted outside the stable and led the horses in. Mick was just arriving and he grinned when he saw us. “Well, thank Jesus,” he said. He clapped me on the back and then pulled Belle into his side, giving her a hug. She smiled sincerely, hugging him back.

“Hi, Mick. I’m sorry about last night. I was a little high-strung.”

He shook his head. “You were worried. We all know how much you love these horses. It was hard to think of one out there alone. I understand.”

Belle let out an uncomfortable-sounding laugh and turned, leading Mona Lisa to one of the stalls, Starshine following her mother.

Mick helped get the horses brushed, checked out, and fed, and we put them in a stall, Belle taking a moment to press her face to Mona Lisa’s neck, whispering words to her that I had a feeling were more for Belle than for her horse, who was happily chomping on her hay.

Just as she turned, a car pulled up outside the open door of the stable, the tires splashing the rain puddles still on the ground. We watched as a man I estimated to be in his late forties got out of his car. He had dark hair with a little bit of gray at the temples and was tall and lean, a man who obviously kept himself in good shape.

Belle sucked in a small, excited-sounding breath and then walked quickly to the open door. The man saw her, and smiled so brightly, my chest squeezed uncomfortably. She let out a happy sound and threw herself into his arms, wrapping her own around his neck.

What the fuck?

He laughed too, squeezing her back. The embrace lasted far too long for my comfort before he let go, stepping back and taking her hands. “You look great, Belle.”

She nodded and I could hear the smile in her voice when she said, “I am good, Hank, though I’m just getting back from rescuing a lost horse, so I’m a bit of a mess.” She laughed, running her hand over her hair that she’d braided haphazardly when we’d woken earlier.

“You’re as beautiful as ever.”

She shook her head slightly. Her back was still to me, but I could just see the humble smile gracing those pretty lips. The lips that had been on me last night.

“It’s great to see you. What are you doing out here so early?”

The man—Hank—ran a hand through his hair. “I’m just checking on some leads for a case and was close enough that I thought I’d stop in on my way and check on you. I remembered you were usually up at sunrise and at the stable.”

She chuckled. “You know me well.”

He did? Well why the hell was that?

Belle looked back and spotted me where I was putting away the things we’d used to groom Mona Lisa and Starshine, but mostly where I was listening in on their conversation. She smiled warmly at me. “Hey Brant, come meet Hank Miller.”

I walked over, giving Hank a smile and an assessing look before shaking his hand. “Hank.”

“Brant.” His look was equally assessing and for a moment we both stood there, sizing each other up.

Belle cleared her throat. “Hank, Brant is Mr. Talbot’s son. Brant, Detective Miller worked on my case. He . . . found me that day. It was because of him that I survived.”

Detective Miller looked at Belle, something shifting in his eyes, the memory of that day maybe. His expression took on a note of sadness. “Yes. Another few minutes and . . .” He pulled in a breath and released it. “But my part was just good timing. It was because of you, that you survived.”

I winced slightly, feeling like an idiot. This was the man who’d saved Belle’s life. Christ, I’d buy him a beer or twenty if I wasn’t leaving Kentucky imminently. “It’s nice to meet you,” I said, hoping my tone conveyed my sincerity, the deep gratitude I felt for this man who had been a hero to Belle when she’d needed one most.

“It’s nice to meet you too, Brant.” His smile seemed sincere as well. There was a small moment of awkwardness, and then I turned to Belle. “I’m going to head to the house. My dad will want to know that we’re back with the horses, and I’m sure you two can use some catching up.”

Belle smiled, opening her mouth as if to say something but then giving Hank a quick glance and closing it again. She nodded. “See you at the house.”

I shook Hank’s hand one more time and then walked to the house, letting myself in. Then I went into the kitchen and made a pot of coffee and poured myself a cup, taking it out onto the porch.

I loved this spot. The fields and pastures stretched before me with a direct view to the stable below, the second stable a mere dot in the distance. The sun had completely risen in the sky and it looked as if the day was going to be warmer and hopefully dry. I spotted Belle walking along the fence line around the stable, Hank Miller at her side. Despite that I knew the role he’d played in her life, and was grateful for it, the sight of them strolling together made me feel edgy, and I wasn’t sure exactly why.

“What the hell were you two thinking going out in that mess last night?”

I turned around to see my father’s glower as he walked toward me.

“Good morning, Dad.”

He waved his hand around as if there was no time for niceties. “Could have gotten yourselves hurt or broken one of the horse’s legs.”

I sighed. “Yeah, I’m aware.” I glanced to where they had stopped, my gaze lingering on them for a moment. “Isabelle was really worried about that foal. She was upset. I went with her. No one else would have.” They’d have tried to talk her down, insisted she stay, I thought, remembering the haunted look in her eyes, the desperation, the need I now knew stemmed from her own personal tragedy. I turned more fully toward my father. “But I could have dissuaded her. I could have held her back. Blame me, not her.”

His eyes narrowed on me and he stared for long moments, his eyes widening ever so slightly as if he’d had a sort of revelation. He swore softly under his breath.

But then his flinty gaze raked over me once again before he glanced to where Isabelle was and back to me. “Where’d you find to sleep in that drafty old building?”

I looked away, feeling like a guilty teen for some inexplicable reason. “In Gramps’ office. We made a fire.”

I kept my eyes averted and for a moment, there was only silence from him. “Aw, hell. Tell me you did not take advantage of Isabelle.”

I let out a surprised laugh, a jolt of anger ricocheting through me. “Take advantage? We’re adults. And what we do with our time is none of your damn business.”

He swore softly under his breath again, looking genuinely pained, and for a moment I wondered if he was having another attack of some sort. “Isabelle is not the sort of woman you use for a night and then discard, goddamn you.”

“Jesus.” I turned away, leaning my hands on the porch railing. “You’re making this out to be something it’s not,” I said, gritting my teeth, my ire rising. Presumptuous old fool.

“So you slept with her?”

“I’m not answering that.”

“You don’t have to. It’s all over your face. Hell, it’s been there since the first day you arrived. Your eyes follow her everywhere. You going to marry her?”

I was stunned silent for a moment. “Marry her?” I asked, incredulously. “This isn’t the 1950s. Things don’t work that way anymore, Harrison.”

His eyes narrowed at the use of his name. “It’s the right thing to do.”

“And who the fuck are you to give me advice about what’s right?”

He cringed, and strangely, I took no satisfaction in it. Instead I felt a distant throb of shame. “Someone who’s made mistakes and lived to regret them,” he said quietly, almost as if to himself.

I sighed. “Anyway, it wasn’t like that. I wasn’t using her.”

He watched me for a moment. “Yeah? And what if she’s pregnant?”

I stared back. What the hell? “What? No, she . . .” I stared off behind him at the shingles on the house, trying to get my thoughts straight. I hadn’t used a condom. Hell, I’d been half out of my damn mind I’d wanted her so bad. It was no excuse but . . . didn’t women usually . . . No, of course Isabelle wouldn’t be on birth control. Ah, Christ. I knew better. In New York, I always carried condoms. I always had a plan . . . I never acted impulsively like I had last night. 

“If she’s pregnant, Isabelle’s the type of woman who will expect you to marry her,” my father reiterated. “Do you know anything about her background?”

I narrowed my eyes at him. I knew she’d been Amish and therefore came from a very strict religious upbringing. But she’d left that life. “As a matter of fact, I do. But I think I know the nature of what happened between Belle and me better than you, old man, and she’s not expecting anything.”

“You sure about that? You ask her?”

“I didn’t have to. A man just knows some things.” Didn’t I? My skin prickled with something I couldn’t identify. Fear? Excitement? Fuck, I was suddenly so damn confused I didn’t know which way to turn.

He let out a small chuckle. “You’ve been acting like a pretentious prick since you got here. Assuming. Taking advantage.”

Pretentious prick. Buttoned-up blowhard. “The nicknames I’m racking up here will keep me humble for a while at least,” I muttered, massaging the back of my neck. How had I ended up here? Arguing with my dying old man about the expectations of the woman I’d had sex with the night before?

Is that what she is? The woman you had sex with the night before? No, that didn’t feel right. Only . . . what else could she be?

“Good. You could use a dose of humility. She deserves better.”

“She deserves the world,” I said through gritted teeth, mentally adding, And I’m not available to give her the things she needs. But in all actuality, my father was. “She deserves Graystone Hill,” I continued. “She loves this place. Give it to her, Dad. Give her every last acre.”

He was silent for a moment, staring at me with flinty eyes, the tension thick between us. “She won’t take it. She’ll insist it should go to you and remain in the Talbot name. She already told me as much. Said she’d sign over the deed to you and leave here if I did it. Said we would not use her as a means to keep on feuding and that was that. Practically yelled it.” As off-put with my father as I was, I could see Belle saying just that, her chin raised, eyes flashing. Goddammit, Belle. I looked to where she still stood with Detective Miller. It looked like she was laughing at something he’d said. He was standing close. Too close.

“That’s ridiculous,” I murmured. “She’s just being stubborn. I have no use for Graystone Hill and she knows it. My life is in New York.”

He took a few steps to a wrought iron chair next to a small table holding a container of red flowers and sat stiffly. “Suppose you don’t care if I leave the bourbon formula and distillery to someone else entirely then.” My heart careened to a halt as my father continued to stare out at the pastures below us.

“What?”

He looked at me, his jaw rigid. “Yeah, thought you’d care about that. I’ve been made a very generous offer. Man by the name of Edwin Bruce. You know him?”

My blood ran cold and there was a buzzing in my ears. That motherfucking bastard. What the hell was Edwin Bruce doing? And how had he known enough to make my father an offer in the first place? He didn’t. Had my father somehow figured it out and contacted him out of spite for me?

“He’s my competition in New York. And you know I’d put that bourbon distillery to good use. For fuck’s sake, it’s my mother’s family legacy.”

“And yet you couldn’t be bothered with it until you knew I was dying and would be out of the picture,” he gritted out, and I swore I saw a flash of pain in his eyes. Was this hurting him? Well, too fucking bad. Just the thought of that bourbon recipe being in the hands of Edwin Bruce had me seeing red. Even worse that my own father might have orchestrated it. The water under our proverbial bridge was deeper than I thought, and apparently full of sharks and flesh-eating piranhas.

“Edwin Bruce’s business is failing. If he has enough cash to pay you for Caspian Skye, it’ll wipe him out completely, or damn near. He won’t have the funds to create a new batch, much less wait for it to mature.”

My father stroked his chin, stubbly with black and gray hair. “He won’t need to wait for anything to mature. There are seventeen barrels, some that have been maturing for almost twenty years, in the basement of the distillery.”

“What?”

My father looked at me sharply. “Changes things, doesn’t it?”

I gaped at him. “Why don’t you bottle and sell that bourbon? It’s worth a king’s ransom.”

“Never was too interested in the bourbon business.” A cloud passed over his features, but he turned his head before I could fully examine it. “Figured you might be, what with all those bars you own in New York City. Then again, so is Edwin Bruce.” Another hot flash of anger ratcheted through me and I briefly wondered what he knew of my businesses in New York, and how he’d gathered any knowledge of what I did at all. There was silence between us for several beats.

“Course if you married Isabelle, you could share Graystone Hill, and the distillery would be yours. Seems like a good deal to me. She gets her horses without feeling she’s taking something that’s not hers, and you get the distillery and everything that comes with it.”

“Are you bribing me into marrying Isabelle?” I asked, the shock clear in my voice. “If you hate me so much, why stick her with me?”

“Ah, Christ, I don’t hate you, Brant. I just hate . . . well never mind.” He shook his head. “In any case, it seems Isabelle has feelings for you. And she’s had enough pain in this lifetime.”

And what about me, old man? Haven’t I had my share of pain? Wasn’t I the one who found my own mother dead in a bathtub full of blood? My chest felt so tight it was a wonder I was still breathing. And yet we’d already said all that needed saying as far as that went, hadn’t we? During the years apart, I’d fostered the hatred that still lived deep in my bones for what he’d done to my mother. There was no point in going there with him again.

I shook my head, utterly confused by this whole conversation. “Marrying me—or anyone—isn’t going to take away Isabelle’s pain. And as far as I can see, she’s holding up pretty damn well for a woman who survived what she did.”

“And how long will that last? Who’s going to take care of her when I’m gone?” he rasped and the raw emotion in his voice shocked me.

I stared at him for a moment, and what I saw surprised me. I had hated this man for years, but for many before that, I’d loved him. Respected him. Being here, recalling so many moments when he’d ensured I was looked after, or May, or the other workers, I couldn’t refute that he had always been that sort of person. Isabelle had defended him as a good man who’d provided a place of refuge and healing. And I couldn’t deny that. I couldn’t deny how I still recognized so many faces around the place after all this time. He cared. He loved deeply and generously. Even if he’d let me go. “You really do love her, don’t you? You can’t bear the thought of her leaving here.” Something akin to jealousy trickled through me. He was fighting for Isabelle.

When he’d never fought for me.

Of course . . . I’d made it clear that I was severing our relationship for good when I’d left here so many years before. Had there been anything to fight for? Maybe not.

My stubborn old father grunted, looking off into the horizon again.

I ran my hand through my hair. “I don’t even know her.”

“You know what you need to know.”

I shook my head, feeling weary, sad, angry, frustrated. I couldn’t marry Isabelle. It was ridiculous. We’d spent one night together, and she lived here and I lived in New York. Nothing was going to change that. Hell, I didn’t want to change that, not for either of us. It simply wouldn’t work. Nor did I want it to. “Isabelle belongs here at Graystone Hill,” I said. “I hope you find a way to convince her to accept it. That’s how you can take care of her. She’ll have a home, stability, something to call her own, and she’ll have the horses she loves.” I paused. “What you do with the bourbon is up to you. I won’t beg for it.”

My father and I locked eyes for a few tense beats before he finally looked away. “All right then,” he said, his tone dismissive, final.

“All right then,” I repeated. I hesitated a brief moment. This was it. The last time I’d see Harrison Talbot. There should have been stories to swap, memories to reminisce, plans to make. But there was nothing. There was nothing left to say. All right then. I turned on my heel and walked toward the front door.

“Look her up,” my father said from behind me.

I paused, knowing the “her” was Isabelle. “I already know what happened to her,” I answered.

“You don’t know everything,” he mumbled. He was wrong, though. She’d been honest with me. I knew it in my gut. If there were details she’d left out, it was because they weren’t important.

“Goodbye, Dad,” I said, opening the door and closing it behind me. Two words. Two final words to the man I’d once admired and loved dearly. The sum of his life with me had been finalized in two words. I felt like shit, but I also felt too angry to say more.

Fifteen minutes later I was showered, shaved, and packed. I went to the kitchen where May was at the counter writing out what looked to be a list. I set my travel bag by the door. May looked up, furrowing her brows when she glanced at my bag. “Are you leaving, Brant?”

“Yeah, May. Pretty sure I’ve worn out my welcome.”

“Nonsense. This is your home.”

Not anymore. “In any case, business calls.” I gave her a smile and it was sincere. I’d always liked May. “I’ve gotta get back to New York.”

She got up from the stool she was sitting on. “When will you be back?”

I shook my head. “I won’t be back, May.”

She put a hand to her cheek. “Oh dear. That can’t be true.”

“It is. I’m sorry. I’ll miss you.”

Tears welled in May’s eyes, but she didn’t try to convince me to change my mind, and I was grateful. I felt like I was on a razor’s edge at the moment. She put her soft hand on my cheek and gave me a smile. “You take care of yourself, you hear?”

“I will.”

After a quick hug, I left May standing in the kitchen. I considered going upstairs to see if Isabelle was there, but figured if she was, she was sleeping. And that’s what she should be doing. Or maybe I was just a coward making excuses. You going to marry her? As if marriage was something I’d ever consider after what I’d seen of the institution. As if moving back here was even a remote possibility . . . no. I’d enjoyed rediscovering this land, and it had been a good way to say goodbye. I cared about Isabelle, but she and I were an impossibility. She’d be fine here, better than fine. She was a survivor and had everything she needed right here.

I ducked quickly into the office, grabbing a piece of paper from the printer and a pen from a holder on the desk. I scrawled a note to Isabelle, folded it up, and left it on the computer keyboard.

Then I gathered my things and headed to my rental car. A few minutes later, Graystone Hill was nothing more than a fading dot in my rearview mirror.