An hour later, Mira shoved the casserole in the oven and turned to face her father. He sat at the kitchen table—an old wooden dinette set he and her mother had bought when they married—and drummed his fingers on the Formica top.

She turned to face him. “I have never been so humiliated in my life,” she told him. “What gives you the right to dictate who I see and what I do? I’m a grown woman.”

“And I’m still your old man.”

“An old man who drinks too much and has no filters. You say whatever is on your damn mind, no matter who you hurt.”

“Hurt? Who did I hurt, Mira. You?”

“Yes!”

“Hell. I saved you from hurt.”

Mira bristled. “Is that what you call it?” Her voice rose. Suddenly years of his blunt, narrow-minded attitude welled up inside her. And it had nothing to do with saving anyone from hurt. “Is that what you called it all of the times you were so brutally honest with mom and with my brother and me all our lives? Saving us from hurt?” She laughed and threw her hands up in the air. “You have no idea what you did to any of us, do you?”

Her father stood, the chair screeching on the floor underneath him. “I don’t believe in sugar-coating anything, darlin’. You know that. The truth is at least straightforward and direct. I say things how I see ’em. And you and your mother and that bastard brother of yours deserved the truth.”

Bastard brother. Mira cringed at the words. She’d hated when her Pop had called her brother that. “Honesty isn’t always the best policy. Bobby loved you until you had to go and be so damned honest.”

“He needed to know he wasn’t my kid.”

“And you broke his heart when you did it. Don’t you get it Pop? Sometimes the truth doesn’t need to be so damn brutal.”

“This ain’t about Bobby, girl. It’s about you. You need to know the kind of man that Remington is. No good. Just go read the papers from about six years ago. It’s all there for public knowledge. So yeah, I said what I thought, and I meant what I said. He better stay the hell away. That man would give you nothing but a lifetime of hurt.”

“Shit, Pop. I only just met him. I wasn’t going to marry him, for cripe’s sake. I’ve barely known him twenty-four hours.”

“According to Heath, you know him pretty intimately for only knowing him twenty-four hours.”

“Heath McCoy doesn’t know shit. Besides, what I do is none of his damn business. He’s full of crap.”

“Wouldn’t be the first time you got caught with your legs in the air. I wouldn’t expect anything less from you this time. Especially dressed like you were last night.”

Mira exhaled sharply. “I was out with the girls.”

“So you didn’t get fucked? That dress was screaming ‘fuck me’ darlin’”

“That’s none of your damn business,” she fired back.

“It is my business if you lose your job.”

“Why? Because then there’s no one to put food on the table? Is that it Poppy? After all, you have to save whatever meager bit of money you get from the McCoy’s for beer and whatever the hell painkiller it is you score from the streets.”

Her father cleared his throat. “Heath’s going to fire you.”

“Then I’ll find another job.”

“Tried that once, didn’t you? How’d that work out for you? Hell, girl, you’re never going to amount to much more than a hotel maid, anyway. Maybe you could handle being a waitress but I dunno. You need to have some people skills for that. Something other than shaking that ass of yours.”

Frustrated, Mira turned back to the stove, clenching and unclenching her fists. Every argument she’d overheard of her parents for years welled upside her with the same kind of hurt. Her gut literally trembled with not only the anguish and sting from the words cutting into her right now, but for the pain he had inflicted on all of them her entire life. Her mother internalized it all until it made her sick. Well, Mira wasn’t going to let him do the same thing to her. She didn’t want to argue but he could be so damn aggravating. Especially when he was drinking. She learned over the stove and spoke to the wall. “You know nothing about me, what I can do or want to do, or anything. You have no idea of my talents or my dreams or who I want to be as a woman, Poppy. I’m sorry to say that but it’s true. Somehow, you managed to miss a big part of my life when you were out drinking and running around on Mom.”

She heard him step up behind her but she didn’t glance back.

“Now you look here, girl,” he growled. “Whatever happened between me and your mom—that was between us. Had nothing to do with you.”

Whirling back, she lashed out. “It sure as hell did have something to do with me, Pop. It had everything to do with me! Every damn time you stepped out on Mom, argued with her and yelled at her until she was in tears, I was the one left behind to pick up the pieces. Me, Pop. Me! I’m the one who was here for her when you were nowhere to be found and her heart was breaking.”

“Never asked you to pick up the pieces, girl.”

She shook her finger at him. “No. No, you didn’t. But I did anyway. Now, you look here, Pop. I chose to stay behind and pick up the goddamned pieces because I loved her! Something you wouldn’t know anything thing about. But now that Mom’s gone, and Bobby’s probably never coming back here again, I’m done. For some reason I kept thinking I needed to stay around here and keep your damn ass alive but I don’t know what in the hell I was thinking. You don’t give a shit whether you live or die and I’m not sticking around to let you ruin my life, too.”

He cleared his throat. “Mira…”

But she was not going to let him interrupt her. “All I’ve done for years is take care of people. Mom, Bobby, and now you all the damn time. I’m really sorry that horse threw you and busted your back and legs but guess what? If you hadn’t been drunk, it wouldn’t have happened. Not my fault. So just for the record, I’m tired of being your housemaid, cook, and chief bottle washer. I’m tired of working two jobs just to keep groceries on the table for you. Especially when you don’t even appreciate it. I’m more than a damn maid. I want more out of my life. I’m good enough to do anything in life I want to do. But if you can’t see that…and if that’s all I am to you, then I’m truly and forever done.”

“You ain’t done girl. You need me whether you think you do or not.”

Mira stood her ground. “Now that’s where you’re wrong, Pop. I can make my own way in the world. It’s time I move out anyway and get started on that plan. I’ve put it off long enough.”

“And what plan is that?”

She squared her shoulders. “Finishing school. Getting my degree.”

Her Pop snorted. “Damn degree. Money you don’t need to spend. You just need to work harder, Mira. You don’t need no damn degree to get you where you’re going in life.”

She stood her ground. “Actually, I do, Pop. There’s a job downtown I want. And it may take a couple of more years of school before I can get it, but I will get it.” She turned and set the timer on the stove. “Now, I’m going to go pack. This casserole will be ready in twenty minutes.”

“Pack? Now where you gonna go, girl?”

She turned. “I’ll figure that out. I have friends. I’ll get an apartment.”

“Then you best rely on those friends, ’cause you’re not getting anything from me.”

She shook her head. “Don’t worry about that, Pop. I won’t ask you for one damn red cent.” She headed down the hallway.

Her father shuffled after her. “You leave here girl? Just remember this. You don’t come back.”

Mira stopped and stood, the dinette table between them now, and gave him a long stare. “If that’s the way you want it.”

“It is.”

“Then we’re in agreement.”

He nodded. “Don’t come crawlin’ back, girl, ’cause I won’t take you,” he repeated.

Mira cocked her head to the side. “You don’t have to tell me twice.”

****

Jake tossed his luggage on the bed and watched the dust bunnies dance in the sun-streak angling away from the window. He had checked out of the resort a couple of hours earlier and headed to his parents’ ranch—the home he grew up in. He knew right where the key was hidden on the porch and hadn’t been worried in the least if it wasn’t there. He’d broken into his house many a time in his youth when he’d gotten home after curfew.

Today was different, though. He’d called his parents and told them he’d like to stay a couple of days at the ranch and they’d asked if he could oversee the last of the remodeling that was happening in the kitchen. He’d told them he’d be happy to do so. Truth be told, he was glad to have something to do. It gave him purpose. A reason to hang around.

Not that he shouldn’t be getting back to Kentucky. He should, and soon. There was business waiting there as well but he could handle most of it from afar. His private law practice was his mainstay with the horse farm a growing supplemental income. He’d always loved horses, and this was a different kind of horse ranching, you might say, but it was familiar all the same.

Of course, in Kentucky they were called farms, not ranches. And the horses were thoroughbreds, not quarter horses. Not to mention, two entirely different cultures of horse people.

He’d gotten sucked into the thoroughbred horse industry when he was in college at the University of Louisville. November and May were his two favorite months—when the horses were running at Churchill Downs. And if he couldn’t wait for those months, he’d head to Lexington in April and October for the races there at Keeneland. He’d learned that if one can’t come to respect and admire the tradition, pomp and circumstance of thoroughbred horseracing, and in particular the Kentucky Derby, you’d have a difficult time existing within the culture of the city of Louisville. Horses—not to mention bourbon—were a way of life. And before long, Jake had made both of them his.

After his law practice was established, he’d bought a small farm outside of Lexington. He lucked upon some land on the edge of Bluegrass horse country and over time, bought some of the smaller farms surrounding it and added to his domain. In time, he’d acquired a patchwork of paddocks with black fences, majestic horse barns, manicured lawns and fields, and a southern-style Antebellum mansion which he now called home.

Home.

He should be getting back there—his business here with the McCoy’s was finished. But something was keeping him from going. He just couldn’t go…not yet anyway.

Mira. He’d left things undone. Just walked out. No sense of closure.

But is that what he wanted? Closure?

He didn’t. No way in hell he wanted to close this short chapter of his life. Right now, he just needed time to think. Mira Featherstone had jerked a knot in his life and he needed to figure out how to untangle this mess.

Setting the short tumbler of bourbon and ice on the cherry dresser, he pulled a pint of one of Kentucky’s finest bourbons out of his pocket and set it next to the glass. Shrugging out of his jacket, he tossed it over a straight back chair next to the window. Simultaneously kicking out of his boots, he let them lay where they fell on the floor. After another hefty swig—which emptied the glass—he poured another shot or so over the ice.

He sighed and then sat on the edge of the bed, his head full of things he should and shouldn’t be thinking.

He should be getting back home. He shouldn’t be thinking so damn much about Mira. Had he screwed up back at her house, when he’d abruptly and rudely walked out of her life? Probably. But her father had hit a nerve, and even though he’d been thinking along those same lines—that he wasn’t really good enough for Mira—hearing her father voice it made him turn tail and run.

And that wasn’t like him. He wasn’t the kind of man who ducked responsibility or obligation. Not that Mira was either one of those things. Mira was what he wanted, plain and simple, and he wasn’t ready to give her up. Yet, he’d let the words of an old man get to him. But he wasn’t just any old man, he was her father. And that mattered, didn’t it?

The sins of his past had literally come back to haunt him in a way he had never imagined. It took her father smacking him upside the head with reality to make him see.

It didn’t matter how successful he was back in Kentucky, he’d always be seen as the rich rancher kid with the bad reputation with women.

But what could he do about that?

Nothing now. His head was too fuzzy with the bourbon and he needed sleep. He’d figure it all out tomorrow.

He glanced about. He’d not been in this room for several years. His old room. Perusing the space, he noticed his mother still hadn’t moved his rodeo buckles and his football trophies. He laughed out loud thinking that all of those trophies should amount to something. Shouldn’t they? He’d not always been bad news.

His high school senior picture still sat on his dresser. He imagined when he looked in the closet, he’d still find his high school wardrobe—particularly his letter jacket—hanging there.

Later. He’d look later. Right now, all I want is sleep.

Retrieving both the glass and the bottle, he set them on the nightstand by the bed, throwing back another hefty drink before he did so. Then stripping the covers and sheets back, he dropped his bag to the floor. He sat on the bed and laid back. Splitting damn headache. Maybe he should switch to coffee.

No. What he needed was more bourbon and sleep. All he wanted was to be comatose so maybe then, just maybe, he could get the hurt look on Mira’s face out of his head.

****

“I can put you up in 201 for the night if you want. Then tomorrow you can start looking for a place to live.”

Mira closed her eyes to shut Amaline’s face out of her line of vision. Behind her eyelids, she saw Jake lying in the bed in 201. She lay there next to him while he suckled at her breasts and toyed with her clit. “Isn’t there another room besides 201?” She opened her eyes again to look at her friend.

Amaline shook her head. “All booked up. They guy in 201 checked out late today but there are no late check-ins scheduled for tonight so it is open. But I have to tell you, Mira, it won’t be open after tonight. We’re heating up for the season.”

She knew that. Summer was upon them. But she wasn’t worried about that. She was more worried about something else.

“So, he checked out?”

“Who?”

“The guy in 201 with the caiman boots.”

“Yes. A couple of hours ago, like I said.”

Mira’s thoughts drifted. A couple of hours ago wouldn’t have been long after he’d left her place. It sure didn’t take Jake long to get the hell out of Dodge. But could she blame him? Her father had been rude. But a part of her had wanted him to stand up to her Pop and put him in his place.

But of course, he hadn’t. And why should he?

Jake wasn’t anything to her. Not really. Another one-night stand. Right?

“Mira?”

She looked at Amaline and didn’t really see her at all. “All right. I’ll take it. I’m not on the schedule for tomorrow so I’ll start looking for an apartment first thing in the morning.” She lifted her bag onto her shoulder and glanced about. “But I suppose I should start looking for a job too. I guess I don’t still have this one, do I?”

Amaline shrugged. “I don’t know, honey. Heath never said anything to me but he doesn’t share that kind of stuff with me. Maybe it’s best though you just find something in town. That way you can separate yourself from the McCoys all the way around. You’re sure you want to move out from home, honey?”

Mira peered at Amaline. “Yes. It’s a long story and maybe I’ll tell you one day, but moving out is in my best interest.” She paused and glanced behind the counter. “Is that today’s paper? I heard they were hiring down in Kerrville, you know, at some of those big box stores. Mind if I borrow it?”

“Go right ahead, Mira.” She handed her the paper. Kerrville just might be her best bet. She needed to get away from there. Away from home.

“Thanks. I’ll go on up then. I appreciate it, Amaline. I just need to sleep and I’ll feel a whole lot better in the morning.”

“I’m a little worried about you.”

Mira smiled. “Don’t be. I’ve been through worse. I’ll be fine.”

She turned toward the stairs. “Oh, Mira, wait. I have something for you.”

Halting, she glanced back. Amaline rounded the desk and handed her an envelope. “The guy in 201—you know, the one with the caiman boots, like you said—he left this for you. Asked if I’d give it to you when I saw you. Here you go honey. Probably a nice little tip. I wanted to make sure you got it. I’m sure you can use a little extra cash right now.”

Mira felt the tears welling up as she looked to Amaline’s outstretched hand. The white envelope with her name scrawled across it was blurring second by second. She snatched the envelope and shoved it into her back jeans pocket.

“Thanks, Amaline,” she said. “I’m sure it will come in useful.”

She stumbled toward the steps then, trying not to let the woman see her cry. She hated crying.

A tip. A goddamned tip for the chunky hotel maid. Thanks for the fuck honey and go out and buy yourself something pretty.

Well, no thank you.

As she slid the card key into the door at room 201, Mira was barely inside and had thrown the deadbolt when the full-blown sobs hit her. Angry at the world, and especially at Jake and her Pop, she let her duffle bag slam to the floor and threw herself on the bed. Crying herself to sleep had never been a thing she had allowed herself to do, ever—even after her mother had passed. But she had no choice in the matter tonight.

Tears consumed her until exhaustion set in and finally, she fell asleep.