All the Blackburn kids not only have Fi’s Celtic green eyes but our father Tommy’s raven hair. It’s a striking combination, and no one in Shelby County would ever deny the Blackburn family is a beautiful one.

  But that’s all surface stuff because what we really have is fortitude, grit, perseverance and an unrivaled work ethic. It’s how we’ve built our empire and it’s how we’ll maintain it for future generations.

  “Let’s get back to work,” I say. “More important stuff to do today.”

  Trey, Wade and Kat all rise, my brothers in jeans and barn boots and Kat in a pair of riding jods. A big chunk of her job is to train the show horses—although my brothers train as well—so she spends most of her days in the saddle. I might have the larger share of responsibility, but my siblings all work just as hard in smaller microcosms of the enterprise. I can do every one of their jobs plus a million others, and I get the added glory and burden of worrying about the successes or failures.

  Trey claps me on the shoulder. “Got your back, bud.”

  “Yeah… I know it. Thanks.”

  Wade holds out his fist to bump. “It’ll be fine.”

  “Of course it will.”

  Kat hangs back and after Trey’s and Wade’s voices recede, she says, “Michelle DeLeon is interested in buying Lady Beatrice.”

  For a moment, my mind is completely blank. The change in subject momentarily stumps me, but it only takes a second for it to connect. “The owners want two fifty but might consider something slightly less. Is Carmen ready for that horse? Because if not, it’s going to be a big waste of money.”

  “That’s a better question for Wade,” Kat replies with a lift of her shoulder. Wade is the primary trainer for the young woman who owns Lady Beatrice and knows the horse’s strengths and weaknesses. It’s a lot of horse and Carmen is a young kid, although I’m not sure of her exact age. “But he knows Michelle is looking at the mare for her daughter, so I assume he thinks it’s a good fit.”

  “Good enough.” I grab the manila folder I’d tossed down on a sideboard and shove the folded letter from Alaine in it. “I’ll give her a call.”

  “She’s single, by the way,” Kat says as we walk out of the sitting room.

  It again takes me a moment to process and when what she said hits me, I scowl. “So what?”

  “I’m just saying… she’s been divorced for a year and is super pretty.”

  “Again, so what?”

  “You could ask her out,” Kat prods, nudging me with her elbow as we traverse the main foyer and out the front door. Kat’s pink Gator sits beside my truck.

  “Quit your matchmaking,” I grumble. “I’m not interested.”

  “I don’t want you to be lonely. You’re getting old—”

  “I’m only thirty-seven,” I bark with faux outrage.

  “And that Diane Turner is no good for you.”

  That statement penetrates with utter clarity and I whirl on the front portico to face my sister. “What do you… I mean, how do you know about Diane?”

  I’ve never told one of my siblings about my “arrangement” with Diane. It’s a private matter, sex only, and none of their business. What Diane and I had was so meaningless, it didn’t even bear thinking about once outside of bed.

  Kat cocks a black eyebrow at me. “How do you think I know? Because Diane runs her mouth every time she’s at the barn. She’s telling anyone who will listen that y’all are sleeping together.”

  “Jesus Christ… it’s a random thing. Last night was the first time in—”

  “Last night, huh? Diane has a lesson later today with Monica. I bet that’s one of the first things she talks about.”

  “Fuck,” I mutter and turn away from her, jogging down the porch steps. I spin and point at my sister once I reach the sidewalk. “You hear that shit, you shut it down. It’s over.”

  “I will,” Kat assures, heading down the steps herself and angling toward her UTV. “But that won’t stop Diane from running her mouth.”

  “I’ll have words with her.” I open the truck door and hop in. At least, I’ll have words with her when I get a minute.

  If I remember.

  For now, I’m heading back to the broodmare barn. I need to budget time to call Michelle DeLeon to see if I can facilitate the sale of Lady Beatrice. Blackburn Farms takes a fifteen percent commission on inner barn sales, so on a two hundred and fifty thousand dollar horse, that’s some nice change going into the bank. It’s one of our easier earned revenue streams, but it’s not where my heart resides.

  That’s back with the pregnant mares, bringing new foals into the world. While the Blackburn enterprise deals in show horses, we’re mostly known for our breeding program. It’s where the real magic behind our success lies.

  Everything in breeding is high stakes. We’re putting a lot of money into blending championship lines to strengthen the breed. Buyers from all over the world want a Blackburn horse and every single birth is precious to me. It represents a piece of our family’s legacy.

  Which is why I don’t have time to be worried about Diane Turner spilling our private business or fending off my sister with unwanted matchmaking. I certainly don’t want to be saddled with a kid.

  Simply put, I have more important things to do.

  CHAPTER 3

  Marcie

  My sister Michelle is everything I’m not. Tall and willowy with flawless features, a natural sense of style—she can make a burlap sack look couture. She exudes grace, charm and a light, tinkling laugh when she’s amused that is so effervescent, people’s heads turn to see who made that beautiful sound. Michelle married wealthy and divorced wealthier and can afford anything she wants.

  So I’m quite surprised my sister is hemming and hawing over paying two hundred and fifty thousand for a horse for her daughter, Carmen. I’ve watched my sister shell out money on ridiculously expensive things with no regard to whether it would ever ding her bank balance, because in truth, it never would. Michelle’s ex-husband, Winston P. Bradenton, is a financier and was easily able to fork over half of his money to his ex-wife in the divorce without blinking an eye. Although he certainly grumbled about it every chance he could.

  “Why are you hesitating on this horse?” I ask as we share a bowl of warm tortilla chips and spicy salsa at our favorite Mexican restaurant.

  Michelle and I are close. I’m two years older at thirty-four and we spend a lot of our free time together. We’re not just sisters, we’re best friends. Despite thinking my sister is utter perfection in all ways, there’s not a single drop of envy or jealousy within my mind. I love every inch of her in all her perfect forms.

  That’s because, if you were to ask Michelle on any given day what she thinks of me, she’d reflect the same thing. That I’m utter perfection.

  While Michelle is tall and graceful, I’m petite and sassy. Michelle’s cultured, musical intonation is a complete contradiction to my raspy voice coated in the Kentucky southern accent. Women always tell me they wish they could sound like me, and men want to know what it sounds like being with me. We both have vivid blue eyes—Michelle’s sharply keen and savvy while mine reflect the lighthearted nature with which I approach life.

  She shrugs off my question. “I’m not necessarily hesitating about a horse in particular. I’m just wondering if I should shop around first. I don’t want to make a rash decision just because it’s an easy choice and I can afford it.”

  I laugh because this is very unlike my sister. She’s all about easy decisions and tossing money at the things she wants. “How can you even question it? You’ve been a customer at Blackburn Farms almost your entire life.”

  Michelle is the quintessential Blackburn customer, having ridden horses there as a young girl and throughout her teenage years. She gave up competition and riding in general when she went off to college but has always supported the saddlebred competition world and passed on her love of it to Carmen.

  I know from watching her ride back in the day and the way she’s cheering on Carmen that Michelle implicitly trusts the horse being offered to them. “You trust Ethan Blackburn on any matter regarding any horse, so why are you hesitating now?”

  Michelle shrugs and doesn’t answer, instead picking up her margarita on the rocks and taking a delicate sip.

  I narrow my eyes at her evasiveness. I wasn’t into horses growing up the way Michelle was. I’m all about music and art. But over the years I’ve become casually acquainted with the instructors and trainers at Blackburn since I attended my sister’s shows and would sometimes watch her train. I’ve also never missed one of Carmen’s shows and never will, because being divorced and childless at thirty-four, I’m pretty certain my chance at kids is over.

  I don’t know Ethan Blackburn personally, having only seen him around at various shows, but I know who he is. I know the entire Blackburn family, not just from Michelle and Carmen’s dealings with them, but because they are one of the most prominent families in Kentucky. But I only know Ethan by sight and what Michelle has said about him.

  I’ve seen him in the barn a few times while we were there checking out Lady Beatrice, but I don’t know him well enough to level a smile his way when he glances at me and Michelle. I’ve never so much as said hello to him in the handful of times our paths have crossed over the years.

  Not that I would know what to say if he dared talk to me. That man is so gorgeous, he’d likely put me into a perpetual tongue-tie. He’s also too serious looking, always bearing an expression as if he doesn’t have time for even a hello and doing so would be an imposition. He’s far more intimidating than gorgeous, which means it’s a waste of space for him to occupy my thoughts.

  I push that aside and niggle again at my sister. “Seriously… buy the damn horse.”

  Michelle’s eyes twinkle with mischief. “Yeah, I should buy the damn horse. Carmen loves it and it’s going to level up her riding. I’ve got plans later today but I can cut the check right now. You think you could run it by Blackburn Farms on your way home since you go right by there? Hand it over to Ethan?”

  I know every intonation in my sister’s voice and this one narrows my eyes. “Why do you need me to run the check over today? I’m sure if you just called him and told him you’re going to buy the horse, he can wait for you to bring the check.”

  “I don’t want them to sell the horse out from under me.”

  I roll my eyes at her obvious lie. “They are not going to sell the horse out from under you if you tell them you want it. It’s a quarter-of-a-million-dollar horse and it’s not the first expensive one you’ve bought from them. I’m quite confident they’ll keep it for you.”

  “Oh, come on,” Michelle exclaims with a quirk of her lips. “Wouldn’t you like a tiny opportunity to have some one-on-one time with Ethan Blackburn?”

  My mouth falls open, so low and wide that I’m surprised my jaw doesn’t dislocate. My sister has never once vocalized such a preposterous thought and she’s only doing so now because she suspects something.

  But what in the hell could she think is going on in my head? I’ve never mentioned Ethan’s name or shown any interest in the man.

  Ever.

  Sure, I think he’s the most gorgeous thing I’ve ever seen but that is my secret and while Michelle and I are thick as thieves, I’ve never once admitted such an attraction. It’s silly, flighty, without substance and not worth mentioning. It would never amount to anything other than appreciation of a fine male specimen.

  Hell, I think that about Chris Hemsworth too.

  Michelle grins at me and it makes me hot under the collar. To prove how well she knows me, she nods from across the table. “You’re really kind of obvious when you’re around him.”

  “I am not,” I protest. “That’s ridiculous. I hardly ever see the man. I bet I can count on my hands…”

  “Over my entire riding career, whenever you’ve come to watch Carmen compete, or when you’re watching her practice in the barn and Ethan Blackburn happens to walk by—counting up all that? You’ve been around the man dozens upon dozens upon dozens of times. Your face reflects the attraction.”

  I clap my hand over my mouth. “Does he know?”

  Michelle laughs and shakes her head, her gorgeous auburn hair the same shade as mine fluttering around her face. “No, my love. That man is in his own world. Only I can see it because I know you so well.”

  Reaching down into the bowl of chips, I pick one up and throw it at my sister. It bounces off her left shoulder and falls into her lap. Michelle retrieves it with a laugh, dunks it in salsa and pops it into her mouth.

  Grinning, she chews and after swallowing, says, “But if you’d like to act on that attraction, I am pretty sure I can arrange a date. If there’s one thing that comes with years of spending money at Blackburn Farms, I bet I’ve got some pull in that department.”

  I shake my head. “Oh no you don’t. You’re a horrible matchmaker. Remember Jeff Timmons? What in the hell were you thinking setting me up with that guy?”

  “I was hoping to get you out of your post-divorce funk,” Michelle admits. “It was enough to get you showered, a bit of makeup on and out of the house. That was a brilliant idea.”

  I grimace as I think about the six months following my divorce where I basically hid in my house or at the school where I work as the principal. The end of my marriage devastated me, but not because I lost the love of my life. No, it had more to do with my forty-eight-year-old, prominent doctor husband trading me in for a twenty-three-year-old trophy wife who was pregnant. All those years I wanted a child, and my douche spouse was against it. It left me regretting my choice to marry George Foyette. And it was a cruel stab and twist of the fated knife that he knocked up his young receptionist and then proclaimed himself madly in love with her, ready to bestow all the love in the world on their baby.

  They had a boy almost seven months ago, named him George Junior, and I still get heartburn thinking about the years I wasted on that man.

  So yeah… Michelle setting me up with Jeff Timmons, who may have been a world-class douche in the end, did one thing—it got me out of the house. Made me realize I’m a social person who likes to be around people. That I enjoy going out and experiencing things. It didn’t make me want to date any more than I do now, but my social circle expanded more than when I’d been married and, in my opinion, I have a full life.

  I’m done talking about dating and opt to change the subject. “I’m not going to be able to take the time off for Mexico.”

  Michelle tilts her head, expression crumbling with disappointment. “That’s not fair, Marcie. You should be able to take a vacation like everyone else. You work way too hard.”

  “You’re not wrong on any of that,” I sigh, picking up a chip. My gaze meets my sister’s. “But since we lost Rebecca, I’m doing double duty and it’s going to take just that week alone to get me halfway caught up.”

  I’m the principal of the county’s largest primary school and it’s a career path I rarely question. The hours are long and grueling, the problems I deal with regarding my students are often heartbreaking, and yet… I can’t imagine doing anything else. Even if it means missing out on a spring break vacation with my sister and niece.

  My assistant principal, Rebecca Foster, up and quit last week after proclaiming she didn’t have the stomach for administration anymore. She wanted to go back to teaching, which was all well and good, but she could’ve worked a little on the timing. If she’d just given me a chance, I probably could have put her in a classroom for the upcoming school year and found a suitable replacement. But as it stands, she quit with no notice and now I’m stuck doing two full-time jobs.

  “In fact,” I continue, lifting my water versus a margarita like my sister, “I’m going to be there the rest of the day working. Happy Saturday to me.” Raising my glass in a mock toast, I sip and sigh dramatically. “Delicious.”

  “Speaking of delicious,” Michelle replies as she props her chin on her hand to laser her eyes across the table. “Let me set you up with Ethan Blackburn.”

  “No,” I say with an emphatic shake of my head. “And in case that wasn’t clear enough for you… no, no, no, no.”

  “Why not?” It comes out as a petulant whine which, surprisingly, has worked to Michelle’s benefit a lot over the years.

  “Didn’t you hear the part where I said I’ve got no time to go on a vacation with you? Which means I’ve got no time to go on dates.”

  Especially not with a man who is completely out of my league. Blind dates are bad enough, but to be on one with someone who would never have asked you out if given a clear choice ahead of time would be soul-rending. I almost shudder thinking about it.

  “I call bullshit.” She points a finger at me, her bloodred nail expertly manicured and polished. “You might be under the gun now because of Rebecca leaving but you’ve made no effort to date since your divorce from the Antichrist—”

  “I went out with Jeff Timmons,” I interrupt, making a pointed reminder that she isn’t quite accurate. “And that date was so bad, you wonder why I don’t—”

  “Just stop.” She holds up her hand, palm out, and I snap my mouth closed. “You’re avoiding going out because George did a number on your head.”

  “He traded me in for a sex kitten,” I grumble.

  “He’s a narcissistic asshole who did you a favor. You were horribly unhappy in that marriage and him banging his receptionist was the best thing that ever happened to you.”

  This is not the first time Michelle has said those words and it won’t be the last. And she’s correct… I was incredibly unhappy in my marriage, but I never would’ve left. I tried with all my might to make it work. Tried to be everything George wanted but it was never good enough. He always tore me down, complaining about the way I cooked, the extra ten pounds I put on over winter, the way I cut my hair. He hated the fact that I worked hard for my career. George wanted someone to cater to his needs, and while I did a damn good job of maintaining our household and being a good wife while working an arduous job, it was never good enough.