“You can’t stop me from talking to her.”

  I chuckle, rubbing at the scruff on my face. “I can if I want to, Rosemund. But I’m the one who gave her the means to contact you by phone. So don’t think I’m standing in your way of having a legitimate, honest relationship with your granddaughter. But I’m not going to stand for you filling her head with poison and making it harder for her to acclimate to life here in this home. I’m warning you to stay away. Talk to her by phone if you want but these little meetings after school where the two of you plot are over.”

  “Or what?” Rosemund spits out. “It sounds like there’s a threat under those words and you know Lionel would not like that.”

  “Fuck your husband and his dislike of threats.” I put both hands on the edge of the car door and lean farther in. “But to answer your question, yeah… That was a threat. And if you want to know what I’m going to do, I’m going to take a page out of the history books. Look it up. You remember Claude Blackburn? He single-handedly almost took down your entire family and that was just out of spite. Imagine what I could do fueled by the prospect that you might be harming a little girl.”

  Claude Blackburn was a crafty son of a bitch and during Prohibition, he used his influence in politics to block the Mardraggons from obtaining medicinal liquor permits. Eventually, they found a way around it, but it almost put them under.

  “I would never harm Sylvie,” Rosemund says, her chin jerking inward.

  “The lies you’re telling her are harmful. Keeping this feud at the forefront is harmful. Refusing to let her be a little girl who can settle into a new life after absorbing the death of her mother—”

  “I lost a daughter,” Rosemund yells.

  That softens me, but only incrementally. “And I’m sorry for your loss. But my duties and loyalty belong solely to Sylvie now. I will protect her at all costs. Do not cross me in a way that will set me on a warpath. You may not know me very well but when I tell you that I always achieve my goals, it means I can ruin you and your family if I set my mind to it.”

  Rosemund’s lips press flat and her eyes sizzle with fury. “I’ll pass the message on to Lionel. But I’m confident in saying you should watch your back, Ethan. Our family is not one to be crossed.”

  My eyes bore into hers. “Duly noted. Get off my property.”

  Rosemund doesn’t wait, slamming the car in drive and spewing gravel as she whips onto the state road without even looking to see if traffic is coming. I rub hard at the back of my neck as I watch her disappear around a curve.

  I glance back toward the house and see that Sylvie is just making her way up the front porch.

  The lies Rosemund has been telling Sylvie all center around the original feud that happened over a hundred years ago. In my recordings of Sylvie’s French tirades, the words cheater, infidelity and murder have all been repeated. The same lies that have been spread around about our ancestor Elizabeth Blackburn and her father James Blackburn. It is so fucking moot, that shit happened so long ago, but the history of hate has been passed down, and I can’t deny that it certainly colored my perception of every single person who bears the Mardraggon name. It’s still amazing to me that there was enough alcohol in this county that got me and Alaine drunk enough to have sex, resulting in a pregnancy.

  I have to find a way to counteract the vitriol Sylvie has been listening to for the past handful of months. It isn’t just since she came to live with me. Hell, if Alaine was doing her duty, she had probably been indoctrinating Sylvie against the Blackburns ever since the child was old enough to understand such things. For all I know, Alaine badmouthed my family all the way over in France, nurturing an ingrained hatred in our daughter.

  I know for sure that once Alaine came home to Kentucky to die and Rosemund and Lionel got their hands on that little girl, they fueled any underlying discord already started.

  I am a million percent sure that even if Sylvie didn’t know a damn thing about the Blackburns until she was apprised that I was possibly her father, the time she spent with the Mardraggons was filled with a constant stream of negativity.

  I’ve done all I can for now to nip the problem with Rosemund visiting my daughter. And I know that this little incident probably only fueled Sylvie’s distrust of me and stoked the flames of dislike. I take my phone out of my back pocket as I walk toward the Gator. Sitting down in the front seat, I don’t put it in gear, instead dialing a number in my contacts.

  She doesn’t answer, but I get her voicemail. “Hi, this is Marcie DeLeon. I’m sorry I missed your call. Leave a name and number and I’ll get back to you as soon as I can. Remember… Be kind.”

  I didn’t expect to get her since it’s the end of the school day and I know principals don’t stop at three p.m. I leave her a short message. “Hi, Marcie. It’s Ethan Blackburn. I know you said I could call if I needed help with Sylvie and I do. I’m hoping you can give me a call back and we can discuss it.”

  I leave my number, even though I know it will be on her caller ID and she can access it through Sylvie’s records. I shift into gear and head up the driveway toward the house. I hope Marcie calls me back before the day is over because I could really use some advice on what to say to my daughter.

  When I walk in the front door, the sound of raised voices has me lengthening my stride to reach the kitchen. Sylvie stands there with her hands on her hips, face bright red, yelling at Kat. “I am not going down to the barn with you later. Stop trying to tell me what to do. All of you people are awful and I’m done taking orders from you.”

  “Now, Sylvie,” Miranda says from the other side of the kitchen island. She’s in the process of cutting up an apple that has a scoop of peanut butter on a plate beside it. Presumably my daughter’s snack. “Let’s lower it down.”

  Sylvie whirls on Miranda, who has been the one person within the confines of this house who’s been able to have semi-decent conversations with the child. “Don’t you talk to me and tell me what to do. You work for these people and you’re just as bad as they are.”

  “Okay, that’s enough,” I bark, and Sylvie spins around, eyes wide. I’ve never used that tone with her before, and a flash of contrition filters through her eyes. That’s good because I’ve often wondered if she even knew how to be obedient or respect an elder. I’ve been hoping that most of her bluster is full-on acting and that Alaine had raised her better. Her response gives me hope.

  But she lifts her chin and glares at me. “Screw you, Ethan,” she sneers, rushing past me out of the kitchen. I then hear her stomping up the staircase.

  Kat turns to face me just as I hear Sylvie’s bedroom door slam. My sister throws her arms out. “What in the world?”

  I fill both Kat and Miranda in on the visit with Rosemund. “I’ve called in reinforcements.” I explain about reaching out to Marcie DeLeon.

  Kat pats my shoulder before leaving, giving me a sympathetic smile. “I sure hope Marcie can work miracles because, if not, I feel like we are all shit out of luck.”

  I couldn’t agree more.

  CHAPTER 9

  Marcie

  To say my office is modest is an understatement. I inherited the compact room, which is more about functionality than flair. My wooden desk bears the marks of years of service by those who came before me, flanked by chairs that, although uncomfortable, have comforted many a concerned parent and staff member.

  I’ve peppered the space with personal touches—photographs of smiling students, handmade gifts that were tokens of innocent affection, and certificates that speak more of my dedication than accolade. The walls, a gallery of educational inspiration, are adorned with motivational quotes and a well-used bulletin board, its edges frayed with time. A modest window frames a view of the schoolyard and I love watching the kids play at recess. It’s one of the ways I combat the stress of a job that pulls on my reserves almost minute by minute.

  Amid the simple furnishings, my computer and the stack of well-thumbed policy manuals on the shelf are my silent allies in steering the ship of learning. In this humble office, I chart the course for kids’ futures that have yet to be unfurled, my resolve unwavering despite the school’s lean budget.

  Every day, I face a gauntlet of challenges that stretch my capabilities as an educator to the limits. My heart aches for the children who come to school bearing the scars—both visible and invisible—of abuse and neglect. I navigate the turbulent waters of bullying and violence, a shocking circumstance to have to deal with in children as young as mine. The specter of poverty looms large, with students arriving in class hungry and in threadbare clothing. It is a constant reminder of the inequities that plague our beloved community. My days are punctuated by the complexities of mental health issues, family crises and educational hurdles, each demanding a unique blend of empathy and resolve.

  Beyond my office walls, I grapple with staff management, always aiming to uplift the morale of my team despite the ever-tightening budget constraints. Amid all of this, the relentless demands of administrative duties and regulatory compliance never cease, a constant backdrop to the more visible aspects of the job. In the quiet moments of reflection when I stare out my window watching the kids running around, laughing and playing with the delight of innocence, I often wonder how I manage to keep afloat in this sea of challenges.

  Yet each morning, I arrive at school, resolve undimmed, ready to face another day because that’s what my heart demands I do.

  The school is quiet, having emptied of everyone over an hour ago. With no husband or children of my own to go home to, I often stay to chip away at the never-ending mountain of paperwork that each day’s crises bring.

  I am in the middle of writing a report for social services regarding a very sweet seven-year-old boy who told me that his father whipped him with a belt. My stomach threatened to expel my breakfast this morning when he showed me the welts on his back. My first order of business was to hug him gently, promising I’d help him. The second order of business was to release control to social services, my duty requiring that I involve them. I know tonight’s sleep will not go well because I’ll worry about him all night.

  I take a break from the heaviness of the information before me and nab my phone from my purse, intent on checking my texts and voicemails. I’m surprised to find one from Ethan Blackburn.

  I’m not sure why, but the minute I hear his lumbering voice my pulse begins to race. I try to ignore that and instead take note of what seems like desperation in his voice. I call him back immediately.

  “Hello, Marcie… thank you for calling me back,” he answers when the call connects.

  I sit up straighter in my chair and brush my hair back behind my ears. “Yes. Ethan. Hello. What can I do for you?”

  He’s silent for a moment and then his gusting sigh tells me that something is very wrong. “It’s Sylvie. I need help.”

  I listen while Ethan tells me how things have been going with Sylvie in the Blackburn home over the last several days. I take it all in quietly and intently, not interrupting, saving my questions for later. He seems like a man who needs to get a lot off his chest.

  “I’m at my wits’ end. I thought she would be settling in by now but if anything, her behavior is getting worse and I’m worried that I’m not handling things correctly. The last thing I want to do is traumatize her, but I also feel like I need to take a firmer hand.”

  I’m fascinated by the layers of complexity regarding this matter. It’s not the first time I’ve had to deal with a child who has lost a parent and had to go live with unknown relatives. I have helped guide many students through such scenarios. In fact, I’ve paid special attention to Sylvie since she enrolled at Shelbyville Primary, checking in with her every few days to see how she is doing. I’ve found the child reserved but not antagonistic. I definitely see sadness, but there are moments when I’ve observed Sylvie just being a little girl. Usually when I see her on the playground running around with the new friends she’s met.

  The complexity comes because of this underlying feud between Sylvie’s current family situation with the Blackburns and her history with her mother’s family. I don’t really know why the feud exists or how deep it runs. I assume it’s due to intricate business ties that may have soured at some point in the past and I only assume this because the Blackburns and Mardraggons are the two wealthiest families in the county and probably the entire state. It only makes sense that their bitterness stems from some sort of rivalry, although I don’t understand how that could be so as the two businesses—horses and bourbon—are very different. Still, those two stalwart industries are synonymous with the great state of Kentucky.

  Ethan keeps talking. “She’s up in her bedroom now and I don’t know what to do with her. We’ve gone back and forth between giving her space and forcing her to spend time with us. I’ve given her freedoms as well as rules. I just don’t know what the right answer is anymore.”

  “I’m very glad to help out in any way you think I can,” I start to offer before Ethan pounces on my willingness.

  “Can you come over right now? She needs someone to talk to who she doesn’t see as an enemy.”

  My gaze cuts to the computer and the report I need to finish. “I could probably be there in an hour.”

  “Perfect. You can join my family for dinner and tell us what to do.”

  “Mr. Blackburn—”

  “Ethan,” he says.

  “Ethan… I can’t promise you any solutions. But I’ll be glad to talk to her as well as offer some advice.”

  “That’s way more than we have right now. Dinner is at six. Come hungry.”

  And with that, he hangs up.

  I don’t even think to be miffed by the abrupt way he ended the call. I can tell he is a man at the end of his rope and was probably more afraid I’d find some way to decline the invitation. I’m actually amused, which immediately makes me feel guilty. Ethan is clearly tortured and in need of help, but it’s fascinating to see a man who I consider to be in absolute control of everything so out of his element. My heart bleeds for him, but it bleeds more for Sylvie. My willingness to help has everything to do with her and not the shockingly handsome yet brooding horse farm owner.

  ♦

  When I pull up to the Blackburn mansion, the redbrick is aglow with the waning rays of the day. I’m not nervous to be stepping into this situation because I was born for things like this. Any apprehensions I have are in dealing with Ethan Blackburn. He is a powerful man who has no experience with children and it’s obvious he’s operating on frustration. I’ve had my fair share of dealing with difficult people and so far, Ethan seems to have it together as much as could be expected for the issues he’s faced with.

  Still… there’s something about him that makes me uneasy. Not in a negative or scary way, but maybe because he intrigues me just a little too much.

  I banish those thoughts and exit my car, locking it behind me. As I approach the top porch step the door swings open and it isn’t Ethan who greets me but a woman who must be his mother. She doesn’t have the same raven hair, but those green eyes are definitely his.

  “Ms. DeLeon,” the woman says with a beautiful Irish lilt, offering her hand. “I’m Fi Blackburn. Sylvie’s grandmother.”

  “Please, call me Marcie. It’s a pleasure to meet you.” She welcomes me into the grand foyer and I take a moment to look around with appreciation at the beautiful woodwork, marble flooring and antique furniture. I love old homes and the history within them. I know the Blackburns have been in Shelby County since its formation. “We’re all back in the kitchen, nearly ready to sit down for dinner. We don’t be using the formal dining room too much.”

  I follow as we pass the sweeping staircase into the rear of the house where I enter a large kitchen filled with people. I didn’t know what to expect when I was invited to dinner but it’s surprising that Ethan’s whole family is here. I know his siblings—Kat, Trey and Wade—just from the years Carmen has been riding at their barn. Kat is one of Carmen’s instructors.

  Introductions are made and Kat gives me a hug, murmuring, “I’m so glad you’re here. We need major help.”

  I smile at her. “I’m sure everything will be fine.”

  I notice that Ethan and Sylvie are both missing. The kitchen smells delicious—roasted chicken and potatoes. The table is already set with piping hot food and Tommy Blackburn hands me a glass of ice water after asking what I’d like to drink.

  “Where are Ethan and Sylvie?”

  “He’s upstairs trying to talk her into coming down to join us,” Trey says. “He’s been up there for about fifteen minutes.”

  I don’t hesitate in my action. “Do you mind if I go up?”

  Fi shakes her head with a smile that brims with gratitude. “Top of the stairs and to the right, first door on the left.”

  I set my purse down on the kitchen island next to my glass of water and head up the stairs.

  I hear the argument when I reach the landing.

  “I’m not hungry. How many times do I have to tell you? Can’t you get it through your thick skull?”

  “I would really appreciate it if you would try to speak respectfully. I know you have that much in you, Sylvie.”

  “You don’t know anything about me at all. And I don’t want you to know anything about me.”

  “Sylvie… When are you going to accept—”

  “I’m not going to accept anything,” the little girl yells, and I hear a distinct stomping of her foot.

  It’s time for me to intervene. I move quickly into the open doorway and Sylvie sees me, her eyes widening. “Ms. DeLeon… what are you doing here?”

  Ethan turns and levels a bewildered look at me, although he speaks to his daughter. “I invited her over for dinner. Now, would you please come down and join us?”

  I step farther into the room and say to Ethan, “Actually… do you mind if I have a moment alone with Sylvie?”

  Ethan shakes his head. “Take your time. We’ll hold on eating until you come down.”