Eternal Vows (Hideaway (Kimani)) (10 page)

Not much had changed for Peyton since her return. She still lived in the west wing of the main house, while Sheldon, Renee and their daughter occupied the east wing. Although Sheldon’s house was much too large for three people, she couldn’t help but feel like an interloper. If she’d been able to secure a position with one of the neighboring farms she would’ve rented an apartment in Staunton. That was what she’d planned to do once Nicholas hired her, but living and working at Cole-Thom was a requisite for employment.

“Will I be able to utilize the family discount again when I order a birthday gift for my mother?”

An elusive dimple winked in Nicholas’s left cheek when he flashed a wide grin, and for several seconds Peyton found it difficult to draw a normal breath. She didn’t find Nicholas as good-looking as he was sensual. Everything about him aroused her senses. It was his balanced features and tall, slender body; the haunting scent of his masculine cologne; his soft drawling speech pattern; the uncoiled strength in his arms when they’d danced together at his sister’s wedding; and the taste of his champagne-scented breath when he’d brushed a kiss over her mouth to thank her for helping to make Celia’s wedding day a special one. She didn’t want to think about the kiss in the moonlight, because it was a constant reminder of her sterile love life.

“Not to worry, Peyton. The discount is for perpetuity.”

Peyton returned his grin with a dazzling one of her own. Pushing back the chair, she stood, Nicholas rising with her. “That’s good to know. Once you let me know the price of the decanter I’ll write a check. But, you’ll have to let me know who to make it payable to.”

Nicholas nodded. “You’ve solved your dilemma of what to give Sheldon and now I have to think of something to give him.”

“May I make a suggestion?” she asked.

His expressive eyebrows lifted a fraction. “Of course.”

She pulled her lip between her teeth, wondering how he would react to her suggestion. Either Nicholas would like it, or he would think she’d completely lost her mind. “Give him a foal. Preferably a colt he could use for future breeding.” Peyton was nonplussed when he stared at her. His expression was a mask of stone until a hint of a smile tilted the corners of his mouth. Without warning, she found herself in Nicholas’s arms, he lifting her off her feet. Instinctually her arms went around his neck when he pressed his forehead to hers. “So, you like my suggestion?”

“Yes. And I’m going to leave it up to you to select the colt.”

It was as if someone had flicked on a light switch in a pitch-black room. Nicholas suddenly became aware of where he was and who Peyton was. The room was filled with an emotionally charged silence that was deafening. They were cloistered in his office; she in his embrace, their mouths a breath apart. His gaze lingered on the soft curve of her lower lip. The longer he held her, the more overwhelming the feelings he didn’t want to feel escalated. Slowly, deliberately he lowered her until her feet touched the floor.

Peyton blinked as if coming out of a trance. It had taken all of her willpower not to press her mouth to Nicholas’s. Never had the urge for her to kiss a man been that strong. Not even with Reginald. The cell phone in the pocket of her jeans vibrated. Each time her phone rang her heart literally jumped into her mouth before she stole a peek at the display. Peyton decided to wait until she was back in the truck before answering the call. She took a backward step, putting space between them.

“I’ll look over your stock when I come Tuesday. I’m going to have to get back to check on the foal.”

“Colt or mare?”

“Colt. His sire is Shah Jahan, and his dam is Golly Miss Molly.”

Nicholas whistled softly. “Talk about extraordinary bloodlines.”

Peyton nodded. “He’s Shah’s mirror image, right down to the marking on his forehead. Now, if he can run as fast as his mother and father, then Blackstone Farms will definitely have another champion Thoroughbred.”

Crossing his arms over his chest, Nicholas angled his head. “You race them and I breed them.”

“That’s what I call a win-win combination. Maybe one day Blackstone Farms will race a horse raised on Cole-Thom Farms,” she said, smiling.

“Now you sound like Sheldon.”

“That’s because I’m a Blackstone.”

He wondered why she made it sound as if she were a member of a royal family. But if the truth were told the Virginia Blackstones had become horse-racing royalty. They still were far behind legendary Calumet Farm that had produced eight Kentucky Derby winners, more than any other operation in U.S. racing history, but they were gaining quickly in many of the other major races throughout the country.

“Have you named the little fella?” he asked.

A smile spread across Peyton’s face like rays of sunshine. “I was given the honor of naming him.”

“What did you come up with?”

“Outlaw.”

“Outlaw?” Nicholas repeated.

Her smile faded. “Yes.”

“What made you come up with that name?”

Peyton smiled again, bringing Nicholas’s raven gaze to linger on her mouth. “I predict he’s going steal the purse in every race in which he’s entered. I could’ve named him Thug Life, but I don’t think that would’ve gone over too well with my cousins.”

Chuckling under his breath, Nicholas lowered his arms and cupped her elbows, leading her over to the French doors. The scent of colorful hibiscus wafted into the room when he opened the doors. “Naming him Thug Life probably would’ve made him a suspect for doping.”

She frowned. “Doping horses is illegal, and I refuse to break the law.”

They stepped out into the bright late-afternoon sunlight. Peyton did not want to talk about the practice of doping horses before or after races. It went against everything she’d been taught.

“That’s one of the reasons why I got out of horse racing,” Nicholas said, reaching for her hand and tucking it into the bend of his elbow. “When I first set up the farm I’d discovered several of my horses tested positive for dermorphin. And because of this they weren’t allowed to race.”

Peyton gave him a sidelong glance as they walked around to the back of the house where someone had parked her truck. She was more than aware of the properties of dermorphin. The performance-enhancing drug made from frog secretion was purported to be forty times more powerful than morphine.

“Did you find out who did the doping?”

“No. That’s why I fired everyone except the grooms and stable boys. Sheldon was generous enough to let me use some of his people until I was able to hire new staff.”

“Before you finalize my hire, I’d like to go over which drugs, if any, I’ll use to medicate your horses.”

Nicholas stopped at the red pickup with the Blackstone Farms logo emblazoned on the doors. Releasing Peyton’s hand, he opened the driver’s side door. “I’m a neophyte in the horse racing, breeding and stud business, so you can say I’m still a work in progress. I know nothing about veterinary medicine. That’s why I contracted with Dr. Richardson to take care of my horses. In another month you’ll become responsible for the physical and medical care of everything on this property with four legs.” He leaned closer. “I want you to know one important fact. Cole-Thom Farms is my wife and the stallions and mares my children. And I intend to pay you very well to take good care of them, and that includes keeping them in peak physical condition. I’ve invested blood, sweat, tears and a lot of money to make this farm viable, and one thing I don’t intend to do is fail. Three of the four horses that tested positive broke down and had to be euthanized. I swore an oath that would never happen again. And if I have to fire everyone, including the veterinarian, then I’ll do it again.”

Tilting her head, Peyton met his unwavering gaze. “Why are you telling me this when I told you I don’t believe in doping horses?”

“I just want to let you know where I’m coming from and that I don’t like losing. Not only did I lose three splendid animals, but I also couldn’t collect on the insurance policy because a drug was cited as the cause of death.”

She knew trainers injected horses with powerful painkillers; veterinarians reported the overuse of pain medicine not only masked injuries, but put both horse and rider at risk. State racing commissions had become more vigilant after a rash of fatal breakdowns at many racetracks. Officials were examining past performance charts of horses for telltale signs of injury. Pulling up or being transported off the track were certain signs of injuries.

Peyton’s cell vibrated again. “I really have to go.” She smiled. “Thanks for everything.” Nicholas stepped back and she got up into the pickup and closed the door. “I’ll talk to you later.”

Pushing the start-engine button, she shifted into gear, driving slowly along the gravel path leading back to the farm’s entrance. Glancing up in the rearview mirror, she watched Nicholas’s image grow smaller and smaller. Words she’d wanted to fling at him tasted like bile in her mouth. Peyton knew if she didn’t need the experience to work as a vet on a horse farm she would’ve told Mr. High and Mighty Nicholas Cole-Thomas just what he could do with his inflated ego.

She’d studied hard, while she’d sacrificed a lot for her career. And for him to imply that she would even consider doping a horse was preposterous.
Cole-Thom Farms is my wife and the stallions and mares my children.
His statement stayed with Peyton as she drove through the gates, leaving the property of one of the most arrogant and insufferable men she’d ever met. Well, it was definitely his business if Nicholas preferred horses to having children of his own. And if the land he’d won in a hotly contested auction was his wife, then she hoped it afforded him with a sense of gratification and well-being.

When they’d danced together at his sister’s reception she’d found him likeable and charming. She didn’t want to read more into their sharing a kiss during the Blackstone open house. Nicholas was in a festive mood and so was she, while the setting was perfect for romance. She’d hope it would signal the beginning of a friendship where they would spend more time together but the offer to teach took precedence, changing her and her outlook on her future.

Chapter 8

S
lowing and pulling off the road, Peyton shifted into Park and retrieved her cell from her pocket. A smile parted Peyton’s lips. It wasn’t Reginald. Two years after their divorce was finalized her ex had begun calling. He called her every morning at six. After a month the calls decreased to one or two a week. Then they’d stopped and she believed he’d finally given up. Then the calls began again, this time on New Year’s Day and with a number she didn’t recognize. Each subsequent call was from a different number. It reached a point where she was afraid to answer her phone. He was no longer calling her at six in the morning but at any time of the day.

She felt she was losing control of her life when she developed a fear of answering her phone. Peyton was tempted to change her cell-phone number, then decided not to answer any number she didn’t recognize. Two weeks ago he’d called again, and she was thoroughly nauseated by his heavy breathing. Before hanging up she’d threatened that if he didn’t stop calling her she was going to report him to the police.

This caller was someone she hadn’t heard from in months. Punching a button, she said cheerfully, “Hey, stranger,” when she heard the familiar voice.

“Hey, yourself. What are you up to? Don’t answer that, Peyton. It’s probably horse manure.”

“Wrong, Caroline. The stalls are usually mucked out by the time I check on my patients,” she teased. “I tried calling your cell a couple of weeks ago, but it just went to voice mail.”

“I’m now living in D.C. with my brother and his family. That’s only temporary because I found a place in Foggy Bottom. But, I can’t move in until the Labor Day weekend.”

Peyton’s brow creased in confusion. The last time she’d spoken to her former college roommate she was living in the Pacific Northwest. “What’s going on with you and Eric?” There was only the sound of breathing coming through the earpiece. “Caroline? Are you still there?”

“I’m here, Peyton. There’s no me and Eric. We broke up last year. He waited until New Year’s Eve to tell me he wanted a divorce. And before the ink was dry on the divorce papers he got married again. The new Mrs. Eric Meyer definitely meets with his parents’ approval.”

Peyton didn’t want to believe she’d spoken to her friend a number of times over the past six or seven months, and not once had Caroline given any indication her marriage was in trouble. Eric was the only child of a couple whose family had made a fortune in the logging industry. Caroline had been there for Peyton when her short-lived marriage ended and she knew this was the time for her to support Caroline.

“Are you working?” she asked.

“I’m freelancing for several magazines. I write articles about things that interest me, then send them in. So far, I’ve managed to sell two.”

“What are you doing for money?”

“Eric may have blindsided me, but yours truly made him pay. I only agreed to a no-contest quickie divorce if he made it worth my while. After asking around I found a pit bull for an attorney and she managed to get me a seven-figure settlement. And I heard just before I left Portland that Eric was about to become a father. I never told you this, but I...I can’t have children.”

Peyton’s jaw dropped. She’d believed there wasn’t anything she and Caroline hadn’t shared with each other. “A lot of women can’t have children.”

There came another swollen silence. “It’s a long story, Peyton.”

“Please talk to me.”

“This is something I can’t talk about on the phone.”

Peyton knew her friend was in pain and needed someone to lean on, otherwise she wouldn’t have called her. “Now that you don’t have a nine-to-five, you should come and hang out with me for a couple of weeks.”

“I can only spare a week.”

“Then come for a week.”

Caroline’s sigh came through the earpiece. “I was hoping you would say that. I was going to ask you to come to D.C., but it’s better that I come and see you. Let me tie up a few things here, pack a bag and I’ll see you Sunday.”

“I can’t wait. By the way, we’re giving my cousin a surprise sixtieth birthday celebration in two weeks. I’m on the planning committee, so you can’t mention anything about it around Sheldon.”

“Are your parents coming?”

“No. Dad’s busy putting up several barns before the cold weather sets in.”

“What about your mother? I haven’t seen her in ages,” Caroline said.

Peyton didn’t want to go into the dynamics behind her parents’ relationship. If her father was working on a construction project he expected his wife to be there whenever he called or returned home unexpectedly. Lena who’d always been a stay-at-home mother had perfected the art of canning fruits and vegetables; she sold her exotic concoctions at farm stands and fairs not only in their small upstate New York town near Plattsburgh but also in neighboring Vermont.

“I’ve been trying to get my mom to come and stay with me for a few weeks, but she claims this is canning season for seasonal berries.” Then it would be corn, squash and other autumnal produce, Peyton mused. Lena refused to stop whatever she was doing to kick back and relax. It was as if canning had become her therapy.

“Tell her I asked about her whenever you speak to her again,” Caroline said. “I’m going to hang up and get my things together. I’ll call you early tomorrow to let you know when I expect to arrive.”

“Does your car have navigation?”

“Yes, it does.”

“Blackstone Farms doesn’t have a street address, so once you enter the town limits for Staunton, you’ll see signs directing you to the various farms.”

“I’m really looking forward to seeing you and those beautiful animals you’re always talking about.”

“And I can’t wait to see you again,” Peyton countered.

She ended the call, placing the phone on the seat with her hat, and continued home.
Home.
The four-letter word resonated with Peyton; she’d lived so many places over the past ten years she felt like a gypsy. She’d slept in the very feminine-decorated bedroom in her parents’ home for seventeen years. Then it was her college dorm room for the next four years. This was followed with six years in an apartment in Saskatchewan, Canada, when she’d enrolled in the Western College of Veterinary Medicine. She’d come back to the States not to New York, but to Massachusetts, much to the disappointment of her parents—her father in particular—to enroll in advanced surgical courses at Tufts University of Veterinary Medicine. Now at twenty-eight she was prepared to move again. This time it would be to a neighboring farm, and Peyton who’d likened herself to a nomad hoped it would be her last move for a while.

She’d once considered opening her own practice, but her interest in equine medicine and large exotic animals was better suited to a horse farm or zoo. Her father had tried to persuade her to move back home when he’d offered to give her the money she’d need to set up a veterinary clinic. She’d softened her rejection, saying she wanted to see if she could make it on her own. Meanwhile, Peyton had no intention of becoming beholden to her father. It would be history repeating itself.

Alphonso Blackstone had offered to marry Lena, who was the minister’s daughter, when she’d found herself pregnant with another man’s baby, but the selfless act proved futile when his bride miscarried in her first trimester. Her mother had admitted to Peyton that she hadn’t been in love with Alphonso when she married him, but only agreed to marry him to protect her family’s name. It had to be a perverted sense of gratitude that she’d permitted her husband to dictate every phase of her life. Peyton loved her mother and her father yet refused to allow a man to control her life. Alphonso was kind, gentle and loving yet was prone to mood swings. When she’d suggested he see a doctor because of his erratic behavior he vehemently denied there was anything wrong with him.

She parked the pickup near the garages, leaving the vehicle unlocked and the keys in the ignition.

Instead of heading for the main house, Peyton made her way to Jeremy’s office. She tapped on the door, then stuck her head through the opening. “Do you have a few minutes?” she asked.

Jeremy, the younger of Sheldon’s two sons, had taken over running the farm since his father’s retirement. He’d relocated the farm’s official business office from Sheldon’s home to the expanded space at the rear of his house. A Stanford University business degree graduate, Jeremy had enlisted in the marines, and once he’d fulfilled his military obligation joined the Drug Enforcement Administration as a special agent. As a member of a Black Ops team he nearly lost his life when an undercover mission went awry. He was discharged from a military hospital, resigned his position with the DEA and came back home to stay.

Flecks of gray shimmered in his cropped black hair; the summer sun had darkened his face to a rich, deep nut-brown. Jeremy had inherited his father’s gray eyes, but they were darker, smokier. He smiled, beckoning her closer. “Sure. Come on in.”

Peyton walked in and sat down next to the workstation. She didn’t feel as close to Jeremy as she did with Ryan. Maybe it had something to do with her spending more time with Ryan. Not only did Jeremy look like Sheldon, but their personalities were similar. She attributed that to their military backgrounds. He wasn’t as approachable as his older brother and the trait served him well when his overall responsibility involved the supervision of more than forty-eight employees, protecting a half billion dollars in horseflesh and the upkeep of two thousand acres of land within miles of the lush Shenandoah Valley.

“Next month I’ll be working for Cole-Thom Farms. I’ve accepted the position to become their resident vet,” she said in a quiet voice.

A frown furrowed Jeremy’s smooth forehead. “You’re going to live there.” The question was a statement.

She nodded again. “Yes. That’s what Nicholas wants.”

Leaning back in the chair and crossing his arms over his chest, Jeremy cocked his head. “You know I don’t want to lose you, but neither will I do anything to stop you from advancing your career. Ryan says you’re good, so I hope Nicholas will realize what he’s getting.”

“I think he does.”

Jeremy glared at her under lowered brows. “Well if he doesn’t, then I’ll make certain to let him know. I’m going to miss seeing you and I’m also going to leave it up to you to tell the girls you’re going away.”

Peyton exhaled slowly. She knew Jeremy couldn’t stop her from accepting another position but she knew he wasn’t thrilled she’d decided to leave the farm for the second time within a year. “I’ll be sure to let them know I’m not going that far and I’ll still be available for our play dates. After all, I did promise them we’re going to camp out one of these nights.”

Camping out was turning one of the meeting rooms in the school into a makeshift cabin. Instead of sleeping bags they slept on air mattresses, roasted marshmallows in the fireplace for s’mores, while watching their favorite movies on the flat screen.

She’d become the unofficial babysitter for Jeremy’s, Ryan’s and Sheldon’s children. Sean, Ryan’s son from his first marriage, was rapidly approaching twelve and preferred staying with boys within his own age group rather than hang out with his sister and girl cousins.

Rising to his feet, Jeremy came around the desk and gently eased Peyton off the chair. “I meant it when I said I’m going to miss you.”

Anchoring her arms under his shoulders, she rested her head on her cousin’s chest. Jeremy had teased her when she came to the farm for the first time, declaring she couldn’t be a Blackstone because not only wasn’t she tall, but Blackstones weren’t traditionally blond. When she showed him a photograph of her parents he promptly backtracked, apologized and declared she didn’t need a DNA test to prove they were related. Alphonso and Sheldon, third cousins, looked enough alike to have been brothers. Both were tall, with light brown complexions and light gray eyes. It was Lena who’d passed her petite body and ash-blond hair along to her daughter.

Sheldon and Alphonso bonded immediately, both recounting stories they’d heard about their relatives. Peyton had sat, transfixed, when they spoke of people and events going back more than a century, a bit shocked and disappointed that her father had kept this information from her. It was then she realized she hadn’t known her father as well as she should have. It’d always been her mother’s people with whom she’d had a relationship.

“Why do you make it sound as if I’m moving to Russia? I’m going to be less than a mile away.”

Jeremy smiled. “I know I sound a little selfish, but I’m thinking about my girls. They really love you, Peyton.”

Pulling back, she stared up at him. “And I adore them.”

The now five-year-old identical triplets were bright, inquisitive and loved teasing one another. Tricia, who’d recently given birth to a son, looked forward to enrolling them in pre-K in the coming weeks, declaring they needed the structure day care didn’t provide for their precociousness. Elena, Michaela and Lynette would now interact with other young children at the farm day school. This year Sean would attend classes off the property with all of the middle and high school students.

Jeremy kissed her cheek. “I heard that some of the single girls and guys are going to a club in town. Why don’t you go with them?”

It was Friday night—date night at the farm, and many of the younger residents usually got together and drove into town to go clubbing. Peyton had gone once since her return, becoming the designated driver when a few had had too much to drink.

“I’d love to, but I’m afraid I’d end up as a party pooper. I’m still exhausted from staying up all night with Golly Miss Molly.”

“The colt’s magnificent.”

She smiled. “Outlaw has all the makings of a champion.”

“If he has his father’s heart, then we can look forward to racing him in the Derby in another three years.”

Shah Jahan’s chance for a Derby run was forfeited when he came up lame after winning a qualifying race and Ryan, fearing further injury, decided to withdraw his name. The Thoroughbred was retired, having won every race he’d entered, and was put out to stud. Everyone on the farm was disappointed because Shah had been favored to win the Triple Crown.