Total pages in book: 93
Estimated words: 86808 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 434(@200wpm)___ 347(@250wpm)___ 289(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 86808 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 434(@200wpm)___ 347(@250wpm)___ 289(@300wpm)
When I don’t respond, Diane chuckles low and throaty. “The rumor mill has it that you’ve got a new woman in your life.”
That throws me off because I most certainly don’t have another woman. While I may only hook up with Diane on occasion and when it suits me, I don’t hop beds.
“What the hell are you talking about, Diane?”
“I’m talking about the new daughter who got dropped off on your doorstep yesterday. Everyone in Shelbyville is talking about your illicit love affair with a Mardraggon. I bet that threw you for a loop.”
Understatement of the fucking year. But Diane is the last person I would ever discuss Sylvie with.
“I’m busy right now. I’ll catch you later.”
Diane starts to say something, but I disconnect the call. It’s rude as fuck and I simply don’t care.
Thinking about Sylvie, I’m struck with an intense curiosity to see how things are going with her. It’s been almost two hours since I left the house and the yearlings can wait a bit. I divert my path and head over to the training facility.
When I walk in, I immediately see Kat at one end of the ring giving a student a lunge lesson, where the horse is attached to a long lead line and the student sits on top, learning different techniques while the horse trots in a circle. The rider has been at Blackburn Farms for just under a year and I suppress a chuckle as I watch the young girl holding three-pound dumbbell weights out to the side as she posts in the saddle. Kat is a big believer—and rightfully so—that you have to train the physical parts of your body right along with everything else. Her students are made to do exercises to develop the strength required to keep their ass in the saddle should the horse get a little crazy.
My gaze sweeps the barn and I see Sylvie sitting on top of one of the fresh round hay bales stacked in the northwest corner. She didn’t see me come in so I take an unfettered moment to appraise her attitude. I’m happy to see she doesn’t look bored in the slightest and is watching the lesson with interest while her fingers play with a single straw of hay. I walk around the perimeter of the arena so as not to disturb Kat’s lesson and approach my daughter.
When she catches sight of me, the muscles in her face relax to one of boredom but she eyes me warily.
“Enjoying yourself?” I ask.
She lifts one shoulder and focuses her attention back on the lesson.
“Any interest in getting up on one of the horses today?”
Sylvie shakes her head.
I feel desperate. I need to make a connection with her, but I don’t know how. I wonder if time alone is the answer. While the prospect of that is daunting as hell, I offer anyway. “Why don’t you come with me? Going to check out the yearlings. Nothing cuter than baby horses.”
Sylvie lifts her chin, and she couldn’t look primmer. “No, thank you.”
I consider not giving her a choice, much like Kat told her that she was going to the barn with her today. But I know deep in my gut that won’t fly coming from me. I know Sylvie considers me the absolute enemy since I am the one who dared get her mother pregnant and land her in this situation to begin with. Still, my determination has me persisting. “Come on… I’ll take you over there and we won’t stay long. I’ll bring you right back. I promise it will be fun.”
My heart sinks when Sylvie puts on her most pathetic face. “Actually, I have a really bad headache. Do you think you can take me back to the house so I can lie down?”
Well fuck. If there is one thing guaranteed to get her out of doing something, it’s an illness. I can’t gather whether she’s telling the truth. In fact, given the amount of stress on her little shoulders, I don’t doubt she’s got a headache. But she also could just as easily be using that as an excuse to not spend time with me.
In the end, I have no choice but to accept her at face value. I nod and motion for her to climb off the hay bale. “Maybe later I’ll take you over there. Come on, I’ll drive you to the house.”
♦
That night, once my parents have retired to their cottage and I’m alone, I head to the back patio and start a small fire in the firepit. I sit back in a chair, sipping a cold beer and reflecting on the frustrations of the day. Not one of them have to do with running the farm but there are millions where Sylvie is concerned. She stayed in her room the rest of the day and grudgingly came down to join another family dinner where she hardly spoke a word. My frustrations got the best of me and I poked at her, trying to get her to answer questions. It was the wrong tactic, and Sylvie’s own frustrations became apparent when she started answering my questions in French.