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)
I step into the barn, my eyes adjusting to the slightly dimmer light. The interior of the massive structure holds a double row of back-to-back stalls—thirty-two in all—and it’s where all the show horses we train reside. In fact, two of Diane’s horses are housed here. The perimeter of the barn is wide enough that five horses can ride side by side and not touch each other, the walls, or the stalls, and it’s where most of the competitors take their lessons from any of the handful of trainers on staff.
Kat is just such a trainer and is currently trotting Lady Beatrice around the perimeter while two women watch from a row of benches in the center. I recognize one of them as the mother of Carmen, one of Blackburn’s show riders. I don’t train anymore, but I attend most of the shows and know our farm’s customers. The woman’s name has slipped my memory but I know the show riders because I take great pride in them.
The women look my way, clearly sisters, both very pretty with red hair and blue eyes. I lift my chin to acknowledge them but cut the other way, intent on making my rounds to ensure the morning barn chores are well underway. Kat can handle showing the horse we’re selling and she’s just as qualified as I am to decide if the horse is right for Carmen. If this visit turns into a true purchase interest, I’ll meet with them to discuss pricing.
The morning flies by but that’s typical. There’s never enough time to get everything done. After completing my work at the main barn, I head to the lesson facility to watch one of the instructors I hired last week work with a new student and I’m pleased with her so far. I look in on the horses there, including an overall check of the barn itself. I’m constantly pulling on latches, checking stall doors and eyeballing the general maintenance to make sure nothing needs attending.
From there, I go to the broodmare barn, which is where I intend to spend the rest of my day. We have two full-time veterinarians on staff and two part-timers who cover foaling season, along with two dozen hands who are on shift around the clock to help with the births.
Parking in a small gravel lot built to accommodate the influx of workers from March to June as the mares give birth, I take a quick moment to answer some texts. My head is still bent over my phone as I slide out of my truck.
“Excuse me.”
I glance up as I’m closing the door and pocket my keys. A man in a very expensive-looking suit stands there, tall, tanned, his hair impeccably groomed. Extending a hand, he introduces himself. “Mr. Blackburn… I’m Todd Gillam, an attorney from Louisville.”
“What can I do for you?” I ask as I shake his hand. It doesn’t worry me to find a lawyer here as Blackburn Farms is steeped in dozens of business deals both in and out of the horse world. Politics too for that matter.
Besides, I’m never one to worry unless given a good reason to. I have too much other shit on my plate to waste bandwidth on unrealized concerns.
The man looks around, taking in the scenery. “Beautiful place you have here.”
“Also a busy place,” I reply with a smile. “I’ve got a million things to do so…”
“Right, of course.” Mr. Gillam holds up his briefcase and nods toward the barn. “Do you by any chance have someplace private we can chat for a few moments? I promise I won’t take up too much of your time.”
“I have legions of attorneys that handle the farm’s legal matters—”
“This is private, Mr. Blackburn.”
Something about his tone sets me on edge and while I’d like to run the guy off, my gut tells me that isn’t feasible.
“Yeah… sure.” I nod over my shoulder toward the barn, leading Mr. Gillam inside. There’s an office here where the staff vets and other medical personnel keep records and write notes during each foaling.
Fortunately, it’s empty when I enter and I motion the him in before closing the door for privacy. I watch as he puts his briefcase on the old metal desk and pulls out a manila folder.
Turning back to face me, Mr. Gillam says, “What I’m about to tell you is going to come as a big shock, Mr. Blackburn. I’d appreciate if you’d listen to the entire story—”
“How about you just get on with the story?” I reach out and place one hand on the doorknob, an indication that I have better things to do and need to get going.
The attorney nods, tapping a finger along the edge of the folder in his hand. “Almost ten years ago, you had an affair with Alaine Mardraggon.”