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)
“That’s one word to describe him,” I murmur before taking a hefty sip of my martini. I need to finish it and get out of here, no longer desiring a meal. I don’t want Ethan to feel beholden to keep me company and he makes me nervous all the way around in this social setting. It’s one thing to help him with Sylvie, which was all professional, but sitting at a bar next to each other? Nope. I need to leave.
“Are you meeting someone?” he asks, motioning to the bartender.
“I was supposed to meet my sister for dinner, but Carmen’s got a sore throat. I’m going to head out after I finish this drink.”
“Stay and let me buy you dinner,” he says as the bartender approaches. “It’s the least I can do for your help the other night with Sylvie.”
“It’s not necessary—”
“I know,” he cuts in over me. “But I don’t like eating alone. I was on my way back from Louisville and I’ve heard good things about this place, so I stopped in.”
I don’t buy that “I don’t like eating alone” line and suspect he’s saying that to make me more comfortable.
“Besides, it will allow me to update you on Sylvie,” he adds, the hook that he knows will keep me on my stool.
“How’s that going?” I ask, unable to help the twinge of excitement I feel because of the smile on his face. It looks like one of sincere joy.
“Surprisingly well.” The bartender steps up to Ethan. He orders a beer and then motions toward me. “Another martini for the lady and two menus.”
“Oh, I really should be going,” I say, looking at my watch.
He appraises me as the bartender waits patiently. “Don’t you want to hear about Sylvie?”
“Of course I do,” I reply with a chuckle. “Fine. I’ll stay for dinner.”
Ethan motions with his finger at my drink and the bartender nods, moving off but not before pulling out two menus for us. We peruse our choices for a few minutes and then Ethan takes them and sets them to the side.
“So,” he begins, turning his stool a bit to face me. I can’t help but notice how well his jeans fit or how the dark T-shirt with the Blackburn logo, a prancing saddlebred, clings to his frame. I blink, focusing on his face but that’s just as distracting, his bright green eyes framed by black lashes staring back at me. “Sylvie has definitely taken to heart your advice to give our family an honest try.”
Yes. Sylvie. Focus on Sylvie.
I nod thoughtfully. “I think she just needed permission to think for herself. While I won’t share what we talked about, I got the distinct impression that her grandparents have force-fed her a lot of opinions that are taking up way too much space in that sweet mind of hers. I don’t know the exact history between the two families, but it’s definitely playing a role in Sylvie’s confusion.”
Ethan sighs and glances away for just a moment as the bartender returns with our drinks. He takes a sip from the pilsner glass and sets it back down. “Want a history lesson?”
“Sure.” I pull the toothpick of olives out of my first glass and eat one. It’s disconcerting the way Ethan’s gaze seems to narrow in on my mouth, but then his eyes come back up to mine.
“Back in the mid 1800s—”
“Wait a minute,” I interject. “Are you getting ready to tell me that this feud dates back almost two hundred years?”
Ethan chuckles. “Seems a bit ridiculous, right? But yes, it’s longstanding.”
“Wow,” I reply, picking up my glass and taking a sip.
“Quick business history 101… our family started breeding and selling saddlebred horses as soon as we settled in this area. We were a small operation until the Civil War started. There was an incredible demand by Union troops for our stock because they had great stamina and were stalwart mounts. The war only lasted four years but it was enough to establish us as the go-to breeder for saddlebreds, launching our business. At the same time, because corn was abundant in Kentucky, the Mardraggons started distilling bourbon, and they were pioneers in aging the liquor in charred-oak barrels. They sold to both Union and Confederate troops and, much like our family, the war helped establish their reputation.”
“Bourbon and horses. Certainly there was no business rivalry,” I muse.
“On the contrary, both families were prosperous and leaders in the community. They got along well and were set to merge via marriage by my ancestor, Elizabeth Blackburn, who became engaged to Henry Mardraggon.”
I put a hand to my cheek to rest my head and sigh. “Young love.”
Ethan nods. “Elizabeth was nineteen and Henry was twenty but sadly they never married.”
I sit up straighter, my hand falling away. “Because?”
“Because of lies,” he replies bitterly. “Rumors started to circulate around town that Elizabeth was having a clandestine affair behind Henry’s back. Tempers flared between the families, mainly between the patriarchs, James Blackburn and Edward Mardraggon. Elizabeth was being ruined and Henry stood by her side, wanting to weather the storm, but Edward Mardraggon didn’t want his son to go through with the wedding. A horrible and deadly argument ensued between the two fathers.”