Love, Lies and Immortal Ties: A young adult paranormal romance (Love, Lies and Ties Book 1)

by C. J. Laurence

  He left me staring in wonder at the yard I'd kill for given half a chance as he disappeared into the hay barn. He loaded four square bales of hay into the back of the truck in no time at all, flinging them in as if they were nothing more than air.

  When he jumped back into the driving seat, I peered out of the window as he drove on, almost bouncing up and down on my seat in excitement. A couple of hundred yards down the track, a metal five bar gate interrupted the perfect post and rail fencing.

  “Do you want me to get out and open it for you?” I asked.

  He laughed. “Nice try.”

  It took me a moment to realise what he meant. “I was genuinely trying to be helpful,” I said, pouting.

  “I can manage but thank you for the offer.”

  I smirked and gazed out over the field. My heart skipped a beat as I saw a herd of horses on the horizon. One by one their heads popped up from grazing, staring intently at Luke opening the gate. A couple of them whinnied when he drove the truck through the gate. Then, as he closed it, they started walking towards us. By the time we were halfway across the field, eight huge horses were careering towards us. The thunder of galloping horses sounded through the air and I wondered if I stood on the ground if I would feel it shaking.

  “Undo your windows,” Luke said, letting the two front ones down.

  I didn’t need telling twice. The horses swarmed around the truck, pulling faces at each other, squealing, and trying to be the first to the hay in the back. A huge dapple grey Percheron lunged at a traditional bay Clydesdale, ears pinned back, and teeth bared.

  “Wow, someone’s definitely the boss,” I said, watching them all back away from him.

  “That’s Silva. He was cut late and thinks he’s still entire at times. He doesn’t mess around when it comes to food.”

  I pressed my face up against the small back window, watching Silva as he followed the truck, pushing his nose against the tailgate.

  “He’s telling me to hurry up,” Luke said, chuckling. “The truck actually got stuck one winter down in the winter paddock and he helped me out of the ruts doing that.”

  I laughed. “I’m surprised he didn’t just take the hay and run.”

  “They know better than that. There are specific places for hay, and I won’t allow it to be outside of that area. They’re very domesticated considering.”

  I grinned, looking at the rest of the herd. A stunning chestnut Suffolk Punch, a black Shire with four white stockings, and four others I had never seen before. “What are the others? I don’t recognise them.”

  “You see the dark liver chestnut with the flaxen mane and tail?”

  I looked at the smaller framed horse and nodded. “Absolutely gorgeous.”

  “That’s Mabel. She’s a Black Forest Horse. They’re an endangered species of light draught horse from Germany’s Black Forest. I'm trying to find a high-class stallion to breed her with.”

  “Wow. A whole herd of them would be amazing.”

  He laughed. “Don’t tempt me. Anyway, the big bay tank is Ben. He’s an Ardennes. He’s as solid as they come in build and personality.”

  I spotted the placid bay trudging along at the back, looking like he couldn’t care less about anything. He had a width about him that made him seem almost impossible to ride. He was literally a box with a leg on each corner.

  “Who’s that?” I asked, pointing at a blue roan trying to bite Silva’s bum.

  “That’s Buddy. He’s somewhat of a character. Bit of a Houdini and brains that definitely match his size. He’s a Belgian Draught Horse.”

  “I’ve heard of Ardennes and Belgian’s, just never seen them in the flesh. They're amazing. Who’s the palomino?”

  “That is Missy. She isn’t actually palomino. She’s an American Cream Draft. Although they look cremello or palomino, they’ve actually got the champagne gene and are a completely separate colour as a result. They’re known as gold champagne which is a chestnut base diluted with the champagne gene.”

  “I know that’s quite common in some horse breeds. Didn’t expect it in a draught horse breed though.”

  “American Cream’s are rare. Such a shame as she’s an exquisite example of the breed. Perfect for those who are new to draught horses. She’d pull a house down and die of exhaustion doing it if you asked her to.”

  “Are you looking for a stallion for her too?”

  He laughed. “Am I that obvious?”

  “What are the other three called?”

  “The Shire is Duke. Very reliable and sturdy, kind, a typical gentle giant. The Clydesdale is Maurice. He’s a real old man despite the fact he’s only eight. He’s usually laid flat out on his side, snoring in the sunshine. In the winter he refuses to leave his stable if there’s so much as a sniff of moisture in the air.”

  That made me giggle. “And the Suffolk Punch?”

  “That’s Ginger. Typical chestnut mare but an absolute corker of the breed. Another one I'm stallion hunting for.”

  We neared the hay pile and came to a stop. “If I put you in the back of the truck, will you stay in there?” he asked, smirking.

  I giggled. “Yes, Sir.” I gave him a salute.

  He got out and opened the door, holding his arms out. I jumped at him like a cat and laughed when he stumbled back a couple of steps. “A bit of pre warning wouldn’t hurt,” he said.

  “Where’s the fun in that?”

  Chuckling to himself, he carefully placed me in the back of the truck with the haybales. Thankfully the metal floor had rubber matting laid down on it or my feet would have been freezing cold. With Silva still being the only horse near the truck, I made a beeline for him.

  He pricked his ears up as he tugged wisps of hay from the bale closest to him. As soon as my fingers touched him, a sense of calm washed over me. I inhaled the familiar smell of horses and it was all I needed to find myself back in a moment of solace, where nothing in the world mattered.

  I sat on the bale, leaving room at the end for him to still munch, and stroked his face repeatedly. His big brown eyes were bright yet soft. Looking into the eyes of any horse brought about a whole new meaning to the saying ‘eyes are the windows to the soul’. Something about them resonated with a place deep in my soul, like they were my own personal brand of soother.

  “Do you do anything with them?” I asked Luke, turning my head to see him unloading one of the bales of hay.

  “Yes. They all ride and drive. Sometimes I loan them out to the tenants to plough the land the good old way if they’re having issues with machinery. Keeps the horses ticking over too and they enjoy it. I do competitions and heritage shows with them as well when I can.”

  Duke and Ginger followed Luke to the hay spot, grabbing chunks of it as he split the bale and spread it around. Buddy and Missy trotted over, their dinner plate sized hooves pounding the dried earth.

  Luke came back to the truck, this time to the other side so he was now facing me. He let out a shrill whistle and looked at the remaining three horses. “Ben,” he shouted.

  The huge boxy bay ambled over, his long eyelashes making him look even softer and kinder than his whiskey coloured bambi eyes. He waltzed up to Luke, stuck his chin on Luke’s shoulder, then groaned, as if the effort of a hundred-yard walk had been too much bother.

  Luke chuckled and tickled him under his chin. “I swear this one was a cat in a previous life. He can’t get enough of chin rubs.” He moved his free hand and motioned for me to come closer. “Come here.”

  I gave Silva a quick rub of his ears and then went to Luke. He moved out from underneath Ben’s chin and held his hands up, as if he was wanting to pick me up.

  “What are you doing?”

  “Just trust me,” he said, reaching for my waist.

  I did as he asked, despite my slight apprehension, which was born more from wondering what on earth he might be planning. He picked me up and swung me through the air, out of the truck and straight onto Ben’s broad back.

  A
beaming grin broke out across my face. I felt like a kid sitting on Santa’s lap at Christmas.

  “You’re still not touching the ground,” Luke said, stepping back. “So it’s ok.”

  I laughed then glanced down at Ben. His back felt more like a table. Even though I sat sideways on him, I had plenty to sit on and some spare. My legs dangled down his side, looking like white spindly matches against his huge dark body. I ran my fingers through his thick, silky black mane.

  “I’ve never sat on a heavy horse before. This is so weird,” I said, looking at Luke.

  “More of a warmblood girl I'm guessing?”

  I nodded. “I worked at a Spanish stud back home in Devon so that’s all I know really. We had the odd Thoroughbred or native pony come through for some training, but it was mostly high-end dressage horses.”

  “Very posh,” he said, laughing. “You won’t find any of these doing pirouettes or flying changes.”

  “I also wouldn’t be doing this—”I motioned to me sitting sideways on Ben “—with one of them.”

  He hauled a hay bale over the side of the truck and flashed me a cheeky grin. “Nor this I'm guessing.”

  “Wh—”

  He clicked to Ben and walked off with the hay bale. Ben lurched forwards making me yelp in surprise. I giggled and shuffled my bum further back whilst grabbing a handful of mane with my right hand.

  His rambling walk was slow and methodical but somehow had its own easy rhythm that rocked me back and forth, relaxing me even more. As the morning sun started to warm the air, I let out a deep breath and closed my eyes, tilting my face up towards the sky. The gentle sashay of Ben’s stride made me want to stay on him all day, even let him sway me to sleep.

  Cantering hoofbeats made me open my eyes and look around to see Mabel careering up to us, her ears pricked and focused on Luke. I tightened my grip on Ben’s mane and waited for the explosion of excitement.

  Luke burst out laughing. “He won’t go any faster than that unless he has to. Think of him like an electric storage heater. He conserves all his energy until he really needs it.”

  I laughed and dared to ease my grip on his mane. Other than a flick of his ear, Ben didn’t even acknowledge Mabel’s presence, let alone care that she would beat him to the hay. Out of the corner of my right eye, movement caught my attention. I craned my neck to see Maurice lolloping along at a somewhat brisker walk than Ben.

  “He’s not coming to eat,” Luke said, shaking out several slices of hay apart from the rest.

  Maurice stood and waited for Luke to finish fluffing out the hay. When Luke moved away, Maurice walked up to it, sniffed it, then laid down, letting out a huge grunt as he collapsed on his side. He closed his eyes and his bottom lip started flapping.

  “What is he doing?” I said, giggling.

  “Sleeping. That's him now for the day. He’ll switch sides in a couple of hours, then wander around for a bit, eat some of his hay which the others won’t touch because he’s laid on it, then he’ll go back to sleep.”

  I missed being around horses so much, seeing all their individual personalities and quirks. Every day was a joy and it’s something I really missed now I needed an escape from the impending doom at home.

  Ben finally reached the hay pile and stood patiently as he waited for Luke to lift me off his back. Supporting my weight on just his forearm, Luke carried me over to the truck, making me feel like a toddler being carried by its parent.

  “Can I trust you to stay in the front seat whilst I get the last bale off?” he said, opening the front passenger door.

  I grinned. “I’ve had my fix for the day, I'll behave now.”

  Chuckling, he placed me down on the seat then closed the door and sorted the last bale of hay out, closely followed by Silva.

  When he’d finished, he jumped back in the truck and let out a big sigh. “I guess it’s time to take Cinderella home?”

  I looked at the dash to see it was nearly eight a.m. A lead weight of disappointment dragged my happiness down. Not only did I have a mess with Marcus to clear up, but I needed to consider having the inevitable conversation with my dad.

  What a joyful day this would be.

  Chapter 22

  As I half expected, Dad was up and eating breakfast when me and Luke walked in together, my shoes in my hand, and my dress still knotted up against my thigh.

  He gave me one look and raised a grey bushy eyebrow. “I’m pretty certain you left with Marcus last night.”

  My cheeks flushed red. “We’ve had a...disagreement.”

  Dad rolled his eyes. “What did you do?”

  My jaw dropped. “Dad!”

  He chuckled. “I’m joking. What happened?”

  I told him the tale right from the wine and the hot blonde through to Marcus hanging up on me this morning.

  Chewing on a piece of toast, he enjoyed drawing the silence out for a minute or so before he said, “Really this is about your insecurities.”

  I looked at Luke who just shrugged his shoulders. Sophie huddled over the cooker, frying bacon, trying her hardest to appear like she wasn’t there.

  I marched over to the table, pulled out a chair, and grabbed a piece of toast from the rack. “How do you figure that out?”

  A playful smirk tweaked at his lips making me wonder if he had been expecting more of a reaction. “The driving after drinking is a separate issue but the blonde woman and him disappearing in the middle of the night, you’re putting two and two together and coming up with thirteen.”

  “I never said I thought him disappearing had anything to do with her.”

  “You didn’t have to.”

  I frowned and chomped down on my toast. “So what about the drinking and driving?”

  “That’s a curious one. Perhaps he has a high tolerance for alcohol like some people have a high pain threshold. We're not all the same. He’s too much of a gentleman to do anything reckless.”

  Luke snorted and disappeared outside.

  “Are you actually saying these words, Dad?”

  “I’m just saying give him a chance to explain himself.”

  “You mean now he’s had all day to come up with a viable excuse?”

  “Don’t be so pessimistic,” he replied, picking up a piece of bacon. “You’re jumping to conclusions and making assumptions about things before you’ve heard him out.”

  I sighed and forced the rest of my toast down before I excused myself to shower and change. Just as I flicked the shower on, my phone beeped with an email. It was from Dad. I opened it to see the pictures he’d taken of me and Marcus last night.

  My heart skipped a beat as I glanced at them, one by one. It looked like I was stood next to a movie star with the car and the way Marcus held himself, such easy confidence and striking good looks. I studied myself critically, coming to the conclusion I looked like nothing more than a gawky teenager clinging on to an older man.

  “Excellent timing, Dad” I mumbled to myself.

  After I cleaned myself up, I changed into some rough clothes and headed back into the house to give Joanna a hand. She'd managed to get a babysitter for the twins so I figured if I helped her out, she could have a couple of hours to herself before she had to pick them up.

  Working our way through the first-floor rooms, she suddenly turned to me after several minutes of silence and said, “Why don’t we hang out more?”

  Startled, I looked up from fluffing the pillows and said, “What do you mean?”

  “I mean we’re not too dissimilar in age, you’re up here quite often to see your dad, we get along. Why haven’t we ever become better friends?”

  I faltered. I didn’t know what to say. More to the point, what kind of an answer was she expecting or wanting here? “I...I don’t know.”

  She finished restocking the tea and coffee sachets and then said, “Well now you’re living here, perhaps we should change that?”

  Confused and rather taken aback, I didn’t know what to think. I'd never had s
omeone approach me and ask me to be their friend, friendships were something that just tended to naturally develop over time.

  A minute or so passed by and I became very aware of the fact that she was staring at me, waiting for my reply. “Sure,” I said, smoothing down the duvet. “That would be good.”

  “Eeeek, this is going to be so fun!” She clapped her hands together and grinned at me. “And the girls already love you so that’s the biggest hurdle out of the way. So, come on, give me the gossip about you and Marcus.” She winked at me and grinned.

  A feeling of unease unfurled in my stomach. I felt very odd about this situation. Something about it seemed...false. “Oh, there’s not much to tell really. We're still getting to know each other.”

  “But, come on, it’s Marcus Davenport. Do you know how many women would kill to be in your position?”

  “Why though? Sure, he’s drop dead gorgeous, got a fancy car, and clearly a lot of money, but they don’t really know him, do they? Which means they’re only after his material possessions. That’s not my thing.”

  She opened her mouth, but no words came out. Her brown eyes flickered with confusion. Several seconds passed before she said, “I...I hadn’t ever thought of it like that.”

  I struggled not to smirk. “I could find out yet that he’s a serial killer.” I shrugged my shoulders. “Kind of takes away the appeal of the car and the money then, doesn’t it?”

  Her face paled and she started fiddling with the kettle, curling the excess length of cord around its base. “I’m sure he’s not,” she said, very quietly.

  “That’s what people said about Ted Bundy. Charming man who volunteered at a suicide hotline. Or John Wayne Gacy, the children’s clown entertainer, or my favourite example, Karl Denke. The church organist who sold human flesh to people in his community.”

  Terror flooded her eyes. She quickly scraped her hair back into a ponytail and cursed when she dropped her hair band. When she reached down to pick it up, I noticed her hands were trembling.

  “Are you alright?” I asked, guilt suddenly swamping me that I'd somehow frightened the poor girl.