Kentucky Woman
By Jan Scarbrough
Copyright © 2009, Jan Scarbrough
Published March 2009
by
Resplendence Publishing, LLC
Edgewater, Florida
All rights reserved
Warning: The unauthorized reproduction or distribution of this copyrighted work is illegal. Criminal copyright infringement, including infringement without monetary gain, is investigated by the FBI and is punishable by up to 5 years in federal prison and a fine of $250,000.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and occurrences are a product of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, places, or occurrences, is purely coincidental.
For three Kentucky women—Brenna, Dana and Holly, the mothers of my grandchildren
Table of Contents
Kentucky Woman
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
About the Author
Chapter One
Trackside Training Facility
Louisville, Kentucky
Times were good and that scared her.
Alexis Marsden shifted in her saddle and stared into the February predawn darkness between the pricked ears of an anxious two-year-old Thoroughbred. The cold seeped into her bones with brittle clarity. Frosty mist hugged the quiet infield lake, lending a ghostly appearance to the half-mile oval track and deserted grandstands. The fog added an aura of peace to the setting.
A peace Alex didn’t feel.
Instead, a razor-sharp blade of anticipation etched her heart as if something was about to happen. Or her life was about to change.
She didn’t want her life to change, thank you. Not now. Not after all the hard work she had done to make it almost perfect. She had everything she wanted—career, family, independence, and an avocation she loved in exercising Uncle Johnny’s horses in the morning before going to her nine to five desk job. Okay, she didn’t have a “relationship” and her young son didn’t have a father. But even that was working out. Being both mom and dad wasn’t so hard.
Alex seized the bottom of her lip hard—as hard as the guilt racing through her heart. Was it wrong to be glad Tyler hadn’t known his dad? Brandon, the man she had once loved, and the man who had abandoned her, had been killed two weeks ago. Now Tyler would never have the chance.
The colt beneath her tossed his head. Come on, he was telling her. Let’s go!
Alex shook off the premonition and willed herself to relax. “Easy, Greco,” she soothed, placing a quiet hand on the restless youngster’s neck. His muscles quivered beneath the touch of her leather glove. “Easy, boy.”
Snorting his impatience, the colt danced sideways. Alex sucked in a breath of frigid air. Time to get to work.
She pulled the hood of her sweatshirt over her riding helmet, buying a little protection against the bitter wind, and flexed her already tingling fingers inside her riding gloves. Greco’s neck arched, disputing her firm control, and she let the thick reins slide a notch through her grip. The sleek chestnut moved forward and stepped onto the sandy footing of the exercise track.
She clucked once. Greco picked up a jog. Alex posted up and down to the rhythm of his slow trot, and turning the wrong way on the oval track along the outside rail, she let the colt warm up slowly. She felt his pent up energy in each springy step.
When she finally turned again, moving closer to the inner rail for the gallop, the sky in the east had washed pink. The rising sun, still hidden by clouds, gilded rose-colored streaks across the ragged gray fleece overhead. Alex savored the splendor of the morning sky exposed in all its glory over the expanse of infield.
It was always like this in the mornings. She watched the horses peppering different points of the training track—slower ones to the outside, some jogging, others galloping, while others breezed next to the inner rail or worked at near-race speed. Her heart surged with joy. Oh, she loved it.
Alex flicked her tongue across her chilled lips. “Time to go, boy.”
Now loosening her hold on the reins, she clucked once more. Immediately the colt moved into a smooth gallop. The animal’s naturally long gait stretched out. Powerful muscles coursed between Alex’s legs. She stood in the stirrups, bowing over the colt’s neck, and shortened the reins to keep from going faster than Johnny had ordered.
The dirt track flowed beneath her. Wind stung her face, chasing tears from her eyes and breaching the protection of her sweats, but she didn’t care. Blood ran warm in her veins, and her heart pumped with exhilaration.
She stared between the colt’s ears—beacons into the animal’s soul, relaxing and twitching forward and back, listening to her soft crooning or pricking toward the track ahead.
In another stride, Greco’s ears flattened. Danger!
In a heartbeat Alex registered Greco’s signal. Ahead someone shouted. Hooves pounded. Out of the gloom, a runaway horse hurtled straight toward them like a ghostly specter in a bad dream.
Instinct kicked in. Ducking her head to look over her right shoulder, Alex saw the track immediately behind them was clear. She pulled the right rein and sharply jammed her boot into the colt’s left side.
At a full gallop, Greco swerved hard. The runaway came on. Too fast. Too near. A flapping stirrup nicked Alex’s left thigh.
Adrenaline spurred her pulse. The harsh beat of fear thudded against her ribs and left her head spinning. Alex shook off the panic. Acting again on instinct, she steadied her horse and regained her balance, glancing back. Other horses and riders scattered right and left while an outrider closed in on the frightened runaway.
Entering the turn, Alex eased Greco to a walk. On the other side of the rail, she spotted the unseated rider. Shaken, but apparently unhurt, he was slowly climbing to his feet. An ambulance sped down the track.
It was surreal—as if she watched a slow motion movie. She could have been lying there instead. Or what if it was Johnny’s special colt sprawled on the track seriously injured? A horse had been killed not long ago at Churchill Downs in a head-on crash with a runaway in the morning gloom.
She turned Greco toward the barns and nudged him into a jog.
Alex swallowed hard, forcing down queasiness. Her intuition had proved right. Something had happened. Thank heavens, she’d averted disaster and her life wasn’t going to change after all.
* * * *
His stomach dropped. Fear wrapped around him, smothering him. He opened his mouth to call a warning but no sound came out.
In the frigid morning gloom, his Thoroughbred colt swerved to avoid an oncoming horse. In a flash, a blink of an eye, the colt was clear of danger.
Damn, that was close. Much too close. Jackson Breckinridge stepped back from the aluminum railing that divided the track from the deserted grandstands. He thrust his fists into the pockets of his camelhair coat, glad for its weight.
He couldn’t lose Greco. Not now. Not after losing his grandmother and brother in the space of a month. Not with his family’s honor at stake.
He let out a frosty breath. Potential was written all over the colt’s lean, well-muscled body, and Jack was counting on this potential to bring back the glory days of Breckinridge Station, the family’s Thoroughbred horse farm.
The leggy red colt now jogged toward him. Jack glanced askance at the wizened trainer by his side. Johnny Marsden had trained horses for J
ack’s grandparents. Now the old man worked for him.
Jack slapped the trainer on the back. “Give that exercise boy credit, Marsden. That kid has talent and courage as well as some plain damn good luck.”
The corners of Marsden’s mouth quivered. “Yep, I got the best damn exercise rider on the track.”
Horse and rider stopped in front of them. Steam lifted from Greco’s shining coat.
“Johnny, do you want me to finish the gallop?”
Jack tensed. It was a decidedly female voice. No wonder Marsden laughed at him. The rider was not “Mr.” but “Ms,” a backside “gallop girl.” And if he didn’t miss the mark, the rider was just the woman he had come to Trackside to find.
Marsden walked through the gap in the railing and placed a hand on the horse’s neck, catching the bridle with the other. “Nope. Colt’s had enough excitement for one day.” The trainer looked over his shoulder. “You told me you wanted to talk to Alex. Here she is."
Jack surveyed the exercise girl. For a second Alex sat immobile on the colt. Then she lowered the sweatshirt hood from her riding helmet. Cold had reddened her tiny nose and delicate cheekbones. She gave a small nod to acknowledge his stare, glancing at him for a brief, electric moment.
“Hop off, kid.” Marsden handed Greco over to his groom. “Why don’t you two go warm up in the office? Give me a few minutes and I’ll join you there.” He turned and headed toward the shed row, leaving the groom to tend to the horse.
“Sure, Johnny.” Alex flicked her whip into the dirt.
Jack’s gaze shifted from her face to where the short, leather stick landed near his feet. Had that action been a deliberate challenge? He stepped back a pace and glanced up.
In a quick, fluid motion, she hauled her right leg over the horse’s neck, and in the next instant slid from the saddle, dropping with a thud to the ground in front of him.
A breath hitched in his chest. The tiny slip of a woman held him captive with a defiant gaze. He hardly noticed when the groom led Greco away. Seeing Alex again staggered him. He hadn’t expected the adrenalin rush.
Staring at him, she drew off her helmet, tucked it under her arm, and shook loose a cascade of brown curls, dark and rich like expensive Swiss chocolate. The unruly mass tumbled around her face, framing her jade eyes and delicately arched brows.
Desire slammed him hard. That was unexpected too, but possibly a good thing, given what he was about to do.
Jack reached down and retrieved her stick. Straightening, he handed it to her, handle first. “Your whip?”
“Thanks.” She snatched it out of his hand, casting him a guarded look from under thick lashes the same color as her hair.
Petite and slender as he remembered, she wore a gray hooded sweatshirt and leather chaps over tight, faded jeans. The worn brown suede encasing her legs and thighs created an intriguing V of blue denim beneath her belt buckle.
Jack’s blood simmered. What was she now? Twenty-six? He hadn’t seen her in years. In fact, he had deliberately avoided her. No mistake about it, things hadn’t changed. Alex always threw him off-kilter.
“No point in freezing our butts off,” she said in a no-nonsense voice. “Let’s get some of Johnny’s coffee. It’s not good, but it’s hot.”
“Lead on.”
She spun around and stalked away from him like a cat. He was unable to keep his eyes off the way the chaps framed her swaying, denim-clad hips. She had been eighteen when he last saw her. Now he appreciated the way she filled out those jeans.
Yes, Alex had grown up.
Jack struggled to regain his accustomed control, that steely reserve he used in a corporate board room and as a defense against the prying of a domineering mother. In two strides he caught up to Alex and they walked side-by-side. Already he had learned two things. One, Alex had the courage of a wildcat. Saving Greco had shown him that. And two, he was even more confident he was doing the right thing.
The former was safer to discuss. “That was a nice piece of riding.”
“Thanks.”
“Your quick action saved my colt’s life.”
She shrugged off his praise. “It was touch and go for a second.”
“I owe you a lot.”
She stopped right in front of the busy entrance to Johnny’s barn and turned to face him, a proud lift to her chin. “Look. I was just doing my job. I don’t want your gratitude.”
She wouldn’t budge an inch—or five feet and three inches. The muscles in her jaw moved, and she glared up at him, dark lashes now shrouding her eyes. Knowing what he knew about her, he couldn’t fault that attitude. In her place he’d want nothing to do with him or his family either. Her mind-set didn’t bode well for his plans.
To dispel his nervousness, Jack brushed a glance from the top of her head down to the toes of her boots, just the sort of haughty appraisal he had used to intimidate the out-of-state businessman who threatened to buy his family’s regional bank.
Unfortunately, his gaze didn’t seem to have any effect on Alex, who continued her mistrustful assessment of his face.
“Why are you here, Jack?”
Her direct question jarred him. “I own Greco,” he said as if to explain his right to watch his horse train.
“Everybody at Trackside knows that. Why are you really here?”
Was this the time to explain himself? It didn’t seem proper somehow. Out here in the cold, gray morning. What he was about to do required wine, music, flowers, and quite possibly an act of God, given her obvious distaste for him.
She shifted from one foot to the next, her gaze somber.
Jack bought time, hoping the warm office would thaw her icy demeanor. “I’m glad you’re still working for Marsden.”
“I enjoy it.” Her hand strayed to a charming curl that dipped over her right eye.
He had seen her brush the hair from her eyes many times when they were kids at Breckinridge Station where her father had worked. Back then her laughter was infectious and her smile contagious. It lit her face and warmed his heart. But more often than not her beautiful smile had been for his brother Brandon, not for him—the older brother who was duty bound to referee all their youthful, summer exploits.
He hadn’t seen her since she’d been an up-and-coming jockey. Then she’d gotten pregnant and quit riding, giving up her dream. That was about the same time her dad died of a heart attack and she and her mother moved from the farm.
“What do you think of Greco?” he asked.
She tucked the curl behind an ear, her eyes narrowing as if trying to read his motives. “He’s good enough to win the Kentucky Derby,” she said cautiously.
Jack thought so too, but fearing bad luck, he didn’t care to express the sentiment. “What do you think of Marsden’s training?” he asked, honestly interested in her opinion. “I know he’s your uncle, but there are lots of good trainers around. Should I move Greco to another barn?”
“Don’t you dare!” She fisted a hand on her hip. “There are other good trainers, sure, but very few with Johnny’s natural ability. He’s a real horse whisperer. He won’t push Greco too fast.”
Her green eyes flashed with the same enthusiasm Jack felt. This love of Thoroughbred racing was something they had always shared. He took a deep breath and glanced over her head toward the race track where tractors dragged the surface during the morning break in training.
Immediately his chest filled with fire. Trackside was a far cry from the glaring lights of a stuffy board room. He longed for this kind of life, but had never dared to disappoint his family. He had been the good, first-born son. Dutiful. Loyal. Honor-bound to carry on the family banking business. Not like his brother Brandon. Not like the young, reckless kid whose actions had threatened the family’s reputation and who enlisted in the army eight years ago.
Jack looked down at Alex, her eyes now clouded by questions. Her sweet, serious face intrigued him. Beguiled by her wide, intelligent eyes, he fought the sense of destiny that surrounded her like
some psychic’s aura.
She bit her lip, staring up at him. Waiting.
“Why have you really come, Jack?”
Sensing the possibility of a thaw in her voice, Jack used that board room training to come straight to the point.
“I’ve come to ask you to marry me.”
Chapter Two
Wind whistled down the shed row, stinging Alex’s face. She stood her ground, not feeling the cold air, but rather the heat of the flush burning her cheeks. From deep within an incredulous laugh erupted.
“What? You’ve got to be kidding!” Of all the things she had expected from Jack Breckinridge, a marriage proposal hadn’t been one of them. He had been her friend once. She had admired him. But he was Brandon’s big brother and being two years older, he was untouchable.
“You know I never joke about things,” he said.
How could she forget? The Jack she remembered had never kidded around. That guy who visited Breckinridge Station on vacations had been serious, hardly cracking a smile, and always disapproving of the childhood pranks she and Brandon pulled during those idyllic summer days together.
Why this proposal? She hadn’t laid eyes on Jack in a lifetime. Was it because of Brandon’s recent death? Did Jack know about Tyler? No, only Brandon and her mother had known Tyler was his son. Not the rest of his family.
Her stomach tightened. Brandon hadn’t wanted her or his baby. Being the daughter of the hired help, she’d been the wrong kind of girl to marry a Breckinridge. After she had gotten over the shock of rejection, Alex had been glad for Brandon’s indifferent silence. She had neither wanted nor needed the Breckinridge family’s interference in Tyler’s life.
Yet she had gladly accepted their money. Twice a year, at Christmas and Tyler’s birthday, an anonymous cashier’s check arrived at her address. She’d always assumed this was Brandon’s way of easing his conscience without getting involved.
A dozen more questions leaped into her mind, but she couldn’t force even one past her lips. All Alex could do was stare at Jack with what she hoped was a very blank look on her face.
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