“I know and I appreciate it.”
They were silent again. A gentle breeze ruffled Alex’s hair and she brushed a strand away from her eyes.
“I have a favor to ask you.” Jack touched her arm. “I know you will hate it.”
“What is it?”
“My mother has invited us to dinner tomorrow night. Just the two of us,” he was quick to add. “You didn’t meet my father at the charity dinner, because he was out of town. He wants to meet you.”
Alex swallowed her dismay. This was also part of the deal, playing Jack’s wife in public. She had to get over her annoyance. She’d made the bed, after all.
“I’ll be happy to go with you.”
Jack laughed. It was good to hear his laughter. Alex looked at him and smiled too.
“You little charlatan,” he said. “I don’t believe you, but I’ll take you at your word.”
“That’s all we can do, isn’t it?”
“Yes, I’m afraid it is.”
Chapter Ten
When Alex looked at Jackson Breckinridge, Sr., she saw Jack thirty years from now. They both had the same tall stature, gray eyes, and love for fine clothing. The elder man’s hair was gray, but he had a head of it, none of the receding hairlines of many men his age. Alex’s new father-in-law looked like what he was—the prominent owner of a reputable regional bank.
“My God, it is Alexis Marsden!” He held Alex at arm’s length studying her face. “I couldn’t believe it when Irene told me Jack was married. I was shocked even more to find out he married the little girl from the farm.”
“Yes, it’s me,” Alex said with a shy smile. She had always liked Jack’s father, even more knowing how he had helped Nana and the Station.
“I see you’re as pretty as ever.” His voice boomed.
Alex found her face growing warm. “I bet you say that to all the girls.”
Jackson laughed out loud, the same boisterous laugh that so pleased her about Jack. Yet his interest didn’t endear her to Irene, who stood behind her husband with a scowl upon her aristocratic face.
“Come in. Come in. Let’s have a drink before dinner.” Jackson ushered Alex into the fashionable living room, this time quiet and empty of other guests.
Jack escorted his mother, offering his arm, which she took possessively, clinging to him in an obvious show of ownership. After he seated Irene, Jack sat down beside Alex on the sofa and took her hand, a gesture that seemed natural for a newly-wedded couple. Alex knew the truth about their relationship, and her heart sank. Could she pull off the charade? She was in the lion’s den and, even with Jack by her side, she felt like the next meal.
“I must admit Jack’s news was unexpected,” Jackson said after they were served drinks by a white-coated waiter.
Alex stared into her glass of dark red wine, unsure of what to say.
“I so wanted a big church wedding,” Irene spoke up. “We didn’t have girls, but I thought surely one of my boys would give me the pleasure of planning a big event.”
Her indictment hung among them in the air. Unspoken was the fact that, with Brandon now dead, Jack carried the obligation of pleasing his mother. Alex glanced at Jack who was rubbing his forehead with the back of his hand.
“Alex and I didn’t want a huge affair,” Jack said and then slowly sipped his wine.
“But to marry so close after Brandon and Nana...” Irene shook her head, letting her sentence trail off but not her meaning.
“I’m sorry to disappoint you, Mother,” Jack replied. “To me, the promise of new beginnings made the timing appropriate, given the circumstances.”
The promise of new beginnings... Alex liked the idea. It was totally different from her viewpoint. She looked at this marriage as a necessary evil, an event that changed the life she’d so carefully crafted for herself, but something that couldn’t be helped if she wanted to give Tyler a decent future.
“Irene, our son knows what he’s doing,” Jackson said before sipping his Scotch and soda.
The vote of confidence for Jack once more raised Alex’s opinion of her new father-in-law. Not all rich in-laws were narrow-minded snobs. Alex glanced at Jackson, offering a grateful smile. She knew immediately from Irene’s glare she had overstepped her bounds. There were undercurrents in this room that she knew nothing about, and had nothing to do with her; perhaps not even her marriage to Jack.
“After your father died, I lost track of you and your mother. Where is she and how’s she doing?” Jackson asked.
Alex brightened, picturing her mother in the large country kitchen humming a tune. “My mother lived with me and my son in Louisville while I went to school. I couldn’t have done it without her help. Mom is now living with us at Breckinridge Station.”
“I didn’t know you had a son.” Jackson’s interest appeared genuine.
Alex shifted in her seat. “Yes, his name is Tyler and he’s eight years old.”
“You have a son that old? Amazing.”
“I think you’d like him, Mr. Breckinridge,” Alex couldn’t help saying. “He’s bright for his age and excited about living at the farm. Jack is helping me teach him to ride.”
“Good for him. I’m glad he loves the farm. My boys always did.” His voice dropped and he spoke softly. “Irene always wanted the fancy wedding ceremony, but I was always looking forward to the byproduct of our sons’ marriages—grandchildren.”
Alex glanced uneasily at Jack. He returned her gaze. There was sadness in it. Did he want children too? Had her demands about their marriage of convenience ruined his dreams of having his own family?
Tyler and Jack had gotten along so well and even though she had misgivings, her son was a Breckinridge. Maybe she was being selfish to deny the family the chance to finally do the right thing.
Yet one look at Irene’s foreboding face reminded Alex of her mother-in-law’s contempt.
“Do you work, Alexis?” Jackson seemed determined to carry on a pleasant conversation.
“I recently quit my job in the marketing department of Chandler’s and just as recently quit exercising horses for my uncle, Johnny Marsden,” Alex answered, throwing another look Jack’s way. “I’m afraid I’m a stay-at-home housewife.”
“Johnny Marsden, eh? Now there’s a name from the past. Is he still training horses?”
“I have Greco with him, Dad.”
“That’s right. I remember.”
Thankfully the talk turned away from weddings to Thoroughbred racing. The three of them chatted until called to dinner. Jackson knew his horses and seemed delighted by the conversation. As Alex noticed, their discussion left out Irene, who sat stiffly in her chair directing her sharp-eyed gaze toward them all.
Nothing good could come of this. She hadn’t won over one Breckinridge tonight.
* * * *
Alex and Jack drove home in companionable silence, listening to a Josh Groban CD. An hour after leaving Louisville, they drove down the hickory-lined lane of Breckinridge Station. The coach house was dark so Alex knew her mother was already asleep. Jack parked in the driveway, letting Alex out, and then drove around the back of the house to put the car away in their four-car garage.
Once in the house, Alex climbed the stairs to check on Tyler. His door was shut and she quietly pushed it open. Light from a nightlight illuminated the room just enough for her to see her little boy sound asleep, sprawled out in the middle of his new bed. At his feet lay a great big fuzzy dog, his sorrowful amber eyes looking up at her as if he knew he didn’t belong.
“Jack,” she called downstairs in a hushed voice. She put her finger to her lips when he joined her and then pointed into the bedroom.
Jack smothered a laugh. “It’s just Copper,” he said.
“Copper?”
“The barn dog. She was a stray who adopted the farm.”
The copper-red dog’s flag-like tail thumped up and down on the bed as if asking for forgiveness and acceptance.
“Tyler always wanted a dog,
” Alex said unable to hide a grin.
Jack pulled her into the hall and shut the door. He stood holding her shoulders, looking down at her with a fond smile. “Your cat Simon won’t be happy with a dog in the house.”
“Neither will Evelyn,” Alex predicted.
“But I think Copper should stay if you agree.”
How could she say no? In the span of a few weeks, her life had changed—the lives of her family had changed—all because of this man and his generosity. He was so handsome and warm-hearted. He was just...so special.
She reached up and kissed his cheek, and then turned and fled down the stairs.
* * * *
“I see you found something to keep you busy today.”
Alex looked up from the floor of the spacious but empty foaling stall where she had been bedding it with straw. Hot and sweaty, pitch fork in hand, she wasn’t in any shape to greet the man who’d haunted her dreams last night.
Over a week had passed since their visit to Breckinridge Estate and Copper’s introduction into Tyler’s life. Now the boy and dog were inseparable except for school or when, like today, Tyler went to spend the night with his new friend David.
“Ross said I could help.” Alex offered a smile. “I need to do something to keep in shape since I can’t exercise horses.”
He leaned against the stall door and grinned at her, his intense gaze sending her head into a dizzy spin. She gripped the handle of the pitch fork.
Jack shrugged. “Working at a race track and working here on the farm are two different things.”
“I’m glad you think so.” She pushed a piece of hair out of her eyes, fighting a wave of indignation. She’d given up a lot for him. “I’ve always wanted to learn this side of the business.”
“Maybe we should learn together.” The corners of his mouth drew up into another smile. His eyes twinkled with an appreciation that warmed Alex s heart. She fought the seductive tug toward him.
How was she supposed to take Jack? He looked so refined and gorgeous, wearing a fancy pair of black riding jodhpurs, polished boots, and a long-sleeve white cotton shirt with an almost too deliciously open collar. She felt shabby by comparison.
His smile was drawing her in. Get a grip! You’ve decided not to let him get to you.
Right.
Jack pushed away from the door. “How about that ride I promised you?”
“Now?”
“Now.” He nodded. “I’ll saddle two horses.”
Alex put the pitch fork in the feed room, and using the pump near the barn door, ran cold water over her hands to remove the grime. She used a clean towel, normally kept for rubbing down horses, to wipe sweat from her face and the back of her neck. Then raking her fingers through her hair, she tucked the loose curls behind her ears.
When she joined him, Jack had a fond look in his eyes. “You know, that’s one thing I like about you.”
Her eyebrows knit together. “What’s that?”
“You don’t put on airs. You are who you are.”
Was that a compliment? “Gee, thanks, I guess.”
They walked to the other end of the barn. “If she could, my grandmother retired our old race horses to the farm when their careers were over,” Jack explained opening the door of one of the occupied stalls. “I had Ross bring Dusty in from the field this morning. It looks as if he’s already groomed him.”
Dusty was a retired Thoroughbred. He stood about sixteen hands and still looked in good shape. Jack had tacked him using a well-worn English saddle and a bridle with a martingale.
“You can ride him.” Jack led the aging bay gelding from the stall. “Dusty may have some run left in him and if that happens, better you up on him than me.”
“Thanks for the vote of confidence.” Her voice was light. She was looking forward to this outing. Alex tightened the girth and adjusted the cheek strap. “Hold his head for me, okay?”
“You don’t need me to give you a leg up?”
Heat flooded her veins. It was one thing for Johnny to give her a boost into the saddle, but the idea of Jack’s hands on her threw her whole body into panic mode. “No thanks.” Alex stuck her left boot into the stirrup and hauled herself into the saddle.
Jack disappeared into another stall and brought out Chief. He mounted, and they rode around the barns and other farm outbuildings. Then they broke into a slow canter, going along a dirt road flanked by white wooden fences and pastureland dotted with grazing mares and newborn foals.
The ride was picture-perfect and so typical of the central Kentucky Bluegrass.
This was fun. Not the mind-blowing, all out exhilaration of riding a race horse at breakneck speed, but an easy enjoyment—the wind whipping through her hair, nipping her cheeks, the sun beating down upon her shoulders, warming her skin.
Maybe it was fun because Jack was along. Her husband was enjoying himself too, she could tell. He pointed out landmarks and they talked about places they had played as children. Today the old swimming hole looked like a muddy, algae-covered puddle of water. The climbing ash tree had grown too tall for safety.
They took a short cut through a copse of trees, ducking the lower, overhanging branches, jumping the fallen logs in their path, and finally coming out at the foot of a gentle hill. At the top of the hill, against the backdrop of a brilliant blue sky, stood an old, red brick manor house, the ancestral home of the Breckinridge family.
“Race you to the top!” Jack said, taking off at a gallop up the slopping hillside.
Even with his head start, she caught him. Laughing, breathing hard, her face flushed with the thrill of competition, Alex reined in first at the house.
“No fair,” Jack said with a laugh. “You’re riding a former race horse!”
“So what? You cheated.”
They laughed at each other, exchanging warm glances while catching their breaths. Alex’s heart struggled to find its regular rhythm.
“The original house was built about eighteen thirty.”
A heavy growth of ivy crawled up the front of the two-story brick home. The yard was overgrown with brush and scrub trees, more evidence of its abandoned state. They rode closer to the deserted structure.
“It’s been a long time since I’ve been here,” Alex said.
Jack looked around. “I need to get this mess cleaned up. Even if we can’t afford to renovate the building, we can keep it neat out here.”
For a few moments, they sat quietly on their horses studying the smooth façade of the Federal-style house with its four chimneys. Windows were shuttered, the door barred. The smell of disuse and decay permeated the air, and Dusty sidestepped, bobbing his head. Alex placed a calming hand on the horse’s neck.
“The walls are eighteen inches thick,” Jack recited like a tour guide, “and made with good Kentucky clay bricks.”
This is Tyler’s heritage too. The awareness hit her as hard as one of those clay bricks.
“Do you mind making one more stop?” Jack’s lips were suddenly drawn together in a grim line, his eyes shuttered like the windows. “The family cemetery. Okay with you?” His words were soft, catching on the wind and drifting away.
“Yes, that’s okay. Lead the way.”
Jack’s change of mood was reflected vividly on his face. Subdued. Sad. He seemed to forget her, turning Chief and starting at a walk down a path that took them away from the house.
Alex followed, letting Dusty pick his pace. The small, private cemetery lay in a clearing, surrounded by a stone fence about waist high, and flanked by two giant oak trees with a few brown autumn leaves still clinging to their branches. In the spring and summer, the trees would provide a leafy canopy for those souls resting beneath them.
Jack dismounted and looped his reins over an old iron hitching post. The ground around the stone walls and inside the enclosure had been mowed, well-kept by comparison to the old house. Quietly, he lifted the latch to a wrought iron gate and went inside.
Alex’s heart contracted. From
horseback, she watched Jack stroll through the rows of headstones. Some were new and shiny marble, others chipped and broken, ravaged by weather and time. He looked as if he was suddenly hurting, and she hurt for him.
Alex slid off her horse and went into the family cemetery.
Aching to touch Jack, not daring to, wanting to ease the look of pure agony she saw on his face, but not knowing how, she stood silently beside him.
Brandon Tyler Breckinridge, the stone read.
“Brandon’s grave,” he whispered.
Alex gasped. “I didn’t know he was buried here.”
Jack rubbed his jaw. His face was ashen. “What’s left of him.”
His words were heavy and ponderous as if he reflected on the shortness of life. The horrible reality of violent death.
“I suggested he enter the army.”
Alex reached up and clasped her hands around his upper right arm, hanging onto him for comfort, hoping to comfort him. In a gesture that squeezed her heart, Jack covered her hands with his left one.
“I need to bring flowers,” he said, and she nodded in agreement.
They stood there a moment more, and then sidestepped down the manicured row, looking at other nearby graves. Beside his brother lay another new Breckinridge grave.
“Nana.” Jack’s eyes glistened with unshed tears.
And next, Randall Breckinridge, Nana’s husband and Jack’s grandfather.
A lump sealed Alex’s throat. She felt his agony, burning in her deeply.
Life changed things familiar like the swimming hole and the climbing tree. Love ones were taken away. Regret bottled in her chest. Hot, gritty tears burned behind her eyes as she thought of all that had been and could be. Of love lost and never found—of lives, so full of hope and promise lying unfulfilled in the family plot on the hillside.
His jaw tense, his eyes brittle, Jack stiffened. “I didn’t think it would be so hard coming here.”
Alex looked at the gravestones, sadness washing over her. “Yes. Nana and Randall lived a good, long life. Brandon didn’t need to die so young.”
“I expect you miss him the most.” Jack’s words were muted. “I sure do.”
Kentucky Woman Page 8
