Blood Ties a Broken Heart

by Cassandra Hawke

  Table of Contents

  Legal Page

  Title Page

  Book Description

  Dedication

  Trademarks Acknowledgement

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  New Excerpt

  About the Author

  Publisher Page

  A Totally Bound Publication

  Blood Ties a Broken Heart

  ISBN # 978-1-78430-457-7

  ©Copyright Cassandra Hawke 2015

  Cover Art by Posh Gosh ©Copyright February 2015

  Edited by Sue Meadows

  Totally Bound Publishing

  This is a work of fiction. All characters, places and events are from the author’s imagination and should not be confused with fact. Any resemblance to persons, living or dead, events or places is purely coincidental.

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced in any material form, whether by printing, photocopying, scanning or otherwise without the written permission of the publisher, Totally Bound Publishing.

  Applications should be addressed in the first instance, in writing, to Totally Bound Publishing. Unauthorized or restricted acts in relation to this publication may result in civil proceedings and/or criminal prosecution.

  The author and illustrator have asserted their respective rights under the Copyright Designs and Patents Acts 1988 (as amended) to be identified as the author of this book and illustrator of the artwork.

  Published in 2015 by Totally Bound Publishing, Newland House, The Point, Weaver Road, Lincoln, LN6 3QN

  Totally Bound Publishing is a subsidiary of Totally Entwined Group Limited.

  Warning:

  This book contains sexually explicit content which is only suitable for mature readers. This story has a heat rating of Totally Burning and a Sexometer of 2.

  BLOOD TIES A BROKEN HEART

  Cassandra Hawke

  When Ashford St. Clair takes the rap for his sister’s horse doping, he loses his true love, Rylee O’Shaunessy. Is it too late for love when he finally admits his mistake?

  When Rylee returns to Adelaide to take over her godmother’s stables, seeing Ashford St. Clair brings back memories of past events—when he sacrificed a promising equestrian career and alienated Rylee in the process.

  Ash is determined to win Rylee back and they reach an uneasy compromise when their passion for each other is reignited. But the deeds of the past still haunt the present, threatening their relationship. An old enemy returns to cause trouble for Rylee—Ash’s sister, Arden—the one who brought about Ash’s downfall in the first place. She makes it clear that there’s no room for Rylee in Ash’s life and she’ll do anything she can to make sure that the lovers remain apart.

  Will Rylee come to terms with the mistakes she and Ash made in the past and learn to love and trust each other again?

  Dedication

  To my daughter,

  Georgie

  for our shared love of horses

  Trademarks Acknowledgement

  The author acknowledges the trademarked status and trademark owners of the following wordmarks mentioned in this work of fiction:

  Akubra: Akubra

  Lycra: Invista

  Victoria Park Racecourse: Adelaide City Council

  Monopoly: Hasbro Inc.

  Chapter One

  The white canvas awning put up by the funeral director did nothing to cut the searing heat of the summer sun as Rylee stood silently by the hole in the ground that would soon hold her godmother’s coffin. Her heart ached with grief for the woman she considered her second mum. They had lived on opposite sides of the country for the last ten years, but distance had done nothing to weaken their closeness. She clenched her brother’s sweaty hand in a tight grip, taking what little comfort she could from the contact. A damp band formed where her little black hat was crushed onto the damp tendrils of her dark wayward curls and perspiration trickled between her breasts, making her feel sticky and uncomfortable.

  Her high heels sank into the green cushion of buffalo grass, tightening the stretch on her calves and making it difficult to keep her balance. She stared with desperate concentration at the rosewood coffin balanced above the gaping cavern of earth. The one single stunning pink rose wreath that decorated it was already wilting in the vicious sting of the sun fired by the forty-degree day. She wished the torture over, as her tears dried on her cheeks. The priest droned on, but Rylee barely heard the ritual words that were supposed to provide comfort and respect. Her thoughts were filled with how her beloved Aunt Aileen had died of a heart attack, alone, amongst her horses, as she tried to maintain her once thriving business. If it hadn’t been for the St. Clair siblings she would have been here and the stables would have been successful.

  The scent of toasting eucalyptus tickled at her nostrils and she took a deep breath of burning summer air filled with the scent of gums, the sea and the roses and knew she was home. The priest intoned the Lord’s Prayer and was echoed by the mourners. Rylee glanced from under her eyelashes to examine who had attended this final farewell. The mourners made a small gathering—a few strangers, friends of Aileen Jones, and a half dozen well-known faces from the equestrian fraternity. Rylee sighed, such a sad end to endure for a special lady.

  She halted her scan of the gathered mourners. He stood at the back of the crowd, different, but the same. She was attracted to, and yet repulsed by, the familiarity of his features. A barrage of emotion slammed into her chest, clenching her heart in a vice of anger entwined with unrequited passion. Only Regan’s relentless grip on her arm ensured she stayed upright as her knees buckled under the unexpectedness of his sudden appearance. Her throat, already dry and rasping from grief, now burned with sandpaper dryness as she tried to swallow. She stared at him, mapping every contour of his beloved face, the tinge of gray at the temples, the new lines around his eyes. She wanted desperately to reach out and touch him, to feel the smoothness of his tanned skin under her fingertips, her body sizzling inside with unbridled sexual need. In her mind, she heard his voice, smelled his scent, and remembered the taste of his mouth on hers. Her chest clamped tight against the sobs that threatened to choke her.

  A whimper of agonized misery escaped from between tightly compressed lips, and Regan squeezed her hand, thinking to comfort her in her grief. Beyond responding, she clutched frantically to the last threads of composure as she stared silently at him.

  Ashford St. Clair, the love of her life, the destroyer of her dreams. Her beloved, who had turned his back on their love when he had very publicly put his sister before Rylee in a nasty tangle of horse doping, misguided loyalty and lies.

  Then he was gone, farther back in the gathered mourners. She searched the unfamiliar faces surrounding her with a despairing need to find him, to catch another glimpse of the man she loved. The urge to break away and push through those congregated at the graveside screamed at her, but she held still, for Ashford St. Clair could never be part of her life and she would never disrespect her godmother in such a way at the very last moment of farewell.

  As the priest conducted the final rites, Rylee acquiesced to Regan’s gentle urging to walk forward and scoop up a handful of the red soil offered and sprinkle it on the coffin. Frozen in the moment of seeing him, Rylee robotically went through the motions of saying her personal goodbye, thanking the mourners and speaking to all who came for refreshments back in the chapel. She anxiously scanned the crowd, but he had gone.

  The man she had fallen in lo
ve with ten years ago—Ashford St. Clair. The man who had done such wrong that she had fled across the country to the bosom of her family, knowing that single act made him forbidden to her. It was inevitable that she would see him now she had returned home, but did it have to be so soon, so unexpectedly and cause such burning anguish? She had fled after the incident, taking her smashed heart with her in the hope that it would heal. She still yearned for him, her feelings just as intense, painful and unrequited as they had been so long ago.

  She would never be able to forget the sight of Ashford St. Clair standing by his sister’s horse with an empty syringe in his hand days before an important three-day event in which she would be competing. The reverberation down her spine from the terrible roar that had burst from her godmother still echoed in her ears and the flushed, guilty expression on his handsome face while he had tried to conceal what he had in his hand remained clear in her mind as if it had only happened yesterday. When she had seen his sister Arden skulking in the shadows, Rylee had stayed silent, despite knowing immediately that Arden was to blame. The love she had for Ash had quivered under the resulting scandal but not died, even when she had been forced to cut all ties with him lest she be implicated and lose her standing in the equestrian world.

  The following month she and Arden had fought it out in the eventing arena with Arden driving her horse, Lord of the Manor, unmercifully over the cross-country course. Her burning ambition to win had ended with a nasty fall that injured Arden and left Lord of the Manor with a broken leg that had cost him his life. Rylee had taken first place, but she’d lost the desire to compete that day and had sunk into a deep depression. At her godmother’s encouragement, she had fled to Tasmania in the hope she would forget Ashford and heal from the betrayal of their love.

  * * * *

  When Rylee told Regan she had seen Ash at the funeral, he just shrugged. “Look, sis, you are just going to have to come to some arrangement between your head and your heart over that bastard or you’re not going to make a go of this place, and that will be a kick in the neck for Aileen Jones, considering what she has left you.”

  “I know I have to, Regan, but I just don’t know how.”

  “Well you better figure it out real quick, Ry, because next weekend is the International three-day event and you should be there and you are bound to bump into him or his cheating sister. Get your shit together, sis.”

  Rylee shot a savage glare at her brother before she turned back to shuffling through a pile of dusty tack. She knew he was right, but she wasn’t going to admit it.

  “Fine. Bury your head in that dead tack for now—but think, sis. What you are going to do.”

  “Leave me be, Regan,” she muttered.

  He stomped out of the dusty storage room, and she heard him saddling up one of the horses.

  In an attempt to avoid facing Regan’s pragmatic attitude to Ashford St. Clair, Rylee moped around the tack room for a couple of days on the pretext of sorting and salvaging, but she made little progress until she pulled out a polished wooden trunk. It had a latch but wasn’t locked. As the contents came into view, she lost the grip on the lid and it crashed shut. She stood there with her hands resting on the top of the trunk, gasping for breath, tears welling in her eyes. After several long breaths, she re-opened the chest and stared at the contents. Her trophies, ribbons, her riding gear all done up in plastic with mothballs, her boots, her bridles and saddle. Everything from those days. There were several photographs. She picked up the one featuring her and Ash the day they had come second and third in the CCI2* event. They looked so young then, smiling and excited. Rylee ran her fingers over Ash’s features, touching his mouth and remembering the feel of his lips caressing her own. They had been young then, and naïve in believing their dreams of riding for Australia would come true. Things had been simple then. She replaced each item as she had found it, shut the lid and pushed the trunk back under the bench.

  * * * *

  Friday dawned warm and still. Rylee fiddled over breakfast and Regan finally lost his patience with her.

  “So are you going or not? Rylee, damn it, you can’t keep moping around here, never going out, not eating. Aileen Jones would not approve. That I can tell you,” Regan shouted.

  She looked up at her brother, knowing he was right. This is not what Aunt Aileen would have wanted for her, but how did she tell Regan it was not grief for her godmother that kept her at the stables, a virtual recluse. How could she tell him she still loved the bastard who had caused her so much pain and how even going to the event as a spectator would tear her into shreds?

  To sit quietly by while Ash’s baby sister and her ex-best friend, Arden, galloped past on her newest horse, free to compete because Ash had taken the rap for her in the doping scandal was almost more than she could stomach. His four year ban had long since finished, but the mud had stuck and his reputation had been so damaged he had never competed again—nor had Rylee. She had been so disillusioned by her best friend’s methods to win, she had refused to be part of it. It still hurt to have given up her dream to ride for Australia in the Olympics, but she knew she had made the right decision.

  “Well, sis? You really should begin networking and all if you intend to fulfill Aileen’s dream of re-building these stables back to their heyday,” Regan yelled at her.

  She looked up at her brother. “I don’t know if I can face it. I’m not ready.”

  “For Christ’s sake, Rylee, it’s been ten years. You chose to stop competing. There is no point crying about it now.”

  “I know, Regan, but it hasn’t changed anything.”

  Regan stomped away across the room then turned to face her. “God damn it, sis. You still love that bastard, don’t you?”

  She nodded. “I can’t help it, Regan,” she wailed. “And it wasn’t him that did the dirty on Aileen. It was his sister.”

  “So bloody what,” Regan shouted. ”He took the rap for her, so where did his loyalty lie? Obviously not with you.”

  “I know. Arden always came first and always will,” Rylee muttered.

  “Okay, so you know where you stand, so get your shit together, Rylee. Unless you do, you will never get these stables up and running and I didn’t come all the way from Tasmania to watch you smash yourself against a drop kick like Ashford St. Clair until you break into a million pieces.”

  She stared up at him, flinching under the anger in his words, shying away from the thought of never being with Ash again, totally unable to comprehend that he didn’t deserve her love.

  “The pieces might not go back together this time, sis,” Regan informed her. “And I don’t want to lose you to the black dog again. Okay?”

  She nodded. When she had arrived in Tassie, she had been so deep in depression many had feared for her sanity, but the gentle love of her stepmother and her siblings kept her afloat until she could cope again, and she’d pulled through.

  Making a huge effort, she finally lifted herself off the sofa and headed to her room to change.

  * * * *

  Immediately the noise, smells and sights of the event was a panacea to Rylee’s soul. She realized then just how much she had missed the equestrian scene—the horses, the people and the excitement of competition. But even with the familiar atmosphere, she was on edge. Glancing at huddled groups, peering past horse floats and studying the horses warming up, she moved randomly amongst the crowds, every nerve tingling with anticipation.

  Despite the unhappy memories she so wanted to see him, even knowing it was going to be a painful experience, and she would probably throw herself into his embrace regardless of the consequences.

  She longed to hold him, to retrieve that warm tingling sensation they had shared when he’d touched her. Even though she knew he wouldn’t be riding, she couldn’t resist glancing at each dark-haired male on horseback that passed, remembering as if it were yesterday his relaxed easy seat and steady, gentle hands on the reins. She tried to shrug off her hyper-vigilant demeanor and bring h
er constant flinching under control as she bumped into strangers and acquaintances alike, but she failed dismally. He was here. Soon she would face him. Then what? She had no idea. Did she have the strength to calmly greet him and walk away or snub him even? She doubted it. Even now she trembled inside with a greedy expectation of his nearness. One touch and she would be lost in an abyss and unable to find a way out. That one touch could never happen if she was to stay immune or at least have the strength to pretend he didn’t matter anymore. She tried to pull her straying thoughts back in check. I am not here to see Ash. I am here to drum up some business.

  With a new sense of purpose, she did the rounds, deliberately seeking out those who had attended the funeral in the first instance then tentatively renewing old acquaintances. Most seemed welcoming and accepting of her plans for the stables. Many asked if she was going to resume riding. No one mentioned the St. Clairs or the unfortunate incident. It hurt that Arden St. Clair had emerged from that situation untouched by the scandal. For the first time since she had set foot back in Adelaide a fortnight ago, Rylee was glad to be back, and a sudden determination gripped her. She would fulfill Aunt Aileen’s dream to restore the stables to a well-respected equine establishment.

  With some idea of who was competing, she made her way to the beautiful historic Victoria Park Racecourse Grandstand. She barely recognized it with the renovations bringing it back to its former glory. There was quite a crowd, and she found a seat about three rows from the front. She had a good view of the whole arena and she had her binoculars to get a closer look at the actions of the horse and rider as they moved through the required movements of the dressage tests.