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Holtsville, SC One week later

Being in Holtsville was like going back in time for Bianca. Virtually nothing had changed. Even Donnie’s Diner remained the only eatery in the small “downtown” area—thank the heavens it was renovated. Donnie’s was a landmark in Holtsville, but growing up she felt eating from there was like playing Russian Roulette with your digestive system.

Yes, Holtsville was still a one gas station town. As she passed by it, Bianca waved at the grizzly man sweeping in front of the storefront. She smiled as she remembered riding with her father to the small store, anxious to spend her nickels and pennies on candy.

Good memories.

Bianca pushed her oversized shades up atop her mass of straw set curls as she turned left off the main road. Her father’s ranch was on sixty acres, just ten miles away. As she drove, Bianca looked around at the small houses that looked the same as when she growing up. Many of her childhood memories were tied to those places.

Cutting the models from the Sears catalogs to play with like paper dolls on the porch of her best friend, Patty Ann. Or her first kiss at the Walker property with Lil’ Willie Walker up in the loft of his family’s barn.

Bianca laughed as she remembered screaming and running from the barn when he whipped out his little Willie.

Lots of memories.

Now she was back in town.

Last week when her father asked for her to come home, Bianca had reservations, but she set them aside. She knew it took quite a feat for her father to ask for help. For him to admit that he was close to losing the ranch was astounding. For him to say he needed her was the clincher.

“Well, can you beat that?” Bianca said aloud, her eyes lighting on the wooden sign that read:

KING EQUINE SERVICES

ESTABLISHED 1959

HOLTSVILLE, SC

(2 MILES AHEAD ON RIGHT)

She clearly remembered the day she helped her father hang the sign that her mother painted with care. And there it remained after all that time. The letters were faded and the corners of the wood was chipped, but her father hadn’t replaced it.

Maybe this trip won’t be so bad after all.

Bianca noticed a large and shiny pick-up truck behind her in her rearview mirror. She paid it no mind until the driver began to blow the truck’s horn and motion out the window with his hand.

Bianca checked her speedometer. She was doing fifty-five. Humph. “Better go around,” she muttered with attitude.

As the truck passed, Bianca noticed a man wearing aviator shades and riding in the back. The man and his pose looked straight out of one of those Ralph Lauren print ads—even done to the chocolate lab sitting dutifully at his side.

The man made Bianca want to do something naughty, like suck her finger or blow him kisses.

Ruggedly handsome, his salt and pepper smooth hair was cut very low. His beard and mustache was more a five o’clock shadow. She knew his hair was prematurely silver because there was no denying the youth and vitality of the man. She figured him to be in his early thirties, and his deep bronzed caramel complexion perfectly suited that beautiful hair. He had strong features. A lighter version of that male supermodel, Tyson.

Bianca wished his shades weren’t in place.

Her eyes took in the black tank he wore and the way it snugly fit his chest and emphasized the steely muscles of his arms.

Just before the truck accelerated and left her behind, the man waved at her before setting his arm atop his bent knee. The move drew her attention to the large tattoo of an eagle on his upper right arm.

“Ooh, come here, you,” she said to herself, waving back with a beguiling smile and a little toot-toot of her horn.

Good girls always loved bad boys, and there was something untamed and wicked about the man that drew her in. “Sexy silver self,” she said in a low voice to herself.

Did he like what he saw as well? She couldn’t help but get excited at the thought that he did.

Moments later the truck became a spot in the distance.

“Whew, he was fine,” Bianca moaned, just as she decelerated the car to turn it down the long and winding dirt road leading to the ranch.

The grove of trees lining the road offered enough shade to make one think it was suddenly late evening and not early afternoon. As a child Bianca would play among that blanket of trees, feeling like a princess in her own secret garden. Even when it rained the tree’s branches were so densely intertwined that nary a raindrop broke through to touch the ground.

Then the trees ended. Before her sat her childhood home, the King’s Castle as her father used to call it. The two-story home was an impressive structure. A huge wrap-around porch and so many windows that the sun glinting off the glass looked like the twinkle of diamonds. The navy blue shutters crisply contrasted off the white of the home with the underskirt of the home trimmed in red brick.

The mahogany front door opened and her father stepped out onto the porch, his arms already opened wide. Bianca flew out of the car and ran up the stairs to him. He enveloped her. She clung to his large impressive frame and to a past when there was no distance between them.

Although Bianca hadn’t returned once since she left college.

Although she owned a house in Atlanta just as large as this.

Although she swore to never return if things hadn’t changed.

Her first thoughts were, I’m home.

As Kahron Strong stood in the doorway of his bedroom and looked at the naked woman lying there like she was posing for Playboy, he wondered who he’d have to pay to get a housekeeper on whom he could rely.

This woman laying before was Erika—the fifteenth housekeeper/cook he hired since he moved to Holtsville, SC. He tried everything from the old to the young, male, female, and a few that could swing either way. He always got the same result—they did something to get on his last nerve.

Whether it was stealing, or being disrespectful, or watching more of his digital cable than actually working, or foolishly trying to seduce him—Erika was the fourth such to try that route—or just plain couldn’t cook or clean to save their lives, Kahron went through housekeepers quicker than tissue. He wondered if he was cursed.

Because she was laying out the goods he gave her a quick perusal. He shook his head. When a man has a naked woman lying before him and he notices that the furry mound between her legs is starting to grow down her legs—well, something just wasn’t right.

“Ma’am, please go on and get dressed,” he said, his voice raspy and filled with his Down South accent. He reached into his back pocket and pulled two twenty-dollar bills off the knot of money. “Your services are no longer needed.”

“What?” she exclaimed, actually opening her legs wider.

Kahron diverted his gaze and tried not to laugh at how ridiculous she was.

“Are you crazy?” she asked.

“No, ma’am.”

“You ain’t all that, Kahron Strong.”

“Yes, ma’am, I know.”

He heard the rustle of the sheets and the squeal of the bed springs as she rose. He started to tell her to take the sheets with her, but refrained—he’d just throw them out. He felt sheets were almost as intimate as underwear and, well, it just wasn’t something he wanted to randomly share.

Kahron looked at wall until she snatched the money from his hand and slammed out of the room.

“Well, another one bites the dust,” he said, as the front door slammed soon after.

After a long day at the livestock auction in Chesnee, Kahron had just wanted to eat lunch and help his crew out with repairing the fence on the northeast portion of his one hundred acre spread.

A strip show hadn’t been on his “to do” list—especially from a woman whose crotch looked like she had Buckwheat’s head trapped between her legs.

He made himself a cheese sandwich—there weren’t any cold cuts in sight—before heading back out of the house. His dog, a chocolate lab aptly name Hershey, immediately rose from where she was lazily lounging on her favorite spot on the porch. Kahron paused to give Hershey the rest of his sandwich and he stroked her coat as she lapped it up with ease.

“Good girl,” he said, with one last pat to her side.

Kahron could have driven one of the four battered work trucks or three four wheelers parked in front of his single-level house, but he decided to ride his stallion, Midnight, instead. With Hershey at his booted heels, he walked the distance over to the steel barn that housed his ten horses.

“Hola Paco,” Kahron greeted the ten year old as he walked up. Paco was the son of Kahron’s stable manager, Carlos Santos.

“Hola Mister Strong.”

Kahron mussed his wild cap of black hair playfully, quite fond of the child. “Will you get Midnight for me?”

Paco didn’t even bother to answer. He just dashed off to do as he was asked.

As he waited, Kahron looked around at all the activity on his ranch. He loved it. All of the ranch hands within his sight were busy with a task, be it shoeing a horse or cleaning up the constant animal droppings. Since buying the ranch six years ago, Kahron had improved the water availability and distribution with better grazing management, increased the size of the herd by nearly three hundred heads, and increased the staff to thirty men—twelve of whom resided on the property in the bunkhouse. His goal was to expand further.

The ranch currently dealt mainly with livestock, but Kahron was looking into possibly expanding into dairy, like his brother Kaleb, who farmed in Walterboro just twenty miles away. That would come in due time. Right now his focus was getting ready to drive his herd to the south pasture of his land in a few weeks.

“Here he is, Mister Strong,” Paco said, carefully leading the horse to him. “I groomed him for you.”

Kahron pulled five dollars from his pocket. “Best brushing job I ever seen, Paco.”

The little boy’s mouth formed into an circle and he went running off. He stopped after a few feet. “Gracias, Mister Strong. Come on Hershey,” he shouted back before dashing off to the back of the stable, presumably to find his father.

Hershey, who was particular about what action she chose to partake in, just stood there and watched the little boy run off before she trotted over to her pile of blankets in the corner of the tack room.

“Lazy girl,” Kahron teased, as he walked into the tack room to retrieve his custom made black leather saddle.

Hershey just settled deeper into her blankets.

Kahron laughed as he walked back out to Midnight. He grunted slightly as he saddled his horse, stroking the deep ebony of its powerful neck, its mane long, flowing, and just as black. Moments later, comfortably mounted on the horse’s back, Kahron went trotting off to help the set of men repairing fence, his thoughts heavy on how ideal the King property would be ideal for expansion of his business.

“Whassup, Bianca.”

Bianca stiffened in her father’s arms at the sound of her stepmother’s voice. Giving her father’s wide expanse of body one last hug she step back to look around him at the second Mrs. Hank King… Trishon.

Fifteen years later but still young at thirty-five, Trishon was an attractive woman. A bit fuller at the waist, hips, and breasts, but only three years Bianca’s senior. Still, she and Trishon had never been close friends growing up. They ran in different circles, but both knew of each other well.

“Hello,” Bianca said, barely forcing civility into her tone.

Bianca didn’t miss the diamond cluster ring sparkling from the woman’s fingers or the casual designer clothing—things Trishon never had until she met and married Hank King.

Kanye West’s song “Golddigger” suddenly played in her head.

Trishon’s eyes glittered, but she smiled nonetheless. “Hank is so excited about your visit,” she said, stepping forward to stand next to him and stroke his arm.

Bianca knew that being a woman would mean giving this woman respect. As much as she hated it, this was Trishon’s home—she was the lady of the house—and that meant giving her at least that much respect.

“I’m glad to be back, Trishon. Thank you for your hospitality,” Bianca said, forcing a smile to her full Angie Stone–like lips.

Bianca looked up at her father, thinking it was good to see his wide handsome face again, and wishing she didn’t smell the faint scent of Crown Royal. “I’ll have to make you a pot of my homemade stew that you used to love, Daddy.”

He smiled. “I would like that.”

“I cook for him but he doesn’t eat very much,” Trishon said, her tone clearly defensive.

Bianca felt irritation nip at her. “We’ll just see if both of us can’t nag him into eating,” she offered lightly.

“Right now I’m headed to run an errand,” Hank said, pulling Bianca to his side for another quick hug. “I’ll be back later.”

Bianca was confused and her face showed it. “But, Daddy, I just got here and don’t you think we need to talk?” she asked, even as he continued down the stairs.

“We’ll talk when I get back. You and Trishon visit or go shopping or something.”

Hank climbed into his battered pick-up truck and Trishon flittered down the stairs behind him.

Bianca watched as he leaned over to pull his wallet out his back pocket and handed some bills into her eager hands.

As he drove away, Bianca felt like that same teenager whose father ignored her all over again. The first time he saw his daughter and already he was off with something else—anything else—to do. She released a breath as if to release the pain and disappointment she felt.

“Trishon, I’m just going to head up to my room,” Bianca said, jogging down the stairs to pop the trunk of her vehicle to remove her suitcase.

“Actually, I, uhm, converted your old bedroom into my dressing room years ago,” Trishon said, folding the money he gave her to push into her brassiere.

“Oh, okay, well, please show me where I’m staying,” Bianca said through tight lips before climbing the stairs.

“Third room to your right, top of the stairs.”

Bianca turned to see Trishon climbing into a red BMW. The woman said nothing else and just reversed the car in an arc before accelerating forward in a flurry of dust.

Disgusted with them both, Bianca entered the house. She had barely closed the front door behind her, however, before she froze where she stood. “Sweet Jesus. What… in… the… hell?” she whispered in shock.

Gone was the French country décor that Bianca remembered to be replaced by a design style she could only name “gaudy chic”—leopard print rugs and throws, crimson slashes of material that made the room look like it was bleeding. Leather. Beads. Glass. Metal.

Bianca just rolled her eyes heavenward. Had her father lost his ever-loving mind? Had she for returning to this chaos?

She climbed the stairs, her suitcase in her hand, mindful of the changes Trishon made to what was once a beautiful, classy home. The woman had accomplished changing it to a remake of The Best Little Whorehouse in South Carolina. But she was not here to judge, no matter how bad she thought Trishon’ taste was. In two weeks she’d be back in her more… sedate … Atlanta home, living her own life.

Trishon had assigned Bianca to her mother’s old sewing room, but any traces of that were gone. It was replaced by every possible shade of purple satin—or was it polyester? Everything from lilac to violet. It looked like the room threw up purple.

She didn’t even bother unpacking. She decided to take a look around the ranch because her father wasn’t home to give her access to his books. Without even changing out of the vintage jeans, tank, and sneakers she wore, Bianca jogged back downstairs and left the house.

The barn—which was the centerpiece of the business—was a good mile down from the main house. Bianca decided to walk it and headed in that direction. She was anxious to see the horses and meet the ranch hands.

Growing up, King Equine Services had been one of the leading horse ranches for the boarding and breeding of horses in the low country. They used to have a waiting list for people looking to purchase a horse bred and trained by Hank King. He was known for his method of humane and effective training approaches for horses. He seemed to have an affinity for horses, probably through heredity—his own father started the ranch—and through trial and error.

That love of horses and other animals had been passed on to Bianca; thus, her career as a equine vet. She, too, seemed to be blessed with an innate ability with animals. Being a vet gave her the opportunity to make a good deal of money and lots of respect in her field, but she was also surrounded by the horses she loved so much. To her the animals far outweighed the money.

So, it bothered her to think that legacy of quality work and care might be lost. How bad were things? Was it salvageable?

The summer sun was blazing down on her without any shelter from its rays. As she turned down the worn path leading to the area behind the old bunkhouse, Bianca’s steps faltered at her first sight of the gable-styled barn—or what was left of it. The structure had not survived what obviously was a fire. What was left was charred, broken, and decrepit. Useless.

Questions flew to mind. The who, what, when, and why of it all.

As she stood in the center of that great field, the tips of the grass dried and yellowing from the heat, Bianca looked around. Not a soul was in sight: the horse pens were empty, no one using the handling chutes to safely contain a horse while trimming feet or treating injuries, no hands walking the horses that should’ve been boarded, the obstacle courses were desolate.

Uh-oh.

Things were bad. Worst than she thought. If her father didn’t get his behind home ASAP she would hunt him down and drag his butt home to explain to her to just what the hell was—or wasn’t—going on.

Kahron steered his truck down the long, winding dirt road leading to King Equine Services. Night had fallen and he was hoping Hank was at home so they could talk. That would save him a trip to Charlie’s, a small wooden shack at the end of a dead-end road whose namesake sold beer and liquor and allowed the local men to play cards—for a cut. Charlie’s was located on the other side of Holtsville, nearer to Summerville, whereas the section of Holtsville he lived in was nearer to Walterboro. Kahron really wasn’t up for the drive or the socializing tonight.

His truck had just passed the grove of trees that made that stretch of the road seemed black as midnight when he caught sight of the house. He saw a figure on the porch rise as he neared.

“Well, I’ll be damned,” he thought with a roguish grin.

It was the curly haired beauty he saw in the convertible earlier today. She looked even better standing.

Hank had bragged that his daughter was coming home, but never had Kahron imagined her to be so beautiful. Guess he was picturing a female version of Hank—which wouldn’t have been a pretty sight for anybody’s eyes!

She was tall and shapely, something clearly defined by the form fitting jeans and tank that she wore. From her straight up stance he knew she was comfortable in her skin, something that made her even sexier to him. Her reddish-brown hair—he didn’t know what else to call it—was the perfect compliment to her light complexion. Her features were feline, with wide eyes and high cheekbones. She had the fullest lips he’d ever seen, and the small mole over her left eyebrow made her all the more endearing.

Kahron was intrigued by her. He felt drawn to her. His pulse quickened and he felt that same nervous awareness he used to get around pretty girls when he in his awkward teens.

But this was the odd part. Standing before him, highlighted in the darkness by the porch light and his headlights, was a beautiful woman with a sexy figure—the type of woman he used to have wet dreams about—but it wasn’t her beauty that drew him in. It wasn’t the lure of the naughty pleasure her body could bring him. It wasn’t the thrill of her luscious lips tantalizing parts of his body—above and below.

It was the moment of sadness he saw reflected in her hazel-green eyes.

Just before Kahron parked and cut off his truck lights he saw her lips shape into a frown. He opened the driver side door and rose a bit so that she could see him. He liked that her face shifted to surprise and then pleasure—she remembered him as well. In an instant he wanted to be the one to take that sadness from her eyes.

Bianca sat on the top step of the porch waiting for her father’s return. She glanced down at her watch. He had been gone for well over seven hours.

“No wonder the business’ gone to pot,” she muttered, just as headlights reflected in her eyes.

She rose, ready finally to have the conversation with her father that she rehearsed in her head all afternoon.

As the truck neared, she saw that it wasn’t her father’s vehicle. She looked on as the truck parked next to Trishon’s BMW and the drivers door opened.

Her heart swelled as the moonlight glinted off of the top of his silver head. It couldn’t be him, could it?

Her eyes locked on him as she looked into his face.

Oh, yes. Yes the hell it was.

Bianca started to walk down the steps to him, but stopped herself. His shades were gone, but it was him and Bianca felt an awareness of him that made her absolutely breathless.

His hair looked so divine against his bronzed complexion that she knew was more sun cooked that heredity.

“Hi. How you doing? Is Hank home?” he asked in a warm, deep voice that she knew could emit a guttural cry as a woman brought him to a seductive climax.

Breathe, Bianca, breathe.

Then she realized she still hadn’t spoke.

Talk, Bianca, talk.

“No, he’s not home yet,” she said, wanting to do something to stall him from leaving her presence.

“Could you tell him Kahron Strong stopped by?” he asked.

Strong, huh? Like strong loving?

“I’m Bianca. Bianca King,” she said suddenly, hating the eagerness of her voice as she went ahead and moved down a step.

It worked to stop him from climbing back into the truck. “Nice to meet you.”

“Kahron, huh? That’s different?”

“It’s a family thing,” he said, smiling so broadly that his white teeth gleamed.

Uhm, uhm, uhm.

“That’s nothing, my father’s name is Kael and my Mom thought it was cute to name us all with a K,” he said, actually moving around the open car door to come closer.

A fine sheen of sweat broke out in the valley between Bianca’s breasts. Something about this man just did it for her.

“So there’s Kaleb, Kade, Kaeden, and Kaitlyn.”

As Kahron put one booted foot up on the bottom step and leaned casually against the banister, Bianca slowly sank to sit down on the step and looked up at him.

“Wow you have a big family,” Bianca said, wrapping her arms around her knees. “I was an only child.”

“There are positives and negatives to big families, especially when you add on the uncles, aunts, cousins, nieces, nephews, in-laws, family pets…”

At that moment the same lab from earlier today leaned its head over the side of the truck and barked twice as it tongue hung from its mouth like a bell.

Bianca laughed, that inevitable snort escaping her mouth as she did.

Headlights illuminated from the road and Bianca leaned to the left to look, while Kahron looked over his shoulder.

She recognized her father’s truck and was filled with relief.

His truck rolled to a stop in front of the house barely missing the rear of Kahron’s truck. They both watched as Hank’s big body lumbered out of the truck, walking like he had the weight of the world on his broad shoulders.

“Evening, Hank,” Kahron greeted, his eyes squinted as he watched the other man.

Hank had been looking down at his feet but his head jerked up at the sound of Kahron’s voice. He stopped, wobbling a bit on his feet, as he peered at Kahron as if he saw three of him instead of one. “Oh shit no, Strong. F–f–f–first you… you want my land and now… and now… and now you sniff in’ up my daughter’s t–t–t–tail. Hell naw I say,” Hank ended on a roar, his words slurring together.

Seconds letter he took one lumbering step toward Kahron and swung. When Kahron shifted one step to the right, Hank’s body twirled in a full circle before he fell forward to the ground, causing a cloud of dust to rise up around his frame.

Bianca dashed down the stairs to him, immediately surrounded by the acrid fumes of alcohol. She bent, trying to help him to his feet—no easy task.

Kahron stooped to help him as well, but that only sent Hank flying forward again as he jerked away from the younger man.

“Don’t t–t–t–t-touch me, Strong,” he garbled. “No means no, you young sh–sh–sh–shit.”

Bianca finally helped him to his feet, her arm around his waist, as she guided her father up the stairs. His weight put a strain on her knees as she struggled to hold them both up.

“Good night, Bianca.”

She wasn’t physically able to turn and look at Kahron—and she regretted that—but she briefly raised her hand to him before entering the house. Soon she heard his truck door slam and the crunch of his tires against the road as he drove away.

“Want my ranch… damn vulture,” was audible from her father’s drunken gibberish. “Bunny… home… help… n–n–n–now… there.”

Trishon walked into the room as Bianca struggled to get him to a crimson sofa that looked like grotesque, oversized lips. She set a reddish-looking drink on the coffee table and pulled the leopard print throw from the love seat atop him. “Just leave him there. He’ll get up after while.”

Bianca eyed the drink. “And what is that?”

“A little something to keep him from having a hangover in the morning,” Trishon said over her shoulder, on her way out of the room.

Bianca moved to leave the room as well. She paused at the entrance, her hand on the light switch as she looked back at her father in his drunken stupor.

Nothing at all had changed.