Читать книгу Eternal Vows - Rochelle Alers, Rochelle Alers - Страница 9

Chapter 1

Peyton Blackstone lay on her back, staring up at the gossamer fabric draping the four-poster bed. She’d turned off the air-conditioning the night before, leaving the windows open overnight to take advantage of the cooling temperatures.

Pinpoints of light painted the dawning sky with streaks of pink and lavender and the woodpecker living in the tree outside her bedroom window had begun tapping his beak against the bark in a rhythmic cadence that set her teeth on edge. She didn’t need an alarm clock to wake her, not as long as she had her feathery neighbor.

Peyton knew she had to get up and check on a mare recovering from a localized infection of the skin before driving over to a neighboring horse farm to pick up Celia Cole-Thomas. She and Celia had an eleven o’clock appointment at a Staunton salon for a beauty makeover. Later that afternoon Celia was scheduled to exchange vows with her fiancé. The ceremony would take place in the garden at Celia’s brother’s horse farm. The resident minister at Blackstone Farms would officiate, while Nicholas Cole-Thomas had invited everyone living on farms within a twenty-mile radius to attend the reception.

Celia and her fiancé, Gavin Faulkner, had come to Virginia to marry and at the last possible moment decided to hold the ceremony at Cole-Thom Farms rather than at the local courthouse. Peyton, after embarrassingly revealing she liked Celia’s brother, had been recruited by Celia to stand in as her maid of honor, while Gavin had asked Nicholas to be his best man. However, she knew Celia’s attempt to play matchmaker was destined for failure. Whenever Nicholas visited Blackstone Farms to meet with his mentor, he would give her a barely perceptible nod, looking through her as if she didn’t exist.

When she’d returned to Blackstone Farms after completing her studies for a degree in veterinary medicine, Peyton had asked her cousin about his protégé. Sheldon Blackstone was forthcoming when he told her about the swirling rumors weeks before Nicholas arrived to claim the prime land his agent had secured for him in an auction pitting him against the owner of Thornton Farms. Nicholas’s representative finally quoted a price that far exceeded what Jubal Thornton was prepared or able to meet, and over four hundred acres and a dilapidated mansion were deeded to the new owner who set up Cole-Thom Farms.

Sheldon also revealed it’d taken Nicholas more than a year to restore the mansion to its original grandeur and another year to erect one- and two-bedroom prefab cottages, connecting dormitory-style buildings for resident employees, a dining hall and two state-of-the-art modern stables. Viewed as an outsider, Nicholas was touted as brash, vain, arrogant and an upstart after he’d purchased several Arabians for breeding purposes. There was even more chatter about him. No one had seen him with a woman and this simply added to the mystique of the tall, dark, handsome horse breeder.

Sitting up, Peyton swept back a lightweight blanket, swinging her legs over the side of the bed. She combed her fingers through the hair falling over her forehead and around her face. Her feet touched the floor at the same time her cell phone vibrated on the bedside table. Reaching for the phone, she stared at it. An unfamiliar number was displayed on the screen. She punched in her pass code, deciding to answer the call.

“Hello.”

“Hey, baby. I knew you would be up. You always were an early riser.”

The voice on the other end of the connection raised bumps on her exposed flesh. “Why the hell are you calling me?”

“Is that any way to greet your husband?”

She gritted her teeth. “Ex-husband, Reggie.” Peyton knew he hated when she called him Reggie.

His deep laugh came through the earpiece. “I’ll always think of you as my wife, Peyton.”

Her hand tightened around the phone. “I don’t want you to ever call me again.”

“Don’t you want to hear what I have to say?”

“No! You said and did enough when we were together.” Peyton pressed her thumb to the touch screen, ending the call.

She didn’t want to believe he had the audacity to call her when she’d told him emphatically she never wanted to see or hear from him again. And Peyton didn’t want to believe that the man with whom she’d wanted to spend her life turned out to be a fraud. When she filed for divorce she didn’t know which of his names to use, so it’d become Reginald Matthews aka Ronald Mitchell, aka Richard Morris. The only consistent thing was his initials. She should’ve known there was something wrong with him because he appeared too good to be true. But at twenty-four she’d believed herself in love for the first time. However, a year later the rosy bubble didn’t burst but exploded when, after he’d been arrested for solicitation, she discovered her husband had a criminal history going back to when he was a juvenile. Reginald’s criminal history included misdemeanor offenses ranging from petty theft, forgery to menacing. He never served time because of his father’s influence.

The elder Matthews had always bailed him out and instead of serving time in jail or prison, Reginald was mandated to community service, which he never completed. However, Reginald’s luck ran out when he was arrested in Florida at the same time his parents were out of the country on vacation. Peyton had no intention of bailing him out for soliciting a prostitute, and he spent a week in jail before he was able to contact his indulgent father to put up the money. She moved out of their apartment, contacted a lawyer and filed for divorce.

Setting the phone on the bedside table, Peyton made her way into an adjoining bathroom. Flicking on a light, she stared at her reflection in the mirror, seeing a stranger staring back at her. Her dark gray eyes seemed abnormally large and haunted. A mop of sun-streaked blond hair fell around her face. The spray of freckles dotting her nose and cheeks were no longer visible. Sitting on the rails watching the horses exercise, swimming in the in-ground pool, and occasionally picnicking outdoors with her young cousins without a hat had darkened her normal golden-brown complexion to a rich chestnut hue.

Fortunately she’d worn the highest number SPF sunscreen to protect her skin from the damaging rays of the hot Southern sun. If her mother saw her now she would launch into a tirade about the dangers of skin cancer, and Peyton would somehow placate her saying she would check with a dermatologist if she noticed anything out of the ordinary.

She went through her morning ablution, finishing her shower and applying a liberal application of perfumed crème cologne. She slipped into a pair of jeans with a white man-tailored blouse, turning back the cuffs, and a pair of black leather flats. Reaching for a brush, she pulled it through the tawny strands, which fell to her shoulders, smooth and shimmering with pale gold highlights. It’d been more than three years since Peyton had cut her hair, and the urge to cut it again was stronger than ever.

She paused to make her bed and put her bedroom in order before she left the suite of rooms in the large two-story white house she shared with Sheldon, his wife, Renee, and their young daughter, Virginia. Although Sheldon employed a full-time housekeeper, Peyton still cleaned up after herself. She hadn’t grown up with household help, so old habits were hard to break.

The sun was up when she walked to the area where a pickup truck, minivan and a SUV were garaged. Now that Sheldon had officially retired from running the farm, Peyton usually drove the red pickup with the farm’s logo emblazoned on the doors. The doors to the pickup, like all of the vehicles on the farm, were never locked and keys or fobs were always left in the ignition. She kept her medical bag in a locked compartment in the truck along with a pair of knee-high rubber boots.

The farm was beginning to stir. She drove past a group of men walking in the direction of the stables. One by one the horses would be taken from their stalls, washed and groomed, while the stable hands mucked and washed down the stalls. They would be fed and watered and then turned out to pasture to graze. The Thoroughbreds training for races would be exercised before the jockeys put them through their paces. Jockeys and trainers would spend time conferring with one another as the respective trainers entered the data into laptops.

Peyton parked alongside one of the three stables, retrieved her bag and exchanged her shoes for the boots. She walked in, coming face-to-face with Ryan Blackstone, the farm’s resident veterinarian.

“What are you doing up so early?” she asked Ryan. “I told you I’d make rounds this morning.” He wore his ubiquitous jeans, plaid cotton shirt, battered baseball cap that had seen better days and scuffed boots. A two-day growth of whiskers shadowed his lean jaw.

The Blackstones were like the Baldwin brothers. The similarity in the actors’ eye color indelibly connected them as family. Whereas the Baldwins shared the gene for ice-blue eyes, it was varying shades of gray with the Blackstones. At forty, tall and slender Dr. Ryan Blackstone was bummed because he claimed more gray hair than his father, who would celebrate his sixtieth birthday the following year.

Ryan raised his eyebrows at his young cousin. She’d enrolled in the Western College of Veterinary Medicine in Saskatchewan, Canada, earning a doctor of veterinary medicine degree. Like him she’d specialized in large animal and equine medicine. He’d found her motivated and single-minded in learning everything she could about medical care for horses. He smiled. This morning she looked ten years younger than twenty-seven with her bare face and her hair pulled into a ponytail.

He reached for her medical bag. “Don’t you have a wedding to go to this afternoon?”

Smiling, Peyton nodded. “I wanted to check on Katie Dee.”

“I checked her already.”

“What’s up, Drs. Blackstone?” quipped one of the workers as he pushed a wheelbarrow filled with hay and manure out of the stable.

Peyton rolled her eyes at him when he winked at her. A few of the single workers had started flirting with her once they’d discovered she wasn’t married. What they didn’t know was that she had been married, but that was something she made certain not to advertise. It was just too embarrassing.

“There is one too many Dr. Blackstones on this farm,” she said under her breath.

Ryan gave her a level stare. “And there’ll probably be a third when Sean goes to veterinary school.”

“He’s only eleven, Ryan. Are you certain he wants to follow in your footsteps?”

“I’m only repeating what he told Kelly.”

Peyton fell in step with Ryan as he walked over to the pickup. “Even though I love working with you, I’ve been applying for positions at other farms. Unfortunately, I haven’t had much luck. I had a dinner meeting with Nicholas the other night, but I didn’t get the chance to ask him whether he’d let me volunteer some of my time because his sister and her fiancé had come in from North Carolina.”

Opening the passenger-side door, Ryan set her bag on the seat. “Why volunteer, Peyton? You’re a doctor, not an intern. Which means you should be paid for your services.”

She stared at the grooms brushing a mare and her foal, and then her gaze swung back to Ryan’s scowling expression. “It’s not about money.”

“If it’s not money then what on earth could it be?”

“It’s my name.”

“Peyton?”

“No. Blackstone.”

Ryan’s frown deepened. “What’s wrong with being a Blackstone?”

“Everything if I’m Dr. Blackstone, D.V.M.” She sucked in a lungful of air. “Whenever someone mentions Dr. Blackstone it’s never about me, Ryan. When I discovered the boil on Katie Dee’s back the first thing one of the men said to me is that I should call Dr. Blackstone. They were talking about you. I may not have your experience, but dammit, I do happen to be a licensed veterinarian. Hardly anyone on this farm relates to me as a vet. You, Sheldon and Jeremy are the exceptions.”

“It’s going to take some time before they realize you are.”

“How much time?”

“Probably a year. The more they see you caring for the horses, the more they’ll come to rely on you.” He dropped an arm over her shoulders. “Last night I had an in-depth discussion with Jeremy about setting up an equine hospital on the last quadrant. I could use you at the hospital because of your surgical training. No pressure,” he said quickly when she lifted her eyebrows.

“No pressure but a whole boatload of guilt,” Peyton teased.

Ryan winked at her. “No guilt, either.” He sobered. “I want the best for you, Peyton. And if that means you working at another farm then I want you to follow your dream. The only thing I’m going to ask is if we do put up the hospital I’d like you to assist me in the O.R.”

Peyton rested her head on his shoulder. “I promise. Now, are you coming to the wedding and reception?”

He dropped his arm. “I wouldn’t miss it. Will you save me a dance?”

“I don’t know, cousin. I’ll probably be so busy dancing with all of the single men that I may not have time for an old married man like you.”

“I’m not that old and I haven’t been married that long.”

Peyton wiggled her fingers as she climbed into the truck. “Thanks for taking over for me this morning. I’ll see you later.” She and Ryan alternated days checking on the horses. Not only did she want to gain greater experience caring for the farm animals, but she also wanted Ryan to spend more time with his wife and three young children. She smiled. He’d more or less given her his blessing about securing employment elsewhere. Peyton believed she would never be able to come into her own professionally if she continued to work at her family’s farm.

Peyton maneuvered onto the local road leading to Cole-Thom Farms, downshifting and coming to a stop when she pulled in behind a caravan of trunks and vans inching toward the gatehouse security checkpoint. She drummed her fingers on the steering wheel in frustration as security personnel carefully checked the papers of the drivers in each van. Nicholas had pulled off a minor miracle when he contracted with an event planner to coordinate a reception for an estimated two hundred guests in less than forty-eight hours.

He had invited several neighboring farms to the soirée; the owners and their employees were already in a party mood because of the upcoming biannual open-house festivities, and the owner of Cole-Thom Farms sister’s wedding was an unexpected prelude to what was touted as an inexhaustible supply of food, drink and music.

Celia and Gavin had picked up their marriage license; she and Celia had selected their gowns from a bridal boutique. Except for adjustments to the bodice, the gowns hadn’t needed any major alterations. They’d also purchased wedding accessories and ordered their bouquets and the groom and best man’s boutonnieres. Customarily some brides spent a year planning their wedding, while Celia’s had taken a mere three days. The weather had also cooperated for the outdoor venue. There was hardly a cloud in the sky; temperatures were predicted to peak in the mid to high eighties, and nighttime temperatures in the mid-seventies.

Peyton gave her name to the guard, who flashed a warm smile. “Aren’t you the lady doctor from Blackstone Farms?”

“Yes, sir.”

He extended his hand. “I’m Clinton Patrick. It’s nice to put a face with a name. Welcome to Cole-Thom Farms.”

She shook the gnarled hand. “Thank you.”

“Go straight ahead and follow the signs to the end of the allée. When you come up on the one for Cole House just make a left and you’re there.”

Towering trees stood along the newly paved roadway like sentinels. The smell of freshly mowed grass wafted through the truck’s open windows. Peyton spied several mares and their foals frolicking in a meadow surrounded by white rails under the watchful eye of farm workers. Men and women dressed in coveralls were unloading vans with tables and chairs, while others were driving stakes into the ground for those waiting to set up tents. Printed signs were posted on trees with directions to turn right or left for parking and comfort stations.

When she’d called to ask Nicholas to meet her for dinner, she’d suggested a Staunton steakhouse. She told him to meet her at the restaurant because she didn’t want him to get the impression that she was trying to come on to him. If they arrived in separate vehicles, then they would leave in separate vehicles. However, he’d insisted he would come to the farm and pick her up. Her plan to talk to him about possible employment was foiled when he called back to say he’d invited his sister and future brother-in-law to join them.

Truthfully Peyton wouldn’t know how to come on to Nicholas, because he was nothing like the men she’d known. He was much too aloof, indifferent. She wasn’t an ingenue when interacting with the opposite sex. By the time she’d entered high school she recognized when a boy was interested in her. The sly glances, the purposeful brush of his body against hers and those bold enough to verbalize they wanted to sleep with her.

Then, Peyton hadn’t had a boyfriend in the traditional sense, but hung out with a group of brainiacs that were more interested in their grades than in hooking up. They did everything together: study, hang out at the mall, go to the movies and crowd into booths at their favorite restaurant chain. The cool kids teased them relentlessly, but Peyton and her fellow geeks closed ranks to strengthen their supportive, carefree bond. She never concerned herself about not having enough money for a movie or for their occasional Friday-night outings because every week everyone in the group would donate five dollars of their allowance to an unofficial sunshine fund. At the end of the school year they celebrated in grand style at an upscale restaurant.

Peyton found kindred spirits in her fellow nerds. They’d developed a friendship that went beyond high-school graduation. As college students they continued to communicate with one another in cyberspace and once a year between Thanksgiving and Christmas they’d reconnect for a celebratory weekend in their small hometown in upstate New York.

College was very different for her. She dated her roommate’s cousin who wasn’t ready or willing to come out of the closet. Peyton wasn’t ready to give up her virginity, so going out with Collier had become a win-win situation for both. Who she did give her virginity to wasn’t worth her taking off her clothes. However, she didn’t know that until it was too late.

She saw the sign for Cole House tacked to a tree, and made a left turn. A trio of chimneys came into view when she maneuvered up an incline. Peyton held her breath when she saw the white three-story antebellum great house at the end of a live oak allée. A full-height, columned porch wrapping around the front and sides of the magnificent Greek Revival mansion was something she’d only seen in books and magazines.

When she and Celia met to discuss wedding plans, the E.R. doctor revealed that Nicholas had spent most of his inheritance to set up his enterprise. Celia also said she thought her younger brother frivolous, but after seeing the farm she was forced to admit he’d proven her wrong.

Peyton parked the pickup behind Nicholas’s late-model Lincoln sedan in the circular driveway. Alighting from the truck, she walked up the steps to the porch. She lifted the massive lion’s head door knocker, letting it fall against the door painted a glossy navy blue. Seconds later it opened and she curbed the urge to take a backward step when Nicholas loomed over her. She didn’t know why, but she hadn’t expected him to answer his own door.

Peyton held her breath when she stared at the white T-shirt stretched over his broad, muscled chest. Her gaze moved slowly from his throat to the faded relaxed jeans riding dangerously low on a pair of slim hips. Her gaze reversed itself when she stared boldly at his face. There was something in his large, dark eyes that wouldn’t permit her to glance away. The nostrils of his delicate nose flared slightly when their eyes met and held.

“Good morning, Nicholas.” Peyton didn’t recognize her own voice when she stared at the stubble on his jaw. The timbre was low and breathless as if she’d run a grueling race.

Peyton failed to understand her own reaction to a man who was always seated next to her whenever Sheldon invited him for dinner. Except for a request to pass a plate or dish hardly a word was exchanged between them other than polite greetings. Their strained association had continued at the restaurant. She’d interacted with Celia and Gavin more than she had with Nicholas. However, she did get to see another side of him, a softer, relaxed part of him as he smiled at his sister’s enthusiasm whenever she talked about her upcoming nuptials. He also appeared to be amused watching Celia and Gavin share surreptitious glances, endearments and an occasional caress.

She didn’t know what it was about this reserved man that made her heart beat a little too quickly. It wasn’t only because he was the epitome of tall, dark and handsome, but the way he looked through her rather than at her, which led her to ask herself if he found something about her that turned him off. She’d begun to ruminate on various reasons for his coldness, and the only thing she could come up with was perhaps she’d reminded him of someone in his past.

* * *

Nicholas opened the door wider. “Good morning, Peyton. Please come in.” He noticed her looking at his bare feet.

“How is Celia holding up?” she asked.

“She’s not.”

Her head popped up. “What!”

Nicholas almost laughed aloud when he saw Peyton’s shocked expression. The thick, charcoal-gray lashes shadowing her cheeks flew up. There was something so young and innocent about her that he suddenly didn’t want to believe she was in her twenties. She reminded him of a high-school cheerleader with her hair pulled back in a ponytail.

“When I saw her earlier she was so nervous she refused to eat. I’d like for you to try and get her to drink something.”

“Don’t worry, I will.”

He watched Peyton glance around the entryway. “You’ve never been here?”

“No.”

“Would you like a quick tour?” Nicholas asked.

“Perhaps another time. Celia and I have to be at the salon by eleven. But, there is something I’d like to talk to you about that I didn’t get a chance to do at the restaurant.”

Nicholas studied the petite blonde woman with incredibly beautiful gray eyes and a killer, compact body. Even though Peyton Blackstone was physically the complete opposite of what he considered his type, he had to acknowledge she was stunning. Resting a hand at the small of her back, he led Peyton through the entryway and into the living room, seating her on a straight-back armchair, he taking a facing matching one. He’d been curious as to why Peyton wanted to meet with him.

“I’d like to apologize for the other night. Even though you’d called the meeting I still invited Celia and Gavin to join us.”

Peyton waved her hand. “That’s all right. If you hadn’t invited them I wouldn’t be your sister’s maid of honor.”

“It’s not all right,” Nicholas countered. “Not only was it rude but also selfish on my part.”

“I don’t want to argue about it, Nicholas. It’s not that critical.”

His eyes drilled into her. “Aren’t you going to accept my apology?”

Peyton returned his glare with one of her own. A shiver eddied over her, bringing a chill despite the comfortable temperature in the room. If Nicholas believed he was going to intimidate her, then he was mistaken. She’d grown up with a father that made intimidation his trademark. Alphonso Blackstone was a harsh taskmaster. The men working for his construction company never slacked off in fear of losing their jobs, and his sternness was transferred to his home where her mother did everything humanly possible to keep the peace. Only Peyton was immune to his unexpected outbursts. She’d learned to tune him out whenever he complained that he had had to lay men off because business orders were down, while her mother placated him with her patent “things will turn around soon.” Lena Blackstone was always the optimist and her husband the pessimist.

“We’ll talk another time.” Celia had just walked into the living room. She stood up, Nicholas rising with her. She stared at Celia, who looked as if she hadn’t slept. Her eyes were puffy and lines of strain bracketed her generous mouth. Closing the space separating them, Peyton hugged Celia. “You look a hot mess,” she whispered in her ear.

Celia returned the hug. “I’m an E.R. trauma doctor supposedly with nerves of steel, but I’m having a meltdown just because I’m getting married.”

“What you need is some comfort food for the Southern soul,” Peyton said. “We’ll stop at a little takeout place and get an order of grits and eggs.” She wanted to tell the prospective bride that getting married was one of the most important events in one’s life, and would change Celia’s and Gavin’s lives forever.

Pulling back, Celia shook her head. “I don’t think I’ll be able to eat anything. And what do you know about soul food?”

Peyton went completely still, struggling to rein in her rising temper. “I know as much about it as you do. And please don’t let the blond hair and gray eyes and the fact I come from upstate New York delude you into thinking I’m not a woman of color.”

Nicholas knew it was time to intervene or Celia would start something with Peyton she had no chance of winning. “Cee Cee, you...” Peyton held up her hand stopping whatever it was he’d planned to say.

“Please stay out of this, Nicholas,” she warned softly. “I can understand what your sister is going through. She’s having premarital jitters, and if she doesn’t get over it real quick I’m going to seduce her drop-dead-gorgeous fiancé. And you know it’s been done before.”

Celia’s eyes grew wide. “You wouldn’t?”

Peyton bit back a smile. Talking about seducing Gavin had shaken Celia from her malaise. “I damn sure will if you don’t stop being a drama queen.”

Squaring her shoulders, Celia straightened her spine. “Okay. I’ll try and eat something.”

“Once you taste Mama Lula’s grits and eggs you won’t be able to stop eating.” Looping her arm through Celia’s she forced her to put one foot in front of the other. Glancing over her shoulder, Peyton smiled at Nicholas. He returned it with a wide grin and a wink.

“Later.”

Nicholas nodded. “Later,” he repeated.