Something to Talk About

“You know what that will do to Granddad?” Melanie lowered her voice as Marcus approached the door to the small office and the mystery woman turned in another direction.

Who was she? The question was far more pleasant than the one about what his disappearance from the house would do to their eighty-six-year-old grandfather, Hugh Preston. The patriarch of the clan wasn’t always in residence since he liked to indulge his passion for racing by touring the nation’s tracks and betting on new horses with a few of his cronies. But when he settled back into life at Quest Stables, he always made it a point to seek out Robbie and share stories from his days as a young immigrant fresh off the boat from County Clare, Ireland.

His tales of hard work had inspired Robbie his whole life. And instead of looking at Robbie’s hot-headed nature as a defect, Granddad liked to say Robbie simply had inherited the passionate nature of the Irish. The old man’s words had often been a balm during his teenage years when Robbie and his father had been at odds more times than he could count.

“You don’t fight fair,” he complained, wondering how Melanie could have zeroed in so easily on Robbie’s only reservation about moving off the Quest compound.

“With all the stress this family is under lately—especially Granddad at his age—I can’t afford to fight fair.”

Robbie would have liked to argue that Granddad wasn’t growing frail of heart just because the rest of him was aging, but the door to the office opened.

Steeling himself to be civil, Robbie came face to face with the man who’d stolen his future out from under him.

Marcus Vasquez had been raised in Spain and his dark hair and eyes reflected the heritage. He had a reputation as a hardworking, practical man. Even Robbie’s grandfather respected him, so at least Marcus had that much in his favor.

“Marcus.” Robbie thrust out his hand and willed himself not to give in to a primitive urge to crush the guy’s fingers. “Good to have you at Quest.”

“Thank you.” Marcus shook his hand easily, making direct eye contact before he nodded to Melanie. “I’ve enjoyed finding my way around here.”

Instead of being back in Australia running Lochlain Stables where he damn well belonged. When Quest’s previous head trainer, Daniel Whittleson, had left the job to work at Lochlain, he had recommended Marcus as his replacement. Robbie knew that—at thirty-two years old—Marcus wouldn’t be vacating the Quest head trainer position anytime soon.

“I hope you’ll let me know if I can help you with anything. Daniel left during a difficult time, considering the uproar around Leopold’s Legacy.” Until the mystery of Leopold’s Legacy’s parentage was solved, the horse had had to be withdrawn from racing and Quest’s reputation teetered on the verge of ruin.

Hell, their financial stability teetered on the verge of ruin right along with it since their reputation had attracted the owners who paid big fees to have their horses stabled and trained here.

“Daniel and I have spoken extensively.” Marcus’s eyes veered briefly to Melanie’s sock-clad feet. “I think I have things well in hand by now, but I appreciate the offer.”

Beside him, Robbie sensed his sister straighten. Tense.

Hell, she couldn’t be any tenser than him. Was Marcus implying he didn’t need help running the training operation?

“Some of the trainers might have ideas about what approach to take next.” Diplomatically, he did not mention his own opinions. “Now that Legacy is out of racing—”

“There is no reason to believe Legacy is done. The horse was on the verge of a Triple Crown win.”

A muscle kinked in Robbie’s shoulders.

“But if he’s not allowed to race again, shouldn’t we have a plan for developing the next Triple Crown winner?” There was so much potential in the stables at Quest, but the most time and money was spent on a handful of top prospects.

“I would think we are always planning for that.” Marcus gave a stiff nod to both of them. “Right now, we’re lucky to be racing any horses at all. My priority is keeping all of our horses in top condition until this scandal with Legacy is cleared up.”

With that, he left the office, stalking off to the stable or paddocks or wherever he was needed. Robbie’s blood simmered at the guy’s casual attitude about plans for the future.

“This guy is the salvation of Quest’s future?” he asked himself as much as Melanie.

She slid back into her boots and said nothing for a long moment.

“He’s done well since he’s been here. We just need to give him a chance.” She finally said the polite thing, but Robbie could tell her heart wasn’t in it.

He left the stable office in a black mood, determined to get the hell out of Dodge today. He might not relocate all the way into Twisted River in deference to his grandfather, but he could at least move his things into one of the cabins where the other trainers lived.

That was all he was around here, anyway. Marcus’s arrival had proven Robbie wasn’t a Preston on the fast track to success in the family business. He’d always stood a little outside the family, so he might as well live that reality now. If not for his devotion to the horses he’d raised himself, and a passion for racing, he would have left long ago. And really, if not for his grandfather, Robbie might have been tempted to take a few of his horses and start up a small stable of his own.

It was still something to consider.

And he would. Right after he went into town to lift a toast to his displaced status. A day like this one surely deserved a drink.

Chapter Two

The next morning, Robbie remembered why he shouldn’t drink.

He’d had a hell of a time drowning his anger until all hours, but since he didn’t cut himself any slack on his workday, he’d rolled out of bed with a hangover to face the same problems he’d left the day before.

Now, he finished exercising one of the colts Daniel Whittleson had purchased for the stables and passed off the reins to a groom. The horse was fast, his carriage solid, but the animal was peaking too fast.

“How many more are you going to take out?” a child’s voice called to him.

Robbie turned to see a scrawny kid watching him from the fence around the practice yard. His spiky dark hair was lighter at the tips, and the boy looked like a mini surfer dude with his tanned skin and board shorts. He wore flip-flops and a faded T-shirt under an open sweatshirt.

Robbie couldn’t remember seeing him around before, although with Quest’s extensive staff, there were certainly plenty of kids who lived on the property.

“Who wants to know?” Robbie strode closer to the fence, not minding a break. Besides, he’d served enough time standing at that fence all by himself in his youth to appreciate being the odd man out.

Hell, for that matter, welcome to his life today. He never had quite caught up to Brent and Andrew, his two older brothers, in the old man’s eyes.

“Kiefer Emory.” The boy straightened his skinny shoulders, though his feet remained planted on the lowest wooden rail. “I’m learning about horses. You sure ride a lot of ’em.”

Robbie couldn’t identify the accent, which didn’t have the softened vowels of a Kentucky native.

“I’m a hands-on trainer, so I like to ride them to test their skills.” He leaned against the fence and soaked up the September sun. His hungover eyes finally seemed to be recovering from the perpetual squint he’d had earlier in the day. “And I’m Robbie Preston, by the way. Nice to meet you.”

Kiefer shook his hand with unexpected seriousness, like a mini grown-up. When he didn’t say any more, Robbie prodded him.

“I don’t think I’ve seen you around here before. Do your parents work at Quest?”

“My mom started as the new office manager. We moved from Los Angeles last week.”

That explained the surfer-dude clothes. And Robbie remembered his own mother mentioning a new hire for the position. She’d decided to take a chance on the woman from L.A. because she was a widow.

A damn young widow if this kid was anything to go by. The idea of the boy hanging out at the rail by himself bugged Robbie.

“Welcome to Kentucky. And if you want to learn about horses, you’ve come to the right place.” He was about to invite the boy into the stables to see the horses close up when a flash of color caught his eye.

Looking up, he spotted the woman he’d seen speaking to Marcus yesterday. Only now, all traces of her easy laugh had disappeared. She charged toward them with determined steps, her jaw set and her lips compressed into a flat, disapproving line.

“Kiefer,” she called the moment she got within hearing range and then hastened her pace. “You’re supposed to be with Max at the after-school program here.”

The boy turned, hopping off the fence rail as his mother reached them, her silky blouse and flowered skirt fluttering lightly in the breeze.