Forever a Stallion

Pushing the door open, Phaedra flicked the light switch on the wall as she moved inside the small room. Dropping down against the full-size mattress, she drew her hands across the handmade quilt that decorated the bed. She missed her mother with a vengeance. Her grief was so consuming that she couldn’t imagine how she was going to survive. She let out a deep sigh.

As she moved to stand back up, Phaedra’s heel brushed against a large shoe box protruding from beneath the bed. Reaching down, she drew her hand against the exterior surface, pausing as she thought about its contents. She’d found the container while searching for her mother’s favorite black heels to take to the undertaker. As she’d scanned the documents inside, none of it had made any sense to her. Refusing to acknowledge what she’d discovered, she’d tossed it to the floor, kicking it back beneath the bed. She’d known that she would eventually have to revisit it all and she’d chosen to ignore it until there was nothing else on her plate to deal with.

Slipping her tank top over her head and stepping out of her shorts, she dropped the garments to the floor. Pulling back the covers, she crawled into her mother’s bed, drawing the comforter around her small frame. The box rested against the bed beside her, and her hand shook ever so slightly as she tossed the container’s cover to the floor. Pulling the documents into her lap, Phaedra took a deep breath and then a second.

If anyone had asked her about her mother having secrets, Phaedra would have sworn on her own life that there wasn’t anything about Arneta Parrish that she didn’t know. But Arneta had carried the biggest secret of her life to her grave, never disclosing the bombshell that would soon be her only daughter’s life.

Arneta’s collection of diaries rested on top. Pulling the leather-bound journals into her hands, Phaedra pulled at a black-and-white photo that served as a page holder for the most recent entry. The image was of her mother and a man Phaedra didn’t know, the couple caught in a deep embrace. Her mother was smiling, joy shining in her expression. The handsome man’s smile was not as bright, something in his eyes telling a very different story. But he had a kind face and it was obvious that his presence was making her mother very happy.

Flipping the photo over, Phaedra read the name on the back side. James David Stallion. The photo was dated a year before Phaedra was born. Resting the photo back inside the book, she continued to flip through other papers on James Stallion’s life.

There was a letter dated just a few short months after the photo, Mr. Stallion apologizing for a quick departure, wishing his dear friend Arneta a bright and successful future. The ink had faded in spots, drops of moisture having dampened the paper. It was obvious her mother had cried over that letter, remnants of her tearstains having marred some of the words.

Tucked in the envelope with that single letter was a yellowed newspaper article that had been folded closed. It was the obituary that carried the news of James Stallion’s death. The man had died in a fiery car accident with his beloved wife, Irene, the couple leaving behind four young sons.

Four sons. Four boys who’d grown to be four very successful men. Phaedra’s mother had kept tabs on the Stallion kin, collecting articles of their many accomplishments. Flipping through the articles, Phaedra couldn’t help being impressed. But she didn’t understand her mother’s reasons for caring, the woman having never mentioned the family to her daughter. Phaedra had to wonder why.

Adjusting the pillows beneath her head, Phaedra flipped through the diaries until she found the one dated the year before her birth. She opened the journal to the first page, pulling her knees upright as she rested the book against her thighs. She was suddenly anxious to know her mother’s secret and the story that she’d never been told. And she was anxious to read them in her mother’s own words.

* * *

One week later flight number 1267 from New Orleans, Louisiana, to Dallas, Texas, departed, leaving Phaedra with one hour and thirty-five minutes to rethink what she was planning to do before touching down. Her stomach knotted, feeling as if her sugared beignet and chicory coffee breakfast was not going to sit well. Phaedra knew it was only nerves, anxiety pretending to be her new best friend since she’d read her mother’s journals, opening a chapter into her own life that she’d not been prepared for.

Phaedra drew her manicured fingers against her Coach bag, two of her mother’s journals and some supporting documents secured in a side pocket. It hadn’t taken any time at all for her to go through her mother’s papers and discover that there had been much about the woman that she hadn’t known. The writings had read like a bestselling romance novel, detailing the highs of her mother’s relationship with James David Stallion. And then the lows, James David Stallion disappearing from Arneta’s life like a dream lost too soon to a morning sunrise. James leaving before ever learning about the child Arneta would eventually raise alone.

James David Stallion. Phaedra’s biological father. The secret her mother had never wanted her to know. Phaedra shook her head for the umpteenth time since finding out, her eyes lifting to stare out the airplane window. An endless bright blue sky marred by an occasional tuft of cloud brought a slight smile to her face. The view was magical, soothing the inner turmoil that threatened Phaedra’s peace of mind.

All of her life Phaedra had believed that Daniel Parrish had been her father. Daniel Parrish had only been married to her mother for short two years before disappearing into the Louisiana penal system. Reading her mother’s story, Phaedra discovered Arneta had already been pregnant when she’d met and married Daniel.

After many years of therapy Phaedra had come to terms with having an absentee father who preferred a life of crime over his loving wife and daughter. Her mother had often used her own life as an example of what happened when a woman made bad choices over men who were not deserving of her. She’d been apologetic for not having served Phaedra better.

When Daniel had died, still locked behind prison walls, Phaedra had mourned the loving father she had wanted him to be, not the apathetic parent he had actually been. And through it all, her mother had never once considered that Phaedra needed to know the truth of her paternity. But reading her mother’s words, Phaedra had come to understand that her mother had wanted only to protect both her daughter and James Stallion, the only man she’d apparently ever loved. Holding the truth close to her heart had been Arneta’s way of shielding all of them from heartbreak. But Arneta had been wrong because her heart had been broken, and now Phaedra’s heart was broken, too.

Heading to Dallas, Phaedra was now hoping for an opportunity to meet the siblings who shared her bloodline. Hoping against all odds to connect with her father’s family, the family that was also her own.

Chapter 3

“Wow!” Mason called out, his eyes widening as they settled down against the bleachers to watch the annual Wild West rodeo show that was about to begin. The entire morning had been a whirlwind of events, one happening right after the other. Mason would never have imagined the magnitude of the Briscoe-Stallion Annual Rodeo, it being the most attended community event in Dallas each year.

Briscoe Ranch was well over eight hundred acres of working cattle ranch, an equestrian center and an entertainment complex that specialized in corporate and private client services. With the property being central to Austin, Houston, Dallas and Fort Worth, Briscoe Ranch had made quite a name for itself.

Back in the day, Edward Briscoe, the ranch’s original owner, had been one of the original black cowboys. Not long after the birth of his three daughters, Eden and the twins, Marla and Marah, he and his first wife had expanded their Texas longhorn operation, adding two twenty-thousand-square-feet event barns and a country bed-and-breakfast.

After Marah Briscoe’s marriage to business tycoon John Stallion, Edward had given the property to his daughter and new son-in-law, her love for a Stallion ending the conflict that had brought the couple together in the first place. Under the Stallion family umbrella, Briscoe Ranch was growing steadily and now a point of consideration for a number of government programs to assist children and families in need. The ranch was home to them all, and the pride and joy of both families.

“This is something!” Mason said, tipping his head toward John and Matthew, who’d settled down beside him.

John laughed. “Marah’s father, Edward, has been hosting this event since forever. Every year we’re amazed at just how big it’s gotten.”

Matthew nodded his concurrence. “At the rate we’re growing, I’m afraid we might run out of land to accommodate everyone,” he said jokingly.

John and Mason both laughed with him.

“So, what then?” Mason queried. “Will you buy the state of Texas?”

John grinned broadly. “Maybe Mexico, too, especially if we keep allowing these women to be in charge!” he mused.

Laughter rang out among them, the three men clearly having a good time.

From a safe distance across the way, Phaedra adjusted the lens on her camera, focusing her sight on the two brothers seated beside each other. She snapped a photo and then a second one before letting the camera rest back against her chest, hanging from a secure leather strap around her neck.

The rodeo event had been a stroke of luck for her. Access to the ranch and the Stallion men had come with minimal difficulty. From the moment Phaedra had stepped onto the property, the brothers had been front and center, taking their hosting responsibilities seriously. Without needing to ask, Phaedra had been able to identify the four of them almost instantly.

From the back pocket of her denim jeans, Phaedra pulled out the photograph she’d found in her mother’s possessions, glancing from them to it and back again. There was no mistaking the Stallion lineage detailed in their facial features, each son the spitting image of his father, and hers. Their resemblance to her was even more startling. From the warm coloration of their black-coffee complexions, chiseled jawlines, plush pillows for lips and warm, endearing smiles, Phaedra saw hints of her own reflection. She had their eyes, the same nose, high cheekbones and mouth. Had she inherited her father’s dark complexion instead of her mother’s milk-chocolate tone, she would easily have passed for a Stallion twin. Phaedra took a deep breath as she suddenly fought not to cry.

Lifting her camera back to her eyes, she peered through the lens, once again pointing it toward where the brothers sat. She focused her gaze on one and then the other. She watched as the brother on the end leaned over to exchange conversation with a man who sat on his sibling’s other side. Phaedra shifted her camera and refocused it, zooming in on the stranger. There was something about the handsome man that suddenly had her curious. She couldn’t help wondering who he was, his brilliant smile warm and magnanimous.

Whoever the man was, he was quite good-looking, Phaedra thought as she spun the lens into focus, snapping a quick shot and then a second. The trio seemed quite friendly with one another, clearly enjoying the events playing out in the center of the arena. And then, as if his radar had sounded an alarm, the man suddenly looked up, his gaze shifting directly toward her as if he knew she was staring at him. Phaedra lowered her camera abruptly, feeling as if she’d gotten caught with both hands in the cookie jar, her palms overflowing with her favorite oatmeal-raisin treats. She pulled her hands through the length of her hair. The moment was slightly unnerving.

From the ground below, Phaedra suddenly heard her name being called, the sound of it startling her from her thoughts.

“Phaedra? Is that you? Phaedra Parrish!”

Glancing below, she caught sight of the red-haired white man waving wildly for her attention. His own cameras hung down against his side as he struggled not to drop them. Phaedra’s eyes widened brightly, the familiar face warming her spirit.

“Hooper!” Phaedra squealed, waving back. She eased her way down from the bleachers to move to the man’s side.

With his mane of fire-engine-red hair and the pipe that hung from his mouth like an appendage, Hooper Mars was a welcome sight, looking more like a lumberjack right out of the thick of a deep forest than the award-winning photographer that he was. Hooper’s brilliant smile put Phaedra instantly at ease. As she stepped off the last plank, the man wrapped her in a deep bear hug.

Her mentor in art school, Hooper was single-

handedly responsible for Phaedra changing her major from creative writing to photography. The two had become fast friends, he challenging her creative spirit and she excelling beyond his expectations. Phaedra’s successful career had only been rivaled by his.

“Watch the camera!” Phaedra laughed, lifting the device above her head as she hugged him tightly.

“Nice equipment,” Hooper responded, eyeing her Canon 5D Mark II full-frame camera with its long telephoto lens.

Phaedra adjusted her Lowepro camera backpack against her shoulder. “Thanks. What are you doing here?” she asked, surprise still ringing in her tone.

“Working. You?”

“Not working!” Phaedra said with a smile.

“So, what brings you all the way to Dallas and to here of all places?”

Phaedra hesitated, her shoulders shrugging skyward. “I was just passing through town before I head to my next gig in Thailand and I heard about the rodeo. Thought I’d stop by to check it out. See what I might be able to shoot,” she said, hoping she sounded believable.

Her friend nodded his understanding. “I was really sorry to hear about your mother, Phaedra. She was a really sweet lady.”