Eternal Vows (Hideaway (Kimani)) (11 page)

“Have you thought of breeding him with a few of Nicholas’s mares?”

Jeremy released Peyton. “I leave all that breeding business to you and Ryan. If Renee hadn’t computerized the farm’s books years ago, I’d really have a problem keeping everything straight.”

The farm was truly family-owned and operated. Kelly was the school’s head teacher and Tricia its nurse. Tricia’s grandfather’s wife was responsible for the farm’s infirmary and Renee worked with Jeremy as his office manager. Peyton would become the first Blackstone to work off the farm.

She smothered a groan when suddenly a wave of fatigue swept over her. She knew she had to go to bed or fall on her face. “I’m going to turn in now. I’ll see you tomorrow at breakfast.”

“Aren’t you going to dinner?”

“Not tonight. If I’m hungry I’ll raid the refrigerator.” Renee always made certain to keep the refrigerator well-stocked, because there were nights when she preferred cooking for her family rather than eating in the dining hall. “By the way, I have a friend from college coming to stay with me for a week.”

“No problem, Peyton. Give me her name and I’ll pass it along to the security people.” No one other than permanent residents was permitted access to the property unless they went through security.

Peyton wrote Caroline’s name on a pad, then left the way she’d come, walking out the back door. Late-afternoon shadows covered the landscape as the sound of chattering birds hopping from branch to branch competed with the loud buzzing of cicadas. She made her way to Sheldon’s home, opening a side entrance to the staircase leading to her wing of the house. Peyton made a mental note to pack up her clothes and personal items. She wanted to be ready whenever Nicholas decided he wanted her to begin working.

Her steps were slow, heavy when she climbed the staircase to her suite of rooms that were as spacious as an apartment. The only thing missing was a kitchen. It had a bedroom with a sitting room and dressing area, a full bath and a living/dining area. She made her way to the bathroom, undressed, leaving her clothes in a wicker hamper; she walked into the shower stall, adjusting the water temperature, and stood there as lukewarm water flowed over her hair and body. It was a full two minutes before she reached for a bath sponge and a bottle of scented body wash, and then went through the ritual of washing and rinsing her body. Removing the elastic band at the end of her braid, she combed her fingers through the tangled strands. Turning her face up to the spray of water from the oversized showerhead, Peyton closed her eyes, luxuriating in the feeling of being rejuvenated. She turned off the water, wrapped her hair in one towel and her body in another. Walking on bare feet, she entered her bedroom and fell across the neatly made bed.

Warm air flowed through the screened-in windows, but she was too relaxed to get up and close them and turn on the air conditioner. It was convenient that each wing in the house was regulated by a separate heating and cooling system; she’d grown up in upstate New York and attending college in Canada had prepared her for extremely cold temperatures. Whereas many of the folks on the farm wore heavy coats whenever the mercury came close to freezing Peyton usually didn’t follow suit until it was well below freezing. She loved snow and most winter sports. She also enjoyed swimming in the farm’s in-ground pool. That was something else she’d miss when living at Cole-Thom. All thoughts as to her future faded when she sank into the comforting arms of Morpheus.

* * *

The next day, Nicholas stood at the French doors, smiling at the antics of several puppies frolicking in the flower bed. He was certain they’d escaped the watchful eye of their vigilant mother. The mixed-breed bitch had wandered onto the farm several months back, limping and obviously pregnant. Dr. Richardson examined her, reporting she was less than a year old. He’d placed her broken hind leg in a cast, and instead of turning her over to an animal shelter, Nicholas decided to keep her around. Horses were sociable animals and when stabled needed to interact with other animals. Some horse farms had goats, others chickens and many more dogs.

The stable personnel named her Ginger because of her reddish coat, and when she went into labor they took turns monitoring what had become a difficult birth. It took hours before she was able to whelp three tiny puppies. The cast hampered Ginger’s locomotion, so whenever the puppies wandered away from the stables it would take her some time to come to fetch her rumbustious pups.

The phone on his desk rang, shattering his entrancement with the animals. He recognized the ringtone. The property had three numbers: a general number for the farm; the second was the direct line to the stables; and the third was Nicholas’s private line. Walking over he glanced at the caller ID. There wasn’t a name, but he did recognize the Miami area code if not the number. He picked up the receiver before the third ring. “Cole-Thom Farms.”

“Umm—I’m looking for a Mr. Thomas.”

The male voice was unfamiliar. “This is Mr. Thomas.”

“I’m calling because of an ad in the newspaper. It says you need a cook.”

Nicholas pumped his fist. It was the first and only call about the position. “I do need a cook. Have much experience have you had?”

“Over thirty years. My folks owned a small restaurant in Miami, and when they retired I took it over.”

Nicholas sat on a corner of his desk. “Who’s running it now?”

“No one. It burned down. I caught static from the insurance company, because they claimed I hadn’t upgraded the electricity, so rather than deal with a long fight with them I just walked away.”

“What type of food did you serve?”

“Everything. Southern, Caribbean, Italian, Cajun and most of the stuff you’ll find in chain restaurants.”

Nicholas smiled. “The position calls for you to live on a horse farm.”

“That’s not a problem. I’m not married.”

He wanted to tell the man even if he was married he still would be eligible for the position. More than half the men on the farm were married. A few even had small children. He’d set up housing accommodations for those with families while the single men lived in two connecting buildings with dormitory-style room suites. The cottages were prefab units with furnishings from Ikea. If hired, the cook would have his own apartment adjoining the mess hall.

“When are you available for an interview?” Nicholas asked.

“I’m available now. I’ve been staying with a cousin in Waynesboro.”

Nicholas took a quick glance at his watch. “Can you get here by eleven?”

“No problem.”

It took less than three minutes for him to gather pertinent information on the man who’d identified himself as Jackson Hubbard, former owner of Mama’s Down Home Cooking in Miami, Florida. By the time Mr. Hubbard arrived Nicholas would know if the farm would have a new resident chef, but only after he called the agency responsible for conducting background checks on anyone without security clearance. He couldn’t risk having someone living at the farm with outstanding warrants or a laundry list of felonies.

He’d just hung up with the agency when the telephone rang again. “Cole-Thom Farms,” he said in his usual greeting when
Private
appeared on the display.

“Mr. Thomas?”

“Yes, it is.”

“I’m Mrs. Bronwyn’s social secretary. She asked me to call everyone on her guest list to confirm their attendance for tonight’s fund-raiser. You’d indicated you were coming with a guest. Is that correct?”

Nicholas smothered a curse under his breath. How had he forgotten about the fund-raiser? When he’d responded to the invitation months ago he was still seeing Rachel. Asking her to accompany him was something he didn’t want to revisit.

“Yes, that is correct.” What else could he say? Now he was faced with a quandary. Who could he ask to go with him?

“Thank you, Mr. Thomas. I’ll let Mrs. Bronwyn know she should expect you.”

Nicholas ended the call, and then ran his hands over his face. He needed a date. And like yesterday. The event was a sit-down affair. If it had been any other event he would’ve forwarded a generous check with a note of apology, but the charity was one he was particularly close to. It was to renovate the homes of returning veterans to accommodate their physical disabilities. Not only was he an official donor, but he also made it a point to attend the Bronwyns’ biannual fund-raiser. There were quite a few servicemen and veterans in the region that had returned from their deployment and were amputees or were confined to wheelchairs.

His gaze shifted to one of the photographs taken at Celia’s wedding with him, his sister, brother-in-law and Peyton. He had his arm around Peyton’s waist and they were smiling at each other as if sharing a secret or private joke.

Nicholas was more than aware that Peyton was an attractive woman, but it was her natural beauty that had been captured by the photographer’s lens. She was ravishing in a shimmering gray silk gown with her hair styled in a loose twist behind her left ear and festooned with pearl and crystal-encrusted pins.

Celia and Gavin had shocked him when they’d announced they were going to marry after what could only be called a whirlwind courtship.

Nicholas had taken an immediate liking to Gavin. The lawman was exactly who his headstrong sister needed to soften her a bit. If he’d taken an instant liking to Gavin, then it was the same with Celia and Peyton. So much so that Celia had asked Peyton to stand in as her maid of honor.

He didn’t remember much about that day except that he’d paid an event planner an obscene amount of money to pull everything together in forty-eight hours. He’d invited two neighboring farms as the kickoff to the following weekend’s horse country open-house festivities.

* * *

He did remember dancing with Celia and Peyton, and probably every woman present that night. He’d danced more than he had in years, drunk more than he had in a very long time and laughed a lot more than he could remember laughing. The wedding had become his calling card and acceptance into the elusive circle of horse-racing society. However, Nicholas wasn’t ready to delude himself into believing everyone accepted him. Even now, overt resentment still lingered. It’d begun with him outbidding the owner of Thornton Farms for the parcel of land he’d wanted to expand his property.

Nicholas had been called brash, an upstart when one of his Thoroughbreds came in first in the International Gold Cup race. Instead of continuing to race the colt, he retired New Freedom and put him out to stud. The resentment exacerbated even after he’d exhausted most of his personal wealth to purchase four pure-breed Arabians, several Lipizzaner and quarter horses. Instead of racing he’d become a breeder, and the payoff surpassed anything he could’ve imagined.

Nicholas pulled his gaze away from the photographs, knowing what he was about to do would no doubt impact his relationship with his incoming resident veterinarian. Reaching for his cell, he scrolled through the directory for Peyton’s number. He was taken aback when she answered. Why hadn’t he paid attention to her dulcet voice before? It was soft, melodious and husky enough to be identified as sexy.

“How are you?” he asked.

“I’m well. How are you?” she asked.

Nicholas knew he had to get right to the point. “I have a dilemma.” He told Peyton about confirming his attendance at the fund-raiser, but had neglected to ask someone to attend with him. “I know this is very short notice, but will you go with me? If you need something to wear or you want to get your hair done, I’ll pay for it.”

His request was met with silence. A long, suffering silence that had him clenching his jaw in frustration. It wasn’t as if he could open a little black book and select a name from the women in his past. And if the truth were known there weren’t that many women in his past. He’d had a couple of what he’d called flings—one or two dates before calling it quits. Nicholas had also had a couple of relationships lasting more than two years. Then, there was the one in which he knew he’d wanted it to be his last, but fate had not only decided his career choice but also his love life. A head-on collision with an unlicensed driver ended his naval career and any hopes of marriage to the one woman with whom he’d wanted to share his future.

“I don’t need you to pay for a dress or for my hair. If I go with you, then you’ll owe me, Nicholas.”

“I owe you,” he repeated.

“Oh, yes, you do,” she crooned. “If I need an escort, then I’ll expect you to return the favor.”

He smiled. “That definitely won’t be a problem.”

“What type of affair is it?” Peyton asked. “And what time are you picking me up?”

“It’s semiformal. Pre-dinner cocktails begin at five. A sit-down dinner at six, with dancing to follow.”

“What time are you picking me up, Nicholas?” Peyton repeated.

“Four-thirty.”

“Goodbye, Nicholas.”

He held the small phone to his ear for several seconds. She’d hung up on him. Nicholas didn’t want to analyze her reaction because he had a date.

Chapter 9

P
eyton slipped her cell phone into the back pocket of her jeans. Her eyes met Ryan’s when he closed his medical bag, stood up and stared at her. “Is there something wrong, Dr. Blackstone?”

A hint of a smile tilted the corners of his mouth. “Not at all, Dr. Blackstone,” he teased.

At forty years of age, Ryan was in the prime of his life. His first wife had divorced him, leaving Ryan to raise his son. Everything changed when Kelly Andrews was hired to run the Blackstone Farms Day School and Ryan fell in love with his four-year-old son’s teacher. He and Kelly married and they’d increased their family with a daughter and then another son.

Ryan had no interest in running the farm, so that responsibility fell to Jeremy once their father announced his retirement. Once thing Peyton had noticed about Ryan was that he was grayer than his father who was twenty years his senior.

Peyton closed her own bag. Like doctors making rounds at hospitals, she and Ryan did the same with the horses that were diagnosed with injuries. “Why the Cheshire-cat grin?”

“You’re dating your boss even before you begin working for him?”

She rolled her eyes. “It’s not a really a date. He’s going to a fund-raiser and he needs a dining partner for the event.” She moved closer. “What’s the matter, Ryan? I thought you liked Nicholas.” The light coming through the stable’s skylights reflected off his cropped salt-and-pepper head.

“I do. I guess I never thought the two of you would actually hook up.”

“We’re not hooking up, Ryan. I’m just doing him a favor.”

Ryan gently tugged her braid. “Good for you. Now, don’t you think you should go and do whatever you ladies do to look gorgeous for your man?”

“He’s not
my man.
”

Ryan walked out of the stable. “He will be tonight,” he said over his shoulder.

“No he won’t,” she whispered, staring at his retreating back.

If Ryan hadn’t been there Peyton would’ve asked Nicholas about Rachel. Why wasn’t he taking her to the fund-raiser? It was a question she would ask when she saw him again.

* * *

Peyton stood on the porch, watching the shiny black Lincoln MKZ’s approach. She descended the stairs at the same time Nicholas opened the door and stepped out of the late-model sedan. It was all she could do not to laugh aloud when his jaw dropped. There was no doubt he was reacting to her dress. The only time he’d seen her without her ubiquitous jeans, shirt and boots was at Celia’s wedding and the Blackstone open house.

Most women her age had wardrobes that included clothes for work, casual slacks, jeans, shirts, T-shirts and chic dresses and stilettoes. With Peyton it had been either jeans or dressy until she had to augment her wardrobe with several suits, blazers and tailored blouses and slacks when she taught at Tuskegee. The toffee-colored off-the-shoulder silk chiffon sheath dress with a narrow velvet black belt, hugged every curve of her petite body, ending at the knees. The color complemented her tanned skin and sun-bleached hair. A pair of black patent-leather four-inch pumps pulled her winning look together.

Fortunately now she didn’t have to leave the farm for a beauty makeover. The head trainer’s granddaughter had graduated beauty school and the newly licensed technician didn’t have to go very far for clients. Everyone on the farm went to her for haircuts, manicures and pedicures, facials and makeup application. Carrie-Ann Manning had washed and set Peyton’s hair on large rollers and styled it in a loose chignon on the nape of her neck. She’d applied brown eyeliner and taupe shadow on her eyelids that made her eyes appear larger, more radiant.

Nicholas moved closer, pressing a kiss to her forehead. “You look incredible.” Not only did she look incredible, but she also smelled delicious.

Closing her eyes, Peyton inhaled the masculine cologne that was an aphrodisiac. The scent was as sexy as its wearer. Placing her palm on his chest, she felt the strong, steady beat of his heart over the fabric of his crisp white shirt. Her eyes shifted from his neatly barbered hair to his smooth and shaven jaw.

“Thank you. I’d like to ask you one question before we leave.”

Nicholas stared at her under lowered lids. “What is it?”

Her eyes met his. “Why did you ask me to come with you tonight? I thought you were dating Rachel McGhee.”

Resting a hand at the small of Peyton’s back, Nicholas led her to the passenger side of the car. “Rachel and I are no longer seeing each other.”

“When did you break up?”

He stopped. “What’s up with the interrogation, Peyton?”

She pressed her lips together. “I’m asking because I don’t want a problem with some crazed ex-girlfriend who believes I’m after her man.”

Nicholas reached up and held her shoulders. “Is that what happened to you?”

Peyton knew she’d revealed too much when she’d mentioned an ex-girlfriend. “No,” she half lied smoothly. With Reginald it hadn’t been ex-girlfriends but the man himself. He’d continued to harass her.

“Do I have to concern myself with a crazed ex-boyfriend?” Nicholas asked. There was no expression on his face.

Peyton gave him an easy smile. “Never.”

He returned her smile, bringing her gaze to linger on the single dimple. “Now that we’ve settled our exes, are you ready to leave?”

“Yes.”

Bending gracefully, she slid onto the leather seat, staring up at Nicholas before he closed the door. The interior of the car smelled of leather and cologne. Peyton secured her seat belt when he got in behind the wheel. She didn’t know why, but it was if she were seeing him for the first time—all of him. She noticed the texture of the coarse hair against his scalp, the rich olive undertones in his sun-browned face, the delicateness of his features—features well suited for a woman and the breadth of his broad shoulders under the custom-made shirt with monogrammed initials on the French cuff. His hands were slender, long-fingered and beautifully formed.

There was only the slip-slap sound of the tires as Nicholas maneuvered along the wide roadway, leading away from Sheldon’s house. Reaching into her small evening purse, Peyton pressed a button on the remote device, activating the electronic gates protecting the farm’s entrance. They swung open, and she waved to the armed man sitting in the gatehouse, who returned her wave.

Accelerating, Nicholas drove along a county road, passing a number of smaller farms. By the time he crossed the property line for Bronwyn Farms he saw a line of idling cars as dark-suited men checked each vehicle.

One man, carrying a bullhorn, walked ahead of the others. “Ladies and gentlemen, please have your invitations out where I can check them. If you don’t have an invitation, then you will not be admitted.”

Nicholas turned to Peyton. “Please open the glove box and hand me the invitation.”

She complied, and then settled back to watch the slowly passing landscape as the car inched toward the entrance. She stared at the marker documenting T.J. Bronwyn had established Bronwyn Farms in 1922 as a horse breeding and Thoroughbred racing stable. The farm’s celebrated racing history included the Hamiltonian, Preakness Stakes and the Belmont Stakes.

By the time they’d passed the security checkpoint, red-jacketed valets were handing out tickets and parking cars. Nicholas got out, reaching for the jacket to his suit. He slipped his arms into the sleeves and came around to assist Peyton. Her heels put her head level with his nose. He was six-two and probably a foot taller than she was. Again he realized Peyton went against his type. His preference for tall women was something that Cole men repeated with every generation. This is not to say there weren’t petite women in the family, but they were the exception rather than the norm.

Reaching for Peyton’s hand, he held it protectively as they climbed the many steps leading to the restored antebellum mansion. Light blazed from every window in the historic structure. Smiling, he handed the engraved invitation to a woman sitting behind the reception table. She checked off his name on a printout and handed him a place card with his name written in flowing calligraphy.

“Mr. Thomas, I need the name of your guest.”

“Dr. Peyton Blackstone,” he said, gently squeezing Peyton’s fingers.

The receptionist wrote Peyton’s name on a place card in the same flowing script. “You and Dr. Blackstone are assigned to table eight.” She handed him the cards. “Thank you for supporting a very worthy cause.”

Nicholas nodded as he and Peyton walked into the great room where waiters were passing out hot and cold hors d’oeuvres along with flutes of champagne. Pre-recorded music provided the backdrop to the soft babble of voices as guests greeted one another with handshakes and kisses.

Veterans dressed in the uniforms of their respective branch of service, leaned on crutches, canes or sat in wheelchairs. Nicholas thought of his own Navy uniforms in garment bags hanging in the back of a closet. After he’d accepted the doctor’s ruling that his military career was over his first impulse was to throw away the uniforms. But at the last possible moment he changed his mind once he realized how much he’d sacrificed to become a naval officer.

He spied the very person he’d hoped
not
to see. Rachel stood next to her father, her attention diverted elsewhere. All she had to do was turn to her left and she would see him. Nicholas wasn’t concerned about Rachel making a scene, because for her, image was everything. And there was always her father’s image. The popular widower state Supreme Court judge was highly regarded not only on but also off the bench.

Reaching for a flute, he handed it to Peyton, and then took one for himself. He touched his flute to hers, his gaze lingering on her sexy mouth. Light from the many chandeliers reflected off the gold in her coiffed hair. “Here’s to a worthy cause and a very special evening.”

“To a worthy cause,” she repeated. Peyton took a sip, then handed him her flute. “I’ll be right back.”

Nicholas watched Peyton as she approached a soldier in desert fatigues supporting himself with a cane in his left hand, while attempting to balance a plate with the right. She took the plate, holding it while he picked up the fork and fed himself with his free hand. Nicholas didn’t know if Peyton knew the man, but there was something about the selfless act he found endearing.

“Are you here by yourself?”

Nicholas drained his flute, and then turned to look at Rachel. There had never been a time when she didn’t appear as if she hadn’t stepped off the pages of a glossy magazine. Everything about her was perfect, always too perfect. Her short chemically straightened hair was always coiffed, makeup perfect and her clothes the pinnacle of fashion. Rachel was a walking billboard for the one-of-a-kind garments she sold in her upscale boutique. A full-length yellow satin, one-shouldered gown flattered her slender figure and flawless mahogany complexion.

“No.”

“Well?” Rachel asked. “Where is she?”

Nicholas gestured to where Peyton stood with a marine. “She’s helping out one of the servicemen.”

Rachel narrowed her eyes. “Where on earth did you find
that?
”

A shiver of annoyance swept over him with the sarcastic taunt. Rachel had shown Nicholas a side of herself he’d never seen before. It wasn’t jealousy, but spitefulness. And it’d been more than two months since they’d stopped seeing each other. “I hope things are well with you.” Turning on his heels, Nicholas walked away, struggling not to lose his temper. He set Peyton’s flute on the tray of a passing waiter.

Peyton met his eyes as he closed the distance between them. They were bright with excitement. “Nicholas, I want you to meet Jesse Baxter. He grew up on Blackstone Farms, and has only been back a few months. Jesse, this is Nicholas Cole-Thomas.”

Leaning heavily on his cane, Jesse shook Nicholas’s hand. “My pleasure, sir.”

Nicholas shook the proffered hand. A Purple Heart, Silver and Bronze Star were pinned to the Marine Corps uniform blouse. He estimated Jesse to be between thirty and thirty-five. His military-style sandy-brown hair showed flecks of gray, and the lines around his hazel eyes were probably more from squinting in the sun rather than age.

“I’m honored to meet you, Sergeant Baxter.”

A flush crept up Jesse’s neck and face, obviously embarrassed. “Thank you, sir. I’ve heard a lot about your Arabians.”

Nicholas smiled. His herd of purebred Arabians had garnered a great deal of attention in the region. “Anytime you want to come and see them, just let me know.”

“Thank you, sir,” Jesse repeated. A wide smile split his face. “Excuse me, sir. But my folks just got here.”

Peyton nodded to Jesse. “I’ll see you later.”

Nicholas watched him limp away. “How seriously was he wounded?” he asked Peyton.

“His leg was shattered by bomb fragments when a suicide bomber blew himself up days before he was scheduled to leave Afghanistan.”

“Did he lose the limb?”

Smiling, Peyton shook her head. “Luckily for him he didn’t. The doctors inserted rods and plates to support his leg and ankle. He’ll probably always need to use a cane, but that’s insignificant when the alternative was becoming an amputee. He’s staying at the farm until he can find work. His parents moved to a retirement community in Florida, so he can’t live with them.”

“If he needs a job, then I’ll hire him.”

Peyton stared at Nicholas as if he’d suddenly grown a third eye. “Doing what?”

A mysterious smile parted his lips. “That’s something I’ll have to discuss with Jesse. Everyone’s always talking about hiring veterans, so I’m going to step up and do the right thing.”

He could use someone like Jesse because if he’d risen to the rank of sergeant in the corps, then he had to have acquired excellent leadership qualities. Nicholas’s eyes caught and held Peyton’s when she gave him a penetrating stare. “What else do you want to know?” he asked softly.

An attractive flush darkened her cheeks as Peyton dropped her gaze. There was so much she wanted to know about the man who was going to become her employer. “Am I that transparent, or do you have the ability to read minds?”

“Neither,” he admitted. “It’s just that whenever you appear to be thinking about something you squint.”