Total pages in book: 74
Estimated words: 70174 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 351(@200wpm)___ 281(@250wpm)___ 234(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 70174 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 351(@200wpm)___ 281(@250wpm)___ 234(@300wpm)
Granted, my manners had been decidedly lacking as of late so my parents had decided enough is enough.
I shoved the suitcase shut and cursed when the zipper caught.
“Language, son.”
I turned to see my father standing in the doorway, arms crossed. Thomas Blackburn Senior, the man who cast the longest damn shadow in the state of Kentucky. He was a big man—strong, his hands weathered by hard work with the horses.
He was the toughest man I knew and also the fairest. It’s why I couldn’t grumble too much about them sending me away. The last little stunt I pulled landed me in jail for joyriding. Not a crime that would ruin my future but enough of a wake-up call to my parents that I needed more structure this summer.
“You finished sulking yet?” he asked, voice deep and rumbling.
I bit back my irritation and yanked the zipper the rest of the way closed. “Not sure I’d call it sulking,” I muttered.
“Oh?” He stepped into the room, his presence alone demanding attention. “What would you call it?”
“Maybe disappointment,” I said, sitting on the edge of my bed. “I had plans this summer, Dad. You know—fun ones.”
His lips twitched like he was fighting a smirk. “Drinking, wasting money, chasing women?”
“That about covers it.”
He shook his head, rubbing his jaw. “That’s exactly why you’re going to Ireland. You’re too damn comfortable, Tommy. Too used to having everything handed to you. It’s time you start earning something.”
I clenched my jaw. I hated that he was right.
Blackburn Farms had been in our family since before the Civil War, providing our beloved American Saddlebred horses to Union troops and becoming the most preeminent breeder in the nation. Our empire had grown and flourished, surviving through economic collapse and industry shifts, and here I was—the only heir to a multimillion-dollar family business, more concerned with having a good time than preparing for my future.
But damn it, I was only nineteen. I had time.
“I’m working toward something,” I said, not quite believing it myself.
Dad laughed sharply. “Boy, you’re working toward getting yourself in more trouble than I have connections to bail you out.”
I didn’t argue.
He sighed, pacing the room like he was trying to rein in his frustration. Finally, he stopped, pinning me with a cutting look.
“You’re going to run this place one day, Tommy. You’re the only one who can.”
I knew that. Had always known that. The weight of it sat square on my shoulders, even if I pretended not to feel it.
Blackburn Farms wasn’t just any horse farm—it was the best saddlebred breeding farm in the country with the finest bloodlines in existence.
And it was all going to be mine.
Dad exhaled sharply. “That’s why you’re going to Glenhaven. You need to learn more than what’s in your backyard.”
I scowled, running a hand through my hair. “We breed saddlebreds, Dad. Not thoroughbreds. What the hell am I supposed to learn from a racing farm?”
His eyes narrowed. “Breeding is breeding, boy. And if you think you don’t have anything to learn, you’re dumber than I thought.”
I bit my tongue because I wasn’t dumb—I just didn’t care about thoroughbreds.
Dad sat on the edge of my desk, arms crossed. “Glenhaven is one of the top breeding and training farms in Ireland. Their horses are legends, just like ours. Rory Conlan, the man running their training side, was a friend of mine back in college. One of the best horsemen I’ve ever met. If he can’t get you to grow up this summer, there’s no hope for you.”
His words were in jest, because I knew damn well my dad could easily take me in hand. He was sending me away, far from the comforts of home, and forcing me to become a man without looking to him or my mom for help or guidance. They were throwing me into the deep end of the pool, assuming I’d quickly learn to swim and return home a changed man.
I sighed, slouching back onto the bed. “So I’m getting saddled with some old friend of yours who will make me muck stalls all summer?”
Dad smirked. “Likely.”
I groaned.
“You’ll live.”
That was still up for debate.
♦
We pulled out of the long driveway, past miles of rolling pastures lined with pristine white fences. In the distance, the grand main barn stood atop the highest hill, its steepled roof silhouetted against the early-morning sky.
I didn’t want to leave it.
Despite all my bitching, this was home. These were my horses, my land, my future.
And I was getting shipped off like some damn boarding school brat.
The radio hummed low in the background, the steady rhythm of tires on asphalt filling the gaps between static and music. Then, like a beacon of salvation, Warren Zevon’s “Werewolves of London” crackled through the speakers. A grin tugged at my lips as I reached for the dial, twisting it up.