Page 29 of The Forbidden

Obviously, the best bourbon manufacturer got paired with the best horse farm, but I keep that opinion to myself. I’m not in the mood to have the Hell Kat come out and slice me up with that sharp tongue of hers.

“Let me guess,” she drawls, a condescending tone in her voice. “You’re paired with Crescent Meadow.”

“I’m not sure,” I say vaguely, pocketing my phone and pulling out my keys. “Not my bailiwick.”

Which is absolutely true. The bailiwick part, although I do know about Crescent Meadows.

My parents typically handled all the social events that Mardraggon Enterprises was involved in. However, times have changed and no one wants to see Lionel Mardraggon at a fundraising function. The board of directors made it clear I need to be in attendance this year.

“Well, figure a time you can meet in the evening again,” Kat says as she gestures toward the doorway, a nonverbal cue she really wants me to go.

I step over the threshold and as she starts to shut the door, I put my hand on it to halt her. “Can I see Sylvie when I come back?”

Kat’s expression softens slightly. “Yeah… if she’s not busy with something else.”

“How about day after tomorrow? I’ll rearrange my schedule so I can come back, same time.”

“Not before eight,” she reminds me. “I’ve still got work to do and I’ll be doing lessons or training up until at least six. I cut lessons short today to accommodate you but I can’t do that all the time.”

“I’ll come over to the barn then,” I suggest. “Sylvie and I can hang out there under your watchful eye.”

“I’ll be watching the horses,” she replies blandly. “But let me check with Ethan and find out what Sylvie’s schedule is day after tomorrow and I’ll let you know.”

Inclining my head, I hope she hears how grateful I am. No matter what, getting to see Sylvie is paramount. “Thank you. And thanks for dinner too.”

“That won’t happen again,” she asserts with her chin lifted.

Chuckling, I turn away from Kat and trot down the stairs. No, I don’t imagine she will invite me to dine with her anytime soon. Despite the moments of levity tonight and our ability to keep things civil as we discussed business, I don’t ever forget that she hates my guts and will never forgive me for what I did.

CHAPTER 11

Kat

The Kentucky Exposition Center in Louisville sometimes feels like a home away from home. I’ve been competing in Freedom Hall at the World Championship Horse Show since I was five. While there aren’t green shavings in the arena tonight—a hallmark of the world championships—I still get a thrill standing in this building.

The Spirits and Saddles Gala has been around far longer than I have and usually it’s an event my whole family attends. But my parents left for Ireland to visit Mom’s family and Wade is at home nursing a spring head cold. Ethan’s opting for a quiet night with Marcie and Sylvie and he deserves it. I don’t know how the man does it all and I’ve never been more in awe of my brother than I am now. Just trying to do my regular job of lessons and horse training plus the medical oversight I took off his plate is brutal in terms of time consumption. Add on that I’m now trying to learn about Sylvie’s winery and the number of hours I can sleep are dwindling.

But I am getting better at multitasking and managing my day. I’ve learned how to save my administrative work for evenings at home, rather than trying to cram it into fifteen-minute chunks between lessons. I’m compacting my training sessions to work more efficiently and have even passed some of the lessons on to other instructors. I managed myself so well today, I actually had time to tackle Shadow again and we made three walking laps around the arena with no issues.

It was a job well done and now I’m here to celebrate. Tonight it’s just me and Trey, though I haven’t seen my brother since we arrived. He’s probably off getting busy with Becca Caudill and I’m sure he’ll surface at some point.

The gala raises money for local community services across multiple counties, such as volunteer fire departments, libraries and animal shelters. It’s held here at the expo center because it’s a huge event and there is an obscene amount of money within the bourbon and equine industries. Combined, they account for a $15.5 billion total economic impact with over a billion dollars generated in state and local taxes. To say that this state would flounder without these two powerhouse commercial enterprises is an understatement. The people gathered here tonight to raise money could probably support small, underdeveloped countries on their own.

It’s a formal affair and I’m nearly blinded by the glittering jewels dripping off the women. While I’m normally at home in a pair of riding jods and a T-shirt, I do like to dress up on occasion. Tonight I’m wearing a formfitting, full-length gown with a mermaid silhouette. It’s adorned with an intricate pattern of leaves in a glossy black finish against a shimmering deep pink background. The bodice is cut asymmetrically with a swath of fabric that drapes over my left shoulder and hangs down my back, which is nearly bare to my tailbone. It’s sexy, sophisticated and makes me feel like a different woman, which I don’t think is necessarily a bad thing.

I watch the horses being shown in the arena. We have a few of ours on display here, including some yearlings, but the grooms are handling that, leading them around so the folks can appreciate their fancy gaits and elegant necks with heads held high. Part of me is working as I scope out the saddlebreds from other farms coming in. My riders and I will be competing against a number of them over the summer.

After a while, I decide to hit the north wing lobby where the bourbon is displayed. A maze of tasting booths has been set up throughout, some extravagantly decorated to look like old-time speakeasies or elegant bars. The place is packed and I see several people I know in the saddlebred business.

But bourbon and thoroughbreds are king in this state, two enterprises I know very little about. I do, however, like the taste of bourbon so I meander through the booths, deciding to sample from a few smaller distilleries. I have no clue where Mardraggon Enterprises is set up, but I know I’ll stay clear of it when I spot it.

For the next half hour, I mingle, taking tiny sips of craft liquor and catching up with old friends. I see Trey and Becca walking around and note she has a piece of hay stuck in her hair, so I’m sure they got down to business in either a horse trailer or stall.

I make my way out of the lobby and down a hallway to a set of bathrooms. I’ve been diligently drinking water to dilute the alcohol and am not looking forward to wrestling this tight dress up and over my hips.

It is indeed a struggle but I manage to do my business. As I’m washing my hands, I hear the announcer over the speakers calling everyone into Freedom Hall so the final tally of money raised can be reported, followed by boring speeches from some of the richer benefactors. It’s their chance to shine and primp under their halo of wealth.

I dry my hands and check my makeup, not in any real hurry. I have no interest in going into the hall to listen to that drivel and will instead take advantage of the distinct lack of lines to try a few more sips of bourbon.

---