Page 36 of The Bourbon Bet
“You didn’t mention it when I invited you horseback riding…”
“You asked by text.”
She doesn’t sound upset, but just to make sure, I ask, “Was that rude? Should I have called?”
“No. I’m just a lazy texter and didn’t feel like typing out my backstory.”
I chuckle, moving closer. “Said the bookstore owner.”
She grins. “I like to read, not write.”
“Fair enough. Will you tell me about it now?”
She scratches Cosmo’s withers. “My grandfather was a horse farm manager. So is my dad.”
“That explains your natural way with them.” I watch her gentle touch on my normally skittish horse. “Cosmo here came from a neglectful situation and usually only interacts with me.”
“Poor guy,” she says softly. Leaning against the stall, she looks around. “My dad would love this place. He’s always had a soft spot for horses that need help.”
“Is that what brought your family to Kentucky, his work?”
“No, a divorce. After my parents split, my dad moved back here to be closer to family. I followed a year later.”
“Are you and your father close?”
“Yes,” she replies.
An unexpected longing tugs at me. After college, I’d spent a lot of time with my father, preparing to take over the family business, but even so, we’re virtually strangers. “What about your mom?” I ask.
She turns, resting her elbows on the bottom half of the stall doors. “Are your parents together? Do you like them? Do they both work for Blackstone Bourbon? What’s your blood type?”
I laugh. “Is that your polite way of telling me to stop asking so many questions?”
“Not at all.” She crosses her feet at the ankles. “But only if you’re willing to share too.”
I nod. “My parents are still together, but not happily. My father’s mostly retired from the distillery and business, which is a relief. We don’t see eye to eye on much. And my mother’s basically a full-time socialite.” I grin. “And my blood’s AB negative. Any other questions?”
“Hmm.” She taps her chin. “Do you have more siblings than the two?”
“My dad has a teenage son with a former mistress. I’ve never met either.” Shit, once the cork’s loosened, I spill secrets.
“Well, hell,” she mutters. “I’m, um, an only child. I think they wanted more but couldn’t have them. Because of that, I have enough mothering for five kids. Both of my parents are extremely kind people, but I suppose they’re not right for each other. They divorced right after I graduated from high school.” We stare at each other, and the weight of honesty is heavy between us. Humor flickers in her eyes. “I don’t know my blood type.”
I laugh. “Our next date should be the Red Cross.”
“Only if they’re giving out double chocolate chip cookies that day.”
“I’ll call ahead.”
John tells us Cinnamon and Goliath are ready. Thanking him, I lead Rosalia to the horses. I unclip Cinnamon and pat her saddle. Rosalia places her boot in the stirrup, grabs the saddle horn, and swings up in one smooth motion. She settles in with a natural confidence. The way she adjusts her seat, completely at ease, is the opposite of every other woman I’ve dated who treated horses like expensive props.
I mount Goliath, focusing on my stirrups instead of how good she looks. This is dangerous territory, appreciating her authenticity while knowing she’s here for less than authentic reasons.
Gathering my reins, I point west. “We are going to the state park trails that butt against my property.”
She follows me out of the barn and then comes up beside me. Twisting in her saddle, she scans my land. “Your place is beautiful. Peaceful.”
“Thank you.” I look around. Tiffany had liked the house. My love is for the grounds. And today, nature is putting on a show. The grass nearly glows fromlast night’s rain shower. The color is a stark contrast against the black fencing. The mature trees lining the west fence are a mix of green, with a few late bloomers sporting flowers.
