Page 33 of The Dravenhearst Brides
Margot shifted her weight. “He might’ve mentioned it.” Or maybe Xander or Evangeline, Margot couldn’t remember. She’d all but forgotten the warning.
“It’s pretty dangerous. Would ya like to see?” Julian asked. “I know Merrick doesn’t like people nosing ’round his rickhouses, but it’s probably safer to show ya upfront, keep ya from tumbling unawares one day while you’re out pickin’ wildflowers…or whatever it is ladies of leisure do with their time.”
She cracked a smile. “Show me.”
“Beau, stay here,” Julian commanded.
Margot tailed the young man around the rickhouse. The back wall was covered with rising vines of ivy and purple wisteria. The brick was crumbling badly back here, and a long crack ran down the length of the wall through the foundation.
“Watch your footing,” Julian advised, reaching out to grip her arm. “One wrong step and it’s curtains for us both.”
The ground behind the rickhouse sloped gently downward to form a shallow basin.
“This is it. The sinkhole.” Julian picked up a chunk of brick and tossed it ten feet into the nadir of the pit to demonstrate. It landed with a soft squelch, sinking halfway into the earth.
Kentucky was no stranger to sinkholes, something about groundwater drainage and soil composition…at least, that was what Margot recalled from the newspapers. Every year or so, they’d inevitably run an article whenever one cropped up in the state. Sinkholes could cause real damage, destroying roads and taking down houses. Margot glanced nervously at Rickhouse One, perched precariously at the edge.
“It looks ready to swallow the rickhouse,” she observed. “Is the building secure?”
“Er, well…” Julian rubbed the back of his neck. “This here’s Rickhouse One.” He offered nothing more.
“Yes…Rickhouse One,” she repeated. “Is it safe? Are there barrels inside? Bourbon?”
“Oh, there’s bourbon in there.” Julian chuckled. “Some real fine bourbon, been aging for goin’ on twenty years. A real rarity.”
“And…and you think that’s wise?” Margot gestured to the crumbling foundation. “This building could cave in at any moment. Surely, if there’s product of high value within, it should be moved—”
“Merrick hasn’t told you about Rickhouse One?”
Margot folded her arms. “Is there something I should know?”
He laughed again, uneasy now. “You’ll have to be askin’ your husband about that, Mrs. Dravenhearst. S’not my story to tell, not my family skeleton.”
So there was, in fact, a story.
Margot tilted her chin, trying to appear more confident than she felt. “I suppose I’ll just ask him then.”Though I can imagine how that conversation will go.
“Do that.” Julian nodded, backing away. “Best wait until he’s in a real fine mood. I’m not a married man myself, but seems to me, that’s what pillow talk is for.”
When Julian crooked a knowing grin, Margot blushed scarlet, embarrassed by the insinuation her nights in Dravenhearst Manor were consumed by her husband.
In reality, they were anything but.
She chuckled nervously. “I should return to the house.”
He nodded. “Nice to properly meet ya, Mrs. Dravenhearst. And don’t you worry on tellin’ Merrick that grifter—Toni—stopped by. I’ll handle it.”
“I appreciate it, thanks.”
“Oh, and if you ever want a tour of the stables, I’d be happy to oblige. We could get you set up with your own horse. Got plenty of real steady mares—”
Margot raised a hand to stop him. “That’s kind of you, but I don’t ride.”
“I bet you ride just fine.”
When he flicked his eyes appreciatively over Margot’s curves, she bit her lip, uncertain whether they were still speaking of horses. Julian gave a booming laugh as he turned on his heel to depart, cutting a coursefor the stables.
Before Margot rounded the corner of the rickhouse, she looked back. The sinkhole had swallowed the brick. Erased its presence from history, simple as that.
