Forever Ventured: Forever Bluegrass #12 Read online

  Kyle handed the needle to Wyatt. With Carter cradling Sampson’s head, Wyatt took a deep breath to steady his heart and his hand and said goodbye.

  “I’m broke.” Wyatt exhaled loudly as he sat back in Great-Grandpa Beauford’s coffee-colored leather chair. It had been over four years since Nana Ruth had passed and he’d kept Wyatt Farm and Wyatt Estate going as long as he could. The first three years had been lean but manageable with the money left in the business account, but this past year and a half had been brutal.

  He’d been doing all of the home repairs himself to save money, and now he’d taken to doing most of the mowing himself, too. In another cost-cutting measure, he’d cut down on the number of pastures used and left some of them to grow hay. Wyatt worked on the house and farm, usually between eleven at night and four in the morning. Between those times, he worked as a large animal vet to make as much money as he could to live week to week with the cost of the farm weighing him down. Sleep wasn’t an action he was familiar with anymore.

  Wyatt had already laid off the trainer, the farm manager, the house cleaning and repair crew, and the landscaping crew. He had one employee, Bud Boggs, a former stable hand now a jack-of-all-trades. The money Wyatt had made from some of the yearlings he’d sold was put aside to pay Bud for the year. Without Bud, the farm would have to close. You just can’t get blood from a turnip. The trouble was, the farm wasn’t a turnip. It had potential. Just as Nana Ruth had thought, the colt from Gentleman Squire and Beau’s Girl was a once in a hundred years horse. Just thinking about his potential gave Wyatt goosebumps.

  He looked over the offer from Mo to buy the colt for three million dollars. He’d be able to fix up the house and hire a skeleton crew for the farm for a couple years. It was a fair price for a two-year-old colt, but it was a charity offer, just like his parents’ offer to give him a loan from the Wyatt Family Investments. Wyatt had said no to both. Nana had trusted him to do this himself, and he wanted to prove he could. Mo’s close friendship with his parents was how Mo knew Wyatt was burning the candle at both ends and how that offer came about. And somehow Wyatt had to convince the trainer coming tomorrow to work for free for one year in return for a percentage of the colt’s earnings.

  The Derby had just run. September marked the beginning of the stakes races needed to qualify for next year’s big race. His colt turned two years old yesterday. Of course, according to the Racing Association, his colt had turned two in January. Every racehorse in the country has the same birthday—January 1st. Meaning, for racing purposes he could race in the Derby next May as a three-year-old even though technically he’d be a week shy of his third birthday.

  Next to the mountain of bills was the racing schedule. Horses had to win a certain number of points to qualify for one of the eighteen spots in the Derby. Those races started in the fall, including three races at the Distillers’ Three Day Event held in September at Capitol Park in Frankfort, Kentucky. From there they’d travel to Keeneland in Lexington, Churchill Downs in Louisville, and across the country trying to qualify for the Derby. And all of that cost money—lots of it.

  Wyatt pushed aside the stack of bills to stare at the toxicology report from Sampson. Nothing. Even the specialized test for frog juice, which was what Wyatt had thought Sampson had been given illegally, came back clean. Frog juice was the slime from the skin of some South American frogs. The slime contained dermorphin that numbs pain and excites a horse. From Sampson’s behavior, Wyatt thought for sure that was what caused the accident. Instead the toxicology reports were clean, both his private one and the autopsy. Sampson’s death was an accident.

  Wyatt blew out a breath and looked around his great-grandfather’s old office. Wyatt had made little changes here and there, but looking at the old paintings and his nana’s framed needlepoint work made him feel as if they were still with him. Which reminded him . . .

  Wyatt pulled out the center drawer of the desk. There were two tubes of bright red lipstick rolling around. One was almost gone. His nana had given them to him when she had died and made him promise to find a woman who would kiss her little dears for her. He hadn’t found that woman and the horses had actually grown distressed when the weekly tradition ended, so Wyatt had been left with no other option.

  He pulled out the tube that was almost done and stood up. He walked around the large mahogany desk and stopped in front of the antique mirror. He pulled the top off the lipstick and with closed his eyes briefly before applying it to his lips. Wyatt capped the tube and put it into his pocket.

  Wyatt walked from the house with his bright red lips. It was embarrassing but at the same time it was something he could do to keep his nana’s tradition alive. At least no one would see him. It was late now, almost eight at night, and Bud had left for the day.

  The May sun was slowly beginning to set. It cast a warm orange glow across the pastures. It even made the fence that needed repair look quaint. He smiled at the newest two-month-old filly nursing as she and her mother stood in one of the pastures. The mare saw Wyatt and tossed her head back before trotting to him. She was a sweetheart who liked to smile. She nickered and pulled her lip back as she waited for her kiss.

  Wyatt scratched behind her ear and leaned forward. He planted a big kiss on her nose, leaving behind a red imprint of his lips. And so it went as he passed each pasture. He had to reapply the lipstick when he hit the barn and as much as he felt the fool for doing this, the second the horses heard the barn door slide the rest of the way open, they all had their heads out waiting for their kiss.

  Wyatt smiled and laughed as the big stallion nuzzled his neck before getting his kiss. “How are my little dears?” Wyatt asked as the stallion shook his head in pure happiness.

  * * *

  Camila Callahan was jet lagged, exhausted, and pissed off. Dr. Wyatt Davies was supposed to have picked her up at the airport two hours ago. He was to take her to Keeneston so she could see the farm, examine the horse he wanted trained, and then, hopefully, he’d offer her the job of farm manager and head trainer. It wasn’t a good sign when he didn’t show to pick her up. She knew she had an uphill battle proving herself as a woman in the racing world. Even her own father didn’t think she could do it.

  Her father was Sean Callahan, one of the United Kingdom’s most sought-after horse trainers. And it wasn’t as if he thought women couldn’t do the job. After all, he’d met her mother, Triana, in Spain at the famed Carreras de Caballos de Sanlúcar in Andalusia. The event was the oldest beach horse race in the world. Camila’s grandfather had been a trainer in Spain and had horses win the big beach race. It was one of the things her father loved about her mother—her knowledge of horses and training. But for some reason, he didn’t love it about Camila. Well, he did. He just didn’t think she had what it took to do more than be his assistant.

  Camila had a wealth of information in her head and a lifetime of experience. She’d grown up on her father’s shoulders at every barn and track all over Europe. She was ready to see what she could do with the freedom to make the decisions for herself. She was ready to manage a farm. She was ready to train a champion. Too bad it appeared Dr. Davies wasn’t going to give her a chance.

  “Taxi!”

  Camila waved down what appeared to be one of the few cabs in Lexington down and gave him the address of the farm. Well, she wasn’t going to give up now. She was going to hunt Dr. Davies down and demand he give her the job. She was going to prove she had what it took to not only play with the big boys but to beat their arses.

  * * *

  Camila looked out of the window as the taxi drove through the small town of Keeneston. Flowers were overflowing from whiskey . . . no, these were bourbon barrels. They lined quaint Main Street as she passed the busy Blossom Café. Camila’s stomach rumbled from the smell of food. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d eaten, and the smells coming from the café had her mouth watering.

  She pulled away from the window when people turned and stared at the taxi driving
through town. As she looked around, Camila saw there wasn’t another taxi in the whole town. “How much farther is it?”

  “Ten minutes, ma’am,” the driver answered as Camila’s head quickly jerked to her left when she saw fancy hats lining a large window display at Southern Charms. She might want to compete in the man’s world, but Camila wanted to look like a lady when she did it. And those hats had her picturing herself dressed to the nines in the winner’s circle.

  The town was quickly left behind as narrow country roads lined with four board plank fences, trees, cows, crops, and horses took over. Camila was trying to play it cool, but in her head as she watched the beautiful scenery, she was practicing her speech to Dr. Davies. She believed she was a strong woman with more knowledge about racing than anyone besides her father. She was a hard worker who would work nonstop to produce a champion.

  “We’re here,” the driver said as he pulled up to a wrought-iron gate. To the side of the gate were two large stone pillars engraved with a plaque that read Wyatt Farm, Est. 1785.

  “Can you ring the house?” Camila asked.

  The driver leaned over and began pressing buttons. “Sorry, ma’am. It doesn’t look like anyone is home.”

  Camila was already pulling out the American cash she’d gotten at an ATM at the airport in New York. “Here you go. I can walk from here.”

  “Are you sure? I don’t feel right leaving a young lady out here at night.”

  “I’m sure. Dr. Davies is expecting me. He must have been called away on a medical emergency. I’ll just wait up at the house for him.”

  “Let me help you get the bags,” the driver offered as he got out the cab.

  Camila stretched her legs and looked down the long drive as the warmth of the setting sun made everything glow. This was going to be her new home if only she could convince Dr. Davies to give her a shot.

  “Thank you,” she said to the driver, who was setting her bags on the other side of the gray stone fence that lined the road front. She waved to him as he backed out of the driveway and headed back to Lexington.

  Turning, Camila smiled as she ran her hand over the stone walls. They were a sign. Walls like this were made by laying flat limestone rocks on top of each other with no mortar before lining the top with vertically placed thinner rocks, giving the wall a decorative topper. They warmed her Irish heart as they were a symbol of Irish stonemasons and had probably been there since 1785. Carefully testing the rocks to make sure she wouldn’t damage them, she hopped over into Wyatt Farm and, hopefully, the start of her new life.

  2

  Camila looked all around her as she set her bags down in the driveway of an old estate house that looked straight out of a historic movie. Flowers were in full bloom, although so were the weeds. The white house looked imposing, even if it needed some paint here and there. “You got this, Camila.”

  Camila raised her hand and rang the doorbell. Nothing. She tightened her hand into a fist and knocked. Nothing. The sound of nickering drew her attention, and she smiled as a new baby trotted around the mother. Well, if she were left waiting she might as well look around.

  “You poor wee thing!” Camila gasped as she saw the baby was bleeding. Camila hurried forward and surprisingly, neither the mother nor the baby were skittish at all. They both came right up to the fence.

  Camila looked between them and saw the bright red on their noses, but when the mare shoved her nose against Camila’s shoulder, it wasn’t blood that rubbed off, but lipstick. She leaned closer to the baby and saw the perfect imprint of lips on the baby’s nose. “Aren’t you a sweetheart?” she cooed as the baby nuzzled her.

  To Camila’s left there appeared to be hay growing, and to her right there was a paved road. In the distance, she could see some barns. They drew her in like a homing beacon, and she turned and practically bounced toward them.

  As she grew closer to the first barn, she saw that while the farm needed a little love, the horses were well taken care of. They were all healthy, their coats shining, and they all had the mysterious red mark on their noses. “You must be the mums,” she said gently as she made her way through the barn. Each horse stuck its head out to give her a nuzzle and each had the identical red kiss mark.

  The next barn was a hike to get to but she clearly saw the sign that read Stallion Barn out front. The door was open and when she entered, she saw someone at the end of the barn. The worker was in jeans and a polo shirt. Camila blinked as he stood up and moved to the next horse. He was towering when he stood straight. Camila was a wee little thing at five feet three inches, and the man looked to be a foot taller. And his shoulders . . . phew, the man had hefted a lot of hay to have shoulders so wide and toned. Not to mention the way his bum filled out those jeans.

  Camila shook her head. She wasn’t here to have an affair with the barn crew. She was here to be their boss. She walked forward with determination and complete professionalism as the man bent and kissed the horse. That was so sweet. It was good for a farm worker to love horses. It was part of his job.

  “Excuse me, I’m looking for Wyatt Davies.”

  Camila stopped near the man who suddenly straightened and instead of turning toward her kept his back to her.

  “My name is Camila Callahan. I have a meeting with Dr. Davies.” Camila grew irritated when the man didn’t turn around. She felt her temper rise and finally snap. “Good manners dictate you should look at a person talking to you or do you not have any?”

  The man slowly turned toward her. The first thing she saw were his hazel eyes. The second was the bright red lips.

  * * *

  Wyatt wanted to die on the spot. He didn’t know Camila Callahan, but he’d known who she was as soon as he heard the irritation in her soft Irish accent. He lifted his hand to his lips and wiped at the lipstick. Although his hand turned bright red, he was afraid he’d just smudged it around instead of wiping it off.

  His shoulders sagged and he gave up. Wyatt turned and saw that Camila was petite in height, but that’s where it ended. Her legs were shapely from riding and that shapeliness continued up to the small curve of her hips, her flat stomach, and lean arms. When Wyatt finally looked up at her face, he saw the sprinkling of freckles over the bridge of her nose and her widened, misty-blue eyes as they zeroed in on his lips.

  “Hi. I’m Wyatt. I wasn’t expecting you until Wednesday.” Wyatt smiled and held out his hand, completely ignoring the fact that he was wearing lipstick.

  Camila slowly extended her hand. “Camila Callahan, and it is Wednesday.”

  Wyatt shook her hand and felt like a jerk. “I am so sorry. I should have been at the airport to pick you up. Please forgive me.”

  “Of course. I’m sure you got held up . . . kissing the horses.”

  Wyatt cringed at the not-so-subtle rebuke. She was irritated with him, and he didn’t blame her. “I’m not sleeping much because I’ve been working nonstop. I feel so stupid for getting the days mixed up. Please forgive me.”

  Camila paused and looked him over. He felt as if she were trying to decide if he was worth it or just a waste of her time. “Are you still interesting in interviewing me?”

  “I am. We can head back to the house now. Along the way, I’ll tell you about the farm and show you the colt that will be your primary concern.”

  “I’d like to see him. Is he outside?” Camila asked.

  “Yes. This is the stallion barn. We have Breeders Stakes winners and a Distiller’s winner,” Wyatt told her as he slipped into tour guide mode.

  “Are they at stud?”

  “Yes, I’m at stud.” Damn. He needed more sleep. Wyatt cleared his throat. “Yes, they are at stud, but I have to admit I haven’t been actively campaigning them.” Wyatt took a breath and then launching into the farm’s history. “The farm started in 1785 with my many times great-grandfather and has been in the family ever since. In fact, a lot of the foundation stock came from the United Kingdom. It was why my great-grandmother Ruth was so set on breeding
our mare to Gentleman’s Squire.”

  “I know Gentleman’s Squire. My father trained him. I’ve seen him since he was a newborn,” Camila said, her soft accent seemed to float on the nighttime breeze.

  “And what do you think of him?” Wyatt asked as he led her to the pasture holding the colt.

  “I think he has speed but needs strength and a little bit of length.”

  Wyatt nodded. While he knew horses, these past four years he’d had a major crash course in them; what he knew was anatomy. It was a delicate balance between strength and bulk, speed and size. “I agree. He was bred to Beau’s Girl.”

  “She was named after your great-grandmother?” Camila asked.

  “Yes. My great-grandfather Beauford named her that. My great-grandmother went on to run the farm for nine years until she passed away. She’s the reason I have on the lipstick. It had been her tradition to kiss every horse on the nose since she married my great-grandfather almost seventy years ago. On her deathbed, she left me three tubes of her lipstick. I thought I’d keep them as a keepsake, but the horses actually got depressed when they didn’t get their kisses. I don’t normally wear it,” he joked.

  “It isn’t your color. You’re more of a pink.” Camila grinned and Wyatt felt as if the meeting had finally taken a turn for the better.

  “Here is Beau’s Girl,” Wyatt pointed out. Wyatt let out a whistle and Beau’s Girl lifted her head from where she was eating the lush grass and looked back to him. As soon as she saw him, she nickered and trotted toward them. He heard Camila suck in air.

  “What do you think?”

  “I think I need to see her son. She has the strength and the length Squire lacks.” Beau’s Girl leaned over the fence and Wyatt kissed her nose. He gave her a pat on the neck and she raced off at a gallop to show off for Camila. “Okay. I’m excited. Show me her son.”