She taps the bar with her fingers, as if weighing up whether to engage in any more small talk.
A few beats pass.
“Well, let me know if you need anything else,” she says before sauntering away. I smile, relieved she read me right.
I let the news from Ollie sink in. I’m closing one chapter of my life and starting a new one, even if I have no idea how it’ll work out. I wonder what Mom would think of it all. If she were still here, would she even notice?
To say my parents neglected their four kids would be putting it kindly. I get that Mom was consumed by her career, and Dad was busy being Dad, but for all the money and privilege we enjoyed, they never gave us the simple stuff. Like their time. Their support. Their interest. And most important of all, their love.
Grandpa Rick, on the other hand, gave us all of those things. Nothing beat coming to Silverstone to spend the summer at his winery. Even when Wagner, Adair, and Fenner got too old and “too cool” to come and it was just me and him, it always felt like home.
My fondest memories are of him taking me horseback riding when I was little. He noticed that I was nervous, so we always rode side by side. He’d keep one hand on the reins, the other resting easily on his thigh like we had all the time in the world. Ifelt so safe and so loved, soaking up from him what my parents weren’t able to give me.
There was a spot we always stopped at, a small hill that overlooked the town. We’d sit there while the horses rested, nibbling on whatever grass or brush was around. Grandpa Rick would chew on a toothpick, and we talked. He asked me questions, like what music I was listening to, who I was hanging out with at school, if I wanted to follow in Mom’s footsteps when I grew up. And he listened to what I had to say. He made me feel like the most important kid in the world.
He didn’t have his own horses, but he knew the owners of Silverstone Sanctuary, and they let us ride on horses that had been fully rehabbed. Don’t know what’s happened these past ten or so years, but the sanctuary has been on a steady decline, bought and sold multiple times by investors who were most likely land banking and had no interest in taking care of the creatures themselves.
I got the idea to buy the place a few weeks after coming back here. It seemed like a win-win, a way to keep myself occupied and find some purpose, as cliché as that sounds. The rescue center wasn’t even for sale, but I came in with a low offer. The Wellingtons countered. I gave my final, and today, they signed off on it.
I should be happy…
So why aren’t I?
I push the room-temperature whiskey away and spin on my stool, my eyes catching on a flash of jet-black hair. It belongs to a guy on the other side of the bar, moving lightning fast, like he’s searching for someone. I follow as he scurries in and out of view, swiftly making his way through the crowd until he reaches his target.
I blink, then scoff under my breath when I see who it is.
Ridge Duporth.
I quirk a brow.
The Benson-Duporth rivalry goes back generations and continues to this day. They’re ruthless, slimy, manipulative, and not to be trusted. Our winery used to be the largest and most successful in the county until the Duporths eclipsed us. Grandpa Rick outright hated them with a passion his whole life. And when my sister, Adair, won the congressional district race, the veteran lawmaker she unseated was a Duporth.
I do my best to steer clear of the lot of them. Especially Ridge, the newly appointed CEO of Duporth Winery Estate and my brother’s biggest competitor.
I take in the black-haired fireball, dressed in a faded pearl-snap shirt and olive-green cargo pants. Something tells me shit is about to go down.
He interrupts whatever conversation Ridge and his posse were in the middle of and starts going off, arms flailing wildly. Ridge rises in one fluid motion, and even though he’s taller and broader than the dark-haired guy, the shorter guy isn’t backing down, poking Ridge in the chest.
No one from Ridge’s group gets up to defend him, which, for a brief second, makes me sad. I know what it’s like to be surrounded by people who don’t have your best interests at heart, who peck away at you like vultures, taking whatever they want with no regard for your feelings.
But that momentary sadness is quickly replaced by shock, my jaw falling open when the shorter guy takes a swing at Ridge. He connects with the side of his face, andfinally, Ridge’s entourage does something. A scuffle ensues until two off-duty police officers break it up. Ridge speaks to one of them, pointing his finger accusingly, and the shorter guy gets escorted out.
My family may have a long history with the Duporths, but I have absolutely no business launching off the stool so fast italmost topples over and charging to the entrance, where one of the cops has just booted the black-haired guy out of Bunny’s.
I burst through the front doors and look up and down the street, quickly finding the guy stumbling down the sidewalk. He’s drunk and probably pissed off at Ridge for any number of reasons. We’re not the only ones who hate them. The Duporths have more than their fair share of enemies in town.
“Hey,” I call out, walking briskly to catch up to the guy.
Without turning, he raises a hand over his shoulder and flips me off.
He barrels ahead, so I jog up to him and, when I’m a few feet away, try again. “Hey, wait up.”
I’m close enough to appreciate every sleek black strand of tousled hair that reaches just past the collar of his shirt. The air around him smells like sun-warmed leather and the faint scent of horse.
His arms are swinging wildly, so I reach for his wrist. The second I make contact, he spins around. Feral green eyes land on me, and every ounce of breath leaves my lungs. Up close, he’s nothing short of breathtaking. Midnight-black hair sweeps across his brow, framing sky-high cheekbones, a galaxy of freckles dances across his cheeks, and even though his glossy lips are curled upward in a furious snarl, it doesn’t lessen their natural plumpness one bit.
His eyes narrow, the skin around them going taut. He flips me off again and then points to the gesture he’s making with his other hand. “This means fuck off. Just in case it wasn’t clear.”
