Chapter 1
Trey
The late-morning July sun blazes through the front windows of Rosie’s Diner, dulling the neon sign just inside the door that reads OPEN 24 HOURS. Rosie’s could have been plucked straight out of an old movie, the kind where everyone knows everyone and the coffee never stops pouring. With its shiny silver exterior, it reminds me of those classic roadside diners that promise a good meal served with a slice of nostalgia. I prefer to sit at the chrome-lined counter on a red-vinyl swivel stool—those seats are always served faster.
The diner walls are adorned with a variety of horse-themed memorabilia—a nod to the local culture deeply entrenched in both the saddlebred and thoroughbred horse industry. Framed black-and-white photos of famous racehorses from nearby tracks, their jockeys clad in colorful silks, line the walls alongside old horseshoes and prize ribbons. Fancy saddlebreds, high stepping in show rings, and if I look around long enough, I’ll find pictures of many Blackburns up there.
On each table and dotted along the counter are baskets containing horse-shaped salt and pepper shakers and horseshoe-shaped napkin holders. The air is filled with the aroma of coffee brewing, bacon sizzling, and the sweetness of maple syrup. No wonder this place is always packed. It’s why Wade and I only come here occasionally and only if we get out of the house super early to beat the normal rush.
Rosie’s customers are as varied as the menu. On any given morning, you might find elderly couples sharing pancakes and memories, young families with children giggling over large plates of scrambled eggs, or local workers grabbing a quick bite before heading to the farms or markets. Many of the regulars have their unofficial assigned seats, where they trade local gossip.
My younger brother and I enjoy the strong coffee while our breakfast is being made. Our spot gives us a full view of the hustle and bustle, waitresses moving quickly from customer to customer but always willing to stop and have a brief, friendly chat. Through the service window, Sam Parnes mans the grill, his face ruddy from the rising steam.
Wade eyeballs the community bulletin board to the left of the service window. It’s a central place to post flyers for upcoming horse auctions, local markets or other county events. “Look at that… the Whiskey River Gang is going to be playing at the fairgrounds this weekend. Want to go?”
"Maybe.” I take a sip of my coffee. They’re a decent regional country music band and it could be a good time.
“Let’s invite the guys and do some camping down near the lake after.”
“Pass,” I drawl, setting my cup down.
“Why not?” Wade asks, looking offended.
“Because when those guys are together, you all turn into a bunch of morons. Last time we did that, Bruce thought it would be a good idea to catch a copperhead and landed in the hospital for two days.”
“Yeah,” Wade muses with a grin. “He was an idiot.” He then punches my shoulder. “But it won’t be like that this time.”
“So you say.” I laugh, shaking my head. “I’ll go to the concert, but I’ll pass on the camping trip.”
“When did you get to be so old and lame?” Wade teases.
I’m only four years older, but sometimes it seems like more. I’m at the point in my life I don’t need a perpetual party buzz, chasing girls or hanging with my single buds.
But I say, “Bite me.”
“More coffee, boys?” Doris, the diner’s forever waitress, saunters over with the pot in hand. She’s about sixty, with hair as silver as the trays she carries and a wit sharper than Sam’s knives. “Or are you just here to grace me with your charming company?”
“Always for your company, Doris,” Wade quips, flashing her a charming smile. “When are you going to leave Wendell and marry me?”
She rolls her eyes as she tops up our mugs. “Oh, honey, the day I marry you is the day they stop making bourbon in Kentucky. And we both know that’s never gonna happen! Besides, Wendell might be a grump, but he’s my grump and he makes the best burgoo in the county. I’m not ready to give that up.”
I nod my head sagely. “He does make a fine burgoo. Give up, Wade. She’s smitten.”
Doris shoots me a wink. “Your order is almost ready. Be up in a jiff.”
When she’s out of earshot, Wade turns his head to smirk at me. “So, who was the lucky lady last night? Becca Caudill?”
I ignore his curiosity. “I don’t kiss and tell.”
Wade and I have been sharing a house in Shelbyville for six years, eschewing one of the many smaller abodes on the family farm that have been built to house some of the higher level, permanent workers. While it’s safe to say we both love our familial estate and the work we do there, we definitely like leaving at the end of each day and having our own place.
Of course, that means sometimes if one of us has a woman stay the night, there’s a good chance the other knows about it. The walls in our little house are thin.
“Dude… it’s your brother you’re talking to. Your compadre. Was it Becca?” Wade prods.
“Nah. We haven’t seen each other since the Spirits and Saddles Gala in June.”
“So who was it?”
I twist my neck, cocking an eyebrow at him. “Don’t be such a gossiping girl.”
Wade snorts. “Not gossiping. Just trying to figure out which local beauty is off the list so I don’t get your sloppy seconds.”
Chuckling, I turn back to my coffee. “Not everyone keeps a scorecard, dude.” But he’s got a point. Brothers don’t infringe on each other’s territory, even if the women Wade and I date are casual with no hard commitments. We’re both far too busy and happy in our bachelorhood to get weighed down with serious relationships. “But it was Kelly Myers.”
“The new training jockey at Silvermare?”
“Yeah.” We were at Copper Canyon, a new bar on the town’s main thoroughfare. It’s got a hip, trendy vibe and we both had too much to drink to make good decisions. We took an Uber back to my place, and well, one thing led to another. “But it was a onetime-only thing.”
I didn’t really need to add that last part. The minute I gave Wade her name, she was off the list. Like I said, brothers don’t encroach on each other’s territory, but I have no intention of seeing Kelly again. We were both fine to scratch a drunken itch and go our separate ways.
The bell rings at the service counter and Sam yells, “Order up for the Blackburn boys.”
He sets two plates of food on the ledge and Doris nabs them. She sets them before us and, because she knows us so well, grabs blueberry syrup for me and sriracha for Wade. “Anything else?”
“We’re good, Doris,” I say.
“Just your hand in marriage,” Wade says, making a grab for it, but she’s spry for her age and scoots back while wagging a chastising finger at him.
We tuck in but without any real rush. We’ve got plenty of time to get to the farm. We talk about some of the day’s tasks—training schedules, upcoming rider competitions, a quick check-in on how Ethan, Marcie and Sylvie are adjusting to their new normal.
“Kat, Gabe and I are going to take Sylvie to Kentucky Kingdom next weekend,” Wade says as he slathers jelly on his toast. “Want to go with us?”
While I’d love nothing more than to ride all the fun rides with my niece, Sylvie, one word in that statement has me declining. “Not if Gabe’s going.”
Wade shakes his head. “You need to get over it.”
“No, I don’t,” I reply firmly. Never going to get over disliking that bastard, especially for hurting Kat years ago. True, they’ve made up, and true, he saved her life, and also true, they apparently love each other, but that doesn’t mean I have to socialize with him. Hell, it’s bad enough I have to sit through periodic family dinners because my mom invites him over. Seems like everyone has forgotten the bad blood between our families for almost 175 years, or the fact that Gabe’s father tried to kill Sylvie not all that long ago.
I refuse to give credence to the fact that it was Gabe who uncovered his dad’s crime and turned him into the police, although that’s the one thing he has going for him that might lead me to tolerate the guy eventually. Maybe.
The bell above the front door tinkles and I glance over my shoulder to see Joe Aimes. A sturdy man in his late sixties with a shock of white hair and skin tanned from years spent working outdoors, I watch the head trainer for Five Oaks Farm, a generational thoroughbred racing farm here in Shelby County, walk our way.
“Morning, Joe!” Doris calls out as he takes the stool next to Wade. “The usual?”
“Yes, ma’am, and keep the coffee coming.” Joe’s eyes move from Wade to me and he nods a greeting. “Morning.”
“Hey, Joe,” I say before cutting a bite of pancakes. “What’s new with you?”
“Nothing new with me, but did you boys hear about Lyle Rhodes?” My fork stops halfway to my mouth and Wade’s head whips Joe’s way. “Passed away last night. Heart attack, they reckon. One of his employees found him this morning at his printshop.”
The news lands with a thud. Wade and I exchange a look—Lyle wasn’t exactly a friend, but he was a fixture in town.
“Jesus,” Wade mutters, pushing the food around his plate as it sinks in. “Wonder what’ll happen with the business. Debbie sure as hell doesn’t know how to run it.”
Joe shakes his head, doctoring up the coffee Doris poured. “Maybe their girl will come back. What’s Holland been up to these days? She doesn’t come around no more.”
I set my fork down, pancakes forgotten because the lead ball in my stomach has quelled my hunger.
“Last I heard, she’s still in Zurich,” Wade says to Joe before stuffing a forkful of omelet into his mouth. He chews and then looks at me. “Right, Trey? I mean… we haven’t seen her in years.”
“Far as I know,” I mutter, sipping my coffee. Just the mention of her name sends a ripple through me. Old memories stir—sweet, painful and everything in between—images of Holland laughing, riding, smiling down at me…
I force the reflections away and set my cup down. I pick up my fork, resolute to finish my breakfast. “Kat and Abby have kept in contact with her through Facebook although they say she doesn’t ever really post, so it’s hard to know what she’s doing.”
“Once she got out of Shelbyville, she didn’t look back, did she?” Joe muses with a chuckle. “Probably best for her. Wasn’t no future for her here.”
Wade nods. “Yeah… guess she was destined for bigger things. But still, I imagine she’ll be back for the funeral. Lyle was her father, after all.”
I’m not so sure about that. She had zero relationship with her alcoholic father and a not much better one with her doormat of a mother.
But I find myself silently hoping she does. I’m not sure what I’d say, or even if she’d want to see me, but part of me needs to know how she’s been doing. I mean, the entire Blackburn family will gather round her in support. We’ll all be at the funeral and she’ll be welcomed back with open arms. I’m sure she’ll be glad to see her somewhat adoptive family, given the amount of time she spent on our farm.
Well, she’ll want to see most of us.
I’m sure I’m the exception to that.
Joe turns to talk to the man next to him and Wade leans toward me. “It’s weird to think Holland may come into town. I mean… it’s been what? Eleven years?”
“Yeah,” I say vaguely, staring into my coffee.
“Hey Trey,” my brother says, and I turn to look at him. “Remember that time after I graduated high school and I had the biggest crush on Holland? But then she left and never came back.”
The corner of my mouth pulls up in a smile. “Yeah… I remember.”
Wade shakes his head, his eyes warm with fond memories. “She was definitely the one that got away.”
Yes, she was.
