“Always.”
“I know that Chantal got served with divorce papers. It was something I walked in on. I didn’t mean to see the deputy do the deed.”
“I told you that I was ending things.”
She rubbed her forehead. “About two minutes before that, she came to me to plan an anniversary dinner for the pair of you.”
There was a quiet curse. “I’m sorry. But I’m telling you right now, there is no future in the cards for her and me.”
Lizzie stared at him long and hard—and in response, he didn’t move, he didn’t blink, he didn’t say another word. He just sat there … and let his actions speak for him.
Damn it, she thought. She really, really didn’t need to fall for him again.
As night settled over the stables, Edward found himself falling into his normal evening routine. Glass of ice? Check. Booze? Check—gin, tonight. Chair? Check.
Except when he sat down and faced all of those necessaries, he drummed his fingers on the armrest instead of putting them to use to crack the seal on the bottle.
“Come on,” he said to himself. “Get with the program.”
Alas … no. For some reason, the door out of the cottage was talking to him more than the Beefeater when it came to things he needed to open.
The day had been a long one, what with a trip to Steeplehill Downs to check on his two horses and make the call, with his vet and his trainer, that Bouncin’ Baby Boy had to be scratched because of that tendon problem. Then he’d been back here, getting an assessment on five of his broodmares and their pregnancies, and reviewing the books and accounts with Moe. At least there had been good news on that front. For the second month in a row, the operation was not just self-sustaining, but pulling a profit. If this kept up, he was going to end those transfers from his mother’s trust, the ones that had been providing a regular injection of cash into the business since back in the eighties.
He wanted to be totally independent of his family.
In fact, one of the first things he’d done when he’d gotten out of the rehab hospital was refuse his trust distributions. He didn’t want to have anything to do with funds even remotely associated with the Bradford Bourbon Company—and the entire stock position of his first-and second-tier trusts was straight-up BBC. In fact, he hadn’t found out about the transfers from his mother to the Red & Black until about six months in, and at that time, he’d been barely waking up to life at the stables. If he’d stopped them at that point? The operation would have gone under.
It had been a long time since someone with any kind of business acumen had been at the horse enterprise, and whatever his weaknesses were now, his knack for making money had remained unscathed.
One more month. Then he’d be free.
God, he was more exhausted than usual. More achy, too. Or maybe the two were inextricably intertwined?
And yet he still couldn’t pick up the bottle.
Instead, he got to his feet with his cane and gimped his way to the drapes, which had been closed since the day he’d moved in. It was pitch-black outside now, only the big sodium lights at the heads of the barns throwing a peach glow against the darkness.
Cursing under his breath, he went to the front door and opened it. Paused for a moment. Limped out into the night.
Edward crossed the grass on a ragged gait and told himself he was going to look in on that mare who was having problems. Yes. That’s what he was doing.
He was not checking in with Shelby Landis. Nope. He was not, for example, concerned that he hadn’t seen her leave the farm all day and that meant that she probably had no food in that apartment of hers. He was also not, say, making certain that she had hot running water because, after the twelve hours she’d put in hauling wheelbarrows, sacks of grain that were the size of her truck, and itchy hay bales, she probably was going to be sore and in need of a good shower.
He was absolutely, positively—
“Damn it.”
Without even being aware of it, he’d gone to the side door to Barn B … the one that opened up to the office, as well as the set of stairs that would take him to her place.
Well, considering he was here already … he might as well see how she was doing. Out of loyalty to her father, of course.
He did not run a hand through his hair before he turned the knob—
All right, maybe just a little, but only because he needed a haircut and the stuff was in his eyes.
Motion-activated lights came on as he stepped into the office area, and all those steps to the old hayloft area loomed over his head like a mountain he was going to have to struggle to climb. And what do you know, his pessimism was well founded: He had to take a breather halfway up. And another as soon as he reached the top.
Which was how he heard the laughter.
A man’s. A woman’s. Coming from Moe’s apartment.