Chapter 12

CHAPTER 12

Marcie

I'm halfway through my dirty martini when my phone rings. I pick it up off the bar, recognizing Michelle's ringtone. "You're ten minutes late," I grumble, eager to see my sister since she and Carmen were gone all last week to Mexico for spring break.

"I won't be able to make it. Carmen's got a sore throat and I think I'm going to run her to urgent care."

That makes me sit up straighter on the barstool. This new steakhouse just opened and it's busy tonight, so I'm at the bar until my sister joins me for dinner. "Oh no. I'm so sorry. Do you want me to meet you there?"

"Seriously?" Michelle says teasingly. "You're around kids your entire life and you know better than to get bent out of shape over a little sore throat. If she's got strep, we'll get antibiotics and it will be fine."

"I was only offering because I don't want to have to sit here by myself like a lame ass."

Michelle laughs. "Maybe you'll meet a hot guy. You are sitting at the bar, aren't you?"

I look around balefully at the crowd. Not a single hot guy in sight. "Yeah, but that doesn't seem to matter. Once I finish this drink, I'm out of here."

"I'll call you as soon as she sees the doctor but stay and have dinner so you can see if it's any good. If you drink more than one dirty martini, take an Uber home."

"Yes, Mom." I say goodbye and set my phone face down on the bar top. I quarrel with the toothpick in my drink loaded with two olives and ruminate over my sister's continued belief that I need a man in my life.

It's odd that Michelle pushes me so hard on this, especially since she hasn't bothered dating anybody seriously since her own divorce. Michelle's counterargument is always that she's perfectly happy being single and I don't understand why I can't be perfectly happy being single too.

But the truth is, if I evaluate myself deep down, I know I'm the type of woman who is built to be with someone. I love partnership, having somebody not only to depend on but to care for, being one half of a unit. And I miss physical affection. Not that I had it much in the last few years of my marriage to George. He'd become cold and distant and I never understood why until I found out he had been cheating on me.

It was a severe blow to my morale and self-confidence and I'm not sure I'll ever recover. So, while I may want a serious relationship in the future, I'm not sure I have the confidence to go about doing it.

Lifting the martini glass to my lips, I glance around the restaurant.

I like this new place. It's different from most places in Shelbyville, the interior a contemporary design featuring large, starburst-like chandeliers that create a dramatic effect against the dimly lit space. The open kitchen is visible behind glass partitions, adding a modern and interactive element to the dining experience. The dining area is a combination of neatly set round and square tables draped in crisp white tablecloths. Modern tan leather chairs provide a cozy seating option for guests. The flooring is dark hardwood and the walls are paneled, enhancing the chic, stylish interior.

The idea of sitting at the bar all alone eating dinner seems pathetic somehow, but I'm hungry and have really been wanting to try this restaurant.

"Be bold," I murmur to myself, deciding to stay for a meal.

As I sip on my drink, I admire the walls paneled in rich wood that matches the color of the curved bar, which has a polished granite top that speaks of luxury. The floor is terrazzo tile with alternating dark and light tones, and above the bar, industrial-style pendant lights hang from the ceiling.

Unfortunately, I almost have a huge choking fit because walking into the bar is my ex-husband George and his new wife, Madeleine. I panic for a moment because I don't want them to see me, nor do I care to have any interaction with them. My marriage ended on a horrible note and George has a mean streak. He hated the way I battled to get the minimum I was entitled to in the divorce and any time we happened to run into each other, it was not pleasant.

George Foyette is a classic narcissist who thinks the world revolves around him. He enjoyed tearing me down during our marriage. A general practitioner, he thinks his medical degree makes him better than anyone who doesn't have one. He is fourteen years older than I am, but the age gap never really mattered. Certainly not to George, who likes his women a lot younger than himself. Even though I am educated with a doctorate in education, George never thought I was good enough to do anything other than cook and clean for him. He certainly wasn't ever proud that I run an entire elementary school.

I take in his new wife. Madeleine is beautiful—all blond curls, overly white smile and new double D's he bought her—and only twenty-four years old. The age gap between her and George is much larger than the years between George and me, though I'm not sure that matters to the young woman. I don't know if she loves him or if she's looking for a golden ticket, but it doesn't matter because she's as complicit in the affair as George was. Now they have their own child, and while it doesn't necessarily hurt my feelings that George willingly gave Madeleine a baby when he wouldn't do it for me, it only serves to remind me that I'd been taken for granted in that relationship for way too long.

I swivel on my barstool, giving George and his new wife my back as they walk in. To my great luck, they walk right by me. I think I'm safe, but through the reflection in the mirror behind the bar, I see when George turns around and spots me.

A malicious smile splits his face as he tugs on Madeleine's hand and nods my way.

Madeleine doesn't look happy to see me, but George pulls her along, drawing up right next to my barstool.

"What are you doing here?" he asks.

"None of your business, George. I stopped being your business when we divorced."

His face flushes red. He doesn't like anybody battling against him and takes great offense that I would dare do so.

He sneers. "It's pathetic, you sitting here all alone at this bar drinking, perhaps waiting for somebody to come sweep you off your feet."

I want to snap back a retort, but frankly that hurts a little and I'm embarrassed. I almost slide off my stool, intent on hiding in the bathroom until they leave, when a deep male voice says from behind me, "She's not alone."

Ethan Blackburn.

I knew it was him before I even twisted my neck to glance over my shoulder to watch him settle onto the adjacent stool. "Sorry I'm late," he says, loud enough for George and Madeleine to hear.

He doesn't do anything overt to make it look like he's here on a date with me or that we're even here as friends. He reaches across me to hold out his hand to George. "Ethan Blackburn."

George reluctantly shakes Ethan's hand, appraising him, who is not only younger but a million times more handsome. As George got older, his jowls sagged and his belly grew. "Dr. George Foyette."

Ethan looks at me in question as he ends the handshake.

"My ex-husband," I explain and then nod toward the blond at George's side. "This is his new wife Madeleine. He was cheating with her during our marriage and she got pregnant."

Ethan doesn't spare George or Madeleine another glance but instead bumps his shoulder against mine and says loudly enough for them to hear, "Looks like you got the better end of that deal."

I can't help but laugh. Ethan's implying that not only did I get the better deal in losing a whole husband but also that I'm here with him, and anybody stacking the two men against each other would know that Ethan is the way better choice, based on looks and presence alone.

George's mouth flattens in disapproval and I smile back at him. "Have a good evening."

Without another word, George pulls his young wife away and they melt farther into the bar area. I watch them leave, the joy at stunning him speechless quickly diminishing and replaced with embarrassment.

I swivel on the stool to face Ethan. "I'm sorry you had to witness that."

He grins, leaning an elbow on the bar. "Quite the contrary, I enjoyed you putting him in his place. He looks like an absolute douche."

"That's one word to describe him," I murmur before taking a hefty sip of my martini. I need to finish it and get out of here, no longer desiring a meal. I don't want Ethan to feel beholden to keep me company and he makes me nervous all the way around in this social setting. It's one thing to help him with Sylvie, which was all professional, but sitting at a bar next to each other? Nope. I need to leave.

"Are you meeting someone?" he asks, motioning to the bartender.

"I was supposed to meet my sister for dinner, but Carmen's got a sore throat. I'm going to head out after I finish this drink."

"Stay and let me buy you dinner," he says as the bartender approaches. "It's the least I can do for your help the other night with Sylvie."

"It's not necessary—"

"I know," he cuts in over me. "But I don't like eating alone. I was on my way back from Louisville and I've heard good things about this place, so I stopped in."

I don't buy that "I don't like eating alone" line and suspect he's saying that to make me more comfortable.

"Besides, it will allow me to update you on Sylvie," he adds, the hook that he knows will keep me on my stool.

"How's that going?" I ask, unable to help the twinge of excitement I feel because of the smile on his face. It looks like one of sincere joy.

"Surprisingly well." The bartender steps up to Ethan. He orders a beer and then motions toward me. "Another martini for the lady and two menus."

"Oh, I really should be going," I say, looking at my watch.

He appraises me as the bartender waits patiently. "Don't you want to hear about Sylvie?"

"Of course I do," I reply with a chuckle. "Fine. I'll stay for dinner."

Ethan motions with his finger at my drink and the bartender nods, moving off but not before pulling out two menus for us. We peruse our choices for a few minutes and then Ethan takes them and sets them to the side.

"So," he begins, turning his stool a bit to face me. I can't help but notice how well his jeans fit or how the dark T-shirt with the Blackburn logo, a prancing saddlebred, clings to his frame. I blink, focusing on his face but that's just as distracting, his bright green eyes framed by black lashes staring back at me. "Sylvie has definitely taken to heart your advice to give our family an honest try."

Yes. Sylvie. Focus on Sylvie.

I nod thoughtfully. "I think she just needed permission to think for herself. While I won't share what we talked about, I got the distinct impression that her grandparents have force-fed her a lot of opinions that are taking up way too much space in that sweet mind of hers. I don't know the exact history between the two families, but it's definitely playing a role in Sylvie's confusion."

Ethan sighs and glances away for just a moment as the bartender returns with our drinks. He takes a sip from the pilsner glass and sets it back down. "Want a history lesson?"

"Sure." I pull the toothpick of olives out of my first glass and eat one. It's disconcerting the way Ethan's gaze seems to narrow in on my mouth, but then his eyes come back up to mine.

"Back in the mid 1800s—"

"Wait a minute," I interject. "Are you getting ready to tell me that this feud dates back almost two hundred years?"

Ethan chuckles. "Seems a bit ridiculous, right? But yes, it's longstanding."

"Wow," I reply, picking up my glass and taking a sip.

"Quick business history101… our family started breeding and selling saddlebred horses as soon as we settled in this area. We were a small operation until the Civil War started. There was an incredible demand by Union troops for our stock because they had great stamina and were stalwart mounts. The war only lasted four years but it was enough to establish us as the go-to breeder for saddlebreds, launching our business. At the same time, because corn was abundant in Kentucky, the Mardraggons started distilling bourbon, and they were pioneers in aging the liquor in charred-oak barrels. They sold to both Union and Confederate troops and, much like our family, the war helped establish their reputation."

"Bourbon and horses. Certainly there was no business rivalry," I muse.

"On the contrary, both families were prosperous and leaders in the community. They got along well and were set to merge via marriage by my ancestor, Elizabeth Blackburn, who became engaged to Henry Mardraggon."

I put a hand to my cheek to rest my head and sigh. "Young love."

Ethan nods. "Elizabeth was nineteen and Henry was twenty but sadly they never married."

I sit up straighter, my hand falling away. "Because?"

"Because of lies," he replies bitterly. "Rumors started to circulate around town that Elizabeth was having a clandestine affair behind Henry's back. Tempers flared between the families, mainly between the patriarchs, James Blackburn and Edward Mardraggon. Elizabeth was being ruined and Henry stood by her side, wanting to weather the storm, but Edward Mardraggon didn't want his son to go through with the wedding. A horrible and deadly argument ensued between the two fathers."

I wince. "What happened?"

His eyes turn sorrowful. "The two men raged at one another and pistols were pulled. Henry tried to intervene to bring calm to the situation, but two shots were fired. James Blackburn's bullet mistakenly caught Henry in the chest and he died instantly. Edward Mardraggon's bullet went wide, hitting a door."

Hand over my mouth, a sound of distress escapes my lips and my eyes widen.

"Elizabeth committed suicide a few weeks after Henry was buried, unable to handle her grief and still suffering under the ruination the rumors had caused."

"That's so awful," I murmur, dropping my hand.

"Henry's and Elizabeth's deaths are what drove the wedge between the families. Two senseless deaths."

"I know it's irrelevant, but who started the rumors? I mean what was the end purpose?"

Ethan shrugs. "No one knows for sure, but some suspect it was a man by the name of Tommen Mardraggon who purportedly was deeply in love with Elizabeth and wanted her for himself. He thought he'd disrupt the marriage and then swoop in to get her."

"But that's just a suspicion?"

"It was almost two hundred years ago. No one knows for sure, and Tommen is worm food."

"I can see why the families would hate each other. The Blackburns were defending Elizabeth, Henry was killed by mistake and that precipitated Elizabeth's death. It's all so tragic, but to last this long?"

Ethan takes a deep breath and picks up his glass. "Never let it be said that the Blackburns and Mardraggons don't know how to carry grudges well. There's a lot more throughout history that intensified the feud. Throughout time each family tried to ruin the other when there was opportunity, over and over again."

"How so?"

"Land disputes where the Mardraggons used their political power to steal acreage from my family. During Prohibition, we used our political power to deny licenses for the Mardraggons to continue selling bourbon for medicinal purposes. You name it, some sneaky ulterior motive has been levied against the other. I think you're seeing the modern-day version of the feud rearing its ugly head and Sylvie's caught in the middle."

"Except you're not fighting for Sylvie to get back at the Mardraggons."

His gaze pierces into me. "No, I'm not. I'm fighting for her because she is my blood. The Mardraggons, however, are most certainly trying to get the upper hand in this situation. The mere fact that they're filling her head with poison just shows you how spiteful they are."

"I believe you have Sylvie's best interests in mind. I also believe Sylvie is a smart girl with a big heart. She's got a hole in it right now and I think your family is the one that's going to fill it."

Ethan's gaze softens. "Thank you for saying that. For acknowledging and trusting it."

The bartender returns, interrupting our conversation to take our orders. We both go for steak since it's what the restaurant is renowned for in its early stages—a ribeye for Ethan and filet for me.

While we wait for our salads, Ethan asks, "You said Carmen has a sore throat. Will she be able to show this weekend?"

Carmen is scheduled to debut her new horse, Lady Beatrice, which Michelle bought from Blackburn Farms the week before last. "I sure hope so. If it's strep, she's good to go once she starts on antibiotics. Michelle said she'll call me later with an update."

"Are you coming to the horse show? I mean, I know you come to pretty much all of them."

I blink in surprise that he's noticed but try to cover it up with a casual smile. "Of course I'll be there."

"You should come to the after-party Saturday night. There's going to be catered barbeque, a band and a mechanical bull that the kids love to ride on." Is… Ethan asking me out on a date? Surely not, but despite my best protests that I'm not interested in going out with anyone, my heart races. He taps a finger on the bar top. "Maybe we could facilitate some type of friendship between Carmen and Sylvie. I don't know if she's making friends at school, but Carmen is a sweet girl and I think it would be good if Sylvie had someone her age she could pal around with."

My heart plummets. Of course, he isn't interested in me in any way other than for my guidance and help with Sylvie. I brush away the disappointment and put on a bright smile. "I'm sure Michelle would love to invite Sylvie for a sleepover. I bet the girls will be fast friends."

"Even better, I'll have Sylvie at Carmen's next training session and maybe we can convince her to get up on a horse after she meets Carmen."

Michelle and Carmen live outside of Shelby County toward Louisville where we grew up, so Carmen is in a different school system, but she rides at Blackburn Farms three to four times a week. It would be easy for the girls to spend time together and I have no doubt that they'd hit it off. Carmen has a natural empathy within her that would hopefully resonate with Sylvie and give her a friend she could open up to.

I aim to give Ethan additional assurances since Sylvie is truly the only thing the two of us have in common and he's only focused on that. "I've been keeping my eye on Sylvie at school. She's acclimating well and her teachers say she's so bright and engaging. She's actually ahead of most of the students."

Ethan chuckles. "She very proudly told me some of the compliments she's getting from her teachers. I'm thrilled she's a good student because I don't have it in me to fight with her over homework or attendance. So that's one plus."

I laugh. I'll have to give Ethan that one. After all the stressors he's been under the last few weeks, there is nothing wrong with him being grateful to have a small win.

The bartender appears, setting salads and glasses of water before us, breaking the conversation as we unroll our utensils. I busy myself cutting into the lettuce, tomatoes and cucumbers. In the silence, I try to think of more interesting things to say about Sylvie so we don't lapse into awkward silence.

I'm reaching for the pepper shaker when Ethan startles me. "How long were you married to that asshole?"

I'm shocked at the change in subject from Sylvie to something personal in my life.

From a man who generally intimidates and flusters me.

"Married for four years and divorced about a year and a half."

"Was he always an asshole or did that develop later?" I twist my neck to stare at Ethan. It's an intrusive question, but God is it a good one. Whenever I try to evaluate where things went wrong, I replay the timeline of my marriage to see if I can identify if I was a fool from the start or if George changed over the course of our relationship.

"You know," I reply after a pause to reflect, "I'm not sure. But when I think back on our entire history, one thing is clear… George was always self-centered. I think the problem was with me though."

His eyebrows rise before pulling into a frown. "Why would you say that?"

"Because I let him treat me badly and I still tried to make it work."

Ethan's green eyes pin me in place. "So, you weren't self-centered enough."

I chuff a laugh. "That's one way to look at it."

Gaze never wavering, he says, "I think you're the type of woman who gives a lot of herself without expecting anything in return. The problem was in not having a husband who should've wanted to give you all those things, despite you not expecting them."

Something twists in my chest, reigniting every little hurt that George bestowed upon me over the years and I realize… it wasn't just the things he said and did to drag me down, but also the things he never did for me. The lack of affirmations, acknowledgments or actions. George didn't do anything for me.

I try to make light of it. "Lucky for me I found out he was a cheating bastard then, huh?" I turn my attention back to my salad. "Freed me of continued misery."

"Doesn't mean it didn't hurt," Ethan murmurs, and that amplifies the pang in my chest.

Wanting the spotlight off my relationship failures, I turn it on Ethan. "What about you? Ever been married?"

His lips curve upward, his face in profile to me as he stabs his fork into his salad. "Who says I'm not married now?"

"Because you distinctly have the look of a man not married," I tease.

Ethan barks out a laugh as he brings his fork to his mouth, face turning toward me.

As he chews a bite of salad, his eyebrow lifts silently as if to say he needs more than that vaguery, so I provide it. "If you had a wife, I would have surely met her when I came over the night before last. Instead, your mom met me at the door. Do you all live in the house together?"

Ethan wipes his mouth and shakes his head. "I actually live in the house alone… well, now with Sylvie. My parents moved to a cottage on the farm, Kat lives in an apartment above one of the tack rooms and my brothers share a place in town."

"Big house for just you and Sylvie."

"Seems a lot smaller now that Sylvie is there," Ethan replies and sips his beer.

"How come you live in the big house instead of your parents?" I ask, spearing a tomato.

"They're fully retired and travel a lot now. I'm the CEO of Blackburn Farms and it seemed to make sense to them. I used to have a house in town, but I sold it and moved back into the homestead two years ago."

"I can't even begin to imagine what it takes to run the farm. It's massive."

He looks at me as if he's appraising what I've said, before turning back to his salad. His gaze deepens when he says, "I'll give you a grand tour sometime if you want."

I don't reply right away but then respond, "Yeah… sure, that sounds fun."

Before taking another bite of his salad, he asks, "How come you never got into riding the way your sister did?"

From that point on, we don't talk about Sylvie. We don't talk about my asshole husband. Instead, we ask questions, laugh, and get to know each other.

Ethan Blackburn is not what I thought he was. It turns out—and perhaps the martinis play a role—he's easy to talk to, funny at times and has layers upon layers. By the time our meal is finished, and he insists on paying, I feel like I've actually developed a solid friendship with him. He is no longer just an acquaintance or the parent of one of my students. I feel like I could call on Ethan Blackburn if I needed help with something, although I never would. It's not in my nature to ask for help.

We walk out of the restaurant together and Ethan walks me to my little Volvo sedan. He stands back a few feet with his hands tucked into his jeans as I unlock the door and give a friendly wave goodbye as I slide into the driver's seat.

"Drive safe," he says.

"Thanks again for dinner," I say.

"Thanks for keeping me company."

And with that, he walks away, across the parking lot to his truck. That would have been the opportune time for him to ask me out on a date but he didn't, which means he felt nothing during that meal other than perhaps the comfort of new friendship.

Oh well.

That's fine by me.

As I've told my sister, I don't have time to date anyway.