Million Dollar Stud. Meg Lacey

he wasn’t sure he could stand still and listen to it. “I don’t know as much about working crops,” he said diplomatically, “as I do working horses.”

      “Ah.” Tater nodded. “You a horseman?”

      Darcy nodded in turn. “Yes, sir.” It was true he’d ridden and been around horses all his life. Even if he didn’t do any of the breeding and training work on his farm now, his grandfather had made him work on the farm every summer until he was thirteen. He’d avoided it ever since, but what the hell—a horse was a horse! How bad could it be for a month? “Know of any horse farms around here that might be hiring?”

      Tater narrowed his eyes and leaned back, giving him a slow, steady once-over. “Well, I might. I just might.”

      “Ain’t you looking for somebody to help out for a while, Tater?” Lawrence asked.

      Darcy met Tater’s gaze with his steadiest stare, hoping the man liked what he saw, fully expecting that he would. After all, Darcy had been rebuffed by very few people in his life. The strange thing was, he was just now starting to wonder if he’d earned that reaction or if it was given in sheer deference to his wealth and position.

      The man’s eyes, bright and sharp, seemed curiously out of place in his grizzled old face. “That I am, Lawrence.”

      Talk about luck. Darcy was tempted to ask for a job, but restrained himself. His stomach clenched as he waited for Tater to make up his mind.

      A long moment later, the old man rubbed his chin and exhaled. “Might be we could give you a try. I gotta warn ya, though, the pay won’t be great. But we’d be talking room and board.”

      “We?”

      “Harden Braybourne of Braybourne Farm. Harden had an accident awhile back and he’s decided we need some more help.” Tater grinned, revealing a large gap between his front teeth that gave him a peculiarly boyish look. “The operation’s not as big as it was, but we ain’t as young as we used to be, neither.”

      “Getting older happens to everyone, I hear,” Darcy said with a smile.

      “Gotta tell you, Son, I’d be a lot happier if t’weren’t happenin’ to me.” He stood up and extended his hand. “Name’s Travis O’Neill. Most folks call me Tater.”

      “Darcy…uh, Rick Darcy.” He shook the man’s hand. “Just call me Darcy. Everyone does.”

      “Okay, Darcy. Hop in your truck and follow me back to the farm. I’ll show you around and you can tell me about yourself. Then we’ll see.”

      “Didn’t you say Harden was lookin’ for a temporary manager, Tater?”

      Tater nodded, saying slowly, “So he told me this morning.”

      “Oooeee!” Lawrence hit his knee with the heel of his hand. “Silver Braybourne ain’t gonna be happy about that, is she?”

      Tater gave his friend an annoyed glance. “You know, Lawrence, you talk a mite too much sometimes.”

      Darcy was intrigued. “Who’s Silver Braybourne?”

      Tater clamped his hat on his head. “Sylvia is Harden Braybourne’s daughter. Silver’s her nickname.”

      Lawrence laughed. “Name fits her. She’s fast moving, with a temper as hard and shiny as a new quarter. Oh boy, I’d love to be a fly on the wall if you hire this young stallion to—”

      “Lawrence, like I said, you talk too much.” Tater headed for his own pickup, moving at a clip that belied his years. “Saddle up there, Rick Darcy. I got chores to do.”

      “Yes, sir.” Darcy dashed down the steps behind him and leaped into his truck to follow the man to Braybourne Farm.

      Tater O’Neill’s truck picked up speed on the way out of town, leading Darcy up and down gentle hills, past some surprising, jutting limestone cliffs, then through a woods. Just when Darcy was wondering why this was still considered part of the bluegrass area, the woods parted to reveal wide pastures and farms. Tater turned into a driveway. A white gate swung open automatically to reveal a long road that led to a white house, barn and stable complex, all decorated with dark green trim.

      Darcy stared at the sprawling farmhouse. It was slightly shabby, but charming gable windows and a big front porch with flowering vines climbing up the posts made up for that. This place was nowhere near as luxurious as what he was used to, which in itself was a surprising relief. Here he could really be a normal guy.

      His stomach clenched again with anticipation. Something momentous was going to happen; he could almost see the hand of fate…. Then he shook his head, marveling at his idiocy. His cousin would probably tell him that anyone could imagine anything in order to justify doing exactly what they wanted to do. As Darcy stopped the truck near the stables and looked around, he had to agree. He didn’t know what awaited him here, but he was about to find out. He set the brake, jumped from the truck and followed Tater inside the dim barn. The air was cooler in there and filled with the mingled scents of hay, feed and horses.

      “Well, Darcy…” Tater waved his hand. “This here is home.”

      Darcy’s eyes quickly adjusted to the darkness and he looked around. The stables were neat and well ordered, with the names of each horse printed on a decorative board above its stall. As Darcy took stock of his surroundings a few horses came to gaze curiously over their gates. Fewer than he might have expected from the number of stalls. He glanced at Tater.

      “We had a few hard years here and had to sell some of the stock. Hell of a shame.” Tater reached to scratch behind the ears of a glossy chestnut mare. “We had one colt that had wings for feet. He might a’ done the Derby job for us, but…what is, is.”

      “Tater? Tater, have you seen…” A big voice echoed through the stables, followed by a tall, powerfully built, silver-haired man. His left arm was in a cast and he leaned on a cane as he limped down the stable corridor toward them. He stopped and stared at Darcy, his sharp gaze slicing into him.

      Tater stepped forward. “Harden Braybourne, this here’s Darcy, Rick Darcy. Just got into town. Says he knows horses and is looking for work. I brought him out to talk about his qualifications, before we go further.”

      “Hmm…” Harden nodded, his gaze sweeping over him from top to bottom. “You got the look of a horseman, young fella.”

      Suddenly a bit nervous, Darcy met the man’s firm stare. “Thank you, sir.”

      “Been around them long?”

      “All my life. My grandfather was one of the best horsemen I ever knew. I hope I take after him.” And not just in his handling of horses, either. The thought surprised him.

      “Well, do you?” Harden asked in a dry tone.

      “I’m working on it,” Darcy said.

      Harden gave a bark of laughter. “Well, that’s honest, at any rate.” He gave him another long, penetrating look before he said, “Let’s go into the manager’s office and you can fill us in on your experience. Tater probably told you we need some help.”

      “Yes, sir.” Darcy reached to steady Harden as he turned and stumbled.

      “Don’t do that, boy, I’m not that old. I had an accident is all.”

      Darcy pretended to kick something to the side, plastering his most diplomatic expression on his face. “There’s a rock here. I didn’t want your cane to land on top of it and send you sprawling to land on top of me.” He grinned. “You’re a pretty big man.”

      Tater winked at Darcy as he opened a door to the left. “Right in here.”

      Darcy followed the two older men inside, and with an unaccustomed knot in his stomach, prepared to cross his fingers and give a brief and slightly embellished story of his life and career to date. As he answered Harden’s probing questions, he silently thanked his grandfather