A Cowboy to Call Her Own (Bluegrass Blackwells #1)

Prologue

It was a good day for a race.

Elias Blackwell stood on the flower-bedecked terrace of the Champions Club on the third floor of the grandstands at Rosehaven Downs in Gold Finch, Kentucky. His gaze followed the curves of the wide, mile-long track that glinted like a copper ribbon in the afternoon sun.

Inside the exclusive wood-paneled lounge behind him, generations of horsemen and -women in their pressed finery and spotless felt cowboy hats sipped bourbon and laughed easy. While below, a mix of tourists, locals and avid bettors clutched programs and filled the grandstands.

Movement from across the terrace caught Big E’s attention.

A pair of the equestrian world’s elite with horse roots as deep as the Blackwell family appeared in the open French doors.

Sullivan Connelly and Patsy Richmond owned and operated stables of the same caliber as Big E’s dead cousin, Walter Blackwell.

They all had stories of success, knew the value of digging in, and always raced to win.

Their children had grown up right alongside Walter’s six sons.

Their paths crossed on racetracks across the Bluegrass countryside and everywhere in between.

However, Sully and Patsy were not Walter’s friends.

They were respected rivals. And it did well now that Big E recognized the difference.

Sully strolled over, his exotic leather cowboy boots hitting hollow on the hardwood floor. His smile fell far short of reaching his eyes. “Good luck out there today.”

“Same to you both,” Big E replied then tipped his cowboy hat up to better catch their gazes. “Although Walter once told me that it isn’t luck that takes a horse past the wire. It’s heart.”

And before Walter’s unexpected death one month ago, Big E’s cousin had sworn his colt had the heart to outrun all of them.

Today was the third and last race in the Triple Laurel Legacy Circuit.

And Walter’s horse, Sovereign’s Pride, would find his name and Blackwell’s in the storied history books if the colt won.

There had not been a triple crown winner in the Triple Laurel Legacy Circuit in over forty years.

Not even that had discouraged Walter or shaken his belief.

Big E was there now to honor his cousin’s memory and ensure Walter’s legacy stood the test of time.

“Well, even if Sovereign’s Pride loses today, no one can take away his first two wins.” Patsy brushed her hand over her sapphire-blue pantsuit, the tailoring as sharp as the glint in her green eyes. “There’s consolation in that, I suppose.”

And Big E sensed there would be something more like satisfaction from this pair if Pride came up short. “If he wins today, I imagine the good folks of Gold Finch will have quite the celebration.”

“Plenty of worthy horses have stumbled here at the Rosehaven,” Patsy said, a hint of a smile on her face. “It’s more diamonds in the rough for the Dust and Diamonds Derby. I’ve lost count of the horses with so much hidden promise who failed to shine on this track when it mattered most.”

“The young ones tend to burn too hot, too fast. On account of getting pushed too hard, too soon.” Sully swirled the large ice cube in his bourbon glass and added, “They get here for the Diamond Derby only to fade out by the first turn.”

“Some fires settle deeper and when it’s time, they blaze,” Big E countered and hoped today was that day for Walter’s prized horse.

“It’s been my experience that history does not like to be beaten,” Patsy said, her words smooth and polished like the silver streaked through her hair.

“Or it could be that history has been waitin’ on the right horse,” Big E said casually then touched the brim of his hat and walked away. He spotted Edie Kincaid, one of Walter’s longtime exercise jockeys and the friendliest face in the bunch, near the French doors.

“I can bet you none of the hats in here have seen a day of honest work,” Edie said, her voice pitched low with disapproval.

“Every cowboy has got a hat reserved for big occasions.” Big E chuckled and added, “The kind that tells everyone this day matters.”

“I’m wearing mine now.” Edie pointed a lean finger at her black cowboy hat then frowned and said, “But these around here are worn for show like shiny ornaments, not for life.”

There was certainly prestige and spectacle mixed in with the tradition at Rosehaven Downs. And Big E supposed that was all part of the show and the draw.

“Well, if silk ties and polished shoes are your preference, you’re welcome to stick around here,” Edie said.

“What’s your preference?” Big E asked the straight-talking cowgirl.

“I’m more suited for dirt and saddle leather.” Edie’s grin gleamed in her gaze.

Big E smiled wide. “Where are we going next?”

“To the only place that mattered to Walter.” Edie handed Big E a paddock pass and told him to clip it on his shirt.

Then she led him through the club past the oil paintings of former champions and down the stairs. The air was different at the ground level. Scented with leather and fresh-cut grass and anticipation. The energy was restless and unmistakable.

“The stretch looks longer from down here,” Big E mused.

“Funny thing is most people look at a racetrack and only see a circle,” Edie said beside him. “But for folks like Walter and me, it is the whole of our lives. Where we start and finish.”

Big E supposed the race ended sooner than Walter ever expected, unfortunately. Big E said, “But it’s the stretch between the poles that counts the most. That’s what makes life worth all the dust.”

Yet, when Big E considered Walter and his estranged sons, well, there was more than dust-covered distance there. But today was not about fixing a fractured Blackwell family branch. It was about racing.

Big E stepped to the paddock rail and watched a familiar chestnut colt circle. Sovereign’s Pride danced a little, neck arched, ears pinned, hooves striking sure. There was fire in Walter’s favorite horse, no doubt. His cousin’s colt was proud, confident and ready to blaze.

Then Big E saw the trio of officials heading straight their way.

Two stewards in sanctioned dark uniform jackets and a third that Big E suspected was a state veterinarian trailing behind.

The stewards’ boots cut a sure path across the grounds.

Their faces were set. Their gazes were trained on Sovereign’s Pride.

Tension suddenly thickened the air. Even the crowd in the grandstands seemed to have gone completely quiet as if they held a collective breath. Big E gripped the rail.

Joe Allcott, Walter’s best friend and stable operation manager, lifted his head at the officials’ arrival. His expression fell flat. Words were exchanged, low and intense.

Then Joe met Big E’s stare, his voice tight as if his jaw was locked. “They’re scratching Pride.” A pause or a grind of Joe’s teeth, then the head trainer added, “They claim a drug test came back dirty.”

Dirty. Big E straightened. His grip on the rail tensed.

Edie shook her head. The cowgirl’s words came slow and hard. “Walter would never run a dirty horse. Never.”

Big E agreed. Blackwells did not cheat to get ahead. It was not their way.

“I know it,” Joe said and jerked his chin toward the officials. “But they get the final say.”

Suddenly, there were papers to sign. Words like steward’s scratch and fines and sanctions bantered about. Pride pawed the ground and tossed his head as if he knew what was being stolen from him.

The crowd craned for news; the hushed murmurs leveled up.

A hand suddenly landed on Big E’s shoulder. Big E shifted to find himself face-to-face with Patrick Connelly, Sullivan’s oldest son and current stable operation manager.

“Shame about Pride. Walter always seemed more careful with his horses. Funny how things change when a man’s gone, huh?” Patrick leaned in as if to offer support and said, “Don’t let it weigh you down. At least Walter wasn’t here to see it.”

But the colt had been pulled in plain sight of owners, trainers, fans, bettors and announcers. All eyes were on the Blackwells now and for a different sort of newsworthy story. Big E held his peace and gave Patrick the smallest nod of dismissal.

A woman came into view, her stature petite and her auburn hair coiled in a braid on top of her head. She shook her head sadly. “Bad business, that. Walter was the heart of the stables. Without him, who can you trust?”

With those cryptic words, the woman walked away. She joined Patsy and Sullivan near the stairs leading up to the grandstand where the duo watched over the proceedings. Big E met Sully’s gaze. Sullivan’s mouth curved slightly, not quite a grin and not quite not.

Tipping his hat lower, Big E shifted his attention toward the groom leading Pride back to the barn. Joe and his team followed close by. There was a definite shadow over his cousin’s reputation and legacy now. And unfortunately, the woman was not wrong. Big E was not certain who he could trust.

But he knew two things for sure.

The colt was innocent.

And an attack on one Blackwell was an attack on the whole family.

Nothing for it now. It was time to bring Walter’s sons home. After all, it was about more than Walter’s legacy. The Blackwell family name was at stake, too.