Chapter Two
Inside his rental SUV, Asher took a sip of his coffee and sighed.
Proper temperature, full-bodied yet balanced, not too bitter or too sweet.
It was official. The Galloping Fork Diner still served the best cup of coffee from here to the east coast. It was good to know some things had not changed in Gold Finch after all.
As for things that were better than Asher remembered, well, the sunshine in a certain cowgirl’s laugh was a rather refreshing surprise.
Not that Asher could linger, even if he wanted to.
He wasn’t home to make new memories, especially not with the former wallflower turned colorfully carefree chef, Kelley Munroe.
Besides, no amount of sunshine could possibly blaze through his dark cloud of cynicism.
A few miles outside downtown, Asher drove by a set of ornate glossy steel gates with a striking polished steel sign overhead that read Blackwell Stables.
Towering wide, square twin stone columns added to the grandeur of the stable’s main entrance along with the sturdy triple post fence bordering the property that at last count totaled more than two thousand acres.
Top-of-the-line stables, state-of-the-art indoor and outdoor practice tracks and well-tended pastures were not only the core of the impressive horse farm.
They were also the first things visitors saw when they arrived.
You get one first impression, boys. Make a statement and no one will doubt you ever.
Ironic that Asher always wondered what exactly he could have done differently at his own birth.
He was the second-born twin, and his birth order had seemed to make the wrong sort of statement with his father.
When it came to his dad, one thing was clear to Asher.
Walter Blackwell always doubted Asher. Mark my words, son.
You are nothing without the Blackwell name. You’ll realize that soon enough.
Asher stepped on the gas and avoided that potential pothole. For the past eight years, Asher and his dad shared nothing more than silence. He had no intention of arguing with his father’s ghost now. Instead, he opened the call log on his phone and pressed the first name on the list.
His boss answered before the second ring and as was Pierce Rylan’s way, Pierce skipped straight to the point and said, “If you’re calling because you are locked out of the company network, I already know. I told the IT Department to do it.”
“You can’t do that.” Asher frowned at the cell phone. “I’ve got clients and deals in the pipeline. You can’t just cut me out completely.”
“It’s not permanent so don’t be getting any ideas in your head,” his boss replied then added softly, “This is for your own good.”
Asher doubted that very much. Work was what Asher did best. Where he felt his best. “How long are you blocking me?”
“Seven days,” Pierce said, his words curt. “Business days.”
That was the rest of the week and all of the following one, too. Asher flexed his fingers around the steering wheel and turned onto a private road a few miles past the stable’s main gates. He drove through the nondescript wrought iron gates and followed the curvy one-lane road.
“Now go vacation like my wife tells me to do.” Amusement smoothed the edge from Pierce’s words. “Reconnect with nature or some such thing. You’ll be better for it.”
Asher rolled his eyes even though he was alone. The only person who worked more than him was his boss. He asked, “Would you give me access to my work email if I told you I was home? Back in Gold Finch, Kentucky.”
“No,” Pierce replied flatly and without hesitation. “I would tell you to find your cowboy boots and get on with vacationing.”
That was the problem. Asher was not sure how to get on in Gold Finch. He was much better at getting gone. He sighed, loudly and irritably.
“You’ll thank me for this.” Pierce chuckled and added, “No more work texts, either. Send me a photo of you on a horse if you feel the need to text me.” With that last order, his boss ended the call.
Asher parked in the horseshoe-shaped driveway and reached for his cell phone.
Only there were no unanswered work emails to distract him.
He snatched the coffee cup from the console and finished the last of it in one swallow.
He should have lingered at the diner. Accepted Kelley’s breakfast offer.
But he was not home to reconnect, especially not with an intriguing cowgirl chef.
Silence crowded around him. His thoughts tumbled. And suddenly, the already compact rental car became all that much smaller. Asher got out. Only now he was in a face-off with the sprawling single-story ranch house where he’d grown up.
The family rambler needed a fresh coat of paint.
The garden beds a good weeding. He’d bet the last brick on the second step of the front porch was still loose.
Same as it had been since his twin knocked it loose trying a new trick on his skateboard when they were kids.
Their father had assumed Asher was the careless one and the brothers hadn’t bothered to correct him.
Asher blocked the memory before it could trip into another and then another.
He was not there to revisit his childhood, either.
Asher eyed the front entrance. On the other side of the ornate wood double doors was a decades-long collection of family photographs decorating every available space on the foyer walls and extending into the hallway.
Short of closing his eyes, there would be no way to escape walking through snapshots of favorite family moments on his route to the kitchen.
An ache built inside his chest. Making him realize he wasn’t quite as numb as he pretended to be.
Asher veered toward the stone path that led to the detached garages and back door for quick access to the mudroom and far fewer painful flashbacks. Besides, it wasn’t like Walter was there to stop him. That ache expanded.
One rap of his knuckles on the glass pane in the back door, Asher stepped inside and was officially home.
He braced his legs wide and waited for that sadness to engulf him.
It saturated the very air the last time Asher was there for his twin’s funeral eight years ago.
Back then he had struggled to draw a decent breath around the tightness in his chest. Now the air was tinged with a distinct bitterness.
Asher inhaled. Not bitter but rather burnt. He sniffed again. Definitely a burning smell.
Hurrying into the kitchen, Asher found his father’s cousin, Elias Blackwell, and his father’s best friend, Joe Allcott, eyeing a smoking toaster on the kitchen island. Asher asked, “Everyone okay in here?”
“We’re fine, but I can’t say the same for the toast.” Big E frowned and used a pair of tongs to fish out a blackened piece of bread. Shaking his head, Big E chuckled. “I believe this toaster is more vintage than me.”
Joe coughed and waved his arm, dispersing the smoky air wafting from the toaster. “Walter was never much for unnecessary upgrades, especially if they didn’t benefit the stables.”
The horses always came before everyone and everything in Walter Blackwell’s heart and mind.
There simply was very little space left for anything else.
Especially a son who refused to bend to his father’s wishes.
You’re a Blackwell, Asher. It’s time to see if you can prove you know what that means.
Asher knocked the past aside and moved farther into the kitchen.
Joe made his way around the island, shook Asher’s hand then added, “Looks like you made it without any issues.”
The only issue was Asher suddenly second-guessing his decision to come home.
What help could he possibly offer? And judging from Joe’s cool reception, his father’s best friend and the stable’s longtime manager was thinking along the same lines.
Asher cleared his throat and said, “It’s good to see you, Uncle Joe. ”
Joe only gave a small chin dip in acknowledgment of the Blackwell boys’ endearing name for him.
Now Asher knew where he stood. That was to be expected. Joe always sided with his father for as long as Asher could remember.
Big E tossed the toast into the sink and wiped his palms on a towel. Then he shook Asher’s hand and drew him in for a quick, albeit hearty welcome-home embrace. Big E grinned and said, “You’re taller than I remember, son.”
“My mom called me a late bloomer,” Asher replied.
Freshman year of college Asher finally grew tall enough to look his twin in the eyes, and suddenly it became even more challenging to tell the identical twins apart.
Of course, Dylan and Asher used that to their advantage and enjoyed more than one laugh when they had confused friends and family over the years.
What he wouldn’t give for a twin swap right about now. That ache built again.
Asher flattened his palm on the butcherblock countertop decades past its prime and anchored himself in the present. So much time to heal and yet Asher still missed his twin on the daily. He asked, “Did we miss the staff breakfast already?”
“This is breakfast.” Joe frowned and added, “Vicky was poached by Sully over at Connelly Stables. She gave her notice last night. The crew is eating donuts this morning.”
But Vicky was a staple around the ranch and known for her extensive culinary creativity with a Crock-Pot.
There was not a meal Asher could recall that hadn’t been served in a Crock-Pot of some sort whenever Vicky was on duty.
And Asher was always elected the taste tester by his brothers. He scratched his cheek. “What now?”
“Can you cook, son?” Big E asked, hope in his steely gaze.
“Not well enough to feed an entire stable of employees.” His lack of skill aside, the more pressing problem was the collection of outdated appliances and whether any even worked properly. Given the state of the toaster, Asher was betting no.
Joe crunched on the last of his toast and added, “Unfortunately, we’ve lost more employees than Vicky to our rivals recently.”