Chapter Ten
Thorne
The rain has been relentless for three days straight. I'm leaving the kitchen with my second cup of coffee, headed toward my office on the third floor, when Madison's voice carries from the living room. It’s loud enough that I'm certain she wants me to hear.
"If I have to spend one more day cooped up in this house, I'm going to lose my mind."
I should keep walking. Her boredom isn't my problem. But I pause in the hallway. Maybe it's the echo of my own restlessness after three days of being trapped inside that stops me. Or maybe I'm hoping to see Ivy. Or maybe I’m just a glutton for punishment.
Whatever the reason, I change course, stopping in the doorway of the living room.
Madison is sprawled dramatically across the leather couch.
Through the window behind her, water cascades off the slate roof, creating a curtain between the house and the rest of the world.
Not that we've ventured beyond the estate since we brought the blackmailer here.
"I've read every book I brought with me. Twice," she continues, clearly aware I'm there now but not looking at me.
I lean against the doorframe, coffee in hand. "You're welcome to find entertainment elsewhere."
"Where, exactly?" she asks, the edge in her voice sounding too much like our father. "Since I'm basically a prisoner here. You won't let me go anywhere."
“I’ll let you go to New York,” I remind her.
Madison glares at me. As if I care.
“Thorne,” Ivy warns from where she’s curled up in the wingback chair, laptop balanced on her knees. She’s more of a workaholic than I am, and has been working since finishing our pre-dawn swim—something that has become our routine since she interrupted mine almost a week ago.
I turn, meeting her disapproving gaze with a shrug. It's not my job to make the kid comfortable. It’s my job to keep her quiet until we fix my father’s mess and get rid of her.
“My friend is going with a group to the movies,” Madison says, sitting up.
“Absolutely not,” I cut her off.
“I wanted to stay here because of my friends—”
Folding my arms across my chest, I snark, “I thought it was to get to know your father’s side of the family.”
She mirrors my stance. “I’ve been stuck with you. I need a break.”
“Then take it. In New York.”
“Nope.” The little brat pops the p, which annoys and amuses me. “Nobody knows I’m staying here,” she argues. “Ivy could drive me there, and I’ll keep telling them I’m staying at a hotel while the guardianship is finalized.”
“Bluegrass county is a small place with a big mouth,” I say. “You sneeze in Bardstown, and someone in Louisville offers you a tissue.”
Ivy lets out the delicate snort and looks up from her screen. “That was almost poetic, Thorne.”
“I have my moments.”
“Very few of them,” she retorts, but there’s a hint of a smile playing at her lips.
“Please,” Madison implores. “I’m bored. I want to see my friends. They probably think I’ve disappeared off the face of the earth.”
"That's exactly what they need to think for now," I say firmly. "Until we figure out how to spin this, the last thing we need is some media frenzy over my father's illegitimate daughter staying with me before I've even told my mother.”
"Wow, thanks for the reminder," Madison says, her voice dripping with teenage sarcasm. "I almost forgot I was the family embarrassment."
Ignoring her, I continue, more to myself than her. “I’ve been trying to reach her. But she's not answering my calls.” I've left three voicemails and sent twice as many texts. Nothing.
"Maybe she doesn't want to talk to you," Madison retorts.
"Maybe," I agree, taking a long drink of coffee. "But that doesn't change the fact that this conversation needs to come from me. She deserves to hear about you directly, not discover you're living under her son’s roof through the grapevine because someone sees you getting out of one of my cars.”
“Then go to her house. My three months are ticking away.” Madison persists. Then she glances at Ivy. “Unless you changed your mind.”
Ivy sighs. “Madison—”
“Don’t tell me I can make new friends in New York,” Madison whines. “I’ve lost my mom, and now I have to leave behind everything because their dad killed her.”
I’m tempted to tell her he crashed because her mom was sucking his dick, but even I have my limits. Instead, I say, “Oh, now he’s my father, not yours.”
Madison rolls her eyes. “Sorry if my daddy issues are interrupting your brooding schedule,” she quips, and I choke on a laugh.
“Kid, we both have daddy issues. He gifted us all with two things: issues and his blue eyes.” I take a sip of my coffee and point outside with my cup. “Do you want to stay inside and have a pity party or go out?”
Ivy’s eyebrows shoot up. “Out where? You just said—”
“Not to town. The property. The ATVs.”
Madison’s perpetual scowl is momentarily replaced by interest. “ATVs? Like, four-wheelers?”
“The rain’s let up enough,” I continue, not sure why I’m even suggesting this. Maybe to end the endless complaining. “The trails will be muddy as hell, but that just means it’s more challenging.”
Ivy’s brow furrows, her lips pressing into a thin line. “I’m not sure that’s a good idea.”
“Why? Are you afraid of a little mud?” I challenge, directing the comment at her rather than Madison. The last thing I need is the teenager thinking I’m trying to bond with her.
Ivy narrows her eyes. “I may have grown up in New York, but I'm a Kentuckian first.”
“Prove it,” I challenge.
“Fine,” she says, shutting her laptop with a decisive click. “Give us ten minutes to change.”
I nod and they leave. What the hell am I doing?
The last thing I want is to play tour guide to the half-sister I never asked for.
Yet, forty minutes later, three ATVs are parked on the side driveway.
The clouds have lifted slightly, though the air remains heavy with moisture.
Puddles dot the drive and sprawling lawn, reflecting the gray sky.
Madison stands a few feet away, her neck twisting slowly, taking in the sprawling property. She squints at the horizon, then studies the ATVs. I can see my father in the analytical way she takes everything in, calculating its value. It sets my teeth on edge.
"You can use that one," I tell Madison, pointing to the smaller vehicle. "Helmet's on the shelf."
She approaches it tentatively. “Why do you have three?”
“The one you’re using belongs to Patricia’s ten-year-old daughter. I let them keep it here.”
“Did you ask if we could use it?”
I dip my chin and look at her. “Oh, now, you’re worried about stepping on people’s toes?” Before she can retort, I tell her, “It was a gift from me, but yes, I asked.”
I give them a perfunctory overview of the controls, keeping my instructions clipped and businesslike. Madison listens with obvious reluctance, while Ivy pays attention with the same focus she probably gives legal briefs.
“When we reach the trees, stay on the marked trails,” I tell them. “If you get lost, which would be difficult to do since the entire property is fenced, follow any trail downhill and you'll eventually reach the main house. Any questions?”
Madison raises her hand like she’s in school. “What if it starts raining harder?”
“Then you’ll get wet,” I deadpan.
She glares at me. “You’re kind of a jerk, you know that?”
“Never said I wasn’t, kid.”
“I’m not a kid,” she shoots back.
“Could have fooled me with the dramatic sighing and pouting.”
Ivy steps between us. “Alright, enough. Are we doing this or not?”
I turn my attention to her. Ivy’s jaw is set, nostrils slightly flared, and there’s a dangerous spark in her eyes that sends an unexpected and unwanted heat through my chest.
Damn it. Why can't she be like the others, my interest fading as soon as the sweat cools from our skin?
“Follow me if you can keep up. Or don’t. I’ll be back in an hour.” I put on my helmet, turn the key and hit the ignition, the engine roaring to life. I take off, mud spraying behind me.
In my side mirror, I see Madison hastily jam on her helmet before following, clearly determined not to be left behind. Ivy brings up the rear, her caution evident in her slower start.
The trail winds through the woods at the edge of my property, a route I know by heart.
The recent rain has turned parts of it into a slick obstacle course, adding a level of difficulty I welcome.
Anything to burn off the restless energy that’s been building since my father’s death brought me back to this place.
Three years in Quebec bought me distance. One car accident dragged me right back into the Kentucky mud I'd escaped.
So why am I literally playing in it and enjoying myself?
I take the first steep hill at full throttle, the ATV catching air slightly as I crest it.
Madison, I note with reluctant admiration, doesn’t hesitate to follow.
Ivy’s right behind Madison, and my chest tightens.
Gone is the buttoned-up lawyer. This woman leans into curves with ease, her body moving in perfect rhythm with the machine.
The fearless stranger I met on the train, before complications, before surnames mattered, is on that ATV.
I slow down at the next turn, allowing them to catch up. When they do, Madison’s face is flushed with exhilaration, visible even through the mud spatters on her helmet visor.
“This is cool,” she admits, sounding like an actual kid.
I don’t acknowledge the comment, and I nod toward a fork in the trail ahead. “That way leads back to the house. This way,” I gesture to the right, “goes to the ridge.”
“The ridge?” Ivy asks.
“Best view of the property,” I say. I didn’t come out here to play tour guide, but the idea of going back holds no appeal, so I let them pick. “Your choice. Back to the house or continue on?”
“Ridge,” they say in unison.