Chapter One
“If you want the job as manager of Seven Hills Horse Farm, it’s yours.”
Standing in the doorway of her father’s office, Ashley Meljac gaped in horror as her dad offered her job to a man in a black T-shirt and tight-fitting jeans that were molded to a very well shaped backside. She’d asked for the job four years ago and her father had refused because she’d just come home after losing half her trust fund to an opportunist she had married, but he’d promised that she’d get her shot someday. Since then she’d more than proven she’d learned from her marriage mistake and she wasn’t letting her dad off the hook of his promise.
“What are you doing!”
His green eyes wide with surprise, Gene Meljac sprang from his seat behind the heavy mahogany desk. Wearing jeans and a T-shirt, he was dressed almost the same as the man with his back to her, but compared to the tall man in the black jeans, Ashley’s dad looked short and stout.
“Princess! I thought you weren’t home.”
“Well, I am,” Ashley said, striding across the mustard-colored Oriental rug beneath the tan leather sofa and chair in front of her dad’s desk.
“Ashley, this is Rick Capriotti,” her dad said hastily. “Rick, this is my daughter, Ashley.”
Stetson in hand, Rick Capriotti politely faced her. His black hair casually fell to his forehead and brushed his shirt collar as if he’d forgotten his last trim. His blue eyes were so pretty they seemed almost too feminine in a face with chiseled cheekbones and a slightly crooked nose.
Those intense blue eyes caught her gaze. “Your daughter and I already know each other.”
Ashley took a breath, ignoring the sexual sparkle in his beautiful eyes. She wasn’t one of the legions of Calhoun Corners co-eds who had spent their high school years giggling after the mayor’s two bad-boy, heartthrob sons. She only knew Rick because she had been the freshman assigned to tutor him so he could pass American Literature in his senior year. He’d expected her to fall at his feet with hero worship and ghostwrite his midterm paper and any other papers he needed for the class. She’d insisted on actually teaching him. So he’d asked for and gotten another tutor, but from that day on he’d harassed her and teased her every chance he got.
Yeah, she was thrilled to see him.
Especially since she wanted the job that he had been offered and she intended to get it.
She faced her dad again. “Why are you giving him my job?”
“I’m not giving him your job,” her father assured her as he scrambled around his desk to catch her hands. “I’m hiring Rick to run things during my vacation. I’m taking more sailing lessons, remember? Advanced lessons that require the commitment of some real time. I won’t be home until February.”
Ashley said nothing, still smarting over the fact that her father had chosen to spend Christmas away from her. She knew he was head-over-heels in love with sailing, but he was breaking the pact they had made to always spend holidays together. When he’d told her about the trip and she’d reminded him of their pact, he’d told her that he hadn’t forgotten the sleepless snowy night right after her mother and brother were killed when he’d promised she’d never be alone. He simply felt they were both beyond the grief, and they should be moving on with their lives.
She’d retreated then, telling him it was fine for him to spend the holiday sailing. She’d have plenty to do. She wouldn’t, but she also wouldn’t tell him that on a lost bet. She didn’t think he’d understand that buried in his argument for moving on was the fact that his plans clearly didn’t include her. That hurt just a little too much. So she’d consoled herself with the knowledge that someday she’d run this farm, and that being intimately involved in the process and with the people would make it even more her home, but now it appeared he was breaking that promise, too.
“Besides, Mr. Capriotti isn’t looking for permanent employment. He just needs a job for a few months while he considers his options.”
As her father turned to walk back to the chair behind his desk, Ashley flicked a glance at the man in question and just barely held back a snort of disbelief. Right. She wouldn’t believe anything Rick Capriotti said. He hadn’t been just a kid who smashed mailboxes and deflowered virgins like his brother, Jericho. Rick was a finagler. When his dad took away Jericho’s car as punishment, Rick was the one who got the class nerd Eric Brown a date with a cheerleader in exchange for the use of Eric’s wheels. Rick was the one who sweet-talked two girls into providing alibis for him and his brother when the distributor caps went missing from all the high school buses before the first day of class in Jericho’s senior year. Rick was the one who talked teachers into grading on a curve and talked himself out of detention. More than that, though, despite the fact that his family hadn’t been wealthy back when Rick and Jericho were in high school, Rick had never, ever been without money.
Rick was somebody who figured all the angles and got exactly what he wanted when he wanted it. Now that Ashley thought about it, he was Calhoun Corners’s equivalent to her scheming ex-husband. Which meant she really did not want him anywhere near her family’s fortune.
“But you told me that I could take over the farm,” she said, grabbing her father’s forearm to stop him before he reached his chair.
“I said someday you could take over the farm. Not today. You’re not ready.”
“How do you know? You’ve never given me a chance—”
“You’re an accountant?”
At the deep-voiced comment from the man she was trying to ignore, Ashley quietly said, “This is none of your concern.”
“I’m sorry,” Rick said, so polite Ashley wanted to shake him. “But it is my concern. A lot of people who live on farms like this one don’t realize the behind-the-scenes work that goes into keeping them afloat.”
She glared at him. “I studied business in college.”
“But you’ve never used those skills,” her father reminded her gently. “And Rick’s right. You haven’t seen half the behind-the-scenes work. You ride, you care for your own horse and you might even talk shop with Toby, but you don’t know the intricacies that go into keeping this farm successful.”
“Because you haven’t shown me!”
“And now I’m leaving,” her father said, as if she’d just made his argument. “And Mr. Capriotti will handle things.”
Turning away from Ashley, Gene put his hand on Rick’s shoulder. “Let’s introduce you around this morning. Then you can jump right in tomorrow.”
“Tomorrow!” Ashley gasped.
“Yes, I leave tonight.”
“I thought you were leaving next week! When did your plans change? And why didn’t you tell me?”
“Sweetheart, my plans just changed yesterday.”
Ashley’s chest tightened. His plans had changed the day before? Twenty-four long hours ago. He could have told her last night or at breakfast. Yet he hadn’t. Since his last visit to the Bahamas, he’d been consumed with sailing. With him giving up control of the farm, not caring that he spent the holidays away, and forgetting to even mention his change of plans, Ashley had to concede that he wasn’t “moving” on; he’d already “moved” on.
Which made her all the more determined that she wouldn’t lose control of the farm. If she had nothing else in her life, at least she’d have the farm to keep her busy and give her a sense of home.
“I’m sorry,” she apologized because she had to get this situation in hand and she had to do it now. “I know how excited you are about sailing. But that’s all the more reason for you to teach me how to run the farm.”
Her dad smiled.