Dappled sunlight filtered through a grove of flowering fruit trees, a slight breeze showering those in the garden with white and pink petals. Peyton raised her chin slightly as several landed on her hair and lashes; she smiled like a young child watching falling snow. Nicholas stared at her upturned face, the image caught by the camera lens. Celia resting her head on Gavin’s shoulder as he lowered his head to kiss her hair was captured in the same frame.
Myron lowered his camera and puffed out his chest. Even before seeing the digital image she knew the shots were exquisite. “I’m finished for now. I’ll take some more at the reception.”
Reaching into the breast pocket of his jacket, Nicholas took out his cell phone and tapped several buttons. “I need you to bring the car around to drive us over to the reception area.”
* * *
It was obvious Nicholas had pulled out all the stops to celebrate Celia’s impromptu marriage. The invited guests, seated or standing under white tents, were drinking or talking to one another as a DJ was busy spinning tunes. Several couples were already up on the portable dance floor showing off their fancy footwork. Solar lanterns and gardenia leaves floating in water-filled crystal bowls served as centerpieces for each table.
An outdoor kitchen had been set up on the south meadow with eight chefs preparing cook-to-order meals for nearly two hundred guests. The caterer, with a staff of fifty were kept busy filling water goblets, serving alcoholic libations, taking orders and setting out plates of salad and freshly baked artisan bread.
Nicholas glanced up at the waiter who paused in front of him with a bottle of Perrier in one hand and white wine in the other. “I’ll just have the water.”
The white-jacketed waiter filled the goblet with sparkling water. “Would you prefer red wine?”
“No, thank you. The water is fine.” He noticed Peyton giving him a questioning look. “What’s wrong?”
She blinked. “Are you abstaining tonight?”
Leaning to his right, his shoulder touched hers. “I’m waiting for the champagne toast. Remember we have the open house at your farm tomorrow night and Harridans on Saturday night. You’ve never been to a horse farm open house?” he asked when she gave him a blank stare.
Peyton shook her head. “No. This will be my first year. I’ve spent the last eleven years of my life in school. And that includes college and veterinary school, including an internship and another three years of residency training. As a kid I would always spend the month of August down here, and cry my eyes out when I had to go back home.”
“Had you always wanted to become a vet?” Nicholas asked.
Staring up at him through her lashes, Peyton’s lips parted in a smile. “Always and forever,” she crooned. “I knew I had to study very hard and that meant missing high-school dances and football games.”
His gaze lingered on her mouth. “So, you were one of the smart kids.” The query was a statement.
Throwing back her head, Peyton laughed softly. “I was the personification of a geek.”
“No way,” he countered.
“Yes way. And it paid off.”
Nicholas paused. “There’s nothing better than realizing your dream.”
Peyton heard the wistfulness in his voice. “Have you realized yours, Nicholas?”
He cocked his head, seemingly deep in thought. “I have, but I had to take a circuitous route. Now, what is it you wanted to talk to me about?” he asked, deftly changing the topic.
Drawing in a deep breath, she told Nicholas about her attempts to secure a position as an equine veterinarian at several of the other horse farms but without success. “I’m even willing to volunteer my services.”
“Isn’t your farm large enough to support two resident vets?”
“You’re missing the point, Nicholas. When someone mentions Blackstone Farms’ vet everyone knows they’re talking about Ryan. However, if I were to work for you Cole-Thom Farms would have its own Dr. Blackstone.”
Nicholas draped an arm over the back of Peyton’s chair. “I’d love to help you out, but I have a contract with Dr. Harry Richardson that doesn’t expire until next September. And I wouldn’t feel comfortable having you volunteer your services. That would be exploitation. But, if you can wait a year I’ll be more than willing to consider your offer.”
Peyton breathed out an inaudible sigh of relief. At least Nicholas hadn’t turned her down flat like some of the other owners. She didn’t want to believe it was because of professional jealousy, but competition and rivalries between horse farms was as epidemic as in other professional organized sports.
She smiled. “Thank you.”
Placing his hand over hers outstretched on the tablecloth, Nicholas gently squeezed her delicate fingers. “You’re welcome. Have you decided what you want to eat?” He’d noticed she hadn’t checked off any of her dining selections.
Peyton eased her hand from under Nicholas’s much larger one. She picked up the pencil beside her place setting. “I can’t decide between the prime rib and fish selections.”
Nicholas picked his own pencil. “Why don’t you go for the surf and turf?”
She studied the printed menu. The caterers had listed medallion filet mignon and prime rib for beef selections and broiled salmon, Maryland-style crab cakes and pan-fried sole under fish. Chicken cordon bleu, broiled Cornish hens and herb-encrusted roast chicken were available for those who preferred poultry. While they’d posed for photos the guests were served hot and cold hors d’oeuvres along with specially mixed exotic drinks with and without alcohol. The grits, eggs and fish she’d eaten earlier that morning had managed to sustain Peyton throughout the morning and afternoon, but now she was ready to eat again.
“I think I’m going to have the prime rib and crab cakes,” she said.
Nicholas checked off his choices. “I’m going totally fish tonight. Salmon and sole.”
“After this weekend I know I’m going to have to either fast or detox,” Peyton said. The Blackstones had decided on a cookout theme for their open-house celebration, and she hadn’t heard what the Harridans were planning.
Nicholas had to agree with Peyton. Although he hadn’t officially announced that Cole-Thom Farms was hosting an open house, inviting two neighboring farms to Celia’s wedding reception had become a fitting substitute. He was more than aware of the lingering resentment among several of the owners with farms with racing and horse-breeding histories going back more than eighty years. He was viewed as the new kid on the block who purportedly had enough money to not take on investors.
With the exception of Sheldon Blackstone, none of them knew much about him. Once he’d taken possession of the deeded land and begun the task of restoring the house that would become his permanent home, Sheldon had come and offered to help him in every way he could to make the transition smooth and easier than it had been for him more than forty years ago.
Sheldon had become Nicholas’s surrogate father, mentor and a relentless tutor when Nicholas found himself tested over and over as to different breeds and the finite mechanics that went into horse racing. Peyton claimed she studied hard to become a veterinarian and he’d studied equally hard to become a horse breeder.
Dusk had descended on the farm and light from strategically placed lampposts had come on, illuminating the landscape and turning it into an emerald forest. Strings of lights entwined in tree branches twinkled like stars in the encroaching darkness.
All