Harnessed Passions Read online

  "What does the doctor say?" Julia found her own voice thick and strangled in her throat as she confronted the situation with both determination and disbelief.

  "He's out lived what was originally predicted," Louise informed her, accepting the tea, Mrs. Lester, the family cook poured for them. She wiped her nose and eyes on the embroidered handkerchief she always kept tucked inside the sleeve of her dress, before taking a sip of the hot liquid. They waited to speak further until the woman had left the room, to protect Victor’s privacy.

  "Isn't there anything we can do?" Julia felt numb; her heartbeat was thrumming between her ears, her hands slightly sweaty.

  "It's too late. I don't think praying would even help at this point. If only he had told us earlier, perhaps we could have done something to prolong his time."

  "Mother, please, you can't dwell on the past, it won't help. What dad has done or hasn't done isn't the issue. We have to face the future and for whatever its worth." The words were spoken, even though the pain and shock inside her began to demand revenge. She wanted to cry, she wanted to scream, to plead for miracles; but as logic threw its voice into the cloud of confusion, she knew there was nothing left to do but prepare for the inevitable.

  "I don't think I can do this Julia," Louise whispered, unrestrained tears streaking down her pale cheeks. "I don't know how your father expects me to just say good-bye after twenty-seven years of marriage."

  "Don't do this mother," Julia whispered softly. The shock had yet to wear off and the pain was still throbbing wildly within her chest. "I think I need a drink," she announced, standing to walk back to her father's den, where she knew a supply of liquor was kept.

  "I'll send a brandy up to you," Louise told her, wiping her eyes and nose on the lace hanky again before continuing. "Why don't you go up and get settled in; I'll have Bridget fill you a warm bath? We can talk more after you’ve had a chance to rest. Your father will be up from his nap soon and no doubt he'll be anxious to see you."

  Julia thought this over for a brief minute, and decided against arguing. A warm bath and a few minutes alone to digest what her mother had told her, was too overwhelming to pass up.

  “Honey,” her mother said, halting her departure. Julia turned and glanced across her shoulder, a frown pulling her brows together above her green eyes.

  “I’m sorry this wasn’t the type of trip you were expecting, but I needed you by my side. I can’t do this alone.”

  “I promise I'll be here for you,” she heard herself saying as she wrapped her arms around her mother again. Julia wasn’t exactly certain why she promised such a heavy vow; she wanted to leave Kentucky as soon as possible, but she had a very strong feeling Boston was slowly slipping through her fingers.

  That evening, after the three Turners had finished their supper, they retired to the sitting room for coffee and dessert; an old tradition that apparently had not gone out of style with her parents. Julia sat quietly beside the open doors to the veranda, watching her father with scrutinizing eyes. Once a very strong, virile specimen of the male gender, Victor Turner now sat weak and withered to a form she barely recognized. Only his bright emerald eyes remained familiar to her. Even the dark, thick mass of hair she used to watch blow in the breeze as he rode toward the open fields, was gone; replaced with silver threads of age. He sat in a wheelchair, struggling to suck air into his lungs, yet acting as if nothing was wrong. As he sat determined to face his own death with pride and honor; the man proved to be stubborn and relentless, commanding the situation to the final moment.

  Her mother had informed her earlier that afternoon, that her father spent his mornings the same as usual; conducting business until he became too weak to continue and was forced to rest. He consulted with several of the more trustworthy members from the stables, made repeated trips to Mayfield on business and often rode in the Dearborn pulled by his favorite stallion Mercury. It would never replace the long rides on the range he would have in his younger years, but it was a suitable substitute.

  Fatigue was the man’s worst enemy these days. He would tire easily and was forced to sit back in his wheelchair to wait for the end to catch him, or the hour in which he would go to bed and pray for a quick and painless release. It just didn't seem possible for this man who sat in front of her, to be her father.

  "Your mother should not have worried you so," Victor told his daughter, as he eyed the older woman who sat next to him in her wingback chair. His expression was stern and for an instant the old Victor was back. Julia looked up, to find emerald eyes sparkling brilliantly at her and forced a reluctant smile to her lips. "I am very glad you've come home, though. I need to speak with you before it's too late."

  "Father you're tired," Julia argued, aware he would no sooner listen to her warnings then he had his own doctor. "Why don't we talk in the morning, after you've had a good night's sleep?"

  "I'm not that tired and I must speak with you, before I die. I have to explain what has happened." The man's anxieties made his breathing quicken and his hands shake. Julia stood and walked to the chair beside him, laying a gentle hand on his arm in an attempt to calm him down.

  "I've left you co-ownership of the Stables," he continued with a deep breath. "You must assume my role at the annual sales this fall. I know it's not much time for you to prepare, but I'll help all I can before I go. I've briefed my attorney, Daniel Browning and he's promised to help you when the time comes. I trust Daniel; listen to him and take his advice. He's a smart man, Julia, and he knows what he's doing. If you have any questions or problems, he's the one to turn to." Victor looked very pale as he struggled for air; his lungs rattled in his chest as he struggled to speak, making his voice sound barely above a whisper.

  "You must promise me this," his breath sounded strangled in his throat as he continued on. "Don't give up the ranch; it's all we have, it's what we are," he gasped several times before he slowly regained his composure. Julia's brows pulled together in a deep frown as she watched the old man's attempt to keep the air flowing within his weak lungs.

  After several long, agonizing minutes, he spoke to her again; this time in soft whispered tones. "This ranch, it's your heritage Julia, and Jeremy's. Please don't let me down." His lungs began to rattle again and Julia's frown deepened. "Promise me Julia. I have to know you'll be there for me. I must know you'll keep the family's future going. Promise me!"

  Julia couldn't bear to see her father like this, but she didn't want his legacy to fall on her shoulders either. She had her own designs for life and they had nothing to do with Kentucky or the family horses. Looking at the desperation in his eyes she knew she couldn’t deny him this one last request; could she?

  "I'll do what I can father, you know that, but I don't know anything about breeding horses. I barely know the difference, between a filly and a gelding."

  "You'll learn," he gasped softly. Louise’s slender brows furrowed with concern for her husband’s weakening state as she placed her small hand across his larger one. "I had to learn, just as my father did and his father before him. You can do it, honey. You have to try, I need you." Realizing how weak her father had become over the last few minutes, Julia felt she had no choice but to surrender to his demands; which she did, reluctantly.

  "I promise," she vowed, knowing she sounded less than enthusiastic, or convincing.

  "There's more," he told her, through gasps of forced air. "In the past four months, we've lost two good studs to snake bites and another two had to be shot after they broke out of the stalls. We found them both with broken legs, up on the ridge. Now I've got three mares and a colt down with colic from moldy feed. It's not unusual for things to happen, but it's rare considering the staff I have to watch the place. What's worse, I think I know who's doing it."

  "Who?" Julia’s frown deepened; if he knew who was causing all the events, why didn’t he tell the sheriff?

  "I don't want you to worry about it. I'll take care of it before I die; but I thought you'd better be aware of it."r />
  “You’ve spoken enough for one night,” Louise insisted.

  "You need to rest father," Julia added firmly as she stood and walked behind the man, pulling his wheelchair around the settee while she pushed him toward the doorway. "Thompson will take you to your room and I'll talk with you more tomorrow." She kissed his shallow cheek gently and nodded for the black man, who was waiting just outside the door. Julia watched Thompson disappear down the hall with her father, listening to the door to his room close.

  It was bad enough she had to promise her father to assume his role in four months’ time, but then to be informed there was someone deliberately trying to sabotage the stables just seemed like icing on the cake. Not exactly what she was anticipating, when she returned from Boston.

  When she turned back to the quiet family room, she found her mother still occupying the area. Her silver and black hair had been pulled back into a formal bun, just like she always wore at meal times to avoid getting the long tresses in her food. Her delicate frame was draped in a tailor made dress of burgundy taffeta, that covered her from wrist to toe. Only the white lace around the cuffs and high neck allowed contrast in the deep rich color. Her tiny feet were void of shoes, much as Julia's were and she reclined on the settee near the fireplace, a small glass of sherry in her hand.

  "I wish you hadn't let him go on so," Louise offered sternly. "He grows weaker each day."

  "I didn't exactly have a choice in the matter, mother.” Julia walked to the liquor cabinet and poured a glass of sherry before returning to the seat by the open door of the veranda. “He just kept on talking, even when I tried to get him to stop. He's just a stubborn old bastard."

  "Don't talk about your father that way," the older woman snapped. "He deserves more respect than that."

  "No, he doesn't," Julia growled, her voice rising slightly as her temper increased. "Did you hear what he just did to me? He's always tried to control my life and now he's done it. I left Kentucky to avoid him doing exactly this. The next thing you know, he'll have me married with twelve kids, just so he can rest in his grave and gloat."

  "Julia Dennese!" Louise gasped.

  "I'm sorry mother," she apologized with a heavy sigh. She felt like a mad dog at the throat of its helpless victim. "I didn't mean that, it's just that I didn't expect any of this. I thought I was coming home for a visit; spend a few days riding the horses, visit some old friends and back to Boston. What am I supposed to tell Aunt Lena and Uncle Rupert? We had plans of traveling to New York this summer once the new baby arrived. What am I supposed to do now? I promised I'd be there when the baby was born; Lena trusts me, she relies on me. Damned it, mother, I like things the way they are...were."

  "Julia, have you ever thought that maybe, just maybe coming home for a few months would help you out of the rut your life is in?"

  "What rut, mother? I like my life the way it is."

  "What you like is that there's no challenge or risk involved. You need a change, maybe take a long leisurely vacation with a handsome, stimulating man. Would that be so bad? Good Lord girl; your life's surrounded by taking care of another woman's children instead of your own. How exciting can that be?"

  "I'm tired mother," Julia insisted with a clenched jaw as she stood suddenly from her chair. She was hoping to avoid this argument with her mother; it seemed to be the main topic of conversation whenever she came home or received a letter.

  "I'm going up to bed and I swear if there’s a merciful God in heaven, he’ll let me stay there until hell freezes over." Louise opened her mouth to speak, but closed it again when her daughter turned a narrow stare on her. "I don't want to talk about it anymore. I like my life as is and I'm going to keep it that way come hell or high water." With that said she turned on her heel and left the room and her mother to watch her departure in silence.

  Like every room downstairs, Julia's room was exactly as it had been when she last saw it five years ago. Pink curtains still hung across the doors that opened onto the small veranda. Her matching bedspread now lay across the hope chest at the foot of her small brass and the crisp white sheets had been pulled down over a pale pink and white patchwork quilt. The pink rug appeared new and the smell of paint still lingered in the room to assure her the white walls had been repainted, but besides that everything was just as it always had been…pink and outdated.

  Julia sat down at the vanity, looking around the room through the reflection in the mirror. God, how she hated the color pink, she thought. She remembered arguing with her mother for weeks over decorating her room. She wanted bright green, maybe even blue, but eventually her mother won out and she was stuck with pink. She moaned as she looked through the open door to her private wash closet; even it was pink. It was enough to make a grown person cringe with nausea.

  Sighing deeply, she reluctantly surrendered to the fatigue that had been threatening her stamina all afternoon and climb into her bed, slipping between the clean, cool sheets. All she wanted was a long, undisturbed forty-eight hours sleep. But since this wasn't possible, she'd settle for a little peace and quiet.

  Chapter Three

  Victor's condition continued to deteriorate at an alarming rate, as the days that followed Julia's return was filled with compact lessons on horses and feed. He kept his promise to her however, devoting his mornings to teaching her everything he could in the amount of time he was given. They went over basic horse breeding - or horse sense, as her father liked to call it; customer lists, invoices and grooming techniques, feed storage and even shoeing.

  Everything was brief, yet condensed enough for her to get the jest of it, leaving Julia to carry around a ledger in order to keep track of all her father crammed into her brain. She was amazed that she never learned any of this when she was growing up. She spent her entire life on this ranch and had no idea the depth of detail that went into each and every aspect of a horse’s life.

  It was on one such day, after Victor became too weary to continue with her studies and retired to his room; that Julia decided to take her pent up emotions out on the familiar fields where she used to ride as a child. She ordered Patty, the Irish immigrant who worked in the stables, to saddle her chestnut mare, Biscuit. She rode out to the open pasture, urging Biscuit into a hard run. The wind whipped her long dark hair loose from its silk restraint, allowing it to fly wildly behind her. The sun shone on her creamy complexion, burning her cheeks a delicate pink. She laughed aloud, riding as though the world no longer existed, feeling the freedom she could only experience on Biscuit's back.

  The smell of hay and manure filled her lungs and the sound of birds flying overhead did much in lifting her mood. She felt alive and free for the first time in weeks; no thoughts of death, no worries of trespassers and no confusion of whether to leave or stay. She was alone and happy and continued to ride until late into the afternoon.

  When she returned to the stables shortly before supper, she felt relaxed and ready for her next lessons with her father. She led Biscuit into her stall and gave her a generous bag of oats, patting her neck as she began to eat. Unable to locate the mare's brush, she bent and gathered a handful of clean straw to rub the horse’s coat down with. Her hand had just clutched a fistful of the sweet smelling hay, when she developed an odd awareness of being watched. She glanced behind her and noticed the man staring at her with a strange smile on his tanned face. Julia straightened to her full height of five feet, five inches and tried to look dignified - especially considering she had only moments before offered the man full sight of her rear end.

  He was very handsome, more than six feet tall with straight blondish-brown hair held back in a leather restraint at the nape of his neck; his skin was deeply tanned, which told her he spent a great deal of time outdoors. If it weren’t for his expensive dark blue suit and waistcoat and crisp white shirt, she’d have assumed he was one of the stable hands. His hands were folded across a rather large chest and he leaned leisurely against the post of the stall, watching the woman’s every move.

/>   Julia felt a heat radiate from the man's eyes, even before she saw the deep, rich turquoise of their shining splendor. So odd the combination, it took her by surprise and she found herself breathless as she tried to pull herself under control.

  As intent as she had been with her inspection, the experience was shared equally by Daniel's own examination. The woman in front of him couldn't possibly be Julia Turner; she was nothing of what he had mentally envisioned. She was far too young to assume the position her father was placing her in and far too delicate. He guessed the woman to be no more than twenty-two or twenty-three, although he'd never actually asked Julia Turner's age before. She was very beautiful and much slimmer than he had pictured; as well as being very well endowed. She had the sort of body, every man secretly dreamed of possessing.

  Her long dark hair hung loose across her shoulders and down her back, to settle at her waist in a disarray of tangled ringlets. She wore a red velvet riding habit and her hands were void of the gloves she had moments before tucked inside the waistband of her breeches. She displayed the perfect picture of the pampered princess he had heard about, rather than a horse breeder's daughter.

  Daniel walked toward her with a smooth, calm step so intentional it sent chills of anticipation running along Julia's spine. She noticed his finely chiseled features as he approached. His sculptured straight nose and firm jaw line, his deep-set turquoise eyes and his full kissable lips were a silent invitation, beckoning to her. She shook herself hard; she didn't even know who this man was and already she was beginning to imagine what it would be like to kiss him. For all she knew, he could have been 'Billy the Kid', himself. In a three-piece suit, her subconscious asked?

  "You have an excellent way with horses," Daniel stated seductively; his tone deep and rich like warm chocolate pouring over ice cream, soothing and stimulating her at the same time. His accent was slightly less noticeable as it had been when he first arrived in America, though it was there and unmistakable.