Kentucky Groom
Kentucky Groom
Bluegrass Reunions
Series
By Jan Scarbrough
Resplendence Publishing, LLC
http://www.resplendencepublishing.com
Resplendence Publishing, LLC
P.O. Box 992
Edgewater, Florida, 32132
Kentucky Groom
Copyright © 2010, Jan Scarbrough
Edited by Wendy Williams
Cover art by Rika Singh
Electronic format ISBN: 978-1-60735-138-2
Warning: All rights reserved. The unauthorized reproduction or distribution of this copyrighted work is illegal. Criminal copyright infringement, including infringement without monetary gain, is investigated by the FBI and is punishable by up to 5 years in federal prison and a fine of $250,000.
Electronic release: March 2010
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and occurrences are a product of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, places or occurrences, is purely coincidental.
Table of Contents
Chapter One
Villa Montalvo
Near Silicone Valley, California
“Aren’t you going to kiss the bride?”
Jay Preston turned to find himself eye to eye with his father’s new wife. Tall and willowy, his stepmother was drenched in white satin, lace, and diamonds. A froth of tulle circled her upswept blond hair like a halo. She smelled of Giorgio perfume and carried a crystal goblet of champagne.
He shrugged his shoulders. “Sure.” Jay had always been a peacekeeper.
The woman’s red lips, tasting of wine, were warm and inviting, assailing him with inappropriate demands. She was his stepmother, after all, only three years his senior, and young enough to be his sister. As the kiss lengthened and his belly twisted with disgust, Jay realized once again this woman was nothing but trouble. And trouble he didn’t want.
“Easy, son.” His father’s hand grasped his shoulder, breaking the unseemly contact, much to Jay’s relief.
Shrugging off his father’s hand, Jay stepped back to be replaced by Carter Preston. With a paunch protruding over his red cummerbund, Jay’s father looked silly in his formal, white tuxedo, starched white shirt, and red bow tie. His reddish gray hair was thinning, and he looked every bit his fifty-something years. Nevertheless, the old man looked happy, turning his smiling gaze on his only son.
“Find your own woman,” he said with a rude wink, seeming not upset by the kiss. He turned his back, sweeping his new wife away as the orchestra played a Strauss waltz.
Jay watched them, knowing from experience that his father’s apparent happiness was transient.
The tinkle of the new Mrs. Preston’s laughter grated like fingernails on a chalkboard. He turned away. Why had he allowed Carter to talk him into coming to the reception? Was he as much caught up in the corporate game as Carter’s other executives who were also in attendance?
Jay declined champagne offered by a white-coated waiter and slipped into a vacant corner of the room. Sitting down, he raked his fingers through his hair and allowed the laughter and music of the wedding reception to settle around him.
How many was it now? Five? The new Mrs. Preston was the fifth bride, all blonds. Jay pondered how she could trust a man like his father. A man who had gone from woman to woman, seeking some form of happiness he never found.
The newlyweds twirled around and around to the lyrical strains of music and the approving applause of guests. Jay recognized the look in his stepmother’s eyes. He had seen it before.
Greed.
The hunger for money and the power it provided, all satisfied by his father’s wealth. Could that be the real reason she’d married him?
As the music ended, the smiling couple separated. A business acquaintance joined his father, clapping the white clad back and pulling his old man away possessively.
Always time to discuss business.
It was a Preston trait that had haunted Jay all of his life.
Now that he was deeply involved in Carter’s company, Jay realized he hadn’t inherited the same characteristic. Business was beginning to irritate him like the sound of the new Mrs. Preston’s laughter.
Drawing his lips together into a straight line, he observed his stepmother gliding through the guests as if she hardly touched the floor. The superiority in her step was evident. The arrogant lift of her chin and her condescending glances, looking down her nose at her guests, told Jay so much. The French had a term for it.
Nouveau riche.
It made him nauseous. Like a revolving door, women had paraded through his father’s life—except for his mother Martha, Carter’s first wife.
“Hello, Jay,” a tiny voice said.
Jay dragged his gaze away from the party and looked down into the wide hazel eyes of his little sister. Her bronze red hair and fair complexion reflected his coloring. Her straight nose, a mirror of his own, was dusted with freckles. Jay grinned at her, glad again he didn’t have freckles, for although they looked cute on a girl, they would have looked silly on a man of twenty-five.
“Hi, Glory.” He opened his arms.
“My name is Gloria Preston,” she said with her pert mouth pulled down into an indignant frown, but she climbed into his lap anyway.
Jay encircled her in his arms. She smelled of baby shampoo and chocolate cake.
“How old are you now, Miss Preston?” He rested his chin on the top of her head.
“Eight, and you know it.”
“I forgot,” he said in defense.
She snuggled closer to him, and he tightened his hug.
“I rode my pony today,” Gloria told him.
“Hmmm,” he murmured into her hair. “Did you have a good riding lesson?”
She nodded. “Carter said he would get me a five-gaited pony or an equitation horse when I learn to ride well enough. You know, like the one you used to have. And he said I could go to horse shows.”
“Good for you.” Jay gave her a squeeze.
“They’re cutting the cake,” Gloria observed matter-of-factly.
“I see that.”
Which wife was Gloria’s mother? Number three? Jay had conveniently tried to forget that fact too. But he remembered he had liked Gloria’s mom. She was sweet. Not like wives two and four.
Crap.
How sick that sounded. Ticking off his father’s wives as if he were counting sheep. He felt sorry for little Gloria, growing up without really knowing her father.
Hell.
He felt sorry for the fatherless child he had once been, even though he would never admit that to anyone.
“How did you get here?” he asked, wondering why his sister appeared to be without a chaperone.
“Carter sent his limo,” Gloria replied with a happy wiggle. “I gotta leave at nine ‘cuz it’s my bedtime.”
What had his father been thinking anyway? Dragging the little girl to his wedding reception without someone to watch her? Carter’s irresponsibility disgusted but didn’t surprise him.
“Ladies and gentlemen, family and friends,” the new bride cooed into the orchestra’s microphone. “We are so glad you could share with us the happiest day of our lives.”
“What’s her name?” Gloria turned her big eyes up at Jay.
“Lori, I think.”
She looked away. “She’s pretty. I hope I’m pretty like that when I get married.”
Gloria’s innocence turned Jay’s heart. “You’re pretty right now, sweetheart.” He kissed the top of her head.
The bride giggled into the microphone as a crowd gathered around the newlyweds, making it impossible for him to see them. It didn’t matter. He knew the routine.
“Do you want a piece of cake?” Gloria’s hair was silky soft.
“I had some already,” she admitted. “The caterer gave me some. He made extra. It’s chocolate.”
“Oh.”
His sister was certainly self-reliant. She might appear timid, but she got her way most of the time. She did with him, anyway.
A smattering of laughter and applause resounded through the reception area. The deed was done. The old queen was dead. A new queen was crowned. Long live the queen!
How cynical he had become.
“Friends, come and enjoy.” Now his father spoke into the microphone. “And then join us on the dance floor.”
The orchestra struck up a very poor rendition of “She Loves You.” Somehow the strings just couldn’t replicate the throbbing sound of guitar chords or the Beatles’ strident singing. Holding hands, Carter and Lori tripped onto the dance floor like a couple of kids. They began to fast dance, throwing their arms into the air, laughing and staring into each other’s eyes. What was it? The Watusi? The Jerk?
Hell.
His father was stuck in a nineteen sixties time warp and wife number five went along with it.
Jay gave his sister another small squeeze. “Want to dance?”
“Sure.” Gloria jumped from his lap, took his hand, and together they navigated through the guests to reach the dance floor.
With dainty steps, she was a good little dancer. Jay felt like a klutz, but he gave it his best.
“They don’t have any good music,” Gloria complained.
“Yeah.” He nodded in agreement and plowed into the back of another dancer.
“Excuse me!” Jay looked around to see a stately, silver-haired woman beaming at him. “Mrs. Chapman, I was born with two left feet. I’m sorry.”
The woman smiled in response and touched his arm with a bejeweled hand. “That’s quite excusable, Jay dear. You have other talents.”
“Yes, ma’am.” She was making light of his clumsiness. For that he was grateful.
Squeezing his arm once, the woman turned back to her partner, her words loud enough to be heard over the music. “That’s Carter’s son. The smart one. He created Sampson.”
Carter’s son—the boy genius who had bypassed college, going right into his father’s company after high school, the kid who someday would own the multimillion dollar Preston Computer Corporation in San Jose, California.
The pit of Jay’s stomach twisted just as he twisted his body to the rhythm of the music. Skipping college had worked out better than he could have foreseen. Developing systems had come naturally to him, just as horseback riding had been easy years earlier. By putting him to work, Carter had been forcing him to prove himself. And he had done just that by creating Sampson, the wonder software that now resided in every Preston computer on the market.
Part of Jay was smug about his success, but another part, the emotional part, wished his father could accept him for himself. It was almost as if Carter expected him to demonstrate time and time again that he was worthy of the Preston name.
Glancing at the newlyweds who danced nearby, Jay wondered if the Preston name was anything to be proud of.
The music ended. Sweat had broken out along his brow. He grinned down at Gloria.
“Care for some punch?” he asked with a sweeping flourish of his hand toward his sister.
“Sure.”
As the strains of another waltz began, Lori and Carter blocked their path.
“May we exchange partners?” Lori queried, casting a coy glance at Jay.
“Gloria?” Carter inclined his head and held out his hand.
“Sure.” Eyes sparkling, the little girl smiled up at her father.
It hurt Jay to watch the excitement in Gloria’s face. He remembered how, at that age, he had relished the crumbs of attention his father used to throw his way.
Father and daughter stepped away in the awkward imitation of a waltz. Jay found himself face-to-face with his new stepmother.