Dear Reader,
It has been a real pleasure to take part in the THOROUGHBRED LEGACY continuity series. I love working with characters who are interconnected, whose lives branch out in so many ways. It echoes life, in that everything we say and do matters and touches others.
Though I enjoyed getting to know Patrick, Bronwyn and especially Wesley, the character who most intrigued me was matriarch Louisa Fairchild. I love that she is able to share her life experience with Bronwynâand that this influences the choices Bronwyn makes. Also, it was fun to be able to introduce Marie LaFayette, whom you will get to know better in the next book. She is a woman of heart; I canât wait to know her secrets.
I wish you great joy in reading the last books in this seriesâas much delight as I hope you experienced reading the earlier stories. To you, all good things.
Sincerely,
Margot Early
It was hot, a March hot where the heat came up from the bitumen in visible waves. Bronwyn and ten-year-old Wesley rode in the front of an ancient Toyota truckâ no air-conditioningâand it was broiling. Bronwynâs straight dark red hair blew dankly around her face, her skin stuck to her khaki slacks and the ripped vinyl upholstery, and Wesley was crying.
He was crying about Ari of course. Because Ari was dead. The only father Wesley had ever known had been in prison for his involvement with a crime syndicate. Heâd been murdered in prison.
Sweltering, and certain the Vietnamese driver of the Toyota had emigrated too recently to have much English, Bronwyn spoke freely. âPlease donât waste another tear on him, Wesley,â she told him, which wasnât something she would have said if her once-white blouse hadnât been pasted to her body with sweat, if they hadnât spent almost an hour crawling behind another ute on the winding road with no chance to overtake. Instead, she couldnât restrain the impulse to tell her only son not to mourn Aristotle. âIn fact,â she added, âitâs his fault weâre in this fix. Itâs his fault you have to move away from your friends and go to a new school.â Once again, nothing sheâd have said most days.
She spared a look at the tearful boy and past him to the driver. Mr. Le at the Asian market in Sydney had found this man for her and imparted the information that his name was Nam and he would drive the three hours to the Hunter Valley, her destination. Wesley sat wedged in the middle of the front seat between Bronwyn and Nam, head down. His hair was lighter than Ariâs and without even a hint of Bronwynâs auburn. Nor were his eyes like Ariâs dark chocolate ones; they were hazel, not Bronwynâs green. Just those wild recessive genes, Ari.
Yes.
Wesley held his soccer ball in his lap. He wore his shin guards and cleats and a child-size Socceroos jersey. He had others, as well, other teams, other countries. His dream was to be a professional soccer player. Better than a footballer, in Bronwynâs opinion, even if Ari had owned a football team. Wesley had picked up the soccer thing from Ari, who had bought him a child-size Manchester United uniform. In any case, Bronwyn had never wanted to discourage her sonâs dreams and now regretted that he was going to have to experience practicality the hard way. Not as hard as the way sheâd learned as a child, though.
âAnd,â she continued, forgetting that sheâd meant to comfort him, âyour last name is Davies.â
âItâs not.â He spoke under his breath, but Bronwyn heard.
âLook, Wesley,â she burst out. âI know this isnât fun, but weâre going to a place full of people who are probably willing to die for their horses, and Iâd rather not share the last name of a man who is known to have been involved with doping them.â
âWhat does doping mean?â
âGiving them drugs. So theyâll lose or win orâI donât know. But I do know that the name Theodoros is not going to be a passport to anyoneâs friendship at Fairchild Acres.â
Wesley bounced his soccer ball on his knee, and Bronwyn put her hand on top of it. âDonât do that. Youâll cause an accident.â
âDaddy doesnât have anything to do with the horses at the racetrack. He told me.â