Impulsion (Station 32 #1)(3)

Harley looked him dead in the eye. “I have more of my father in me than my mother. And yes, Donald, the butler, was there when we loaded. He likes to give Clandestine carrots and wanted to make sure he had plenty for the long ride.”

Truman’s eyes went wide, and his mouth gaped in mortification. Wyatt burst out laughing at that point. Camille had rounded the trailer just in time to hear her youngest son humiliate her, and she let her hard glare say as much.

“You rode all the way down with him?” Wyatt asked once he had backed out Clandestine.

“Why would I not?” she said as she ran her hand across Clandestine’s neck. Under her breath, she said, “Everything that I own is on this trailer.”

And that was true. She may have had a top-notch education, any clothes and what have you to her name, but all of that was handpicked by her mother, a suffocating mold she was forced to fit into. This gelding. She found him. She was the one that carefully laid out all the reasons she wanted him to her father.

At the time, there wasn’t even a stable at her New York home, but there were ones at the school, and that was a point she used with him. She told him that because her grades were flawless and she already rode at the school that without a doubt the school would board him. Harley ensured she had the history of Clandestine’s bloodline, the name of the finest trainer in New York, every detail in place, literally months of planning before she approached her father.

She had to wait for a moment alone with him. She wanted to look him in the eye when she asked, wanted him to see that this was not some whim, but a well thought out request. Even though Garrison spoke to Harley every day while she was away, when Harley was home her mother rarely left her alone with her father and was obvious about that point. Harley could not figure out how any mother could be jealous of her own daughter, but she was almost positive her mother was.

One day at a charity event, her mother rose to give her speech to the crowd. That was when Harley spoke to her father. She even handed him the file that she had strategically hidden under her place setting. As she made her plea, she caught the glare of her mother from the podium.

Garrison Tatum was well aware of the tension in his family. Though he knew what kind of woman his wife was, Garrison was the type to use every adversity as an advantage, which was why he was so revered, why his wealth had more than tripled in his lifetime.

“Why is your voice shaking, Harley?” he asked her, leaning before her, blocking Harley’s view of her mother. Even though Harley knew she would catch hell for that later, she gave all of her attention to her father.

“Daddy, I’ve never wanted anything this badly before. It feels perfect to me.”

He smiled. It was a warm smile he only gave to her. “Then demand it with reverence, passion, and determination. That makes it yours. Never beg for what already belongs to you.”

At that moment, he clapped just like the rest of the crowd. Harley had no idea if that was a yes or a no. Colleagues pulled her father away before she could reshape her plea in the form he had asked her for.

Not long after that, once the charity party’s entertainment was in place, Harley felt a sharp pinch on the back of her arm. She didn’t bother to make a face or pull away. Instead, she walked with her mother into the house and down the hall to the library.

“How dare you,” Claire Tatum said after she pulled the doors closed. She only barely glanced over her shoulder as the words spilled from her like ice.

Claire Tatum was a stunning woman. She was fit (should be, she had two personal trainers), her deep red hair was pulled into a complicated twist, and her royal blue cocktail dress was fitted and accentuated the diamonds around her neck, as well as the ones on her wrists.

Harley made no point to comment; it would only have made this worse.

Claire turned around dramatically, anger dwarfing her green eyes. “You have humiliated me, your father, and this entire charity event.” She stepped forward, even angrier that Harley had not looked down or even flushed.

In her mind, Harley was hearing her father, him telling her to demand what she wanted. There was always a lesson when she spoke to her father, some hidden message. He was always trying to make her stronger.

Claire was well aware that Harley wanted a horse. Harley’s riding instructor at the school had mentioned it more than once to Claire, and each time Claire would use her fake smile and say something along the lines that she and Garrison would take it into consideration. First and foremost, Harley was at that school to learn, not meddle in the dirt.

“Is that what the finest girls’ school in New York teaches you? That it’s fitting to throw temper tantrums during charities? Maybe I should look into schools abroad.”

Claire Tatum was the second generation of her family to live in the U.S. and often threatened to send Harley overseas for refinement, among other things. Basically, she threatened to take Harley away from her father, but thus far her father had never allowed that to occur.

“I was discussing an investment with my father.”

“An investment? How so? Are you really that na?ve? This little whim of yours will do nothing but cost money. You are already spoiled beyond measure. ”

That statement was ludicrous. Harley never asked for anything, mainly because at a very young age a response like this would come. Somehow, she had taught herself never to show how much she wanted something, loved something—she knew if she did, whatever it was could or would be taken away in some form.