Sage Duke Novels & Stories

The bootmaker had informed Eastland that his new ward had very slender feet for a youth, and the Duke had seemed to find that irritating, too. Smith had Black saddled and ready, and was standing with him inside a railed enclosure, next to the stable. She strode toward the big black stallion with firm steps. She could see the duke from one corner of her eyes as he stood talking with Pym, the head groom, who was attired in a soft tweed jacket and felt hat. Eastland was bare headed, and the sun glided his head with a golden sheen that made her breath catch. He was really too handsome to be as arrogant and hateful as he was. And of course, he was English instead of American.

Despite it not even being officially opened, most units had already been reserved. Duke entered the conference room with his usual composed air, greeting each board member with firm handshakes and a confident nod. His father, Douglas Sandoval—imposing at fifty-six, still sharp as steel and as elegant as ever—was already seated, going through a thick pile of documents. Despite the passage of years and countless socialite temptations, Douglas had remained fiercely loyal to Duke’s mother, something that didn’t go unnoticed in their circles. “Congratulations, Duke. You nailed it.” Mr. Calvin Buenavista smiled and extended his hand.

Duke’s name flashed on the screen. Ryder sighed, grabbing it. “Yeah?” I couldn’t hear the other end, but Ryder’s jaw tightened. “Got it,” he said finally, and hung up. “What happened?” I asked. “Nothing bad,” he said, though his voice was flat. “Just a lead on Marcus’s last contact. Duke wants me down at the yard.” He reached for his jacket. “Be careful,” I said softly. “Always.” He gave me that signature smirk. “You just make sure to eat breakfast."