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feet. “ Gracias , Mister Strong. Come on Hershey,” he shouted back before dashing off to the back of the stable, presumably to find his father.
    Hershey, who was particular about what action she chose to partake in, just stood there and watched the little boy run off before she trotted over to her pile ofblankets in the corner of the tack room.
    “Lazy girl,” Kahron teased, as he walked into the tack room to retrieve his custom made black leather saddle.
    Hershey just settled deeper into her blankets.
    Kahron laughed as he walked back out to Midnight. He grunted slightly as he saddled his horse, stroking the deep ebony of its powerful neck, its mane long, flowing, and just as black. Moments later, comfortably mounted on the horse’s back, Kahron went trotting off to help the set of men repairing fence, his thoughts heavy on how ideal the King property would be ideal for expansion of his business.
     
    “Whassup, Bianca.”
    Bianca stiffened in her father’s arms at the sound of her stepmother’s voice. Giving her father’s wide expanse of body one last hug she step back to look around him at the second Mrs. Hank King… Trishon.
    Fifteen years later but still young at thirty-five, Trishon was an attractive woman. A bit fuller at the waist, hips, and breasts, but only three years Bianca’s senior. Still, she and Trishon had never been close friends growing up. They ran in different circles, but both knew of each other well.
    “Hello,” Bianca said, barely forcing civility into her tone.
    Bianca didn’t miss the diamond cluster ring sparkling from the woman’s fingers or the casual designer clothing—things Trishon never had until she met and married Hank King.
    Kanye West’s song “Golddigger” suddenly played in her head.
    Trishon’s eyes glittered, but she smiled nonetheless.“Hank is so excited about your visit,” she said, stepping forward to stand next to him and stroke his arm.
    Bianca knew that being a woman would mean giving this woman respect. As much as she hated it, this was Trishon’s home—she was the lady of the house—and that meant giving her at least that much respect.
    “I’m glad to be back, Trishon. Thank you for your hospitality,” Bianca said, forcing a smile to her full Angie Stone–like lips.
    Bianca looked up at her father, thinking it was good to see his wide handsome face again, and wishing she didn’t smell the faint scent of Crown Royal. “I’ll have to make you a pot of my homemade stew that you used to love, Daddy.”
    He smiled. “I would like that.”
    “I cook for him but he doesn’t eat very much,” Trishon said, her tone clearly defensive.
    Bianca felt irritation nip at her. “We’ll just see if both of us can’t nag him into eating,” she offered lightly.
    “Right now I’m headed to run an errand,” Hank said, pulling Bianca to his side for another quick hug. “I’ll be back later.”
    Bianca was confused and her face showed it. “But, Daddy, I just got here and don’t you think we need to talk?” she asked, even as he continued down the stairs.
    “We’ll talk when I get back. You and Trishon visit or go shopping or something.”
    Hank climbed into his battered pick-up truck and Trishon flittered down the stairs behind him.
    Bianca watched as he leaned over to pull his wallet out his back pocket and handed some bills into her eager hands.
    As he drove away, Bianca felt like that same teenager whose father ignored her all over again. The first timehe saw his daughter and already he was off with something else—anything else—to do. She released a breath as if to release the pain and disappointment she felt.
    “Trishon, I’m just going to head up to my room,” Bianca said, jogging down the stairs to pop the trunk of her vehicle to remove her suitcase.
    “Actually, I, uhm, converted your old bedroom into my dressing room years ago,” Trishon said, folding the money he gave her to push into her brassiere.
    “Oh, okay, well, please show