Kindred Rivals, page 1
Copyright © 2025 by Jordan Lee and Spara Solace
All rights reserved.
No portion of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the publisher or author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.
No part of this book was written with AI
Book cover and design by Lina Ganef
Ebook ISBN 9798999333704
a note from the authors
This is a spicy book, so you can expect to see some explicit, consensual sex scenes between our guys, including spanking. There is some sensitive subject matter, such as feelings of rejection/shame/loss, parental issues, harassment, and mild alcohol use.
such lonely darlings
crack the spine, crease the pages
fly to Everdeen
Contents
1. Ambrose
2. Zeth
3. Ambrose
4. Zeth
5. Ambrose
6. Zeth
7. Ambrose
8. Zeth
9. Ambrose
10. Zeth
11. Ambrose
12. Zeth
13. Ambrose
14. Zeth
15. Ambrose
16. Zeth
17. Ambrose
18. Zeth
19. Ambrose
20. Zeth
21. Ambrose
22. Zeth
23. Ambrose
24. Zeth
25. Ambrose
26. Zeth
27. Ambrose
28. Zeth
29. Ambrose
30. Zeth
31. Ambrose
32. Zeth
33. Ambrose
34. Zeth
35. Ambrose
Acknowledgements
About Jordan
About Spara
1
Ambrose
“Shit!”
As soon as the curse escaped my lips, Emiline winced and asked, “Are you alright?”
“I’m fine,” I muttered as I looked at my throbbing thumb. My sister had been droning on about a man eyeing her at yesterday’s social, and when she’d mentioned who, it took me by such surprise that I’d hit myself with my hammer.
Narrowing my eyes through my dusty glasses, I stood from the ground and glanced away from the chair I was attempting to build. We were outside the old red barn, and a breeze tickled my cheek, blowing off sawdust.
“Jonathan Wilkes? Honestly, Em, you’ve never even mentioned that scoundrel before.”
She only smirked from atop my work table and crossed her arms, her back straightening in that prissy way that showed it didn’t matter what I thought about whom she liked. Her lively, warm, brown eyes and auburn curls matched mine. She was older than me by only a few minutes, as she liked to tease. At twenty-five, Emiline had a better head on her shoulders than myself for sure, having a job she loved and turning the heads of every man who walked past her. She was allowed to do such things without reprimand from our father, so perhaps I was jealous of her freedom.
Even so, I didn’t like her eyeing Jonathan Wilkes. He ran with a few other socialites I didn’t care for, real miscreants of Everdeen. They often hung around the distillery along the river, acting like tough know-it-alls. They weren’t a good crowd.
I bent again and slammed the hammer onto the nail to finish my chair, only for the leg to crack right down the grain.
“Oh, fuck it,” I snapped, setting the chair upright. It wobbled horribly. “Wonderful. Guess we have firewood for tonight.”
I rubbed the back of my sweaty neck and felt a sharp stab of pain from my sore thumb.
“Alright, show me your hand,” Emiline commanded.
I held it out while she slipped off the table with a thump of sensible boots against the packed dirt. Her blue, layered skirts swished as she joined me. A moment later, my hand was in hers, feeling wonderfully warm in ways that made me miss our mother.
Emiline turned my red thumb about. “I’d say you’re a true woodworker. Mr. McHugh would be proud of you. You’ve learned so much working with him, bruises and splinters included.”
I gave her a tight smile as I pulled my hand away. “Yes, well, it isn’t McHugh I’m trying to impress.”
She frowned, knowing well who I meant.
“Father hasn’t set foot in this barn in years,” I went on. “It would be nice if he at least acknowledged something I’ve made.” I crossed my arms as I looked inside the barn packed with handcrafted rocking chairs and stools. There was also a dining set I finished staining last month, collecting sawdust. My best work.
“If only you could open a shop to properly display your lovely furniture.” Emiline sighed from beside me. “That would be sure to catch Father’s eye in your interests. And then you’d be able to turn a profit from your skills.”
Yes, if only. Such wishful thinking. Father would never recognize my talent, and he would never allow me to leave the bank.
I inhaled the damp air to cool the flush from my cheeks and smelled fresh rain. A glance at the sky confirmed dark clouds looming on the horizon. A gathering storm. Good, our fields needed a solid soaking.
It was quiet out here in the beautiful countryside. Far off in the field stood the enormous live oak known as the Everdeen Oak, the marker for Everdeen’s founding over three hundred years ago. Past it, a wide line of trees bordered the river flowing through town. My eyes swept across the horizon, following along until they landed on the faint buildings of Everdeen. The town was far enough that we couldn’t hear the constant bustle, nor see the traffic of horses, carriages, and the rare car, yet close enough to enjoy my walk to work at Somerset and Sons Bank.
When I wasn’t at the bank working, I was here in the barn making furniture. I sometimes even slept in the hayloft, where I kept extra clothes, blankets, food, and books. It was a home away from home.
That made me sound like such a recluse. Maybe I did hide away in the past year. The more I thought about my father’s plans for my life, the more sullen I’d become. One day, I’d be managing the bank, raising a family, and running this entire estate on my own. It was all so daunting.
Better to focus on Emiline’s poor choice of suitors.
“So, Jonathan…” I started, eyeing Emiline closer. “I suppose you like him.”
Her lips twitched. “No, you don’t have to worry. I know all about Mr. Wilkes, and he isn’t my type. I just wanted to stir you up. If he winks at me again, I’ll throw him a nasty look.”
“Good. Maybe pull up your middle finger too.”
She smacked my shoulder in play. “You must really hate him.”
“And his friends,” I muttered. Emiline knew more about me than anyone, but she didn’t know of my past fling with Jonathan’s slimeball friend, Damien Cooligan. “Help me get the work table in before it rains?”
Nodding, Emiline stepped up to the table, and we both hefted it inside the door. Then I wiped the sweat from my brow.
Emiline’s boots crunched over old hay as she stood beside me. “And what about you?” She nudged my arm with her elbow. “Is Father still trying to set you up with a potential bride?” When I nodded, avoiding her gaze, she went on, “Hm, well, perhaps your sister can help you find one? I heard recently that Catherine Wilkes is hoping to wed soon.”
“Really? Jonathan’s sister?” I shook my head.
“She’s the complete opposite of her brother. She even knits mittens for the children at the—”
Before she could finish her sentence, I threw her a sour expression, and she let out a laugh. I knew Emiline suggested Catherine to tease me. “Could you see me with such a pious woman?”
“Well, she is nice,” Emiline added.
Nice? “I don’t want nice.”
“I figured. Then tell your dear sister what you do want.”
“I…” I wanted to tell her that I yearned for a man who made me laugh until I cried and set my heart racing faster than a river in spring, but instead I mumbled the one thing my father had been suggesting to me all week, “I’m thinking about courting Annabelle Winters.”
“Anna?” Her eyebrows raised. “She’s… a good choice. She certainly has a lot of assets, and she’s looking to settle down with someone too.”
Her quick acceptance made me doubt her motives. I rubbed my bruised thumb to avoid her growing excitement. I didn’t feel excited. I actually felt a bit sick. “Yes, the Winters’ land abuts ours, and Annabelle owns it all, so if I marry her, we’ll be the largest landowners in town.”
“Father would love that.” Emiline nodded at the plan, then cocked her head at me. “Although, you do have a choice. You don’t have to marry a woman.”
I closed my eyes, not wanting to broach this subject, yet here we were. “You know how Father is.”
“You mean old-fashioned when it comes to our family bloodline? Yes, I do know…”
“It’s more than that, Em… A Somerset son has carried on our family line for nearly three hundred years. If I break that cycle, he’ll disown me.”
“You don’t know that.”
I eyed her sharply. “I do know.”
“Fine.” Emiline sighed. “But is this what you want, Amby? To follow our family’s legacy, as Father calls it? To continue an outlandish superstition?”
She had a point. But my Father never failed to mention how special we Somersets were. Lords and ladies were a thing of the past, and yet our
We were nothing special. We weren’t blessed. Father happened to inherit wealth, and then he invested that wealth, became a businessman, and basked in the glory. Just like each man before him in our long line of ancestors, dating all the way back to when they arrived in Everdeen with the founding mother.
Still, I could never tell my father all that. I couldn’t bear his disapproval and rejection. My throat tightened as I forced out an answer to Emiline’s question, “Yes, this is what I want.”
Emiline smiled with sympathy. “Alright… Are you going to start wooing Anna at her picnic?”
I hesitated as I reflected on how reserved and independent Annabelle was at social events. Even growing up in school together, we never went past small talk. The idea of entering a courtship with her, the idea of kissing her, made me grimace.
To calm my nerves, I glanced up at the hayloft. Memories flashed through me of when this barn was only an empty place to meet with the boy I’d tried to push to the back of my mind. He’d been so devoted to me, it was hard to let go of him. Humorous, daring, charming. Every time I looked at that loft, a pang passed through me.
But Zeth Washer moved away years ago. There wasn’t room for such memories to resurface with the talk of courting. My duties and responsibilities to my family line were more important than my own desires. For the millionth time in my life, I pushed the memories of Zeth away and resolved to never think about him again.
“Yes,” I finally said, my shoulders slumping with an enormous weight. “I will start wooing Annabelle at the picnic.”
Emiline regarded me with a bittersweet expression, which meant she didn’t believe me at all. She always watched out for my happiness, but I had buried it a long time ago.
Thunder rumbled from outside, causing a stool nearby to vibrate, and Emiline and I both flinched. When the rain began, I rushed over to the open barn doors to watch with her. The wind whipped at our clothes, sending crisp, chilly air around us. Sighing, my twin looped her arm through mine and laid her head against my shoulder.
I breathed in the laden air as we both marveled at the beauty of the long grains and grasses swaying and swishing under the gloomy sky. Rain was so calming, and my heart skipped a beat with excitement at what was approaching.
I loved a good storm.
2
Zeth
“Chin up, back straight, hands relaxed,” I reminded Millie over the slow clop of our rented horses as we rode into Everdeen. My back burned from the long journey, yet I still managed to ease my shoulders and raise my head, because we had a plan. It didn’t matter how many barns we slept in to get here from the City; we would succeed.
However, my sister lost her patience two towns back and slumped into her saddle in rude reply to me. Her split skirt was designed for riding with modesty, but even that was hitched up until Millie’s hem lay above her laced boots, looking all willy-nilly and un-lady-like, damn her.
I frowned at her something fierce.
When she rolled her brown eyes like a child, I looped my reins into one gloved fist and pinched the long bridge of my nose with the other to keep from swearing, just like stopping a sneeze. It only worked half the time. Luckily, this time it worked.
That didn’t stop me from hissing, “You’re the one who came up with this con, so what happened to being a prim miss while I act the rich gent?”
“Well, I’m pooped,” she huffed from under her white bonnet. It was tied beneath her chin and charmingly plump cheeks, all flushed in a pretty way. Her glare wasn’t prim at all. “And annoyed with you. You and your pompous advice.”
“Mils—”
“Where’s my brother? The fun one. I want him back, so please remove that branch from up your ass.”
“Up my—” Inhale. I love my sister, I do. “Mildred Louise Washer, that’s hardly appropriate.”
Her nose squished, and she muttered, “To hell with propriety.”
A deep laugh rose up my chest, and I let it out with a shake of my head. Twenty years with a younger sister felt like a curse some days, while the rest were a delight. I adored her, even if she did rile me up more than average lately.
She was right to think me stodgy. Life gave me no choice. We never had it easy, being on the edge of poverty, and now with Mum gone, too much depended on me. I was doing a crummy job of providing for the last of my family. We barely owned more than the clothes on our backs.
A willful sister only made it harder. I needed to get that through her bonnet-covered head. “God help me, Mils. Behave for once, eh?”
When she leaned sideways to argue, I shot her my sternest man-of-the-house look. I was good at those, always had been, and Millie demurred with a drop of angry eyes. She even straightened into an almost-proper posture in the saddle. Her lacy, white blouse and brown duster fit her curves well. She appeared snitty but proper as we rode along Main Street.
“Thank you,” I rewarded her. Good behavior deserved rewards, and a lady should be complimented, even if said lady preferred to be treated like a man. She hated feminine compliments. That’s when the devil took me, “You know Mils, you look quite beautiful today.”
As expected, Millie’s head popped right up with a glare that promised damnation, and I was most certainly going to hell for enjoying her heated defiance. I chuckled with delight while my shoulders eased into the familiar companionship.
Was it wrong to tease my sister? Probably.
Did I enjoy teasing her? Yes, yes I did.
Grinning, I brushed some trail dirt from my dark blue pants. Our new ensembles came from selling our small apartment in the City. The tailored clothes were expensive and necessary to the con, but that didn’t change how powerful the fancy duds made me feel, as if I deserved to wear them. I loved my jacket especially and planned on buying another like it as soon as I married well.
I needed to marry someone like the owner of the carriage that approached us. Motor cars were the new toys of the rich, yet the glittering display of this carriage’s black paneling and iron trim still demanded respect. Millie and I moved our horses into a single file to make room. Other riders did the same, and the carriage passed with an awe-inspiring spectacle. My, how the rich grew richer while I was away.
Even the old town was bigger and nicer. It was no capital city, like the one we’d left, but judging by the new estates we’d passed entering town, and the bustling inner streets, Everdeen had expanded to at least 15,000 townsfolk. And from the looks of it, a variety of people of different cultures and nationalities were working and living here, sharing in Everdeen’s health and prosperity. It was nice to see my hometown succeeding and her people happy. Hopefully, I could say the same about myself and Millie soon.
We continued clopping along Main Street. Next to me, Millie pulled a folded page of newspaper out of her coat to look over the sketch of the woman featured there. She had done that a lot since she saved the article gossiping about Annabelle Winters’ ungodly wealth and recent visit to the City. We’d gone to school with the elite woman, and reading about her travels since her family all passed sparked Millie’s idea to return to Everdeen—find Anna, con her, court her, and settle into a secure life. I didn’t need to stare at a sketch to memorize that plan. I remembered Anna’s prim-miss appearance well enough.
More interesting was the cute bakery cafe up ahead. It used to be a simple bread shop. Now, it had fancy iron tables painted white set up outside like many of the City’s eateries. Folks dressed as well as us basked in the sunshine and sipped from dainty tea sets. The scents of baking delights we couldn’t afford smelled heavenly.
I savored the aroma with a deep breath and recognized the tall silhouette of the baker standing in the shop’s open doorway. His hair had grayed on the sides, yet his eyes still danced with joy as he clapped his flour-covered hands to clean them. He once knew me as the neighborhood kid who used to drool on his display windows before buying the oldest loaves.
I lifted my new cap to him, as if I wasn’t returning to Everdeen with a bag full of lies. First impressions, and all that. Thankfully, the baker nodded back at me nicely. I don’t think he recognized me now. He even motioned for us to visit his shop.
