Blades of Bluegrass

by D. Jackson Leigh

  “Sure. It’ll come out eventually, so I’d rather give it to you than have somebody else write it and maybe get it wrong, because the IRS is going to eyeball really close where the money came from.” They’d have to be careful with the money transfers so it didn’t appear Pop had bought his own horse.

  She ran through the story, from his bloodlines to the auction, then answered his questions. She asked and trusted him to leave out the part about Pop deciding to use her trust he administered to throw in with Marianne because she would have approved it anyway. But she let him use the part she’d kept secret from her family—the several million she’d made investing her own money and had added at the last minute to hold off the other high bidder. When she was packed and the interview done, they headed downstairs.

  “You okay if I run with this tonight?”

  “Do me a favor and check that Marianne is okay with it first.”

  He smiled and held out his hand. “I talked to her before I chased you down. She said the same about checking with you. Good luck, Britt. Hope to see you in the winner’s circle next year.”

  “Thanks, Emmet. I have to warn you, though. I’m going to turn my phone off for the rest of the night. I know once you break this, everybody else will be calling to confirm it.”

  He grinned. “Won’t hurt my feelings if you put them off. That just means they’ll have to credit my story with the news.”

  He headed out, while she dropped off her room key and asked them to email her billing receipt for tax purposes, then made a quick side trip to the vending room for a bottle of water. Britt was surprised to hear a familiar voice when she passed a hallway that led to some private dining rooms. She cautiously peeked around the corner, relieved to see General Banks had his back turned as he held his cell phone to his ear.

  “I’m telling you, Story is headed back to the farm. So, you call your bait and tell her to get her cute ass out there and get to work.” He was quiet for a minute. “No. All you or she needs to know is that Story holds me responsible for something that happened way down my chain of command. Women just aren’t reasonable creatures. That’s why they shouldn’t be in the military. Now tell her to get out there and keep Story on the farm and out of DC until those hearings are over.”

  Britt turned and nearly ran for the door.

  “Hey, thanks!” The valet traded her keys for the twenty-dollar bill she held out. She answered with a nod, jumped into the truck, and sped off. Her mind spun into overdrive, stopping and starting, flashing from one thought to the next.

  That night in Louisville, had she been stupidly courting the enemy? No. Nobody could fake what she’d seen in Teddy’s eyes. Could they? Did she? Had her father been a part of this, too?

  * * *

  The knock at her door was little more than a courtesy, because Colonel Winstead didn’t wait for a reply before opening the door and stepping inside. Teddy hit the print key for the second time as he closed the door behind him. Instead of greeting him, she turned her back and gathered the papers in the printer’s tray, along with the last few spitting out into her hands.

  “Teddy.”

  “Sir.” She stapled four pages together and held them out to him. “Captain Britt Story’s rehab is complete. Her wound is healed, and she has adapted well to the standard prosthetic arm provided by the Veterans Affairs Medical Services. She still suffers, however, from common symptoms of PTSD, so I cannot recommend her either physically or mentally fit to return to any MOS that would require her to be deployed in combat zones. All of that is in this report.”

  “Isn’t your report premature, Lieutenant? She’s just begun working with our project.”

  “She has informed me that she will not continue with the army’s project to create bionic soldiers, sir.”

  “I think General Banks made it clear that you aren’t to stop until you convince her.”

  Teddy stapled, then held out the rest of the papers in her hand. “I’m requesting a transfer, volunteering for deployment.”

  “I won’t approve it.”

  “If you don’t approve it, then I intend to report myself to the medical board for an ethics violation. I’m sure it will mean I’ll lose these nice captain’s bars I just got, but it would also get me transferred out to Alaska or a desert somewhere.”

  “Ethics violation, my ass. You and I both know you’ve never even failed to put a used needle in the proper medical-waste receptacle.”

  “I slept with her.”

  Colonel Winstead stared at her for a long, silent moment. “You slept with Captain Story.” It was a statement, not a question.

  “I did.”

  “But you are so goddamned pissed at General Bank’s suggestion that you do it again, you want to transfer out or turn yourself in to the medical board and sabotage your career.”

  “He wanted me to use the…the bond…between us to persuade her to do something she feels is wrong.” Teddy straightened her shoulders and looked him in the eye. “I will not do that.”

  He held her gaze until she felt his stare too penetrating and looked away. “I felt like something was off between you two at the session with Will today. Has she gotten too attached to her therapist? Is that it? We both know you’ve had to deal with that before, Teddy.”

  She shook her head, involuntarily glancing at Shannon’s photo and mentally cursing the tears filling her eyes.

  “You’ve become attached to her.” The soft words came from Tom, her mentor, the man who had flown with his wife at the last minute to serve as witnesses at their wedding. The man who’d been a second father to her when Shannon’s death had left her crippled with grief. The man who’d cleared the path for her to exit the army as an enlisted medic and reenlist as an officer with a degree and double certifications.

  “I love Shannon.”

  Tom turned and closed the blinds to shield them from surreptitious glances that’d been cast their way since General Banks had stormed out. Then he wrapped Teddy in his arms. “Teddy, honey. We all know that. But you’re still a young woman. I know Shannon wouldn’t want you to be alone the rest of your life.”

  “When I married her, I promised to love her forever.” Teddy wanted to still be angry with him, but she needed him and his connection to Shannon right now.

  He hugged her a little tighter. “I was there and heard her promise the same. If it’d been you, not her, attacked by that suicide bomber, would you have wanted her to spend the rest of her life alone?”

  “No.” Her voice sounded small, even to her. “I wouldn’t.”

  “I’m going to tear up those papers, and I want you to delete that transfer request out of your computer.” He gave her back a few rubs before he released her and stepped back. “I’ll do what I can to protect you. Banks is only one star. I’ve got a few other generals I can call on if it comes to that, but I’m not sure how willing they’ll be to take on Senator Story if Banks is his boy.”

  * * *

  Britt didn’t stop at her usual spot to pay homage to Story Hill Farm. Mysty had been there, a lean, gray figure in the gathering dusk. The mare whinnied a greeting, then ran along the fence when Britt didn’t stop the truck.

  Pop stood on the porch, watching as she parked and got out, grabbing her suitcase from the backseat of the crew cab and closing the door with her hip. “You gonna bring in your mare and feed her?”

  “Jill should have done that before she left.”

  “Brock called and said you were on your way home. I told Jill to leave her out for you.”

  “I didn’t stop.” The steps seemed like eighteen instead of six, and she plopped her suitcase onto the porch when she reached the top. “And why did he call?”

  “He said you were really tired, and he was worried about you falling asleep at the wheel.”

  “I’m not just tired, Pop. I’m drained.”

  “You want to talk about it? I got two rocking chairs right here, and it won’t take but a minute to grab a couple of mugs of coffee.”

>   “Thanks.” She surprised herself and Pop by stepping forward and pulling him into a long hug. They were the same height now, his frame shrinking with age and hers still in its prime. “I do want to talk, but tonight I just need to chew on it all and get some sleep.”

  He hugged her back. “You don’t have to carry this alone. Anything we talk about stays between you and me.”

  “I know, Pop. I couldn’t do without you.” She gave him another squeeze before releasing him and stepping back.

  “I can tell you what you’re going to do without me.” His blue eyes were bright in the dim light. He pointed toward the barns where Mysty’s whinnies still echoed across the paddocks. “You’re going to march down there to feed and put that big-mouthed mare to bed.” He peeled off the flannel-lined vest he wore and held it out for her. “Here. It’s getting chilly already. I’m going inside to watch my shows.”

  She snuggled into the vest. It was warm from his body heat and smelled of Old Spice and horses, her favorite scent. “Anything to eat?”

  “Lynn left some beef stew in the fridge for you.” He picked up her suitcase. “I’ll leave this at the bottom of the stairs for you.”

  He didn’t need to remind her of the unwritten rule on a farm where the cheapest horse was worth thousands of dollars and the most expensive worth millions. Horses eat first.

  “Thanks. I’ll be back in a bit.”

  Britt detoured through the barn where Mysty was assigned, where she checked her stall to make sure it had clean bedding and a full water bucket. That was another rule. Never put a horse in a stall without checking first. Mice were a persistent problem in barns where some horses liked to look around while they ate and dribbled sweet feed as they chewed. It wasn’t often, but sometimes a mouse would climb up to drink from a water bucket, fall in, and drown, fouling the water. Britt poured Mysty’s nightly measure of sweet feed into her bucket, then reached for her halter and lead. Rethinking that move, she replaced them on the hook and walked to the paddock where Mysty still called for her.

  “Hey, hey. What’s all the racket? Are you mad because everybody else has had dinner already?” She went to the fence, expecting Mysty to show her usual impatience by staying by the gate to clang the metal shoe on her hoof against it. Instead, Mysty abandoned the gate and came to her. She nuzzled Britt’s cheek, then rubbed her long, slender head against Britt’s chest. Britt’s throat tightened at the mare’s care to be gentle, rather than butting Britt in her normal manner. Britt kissed the soft hair on the hard forehead. “Come on.”

  Mysty followed Britt down to the gate and stepped through when Britt opened it. She knew the routine—which barn, which stall was hers—and should have trotted off to her waiting dinner. But she waited while Britt closed and latched the gate, and she remained still when Britt leaned against her shoulder and scratched Mysty’s withers.

  There were no flag-draped caskets, no barking generals, no betraying fathers, no heart-breaking therapists here. Just warm, silent support from this big mare she’d raised from a skittish baby. She didn’t need to read the scientific studies to know that horses can read and recognize human emotions. She’d grown up with them, and their body language was clear. She breathed in the horsey scent she loved best and finally let go, sobbing her torn and confused emotions into Mysty’s shoulder. The mare reached back and held the tail of Britt’s vest in her mouth, something she’d been prone to do as a foal—like she was holding on to her person.

  The night was growing darker around them, so Britt pulled herself together, wiping her face on her shirt and giving Mysty a final hug. “Thanks for that. Now let’s both get some dinner and sleep.” Mysty bobbed her head as if she understood and walked with Britt to the barn. They didn’t need a halter or a lead, because they were forever tethered by that invisible bond between horse and woman.

  * * *

  Teddy dialed Britt’s number again and hung up when she got voice mail. They needed to have this conversation in person.

  She’d called the hotel and asked that they ring her room, but the desk clerk said Britt had already checked out. Damn, she wished she’d gotten E.B.’s mobile number. The only landline at the farm was in the office. She knew that during office hours, that line forwarded to E.B.’s mobile. But between five thirty in the evening and eight in the morning, those calls forwarded to a voice-mail system.

  She dialed again, deciding to leave a message after all.

  “Hi. This is the voice mail of Captain Britt Story. At the tone, please leave a message.” The tone sounded, and a robotic voice recited: “Voice mailbox full.”

  Teddy threw her phone onto the sofa in her small apartment. “What the hell’s going on?” Her frustration had been building all day, and she was at a boiling point. She snatched the television remote from the coffee table and flopped onto the sofa, next to her phone. She clicked the television on, anything to distract her from the thoughts churning her brain and her stomach. Maybe she’d watch one of those house-rehab shows. She liked those. She’d clicked through several channels when a photo of the Keeneland auction on the eleven o’clock news stopped her.

  A video of a colt and the auction ran on-screen, the announcer talking about a near-record sale at the Keeneland September Yearling Sale today. Although it had been reported earlier that South Carolina trainer Marianne Woodard had won the colt with a bid of twelve million dollars, the news just breaking was that she was not making the purchase for a consortium of investors as rumored, but for only two people—herself and Britt Story, granddaughter of the breeder E.B. Story of Story Hill Farm and daughter of Sen. Brock Story.

  “That was Britt’s news. She bought Home from War.” Wow. No wonder her voice mail was full. And Teddy had crapped all over her good news. She’d freaked out that morning and was silent during the drive back, then didn’t stay for the auction. Then when Britt had showed up for her appointment, Teddy had left her sitting in her office until Britt finally just left. If possible, her shoulders slumped more than they’d been all day.

  She had been hip-deep in shame that morning when she imagined she’d seen Shannon in the hotel lobby. Tonight, she felt hopelessly tangled in a political web and drowning in regret for how she’d treated one of the two most wonderful women who’d ever entered her life.

  Teddy sighed, turned off the television, and slumped into the curve of the couch. Her gaze wandered around the room while her mind tried to organize the disjointed events of the day—making love to Britt, not attending the auction, Britt’s amazing therapy session, getting the subpoena, missing a visit from Alisha, being promoted to captain, being threatened by General Banks, her conversation with Tom. She focused on the spine of a photo album sticking out from the line of books on one shelf and got up to retrieve it.

  It was filled with photos of her and Shannon. Boot camp, then separate advanced training, but at the same military base in Georgia. Pictures of their first leave together, rough camping because it was cheap at a state park on the beach. There were lots of photos of them in bars, beers in their hands, and one of Shannon diving off a cliff while Teddy stood below with her hands covering her face. More than one showed Shannon geared up for a patrol, heavily armed and deadly sexy.

  Shannon had been her beautiful wild child. She liked to party, ride motorcycles, and seek thrills. She was a fierce, brave, and talented, but mission-to-mission soldier. She didn’t want any job that involved paperwork or planning. She just wanted to take point every time her patrol went out or swoop in and save the soldier pinned down by crossfire. The wild child in Shannon had attracted Teddy.

  But Britt was all that, too, and more. She was responsible, smart, a great leader, brave, noble, and so beautiful. She was an adult with a solid foundation and a plan for her life. She was so tough on the outside but sweetly vulnerable on the inside. That combination completely disarmed and charmed Teddy.

  Yes. She was in love. But the odds were against them.

  She didn’t know but was beginning to suspect the natu
re of Britt’s beef with General Banks. Somehow, Teddy had found herself tangled in the same mess and saw no way to predict how that would turn out.

  If Britt could free herself from the army, Teddy would be relocated in about six months to Fort Bragg or DC, and Britt would be here in Kentucky. Teddy’s enlistment ended next year. She hadn’t given it much thought until now, but her experience would easily translate into the civilian job market. Besides, now that she’d had a taste of military politics, she wasn’t sure she could choke any more down.

  It was nearly midnight, but she pushed the speed-dial for Britt’s number again. Voice mail. Still full. If Britt wouldn’t answer, her only option would be to drive out to the farm. She wasn’t ready to do that. Not yet.

  First, she needed to clean up some of the mess her life had churned up in the past twenty-four hours.

  Chapter Nineteen

  Britt first became aware of the rhythmic throbbing of a motor that both pulled her toward consciousness and lulled her back into a deep sleep. When something tickled her left cheek and ear, her shortened limb didn’t stop her reflex to raise her left arm and brush it away, but a heavy weight held it down. She was instantly awake. The motor sound faltered at her movement but didn’t stop. And something soft rubbing against her cheek replaced the tickling. Oh, God. She wasn’t alone. She opened her eyes and frowned. “Hey, how’d you get in here?”

  The orange bobtailed kitten, she couldn’t remember what Teddy had named him, rubbed his cheek along hers again in answer.

  “No, no, no. I gave you to her. She’ll have to come get you.” Or maybe she’d ask Jill to deliver the kitten to Teddy’s office, along with anything else Teddy might have left at the farm. Britt had returned items to Jill’s ex-lovers several times for her after Jill tired of them.

  The familiar sounds of Pop banging around in the kitchen meant breakfast would be ready soon, and Britt welcomed the comfort of the farm’s routine. Besides, she and Pop had breeding schedules to map out and stud choices to make now that the auction was over and they could concentrate on a budget for next year.