The Trouble with Horses

by Susan Y. Tanner

  “But you’re safe now.” Joss’ voice was firm. “Everything’s going to be okay.”

  “I wouldn’t be safe if you hadn’t been brave, if you hadn’t stepped forward and made someone listen.”

  Cade saw the glance Joss gave Malone, the soft smile. “It didn’t take much ‘making’. All I had to do was open my mouth and say the words. There was someone here ready to listen all along.”

  Chapter Twenty

  I suppose this rodeo life is perfect for those who love it but it seems like much hard work to me. I ascribe to the theory ‘work smarter not harder’ and there doesn’t seem to be much leeway with this sport. But it is exciting, I’ll grant you that. Especially now, on this final day. I’ve ascertained that Malone is neck and neck in money earnings with two other contestants. It all comes down to this final day, this final ‘run for the money’.

  Malone is ‘up’ as they say on the big mare she calls Jaz. I recall the day Malone came to Summer Valley Ranch to pick her up. There was an immediate rapport between the two. And now I hear the announcer extolling the virtues of both.

  “Ladies and Gentlemen, our next rider is Malone Summers, a long-time professional in the sport of rodeo. Her fellow competitors know that Ms. Summers lost her beloved Jupiter to a tragic accident two years ago. Then just a few months ago, just as he was clocking some of the best times on the circuit, her good horse, Mylo, was sidelined with an injury. Some barrel racers only get one true champion barrel horse in a life time. Ms. Summers has had - or should I say created - many more than that. And now I’d like to introduce you to JJ’s Red Jasmine, a rescue horse that has been rescued indeed. Ms. Summers calls her Jaz and most of us believe Malone has saved the best for last with her hopes riding high on the big red mare’s ability.”

  Quite unexpectedly, my own heart is pounding with excitement. There must be something supremely exhilarating about riding an agile equine through an intricate pattern of incredible speed, brief slow-downs and what look to be sling-shot turns. There is also that twinge of fear for my temporary human who looks so small and fragile above the massive creature.

  As they fly back toward the alleyway, the announcer, always so professional and in control, unexpectedly shouts with excitement as he calls out the time. Apparently, my human has set a new record for the week. I am pleased, to say the least. Life has not been easy for her but I don’t think she expects it to be nor grieves that it is not. She takes each day with a sense of joy as does my Tammy Lynn whom I have begun to miss enormously. It is always so at the end of a case and I am no longer caught up in the urgencies of saving lives and solving crimes. Time for me to return home and I will be glad to do so.

  * * *

  Malone slowed Jaz as they hit the alleyway. Her heart was so full she wondered that it could contain her happiness in that moment. Jaz was everything she’d hoped and needed her to be. Never a replacement for Jupiter. Never a replacement for Mylo, if it had come to that. But a treasure and a joy in her own right. Malone knew she was blessed to be able to make her living in just this way and she never, ever took that or the animals that enabled her to do it for granted.

  Midway down the alley, a cowboy stepped away from the fence panel and placed a hand on Jaz’s rein. Malone looked into Cade’s eyes and it felt like coming home. For a moment, she was twelve to his seventeen, at the beginning of a crush that had turned into so much more and lasted a lifetime. For both of them.

  Epilogue

  I ride shotgun, looking out Cade’s truck window. I switched vehicles at the last truck stop … quite a bit of girl talk going on in the other rig which is all well and good if you’re a female. I’ll admit new beginnings are exciting. Malone is moving herself, Joss, and her horses back home to LaGrange, Georgia which is satisfyingly close to Mr. Silver Eyes’ family abode. No coincidence in all that I suspect. It is also in nice proximity to my home with Tammy Lynn in Wetumpka so they’ll make a wee stop there to ensure my long over-due arrival.

  Although, in my estimation, it would have been fitting for our Joss to witness the arrest of the couple who had so sorely betrayed her, I suppose Ms. Rodeo has the right of it. Joss should be spared any further sight of them. Would that she could be spared the thought of them as well, but Ms. Rodeo is of the firm belief that time and love will heal all wounds.

  Otherwise, the wrap up of our case was entirely satisfying to me. I enjoyed watching as the villains were arrested, even the gentleman with the starburst scar whose part in this drama I’ve yet to discern. I think I would have enjoyed, even more, seeing the moment when the nefarious foster parents were handcuffed and forced from their homes but it must suffice that Joss was assured it was so. Never again will innocent victims be at their mercy.

  There was a bittersweet moment for Ms. Rodeo when the Tyge was carried away on a stretcher in handcuffs. He saved her life, after all, and they were once much to each other. We’ve since learned that Tyge has a chance at probation or at least a lighter sentence. Although guilty of transporting drugs, he didn’t knowingly transport guns or humans and has wisely expressed a willingness to share information with the law.

  I’ve a concession that must be made. The sight of the Aussie standing guard over our villain was unexpected and must be acknowledged. I suppose it now behooves me to leave off the scathing abbreviation of his given name. He has earned the right to his dignity. Townie is no more. Townsend, it is.

  There’s another touch of sadness mixed in with the happy. It seems the renowned veterinarian, Dr. Tucker, has determined that Mylo will live to a comfortable and ripe old age, but his career days are over. Ms. Rodeo has a nice pasture in mind for him to graze and play to his heart’s contentment right where she can take good care of him.

  She and Joss will be busy for a while turning the old homestead into a thriving training facility for young equestrians who have a goal of becoming as great a competitor as Ms. Rodeo. Not that she’s planning to retire from her own competitive endeavors. She assures Joss there’s plenty of opportunity for both, as long as she’s not competing in two circuits.

  Yes, they will be busy indeed with lots of hard work, but I think Mr. Silver Eyes will bring much to that endeavor in terms of willingness, energy, and muscle. I suspect I hear wedding bells tinkling in their future. I do hope they recall that I am quite fond of wedding delectables.

  Now if Townsend will quit trying to climb up beside me on this seat, I believe I can take a much-needed nap.

  Trouble in Action

  Book Three

  Chapter One

  I’ve never had any desire to be known as a bar hop but that seems an appropriate moniker in light of my path through this town tonight. Not that any fault can be laid at my feet or, rather, my paws. Nor do I suppose trailing a young woman from bar to bar could rightfully be called hopping. Still, the imagery is there in my mind at least.

  Fortunately, up to this point, we’ve remained close to my human, Tammy Lynn. Unfortunately, I have a feeling that’s about to change. I did, at least, make sure to catch her eye as I exited the small but posh restaurant and bar where she hosted several authors after a successful book-signing. With that shared glance, Tammy Lynn knows I’m out and about and that I’ll find her when my work is done. We have a perfect understanding of one another in that regard.

  Her popularity as a bookseller and Mistress of Ceremonies for book conferences and the like has garnered my human and me some nice trips of late. This visit to the state of North Carolina might be my favorite so far. The scenic drives have been breathtaking with the first hints of spring budding out in the trees and bushes along the roadsides.

  Alas, the interiors of the bars I’ve frequented while providing my protection to this young woman do not hold the same appeal as the one where we left Tammy Lynn. Nonetheless, one does what one must in the line of duty. I could tell, at a glance, that my self-imposed charge had imbibed too heavily. Worse, she’d attracted the wrong kind of attention, even in the more genteel establishment where I first n
oticed her.

  * * *

  Wolf Stockton leaned against the bar. The beer in his hand had grown warm but he wasn’t there to get drunk. His gaze followed the girl as she twirled slowly across the dance floor and not because she was drop dead gorgeous – not, in truth, because of her looks at all. He watched her because she was a problem waiting to happen and when she became a problem, the problem would become his. He’d rather derail that train than deal with the aftermath of a head-on crash.

  In the murky glow of neon, she stood out like moonlight. The sleeveless, white dress hugged her every curve. He didn’t recognize her and Albrecht was his town. She might have come in with the reenactors but she didn’t seem to fit with that crowd. He’d done some studying when he’d first learned what was to befall Albrecht. His research had been somewhat reassuring. Those enthralled with historical reenactments were said to be a serious-minded bunch, going to the same venues year after year, never causing any problem, rarely partying down. The history buffs who attended to watch the painstakingly recreated historical events were categorized the same, at least for the most part. This girl, however, seemed hell-bent on having a grand time and without help from anyone else.

  She’d caught his eye when she came through the door, opening the small bag that hung across her shoulder and handing the doorman a handful of crumpled bills. Like the professional he was, the bouncer at the door had counted what was owed into the cashbox then handed the rest back to her, stamping her wrist and shaking his head as she’d moved straight to the dance floor. She’d snagged a glass of wine from the tray of a passing waitress without the server even realizing it was gone. That’s when Wolf Stockton had realized the need to keep an eye on her as, glass in hand, she executed some slow, dreamy dance moves all by her lonesome while couples swept around her. He was relieved when she finished the pilfered wine and placed the empty glass on the corner of a table that also wasn’t hers. At least broken glass wouldn’t be added to the mess when it came. She ignored or never even noticed the startled hey of protest from one of the table’s occupants.

  She’d have been trouble enough sober. And she wasn’t sober.

  His wasn’t the only attention she snared but she remained oblivious until a cocky dude in frayed jeans and a black tee-shirt eased close and slid an arm around her waist. Wolf tensed, ready to step in, when her slim, bare arm showed an unexpected flash of strength and well-toned muscle. Cocky dude found himself sprawled butt-down on the dance floor. To Wolf’s relief, the guy took it well, dusting himself off and laughing as he walked back to his table. His buddies continued to rib him for the next few minutes, spurring another of them to push his chair back and swagger toward the tangle of dancers as the music and her moves kicked up a beat.

  With a sigh, Wolf made his way to the edge of the floor in front of the band. Sure enough, the dumbass reached for the girl when she got close enough but this one was better prepared for a show of strength. He wrapped his arms around her, pinning her arms to her side, nuzzling his chin close to her cheek. “Come on, honey. One dance. I’ve got a hundred bucks on it.”

  “Hope you can afford to lose it, asshole.” Her voice slurred a little on the words. Wolf noted she didn’t bother asking him to loosen his grip. The heel of her cute little boot with lots of fringe came down on his instep and a second later her knee rammed his crotch. His howl stopped the band and Wolf stopped him by the simple act of snaring the collar of his casual button-down shirt and twisting until it caught said asshole’s Adams apple as well as his attention.

  Wolf handed the guy off to the bouncer who’d made his way through the small crowd. The band resumed playing and Wolf turned to the young woman who watched him with solemn eyes. For a moment, she reminded him of someone but he was certain he’d never seen her before. He held out his hand to her. “Dance?”

  “I don’t dance with men.”

  “Think of me as one of the girls,” he suggested.

  A faint smile curved her lips as her glance swept him. “Don’t know that my imagination is that good.”

  “One dance and sit at my table. I’ll leave you alone but so will every guy in here, I promise.”

  She lifted a perfectly arched brow. “Think well of yourself, don’t you?”

  “Well enough.”

  She reached up to touch his hair where it brushed against his collar. He hadn’t made time for the trim it needed. “Are you a bad boy?”

  He gave a humorless laugh. “Not even close.”

  To his surprise, she stepped closer. I don’t dance with men, she’d said. As she draped her slender curves against him, he couldn’t help but think it a shame if he didn’t have a chance with her. Not that he needed a woman in his life because he sure as hell didn’t, but a shame even so.

  She danced with him as she’d danced alone, with fluidity and grace and damn little inhibition. By the time the song ended, he wasn’t sure it was dark enough that he could step away from her without every single guy in there knowing what he was feeling. Then again, safest for her if they did know.

  True to his word, he left her alone after that. She sat at his table and drank or danced when a song drew her to the floor. He made one attempt to pay for her drinks and the look she cut him when she said no forestalled a second try.

  When the waitress told them it was last call, she made a moue of disappointment and shook her head. “I’m not done dancing. Gotta find someplace else to go.”

  Wolf touched her hand. “I can promise there isn’t another bar open now. Not in this town.” He stood. “If you don’t want another drink, how about one last dance?”

  She surprised him again when she took the hand he held out to her and let him tug her to her feet. He wasn’t, however, surprised when she swayed. Although she’d had no more than two glasses of wine while she’d sat at his table, he doubted she even knew how many she’d had before that. He stifled a groan at the surge of pure lust he felt when she leaned into him and looped her arms around his neck. If she wore a bra, he couldn’t tell. Her hair smelled like clean rainfall. She whisper-sang every word of the song in a soft, husky voice that he suspected was above average on a bad day. Today wasn’t a bad day. It was a love song and not a happy one. He was relieved when the song ended and the lights in the room brightened.

  Most often this would be the moment when a guy got his first good look at a girl he’d hooked up with for the night. Some would be a disappointment. Some wouldn’t. This girl was no disappointment. Not that it would matter either way. He wasn’t on the make and they weren’t hooking up for the night.

  She blinked up at him with sleepy eyes and smiled. “I’m Kylah. You can take me home.”

  Aw, hell.

  * * *

  This is not good. Despite the fact that the gentleman appears to be just that – a gentleman – I’m not naïve enough to allow Kylah, as I now know her name to be, to leave with him unaccompanied. My protection must continue for at least a while longer. I’ve managed to remain undetected thus far due to my excellent skills as master detective. One of the first lessons my father, the ever-famous Familiar, instilled in me was the ability to see without being seen. This is a useful tool, whether stalking another kitten in play, as I was at the time, or observing a suspect as a master sleuth. Sadly, most humans make such observation all too easy with their lack of awareness of their surroundings. That same lack makes them vulnerable to the dangers that lurk about them.

  I don’t doubt it will take a bit of maneuvering to ensure I’m not left behind when the duo leaves the sidewalk for the roadway, but it won’t be my first episode as a stowaway and I suspect it won’t be my last. I have many talents.

  Here we go then, out the pub door and into the brisk night air. Our female may wish she’d not selected sleeveless apparel but I do acknowledge it was nicely warm earlier. I enjoyed sunning myself in a window of the local library while the plethora of book discussions swirled around me. I note with approval that her escort keeps a careful eye on her progress. A time
or two he steadies her with a light hand at her waist but removes it once she regains her equilibrium.

  She stops in her tracks when he opens the passenger door of a dark truck. “That’s not my truck.”

  “No, it’s mine. If you trust me with the keys, I’ll have yours delivered wherever you need it in the morning.”

  Recognizing the unyielding tone, I slip into the back seat. It may be she heeds that tone as well, but I’m still a bit surprised when she shrugs and steps up into the vehicle. Heaven, I hope she doesn’t make a practice of this. There are places she would be very much at risk. I have her back at the moment, but she has no way of knowing it. I’m reassured by the trappings inside the vehicle, including the blue light on the dash, that identify it as unmarked law enforcement. All in all, the truck fits well with the vibes I pick up from this man.

  Her escort steps in on the driver’s side and the engine catches with a purring sound. He pauses the vehicle at the intersection. “Which way?”

  I peer over the console as she opens her purse and hands him a small card sheathed in a tiny envelope. I recognize it as a hotel key. The name of the hotel is printed on the side. I’ve seen many such in my travels with Tammy Lynn.

  He gives a huff of exasperation. “For all you know, I could be a serial killer.”

  She turns her head to look at him. “For all you know, I could too.”

  I’m not surprised that his second huff of exasperation is tinged with amusement. She’s a bit of a wiseacre.