Rescued by a Stranger

by Lizbeth Selvig

  “I’m sorry. I just needed someone to blame. I’ll call and holler at Mama.”

  “Yeah, you do that.” Brody’s chuckle broke to a laugh.

  “Tell me how it’s going otherwise,” Chase said. “You all right?”

  “We’re holding our own. I took your suggestion and got Levon Benson to fill in for you. He’s working out.”

  “He’s not the surgeon you are, but he’s tough and talented,” Chase said. “Good move. You listened to me for once.”

  “You had a good idea for once.”

  Chase leaned against the side of the barn, closing his eyes and smiling.

  “So.” Brody’s voice lost its teasing edge. “Does this call mean you’re ready to come back?”

  “No.”

  “Clara asked about you.”

  “Clara would ask about Jack the Ripper.”

  “Knock it off. How many times do we have to say it? You didn’t pull that trigger. Get your shit together and figure it out.”

  “Working on it, Brody.”

  “Look. The police will manage with what I told them, you don’t have to call. On the other hand, you could do little Tiana a big favor by contacting the detective.”

  “I’d have done her a bigger favor by being the hell where I was supposed to be that day and not leaving her alone on those steps.”

  “You know the truth. Tiana was in the right place but at the wrong time.”

  For the first time in weeks the memory flooded into Chase’s mind and wouldn’t leave at his command. He held his breath against the searing pain and pictured the lifeless body, a skinny doll against stark white exam table paper. Vials and boxes and blood-soaked cotton strewn like macabre confetti on the floor. Brody’s hand, firm on his arm, guiding him away, urging him into a chair. “It’s over, Chase. I’m so sorry.”

  “Chase? Man, you there?”

  “I know, Brods, I do know. I’ll call. Do you have a name?”

  “Ashland, Ashmore. Yeah, Ashmore, He’s not a bad guy.”

  No. The bad guys were in custody. This should all be over. But it wasn’t. “Thanks. Can you text me his number?”

  “I can. Chase. You really okay?”

  “I’m fine. I’m working hard, and I’ve met some good people. I don’t know what the next step is, but I probably won’t be here past the end of the summer.”

  He swallowed against a sudden hollowness in his gut. Did he mean that? Was he planning to leave in another six weeks? The idea twisted him up with a mix of relief and dread.

  “Good. Don’t friggin’ ignore the phone from now on, okay?”

  “Don’t bug me like a mother then, okay? I’ve got to go, got work in the morning. And I know I woke you.”

  “Easy day planned tomorrow. Unless something blows up.”

  “Here’s to nothing blowing up. I’ll talk to you, soon. Sorry I called to jump on you.”

  “Love ya, man. Let me know if you need help with that detective.”

  “Sure.”

  JILL CAME UP with one last desperate trick for Becky Barnes. If it didn’t work, she … well, she didn’t know what she’d do. It seemed silly for the girl to keep wasting her parents’ money on pointless lessons, but the thought of giving up sat like a stone in Jill’s stomach.

  Thursday, Jill stood with Robert in the barn, neither speaking as they waited to launch their plan. The old farmer stared meditatively at his big Clydesdale, as nervous as Jill was. She heard the crunch of gravel and raised her brows.

  “Show time,” she said.

  Robert grunted.

  Outside, an unfamiliar silver Saturn pulled up in front of the house, and a confused Becky exited the passenger side, peering around like a lost tourist. Surprised at not seeing Anita or Jamie, Jill studied the man who got out from behind the wheel. When he saw her, he offered a boyish smile.

  “Hi,” he said. “You must be Jill? I’m Michael Barnes, Becky’s dad and designated driver. Anita and Jamie had a conflicting appointment. I have to zip back to work, but Becky says she’s fine until my wife gets here.”

  “Well … sure.” She had Becky to herself again? Jill sent a prayer of thanks upward. This was working out better than she’d hoped when she set up the special lesson. “We’ll be great.”

  “Terrific, thanks!” The exuberant Michael ruffled the spikes of Becky’s orange hair and she scowled but didn’t pull away. “Have fun, Becs. See you tonight. Sorry I have to run.”

  A moment later the tornadic Michael Barnes was gone. Becky glanced nervously around, her defiance nonexistent in the face of Robert’s intimidating old farm.

  “This is where I’m riding?” she asked.

  “Yup. But don’t judge the book by its cover. The first time I saw this place I did, and I was dead wrong.”

  “What am I doing here anyway?”

  “Like I told you, I have something special for you to try.”

  Special and, Jill hoped, a little intimidating. The experiment about to take place left Jill’s stomach in nervous free-fall. Chase was at work, although she wished now he was here. The girls liked him and he was wonderful with them. Her heart still broke over the story he’d told about seeing a little girl killed by gang violence. Such a simple but awful reason for the police to be looking to ask questions. That was another reason she wanted him nearby—he’d been pretty quiet since talking to the detective in Memphis.

  She pointed Becky toward the makeshift riding arena. It had been mowed and scraped until it was passably even. “That’s where we’ll be working. Take Angel and check it out. I’ll be your groom and get your horse for you today. She’s my surprise.”

  Robert had Gypsy haltered and ready. He looked jumpier than Jill felt.

  “Robert, is this cruel?”

  “No. You got to get her attention right off. Go through it like you planned.”

  He handed Jill the lead rope.

  “Okay, little girl,” Jill murmured. “I’m counting on you to work your magic.”

  Gypsy nickered softly.

  It wasn’t possible to tell whether Becky’s eyes widened more in fear or awe when Jill led the enormous horse into the sunny yard.

  “Becky. This is Gypsy.”

  “Is this a joke?” If Becky’s eyes could have spit flames, Jill and Gypsy would have been roasted.

  “Absolutely not.”

  “Right. This is a lesson horse.”

  “No, but there’s a lot she can teach you. C’mon, get to know her. I promise she’s a baby.”

  Becky clearly had no clue how to deal with a beast that towered over her by a foot and a half. Gypsy lowered her muzzle to snuffle Becky’s hair then blew a welcoming snort. Becky jumped ten inches.

  “It’s all right. She only wants to get to know you. Go on, give her a good pat.”

  “Seems like she could get to know me pretty good in one bite.”

  Amazed again by the humor, Jill laughed. “Guess we’re fortunate she’s not carnivorous.”

  Becky stroked Gypsy’s neck for several seconds. Jill pulled some carrot pieces out of her jeans pocket. Offering one to Gypsy, she handed two more to Becky.

  “Give her these, and you’ll be friends for life.”

  “I don’t have a death wish.”

  “How come you aren’t this funny at our regular lessons?”

  “This is a funnier place.”

  “Well, I like it. But you’d better feed Gypsy the carrot before she takes it from you herself.”

  With her entire arm trembling and her jaw clenched, Becky offered her palm to the huge horse. Gypsy’s muzzle dwarfed the girl’s proffered hand, but with a lipping motion as gentle as a breath, the mare removed the carrot and devoured it in two muffled crunches. Becky fed another, and Jill handed her Gypsy’s lead rope.

  “Tie her up over there. Let’s get her groomed.”

  Becky took a breath to object but closed her mouth, leaving only skepticism in her eyes. Like a docile puppy, Gypsy followed the slender teen. Jill and Robert fol
lowed the horse.

  “Becky,” Jill said, when Gypsy was secured with a release knot. “This is Robert McCormick. He owns Gypsy and this farm.”

  Rebecca eyed him, and he returned the unblinking appraisal.

  “Howdy,” he said at last, in the gruff voice Jill now knew so well.

  “Hi.” Becky had never sounded less petulant.

  With a marked lack of lip, Becky performed the tasks Jill assigned. She groomed the mare, standing part of the time on a sturdy two-foot cube Robert had created years before for the task. With Jill at her back, Becky lifted each massive foot, picking out what little straw and manure had caught in the grooves beside the frog. She fumbled valiantly with the huge bridle Jill handed her, and finally accepted help. She didn’t balk or complain until Jill announced that it was time to ride.

  “Ride?”

  “Sure. This is a riding lesson.”

  For the first time since meeting him, Becky looked to Robert as if he could save her from Jill’s madness. “On her?”

  “Jill here’s been doin’ it all week,” he acknowledged.

  “You’re trying to get back at me.” She spun to glare at Jill.

  “Get back at you for what?”

  For the first time Becky’s anger found a voice. “This is retarded. Nobody rides horses this big.”

  “Don’t say retarded, please. Why not?”

  “Because you can’t get your legs around a dumb horse like this.”

  “You can, though. It’s really a pretty cool feeling.”

  “Fine, you split your pants. I’m not riding her.”

  Jill choked back laughter despite the sassy-as-a-five-year-old tone. “Why, Becky?”

  The girl kicked at the dirt with a booted foot and looked away.

  “Becky?”

  “Okay, what do you want from me? I’m scared to ride her, does that make you happy?”

  Her voice quavered, and although her face looked ready to crumple, her eyes remained dry, and her chin tilted upward in defiance.

  “Yes, but not for the reason you think.” Jill set her hand on Becky’s shoulder, and the girl looked away. “You want to know what this is really about? It’s not about revenge or humiliation, but it is about humility. At least you admitted that you’re scared. You told me how you feel, and that’s more than I’ve gotten from you in two months.

  “Maybe you think your feelings are none of my business, but I care about them, and I’m concerned when they cause you to act apathetically around horses. It’s my job to keep you safe. You don’t realize it yet, but you could climb on Gypsy and ride like you do every week at our lessons. You could kick her and bounce on her and she’d ignore you. But she’s got you buffaloed with her size, and suddenly the tables are turned.”

  “So it is teach-Becky-a-lesson time after all.”

  “Teach Becky a lesson, yes. Get even with Becky, no.”

  “I’m not here to learn lessons about life. Everybody’s always trying to teach me about life.”

  “But you’re here to learn how to ride, and you can bet your boots I’m using every trick I can to see that you do.” Becky said no more and Jill raised her brows. “Ready for a leg up?”

  “I’m not riding her.”

  “You are, sweetie, but you don’t have to do it alone if you’re nervous. And I don’t blame you for being nervous.” Once again Becky’s eyes could have lasered Jill to smolders had they been weapons. “I’ll give you a boost and come right behind you.”

  Jill waited. “Fine,” Becky said at last. “All right? Fine!”

  In seconds the slight girl was settled astride the eighteen-hand Clydesdale. Jill mounted the box, grasped Gypsy’s thick mane in front of Becky, and swung up behind her as easily as if the horse had been a toy rocker in a nursery. She put her arms either side of Becky’s rigid waist.

  “What do you think?”

  Becky shrugged. Robert handed up the thick reins, and Jill closed her fingers around the leather.

  “Relax, okay? How can you fall off anything this wide?”

  Even after practicing all week, Gypsy’s incredible breadth still awed Jill. Through the gate, into the makeshift ring, and three times around its small circumference, she did nothing but talk to Becky and keep Gypsy to a walk. She worked to get Becky rocking rhythmically with the movement. At long last Becky’s stiffness drained away and fluidity eased into her spine.

  “All right! Can you feel how easy it is?”

  The teen actually nodded.

  “Take the reins now, we’ll keep walking.”

  Becky see-sawed her way through the lesson. With her own hands at the controls she tensed up again until repetition and time bolstered her confidence. She flopped like a boneless doll when Jill took back the reins and sent Gypsy into her ponderous trot, but got the feel for the quicker gait as well. By the time Jill turned the reins to her, Becky was able to laugh when her coordination temporarily mutinied. They trotted twice around the enclosure and, at last, Jill told her to halt.

  “You did fantastic. Now go it alone.”

  “No!”

  “At a walk, no faster until you’re ready.”

  Jill slipped off Gypsy’s back. “Go ahead.”

  At first Rebecca sat, no more than an uncoordinated passenger. Slowly, finding patience from somewhere she had no idea existed, Jill talked Becky back into relaxation, and elasticity returned to her body. The magic, when it occurred, was nearly visible. Becky connected herself mentally with the horse, and, in that instant, her riding became effortless.

  “Yes!” Jill whispered in triumph. “See that, Robert? She’s got it.” He nodded.

  It wouldn’t matter if Becky did nothing else right the rest of the afternoon. She understood how to ride a horse. The skill would come if she wanted it to. If Becky quit after this lesson, she would take something away with her that she hadn’t possessed before this afternoon.

  “Trot her now,” Jill called.

  Becky obeyed. Not prettily at first, but confidently. After a couple of circles, Jill stopped her and met her at Gypsy’s side. “Okay, c’mon down.”

  She knew Becky had no clue what prompted the little hug, because it elicited a scowl. “Why do you think that ride earns you an A-plus?”

  “Because I was stupid enough to do it.”

  “That got you a C.”

  “Then I have no idea.”

  “For effort, Becky. For fifteen minutes you let go of your anger and you listened, not as much to me as to the horse.”

  “Big deal.”

  “It is a big deal.”

  There was more she wanted to say, further she wanted Becky to come now that this smallest of breakthroughs had occurred, but she turned away, made a pretense out of studying the horizon, and forced herself to wait until her adrenaline rush tapered off.

  The grooming process was silent, but Becky took the lead rope herself when it was time to go back to the barn. Jill fell into step beside her. “Want to do this again sometime? I’d like to keep working Gypsy, and if you want to and your mom agrees, you could come help. Kind of freebie lessons now and then.”

  Becky gave the smallest of nods. Jill didn’t want to lose the tenuous connection she could barely feel. If they could keep it growing, Becky might make it to the horse show in August after all. The idea of bringing her along that far before Jill had to leave—if she left …

  If? Her thoughts careened off track. Of course she was going with Colin. She just hadn’t made a big deal of it yet. She had goals to reach this summer first. She focused back on Becky.

  “Plus, I think you’re ready to start jumping.”

  “On her?” The wide eyes returned.

  Jill laughed. “No, no. I promise you a regular horse for that.”

  “I want to jump.”

  It was the closest to eagerness Jill had ever seen.

  “S’pose that youngster’s gonna be glad to see his mama,” Robert mused.

  “Youngster?” asked Becky.

  �
��Robert, why don’t you introduce her to our little clown,” Jill said.

  Tatters was used to short intervals away from his mother, but he squealed and kicked up in relief the instant Gypsy came into view. She whinnied back, loud as a siren.

  “Oh!” Becky squealed, too, before she could stop herself as the big baby barreled up to the gate and halted in a frenzied crow hop.

  “Rebecca Barnes, meet T.N. Tatters,” Robert intoned. “Let them get their kicks out and then you can go in and play with him. He likes his ears scratched.”

  When Becky warmed to him, she allowed smiles Jill had never even glimpsed before. Jill stepped to the fence with Robert.

  “Thank you,” she said quietly.

  “No thanks necessary.”

  “We have a long way to go, but it’s a first step. Can I bring her back?”

  “I think you should.”

  Jill’s chest constricted, seeing his protective watch over the girl in the pasture with his horses. How could she have grown so fond of the old curmudgeon? But she knew how. He was an old fake. For all his tough shell, his heart was soft as Tatters’ fuzzy baby coat.

  Chapter Nineteen

  CHASE HADN’T COME into the Connery offices to answer phones. He arrived, frustrated after three unsuccessful attempts earlier in the week to reach Duncan Connery by phone, to find out why nobody would say exactly where his boss had gone.

  He walked into chaos.

  An explosion at an abandoned warehouse had destroyed an adjacent Connery project and left half a dozen employees injured. Duncan, he finally learned, was not just out of the office, he was out of town, and Krieger had been the boss to race to the scene. The receptionist was out sick, Duncan’s secretary, Jane, was trying to fill two positions, and phones were ringing off their hooks. The instant Jane saw Chase’s able body, he was the new receptionist.

  It took him nearly an hour to get control of the phones, but before he could get a breath, a kid of indeterminate youth wearing a lightweight gray jacket that read “QuikQurrier” approached the desk.

  “Delivery for James Krieger,” he announced.

  “I’ll sign for it, he’s out of the office.”