Chapter Five
Stephanie felt someone stabbing needles into her cheeks. She fought against them, her hand clutching something soft and furry. With a scream, she sat up in bed and snapped on the bedside lamp.
“Yeow!” Familiar swatted her face, and not with gentleness.
“Stop it.” She tried to brush the cat off the bed, but he was frantic.
“Yeow!” he insisted.
Something in the feline’s eyes frightened her. She threw back the covers and stood on the cold floor.
“Yeow!” Familiar was dragging her jeans to her. Next he was pulling a boot over.
She took the hint and dressed quickly. “What is it?” she asked the cat.
He led the way out of the bedroom and to the kitchen.
The minute she entered the room, she knew what was wrong. The kitchen window framed a scene from hell. Across the yard, flames shot into the black night.
“The barn!” Liquid fear jetted through her veins, and for a moment she was frozen in panic. When she felt the cat’s sharp claws in her calf, she bolted into action.
No point calling for help. The fire department was too far away. The only thing to do was get the horses out. And fast.
Forgoing a jacket, she rushed into the night, stopping only to batter the door of the bunkhouse. “Fire! Fire!” she cried, then dashed toward the barn.
The nights had not yet grown cold, so luckily the barn doors were open. She rushed inside, opening the stalls for Tex and Layla as she passed.
Panicked, the horses spun in their stalls, too afraid to go through the open door.
Stephanie thought of her grandfather, of the first rule he’d ever taught her. A horse picks up on a human’s fear, and that makes for a dangerous, unstable horse. She had to get a grip on herself.
“Layla.” She extended her hand and softly captured the mare’s halter. “It’s okay, Layla.” Though she could hear the roar of the fire growing louder, she concentrated on that one moment, that one horse. This was her golden palomino, her friend. They’d ridden the range together many times. She forced that image into her head and held on to it.
Layla calmed enough for Stephanie to lead her through the open stall door and into the night. When Stephanie turned her loose, Tex followed her to freedom.
The horses at the west end of the barn were in the most danger. Flicker, Nugget, Mirage, Cimarron and Dasher were screaming in fear. She could see the fire running along the back wall of Cimarron’s stall.
Smoke began to fill the barn, and she pulled her shirt up to cover her mouth and nose. She was about to plunge deeper into the barn when a human cannonball passed her. Johnny Kreel was moving at a dead run, and he ran straight into the flames.
“Johnny!” She took off after him. While he worked the stall doors on the right, she opened the ones on the left. There was no time now for visualization or calm. If the horses didn’t get out—if she and Johnny didn’t get out—they’d be burned to death.
Cimarron, Nugget and Flicker ran, but she could see that Dasher was spinning in his stall, crazy with fear and panic. Johnny kept reaching for him, but the horse was beyond reasoning.
“Let me,” she said, walking straight into the stall, totally confident in the little chestnut she’d raised from a colt. “Easy, boy,” she said. Her fingers caught his halter, and with one smooth motion, she was on his back. “Mirage will follow him,” she said. “Come on!” She gave Johnny her hand and he swung up behind her.
It took no pressure to encourage Dasher forward. He trusted her, and when she asked, he lunged through the open stall door and was out of the barn in two strides, Mirage right on his heels.
Choking and coughing, they continued into the cold night until they were well away from the barn. They stopped where the other horses, still afraid and confused, milled and whinnied.
“I’ll get Black Jack out of the other barn,” Johnny said as he slid to the ground. “I don’t think there’s any danger that the fire will spread to his barn, but he’s bound to be terrified by the flames.”
“Be careful. I’ll put these guys in the corral,” Stephanie said. Behind her, the barn was a total loss. The flames had crept across the roof and were steadily reducing to ash the structure into which she’d poured most of her life savings.
Away from the fire and the panic, she realized that she was shivering. The night was crisp and cold and perfectly clear. Not a cloud in the sky. Which meant the barn fire was not started by lightning.
As she put the horses into the big corral, she fought against the tears of frustration that threatened to overwhelm her. Crying would do no good. She’d learned that a long time ago. Crying didn’t do anything except stop up her nose and make her feel worse.
The horses were safe. That was the thing that mattered. Barns could be rebuilt. Saddles could be replaced. Those were only things. The living creatures she’d come to love were safe.
She heard hooves on the hard ground and watched as Johnny and Black Jack, silhouettes against the flames, walked calmly to the big round pen. Black Jack entered with the docility of a lamb. Johnny fastened the gate and headed her way.
Swallowing back her emotions, she squared her shoulders. When Johnny approached and put an arm around her, she didn’t object.
“You need a coat,” he said, taking his off and putting it on her.
“And you don’t?” she asked.
To her surprise, his hand touched her jaw with great tenderness. “I’ll get one from the bunkhouse in a minute.” He shifted so that he watched the barn burn. “I tried to put in a 9-1-1 call to the fire department.”
“Phone reception is out, right?”
He inhaled. “Yeah. There’s nothing they could do anyway, except file a report for your insurance. Let’s make some coffee and let the fire burn out. There’s no wind and the other buildings are safe.”
She had no argument left in her. Trudging beside him, she went into the kitchen. She’d put on the coffeepot before she realized the black cat was nowhere in sight.
“Where’s Familiar?” she asked, looking around the house and calling his name.
“There he is.” Johnny pointed out the window. Familiar stalked the perimeter of the fire. “It actually looks like he’s hunting for something.”
“For evidence,” Stephanie said.
“You’re saying this fire was arson?”
Stephanie faced him. “This wasn’t an accident. There was no lightning, and I can tell you that wasn’t an electrical fire. The barn was brand new and the wiring was above code. Someone burned my barn to the ground, and if Familiar is a real detective, as Eleanor says, he’s going to help me find the bastard who did this. And then that person is going to pay.”
JOHNNY PULLED THE BLANKET over Stephanie’s sleeping form. She’d gone through anger, grief and finally acceptance over the barn. Now she was finally sleeping on the sofa. And he had work to do.
Familiar was curled at Stephanie’s side, but the moment Johnny started toward the door, the cat was following in his tracks. Johnny wasn’t certain he believed that Familiar was actually a detective, but the cat had an uncanny ability to sense things. That much he was willing to concede.
Johnny refilled the watering troughs for the horses and checked over them in the pink light of a new day. While they snorted and danced, still anxious after the fire, none had suffered any injuries. Black Jack was fine, too, munching on the bale of hay that Johnny had thrown him.
Johnny walked around the steel skeleton of the barn. The support structure was probably okay, but the stalls were gone and winter wasn’t far away. He knew enough about insurance companies to know that Stephanie would never get the funds to rebuild before the first snows hit.
She might be able to double up some horses in stalls in the other barn, but it was going to greatly complicate her winter.
He kept his thoughts focused in that direction as he walked around the smoldering building. The cat darted ahead of him and sat down.
“Meow.” Familiar looked over his shoulder, as if he wanted to make sure Johnny was headed his way.
“What’ve you got?” Johnny knelt down and examined the ground where the cat waited.
Familiar lightly batted a piece of half-burned lumber. Out of curiosity, Johnny carefully lifted the wood. A bootprint was clearly visible. “Well, I’ll be damned,” he said, half to himself. He studied the tread. This wasn’t a cowboy boot or a riding boot. This print had treads. More like a hiking boot.
He put his own foot beside it. And the owner of the print was a big man with big feet.
“Meow!”
Familiar moved. He patted the ground with his paw.
Johnny followed the cat and found another print. This one for the opposite foot. And the space between the two was a good four feet. The owner of the boots had quite a stride, which indicated a long-legged man.
Carlos Diego had a henchman who went by the name of Plenty. He was six foot eight and had a reputation for enjoying dishing out physical pain. Johnny stood up and surveyed the horizon. The idea that Plenty—or any of Diego’s men—were out there, watching, made him antsy.
“Meow.” Familiar rubbed against his legs.
“Good work, fella.” He patted the cat’s sleek coat. As difficult as it was to believe, Johnny couldn’t deny that the cat had found the evidence.
Now Johnny could prove that someone had been on the property, but that was as far as it went. To get law enforcement action, he’d have to prove that the barn fire was arson. He had no doubt about that, and he was certain who was behind it—the same man who’d called earlier in the evening to intimidate Stephanie. The call she’d attributed to Rupert Casper, but Johnny knew better.
The sound of a truck starting made him glance behind him. Stephanie was not only awake, she was dressed and driving like she was fit to be tied.
“Hey!” He ran toward the truck.
“I’ll be back,” Stephanie yelled through the open window.
“Wait a minute.” He flagged her down and stepped in front of the truck so she had to slow. “Where are you going?” He spoke as he walked toward the truck. When he saw the gun on the front seat, he knew where Stephanie was heading.
“Hold on there, Ms. Ryan,” he said calmly.
“That man burned my barn to the ground. My horses could have died.”
“But they didn’t.” Johnny felt as if he were on top of a powder keg. Stephanie was about to explode, and by withholding the truth from her, he would be guilty of lighting the fuse.
“Because Familiar woke me up. That cat saved my horses. And you. You saved them, too. But that crazy fool set fire to my barn, and I’m going to go over there and make him so sorry he’ll wish I’d shoot him and put an end to his misery.”
Johnny put a hand on the truck door. “Please don’t do this.”
“And why not?”
Here, again, was the perfect chance to tell her the truth. But he couldn’t. He’d given his word. He’d taken an oath. And if she knew, she might be in even bigger danger. Stephanie wasn’t the kind of person who took things lying down. She’d react. And because he couldn’t control her reaction, he couldn’t afford to tell her the truth.
“Because we need to prove who is behind this.”
“I know damn well who’s behind this and so do you. Rupert Casper.”
Johnny almost corrected her, but he didn’t. In all his years as an agent, he’d never betrayed his oath. “We need physical evidence, and we need to take it to the sheriff. Once we establish the person responsible for this, we can take action to put him in jail.”
He could see that his logical approach sounded a lot to her like doing nothing. “Stephanie, this is the safest way for Black Jack. If you go over there and stir that hornet’s nest, you’d better be prepared to get stung. He’ll be over here with a bullet for that horse so quick your head will spin.”
That, at last, penetrated her fury. She slowly reached for the key and turned off the engine. “I’m not going to let him get away with this.”
“And I’m not saying that you should. But let’s find the evidence. Let’s do this the right way.”
She swallowed, and for one instant there were bright tears in her eyes. She blinked them away. “If we don’t get the evidence quickly, I’ll handle this my way.”
“And I’ll help,” he said, regretting those words the instant they left his mouth.
STANDING AT THE KITCHEN WINDOW, washing the coffee cups that had accumulated as the law officers and the insurance adjuster came and went, Stephanie tried not to think about the coming winter.
Her insurance adjuster had made it clear that until the issue of arson was settled, no claim would be paid. That meant no money to rebuild, possibly for months. She’d have to find a way to protect her herd from the bitter cold.
Sheriff Dobbs Petersen had noted two footprints and taken molds. The arson investigator he’d brought in had found traces of accelerant. There was no doubt that someone had deliberately set her barn on fire. Never in a million years had Stephanie anticipated that she and Johnny Kreel would become the prime suspects. That they’d rescued the horses counted for nothing. She and Johnny had means, opportunity and, because of the insurance policy, motive. It chapped her backside to think that anyone would believe she’d risk her horses or endanger herself and others for money.
She saw Johnny and Familiar cross the yard. The cat followed behind Johnny as if he were herding the ranch hand. And Familiar had found the footprints. She felt the corners of her mouth tug into a smile. Johnny was coming to recognize that the cat was something very special indeed.
She had no doubts now. Familiar had awakened her. Had he not…She couldn’t bear to think what would have happened to her horses.
Another bout of emotion crested over her, and she gripped the sink, fighting the memories of Rory and the horror of his death. She’d quit her job in Liz Terrell Advertising Agency in preparation for the move to South Dakota, and she’d been packing up her New Orleans apartment when the two men from the Federal Aviation Administration knocked at her door.
The memory was bitingly clear. She’d slipped out of her dirty T-shirt and put on something more presentable before she answered the door. She’d been mildly curious, because she didn’t expect anyone. Rory was on his last mission—a flight from the Panama Canal Zone to Colombia. He’d made the flight a thousand times before. He’d sold all but two of his airplanes. The engagement, the move to South Dakota, the building of their dream—everything was running smoothly.
She opened the doors, surprised at the solemn formality of the two men. And they’d told her. “I’m sorry to inform you, Ms. Ryan, but Rory Sussex’s plane is missing and is believed to have crashed in the Darien Jungle.”
That one sentence had changed her life drastically.
She’d questioned them, tried to gather details, but there were none. The plane was never found. Rory’s body was never found. The jungle, impenetrable in places, had refused to yield the evidence that would settle the matter of Rory’s death. Not even the private investigator she’d hired had been able to find anything. Rory’s death was open and shut—for the U.S. government, at least. No one had shown the slightest interest in proving that he was dead.
She’d been left to live with the uncertainty. When someone talked about the need for closure, she now understood how important that was. Yet she’d come to accept that for her there would be no closure. She’d invested everything she had in Running Horse Ranch, and she’d had no choice but to move to South Dakota and make a go of it.
And now the barn was gone. She and Rory had drawn the plans for the building, and she’d hired the crew to make it a reality. Now there was nothing left of it. Johnny told her the steel structure seemed sound, but a building inspector would have to agree. That was weeks away. The debris had to be cleared first.
Closing her eyes against a wall of weariness, she took deep breaths. Her grandfather had faced circumstances as hard or harder. H
e hadn’t quit. Neither would she. She’d get through this, and thank goodness for Johnny Kreel.
Providence had sent him to her, and she was more grateful than she’d ever let him know.
Chapter Six
Methinks there’s something afoot here at Running Horse Ranch, and it doesn’t bode well for Miss Cowgirl. I’ve watched a lot of law enforcement types work a crime scene, and while Johnny Kreel pretends he doesn’t know much, that’s just not so. He’s very careful not to show his expertise, but he’s savvy. He let me find the footprints, but I don’t believe for a minute he wasn’t already looking for them.
He’s sandbagging the situation, and whenever a biped doesn’t take credit for what he knows, to quote literary icon Will, something is rotten in Denmark.
Which begs the question, why? Why is he hiding his abilities and why does he have those abilities in the first place? Most cowboys—or lawyers for that matter—wouldn’t know their way around a crime scene. No need. Not part of their job descriptions. Law enforcement officers and crime scene personnel work the scene, which is exactly what Johnny was doing, even if he hid it.
When Sheriff Petersen first showed up, Johnny didn’t say a word. But he watched everything and then he asked questions, which led the investigators straight to the conclusion that the fire was arson. He also asked the insurance adjustor some pointed questions, moving him down the same path. Johnny knows a lot about how law enforcement and insurance functions, which goes against his “Aw, shucks, I’m just a drifting cowpoke” image.
Now Johnny is saddling up, saying he’s going out to check a fence line. But my guess is that he has other business, too. Which is fine by me, because as soon as he’s gone, I’m hitting the bunkhouse for a bit of black cat sleuthing. If there’s anything to be found in his gear, I’ll unearth it.
Familiar Showdown Page 5