Bluegrass Peril

by Virginia Smith

  She stepped into the living room, still wiping her hands, to find that Jamie had beaten her to the door. Scott stood on the front stoop, holding a bouquet of spring flowers. His eyes locked on to hers, and the smile that spread across his face warmed a cold spot deep inside that had appeared the moment she saw Chris on her doorstep.

  Then Scott looked down. The living room was covered with packages and baseball paraphernalia. Christopher and Tyler knelt before a metal frame, the netting on the floor ready to be stretched on.

  At the sight of Christopher, Scott’s expression froze.

  Becky stood speechless as Christopher got to his feet, stepped around the packages and approached the door.

  “Hi, I’m Christopher Dennison.” He extended his hand toward Scott. “Becky’s husband.”

  Scott’s gaze sought hers. The hand holding the flowers dropped to his side. She had never seen a face so full of pain.

  She took a step forward, reaching toward him. “Scott, let me—”

  He didn’t wait to hear her explanation. Helplessly, she watched him turn on his heel and walk away.

  Becky swallowed against a lump of tears that had lodged in her throat as she placed the receiver back in its cradle. Scott wasn’t answering his phone. Not that she blamed him for dodging her calls, but if only he would let her explain.

  She shook her head. Explain what? What could she say that would erase the pain, the look of betrayal he had given her? She covered her face with her hands and pressed against her eyeballs. She would never be able to forget the look on his face, the flowers thrown into the front yard, the screech of his tires as he zoomed out of her driveway.

  “Hey, you okay in here?”

  She dropped her hands at the sound of Chris’s voice, and turned away so he wouldn’t see the tears in her eyes. “I’m fine. Are the boys in bed?”

  “Yeah. Thanks for letting me tuck them in.” He scooted a chair out from the table. “I even listened to them say their prayers.”

  Becky picked up the damp dishcloth hanging over the faucet and swiped it over the already spotless countertop. “That’s good.”

  “So, did you get your boyfriend on the phone?”

  The sarcasm in his voice made her whirl toward him. “He’s not my boyfriend,” she snapped. She didn’t bother to hide her anger as she continued. “And you are not my husband, Chris. Why did you say that?”

  “Hey, calm down.” He threw up a hand as though to ward her off. “I was just trying to—”

  “To what? Scare him off?” Her pulse pounded with barely suppressed rage as she glared at him. “You have no right to even talk to my friends. You show up here after all these years and expect to step right in where you left off. Well, trust me, that is not going to happen.”

  The last came out in a hiss as Becky tried to keep her voice down so the boys wouldn’t hear her from their bedroom.

  Chris rose from the table and crossed the floor in two steps. She backed up until she was pressed against the sink, a thrill of fear coursing through her. Would he hurt her? Chris had never gotten physical with her during even the stormiest part of their marriage. He wouldn’t start now, would he?

  No, that look on his face wasn’t anger. It was something else, something equally alarming.

  He spoke softly. “Becky, I’m sorry. I don’t know what came over me when that guy walked through the door. I think I was jealous.”

  He inched forward, and she leaned backward as far as she could. Even so, she felt his breath on her cheek when he whispered, “I want you back, Becky. I love you.”

  NINETEEN

  When Becky’s car pulled into the driveway Thursday morning, Scott’s jaw clenched. He kept his gaze fixed on the halter he was cleaning while Sam leaped off his bed and ran to greet her. If she had any sense of decency at all, she’d head for the office without trying to talk to him.

  “Scott.”

  So much for decency.

  He kept cleaning.

  “Please let me explain.”

  He forced his tone to remain cool, to deny the heat that tried to creep into his throat. “No explanation needed. Your husband came back. End of story.”

  “He’s my ex-husband.”

  Apparently the guy didn’t appreciate the distinction. But Scott didn’t want to argue with her. He kept his teeth clamped shut.

  She took a step into the barn. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw her hands twist around each other. “I haven’t seen him in over four years. I had no idea he even knew where we lived anymore.”

  He risked a glance at her face. Her eyes pleaded with him to understand. Just like Megan’s had done. Oh, man, he’d been here before, and it wasn’t any easier the second time around.

  “And he showed up out of the blue begging you to take him back.”

  She blanched. “Something like that.”

  Scott set the halter down on the workbench and rubbed his eyes. They itched from a long, sleepless night where he replayed the scene in Becky’s living room over and over in his mind. It was like the rerun of a pathetically sad movie. He was the lovelorn sucker fated to have his heart broken by the heroine. He couldn’t figure out why God kept letting him fall for women destined to return to their husbands.

  Part of him wanted to believe in Becky, in her inherent goodness and kindness. The guy he’d seen last night didn’t look like someone she’d be attracted to. His sarcastic grin looked as though it could hide a cruel streak. But some women seemed to fall for men who hurt them. He just didn’t think she’d turn out to be one of them.

  He had to know one thing, though.

  “Do you love him?”

  A cricket chirped from the corner of the barn, its rhythmic song amplified by the silence between them. Becky couldn’t look at Scott’s face. She’d agonized over that question all night after Chris left to go back to his hotel.

  “Yesterday I would have said no, without hesitation.”

  Scott dipped his head, forcing her to look up at him. “But today?”

  “I don’t think I know what love is anymore.” Unshed tears clogged her throat. “My marriage was a mistake from the beginning. He didn’t want a family, didn’t want kids. All he wanted to do was party and have fun. He didn’t change. I did. When I got pregnant, I wanted to settle down.” Her fingers dug into the flesh on her arms. “But he says he’s grown-up, and he wants his family back.”

  “And you think he deserves a second chance?”

  His gaze seemed to penetrate to her soul. She didn’t look away, but let him see all the pain and uncertainty that had kept her tossing and turning throughout the night. “Everyone gets a second chance, whether they deserve it or not. That’s what Jesus is all about.”

  Now it was his turn to look away. He went back to the bench, picked up the strip of leather he’d been toying with when she arrived. “Well, I hope it works out for you. I’m sure the boys will enjoy having their parents back together again.”

  Pain squeezed her chest as she watched his profile. Why did Christopher have to pick now to resurface? Lord, it’s just not fair!

  Or maybe it was God’s timing. Maybe He sent Chris back to stop her from developing a relationship with Scott.

  Sam nosed at her hand, a not-so-subtle reminder that he hadn’t eaten breakfast. She started to turn toward the house, then realized she needed to tell Scott about yesterday.

  “I almost forgot. I found out something important.”

  He turned a look of polite inquiry her way, and she bit back another wave of sorrow. She would probably never see his warm smile again.

  She filled him in on Mr. Keller.

  His eyebrows arched when she revealed the identity of the mysterious L. “So did you call the police?”

  “No. I was going to, but then I realized they’d show up at her house. What if her husband doesn’t know about the affair?” She nudged a clump of dirt with the toe of her shoe. “I’d just hate to be the cause of another wrecked marriage.”

  “So what
are you going to do?”

  Becky had thought about that in the middle of the night, too. “I’m going to go see Leslie this morning. I’ll tell her what I heard, and urge her to go to the police on her own.”

  Scott studied her a moment, then gave a nod. “I’ll go with you.”

  “Oh, you don’t have to do that.” The conversation would be awkward enough without a man there.

  But he refused to budge. “There’s a murderer running around loose, and for all we know, he’s aware of their affair. It might be dangerous. I can’t let you go alone.”

  As she walked toward the house, Sam racing in front of her, Becky admitted that she felt relieved not to have to face Leslie Stevens alone.

  The Stevens farm was only half the size of Shady Acres, but what Nick Stevens lacked in space, he made up for in flamboyance. Becky drove by every morning on her way to work and loved gazing at the elegant horse barns, with their spired roofs and candy-cane paint job. A new one had been erected right after she came to work at the Pasture, and she’d been amazed at how quickly it came together. A beautiful clear pond fronted the property, hidden jets spraying water high into the sky to be caught by the wind and sprinkled on the crystal surface.

  Becky rang the doorbell twice at the Stevens home, but no one answered.

  Scott shielded his eyes from the bright April sunshine and looked over the grounds. “Let’s see if she’s down at the barn. There are several cars over that way.”

  “I hope Nick isn’t there.” Becky hopped up into the pickup. “What will we say if he is?”

  Scott lifted a shoulder as he started the engine. “He probably won’t be. I think he spends a lot of time at his office in Lexington. But if he is, I’ll keep him busy while you get Leslie off in a corner somewhere.”

  Beyond a large pasture where a half-dozen yearlings grazed, they drove by a couple of small paddocks, each with its own resident horse. One ran along the fence on Becky’s side, keeping pace with the truck, and she admired the way the muscles rippled along its hindquarters.

  “Hey, that’s a stallion.” She turned to look at Scott. “I didn’t realize the Stevenses kept stallions.”

  “Oh, yeah. They board three studs and manage a syndicate. Lee Courtney owns shares in a couple of them.”

  Neal had spoken of syndicates that owned and bred stallions, but Becky had only a vague knowledge of the process. All she knew was that Neal had identified a couple of horses owned by syndicates that were close to retiring, and he hoped the owners would send them to the Pasture when they stopped producing.

  They turned the corner at the end of the paddock, and Scott inched past three horse trailers parked along the fencerow.

  “Looks like they’re busy today,” he commented. “You might have a hard time getting Leslie’s attention. She’s pretty involved at the breeding shed.”

  Breeding? A flush crept up Becky’s neck. She hadn’t anticipated walking in on horses breeding with Scott there. In the months since coming to work at the Pasture she’d learned enough about the Thoroughbred industry to know those involved in the breeding process viewed it with a clinical, businesslike detachment. But she hadn’t managed to develop that attitude yet.

  She turned away when her cheeks started to warm. “Maybe we should come back later.”

  Thank goodness Scott didn’t seem to notice her discomfort. “We’re here. Might as well see if she’s in.” He got out of the truck.

  Fighting to control the flush that she was sure had turned her face scarlet, Becky hopped to the ground and followed him into the small barn that was, apparently, a breeding shed.

  It was bigger inside than she had expected, probably twice as big as the barn over at the Pasture, but instead of sweet hay, the place smelled of horse sweat. There were people everywhere. Three men surrounded a chestnut-colored mare, one with a firm grip on her halter while the other two rubbed her neck and spoke in low, soothing voices. Someone stooped behind her doing who-knew-what, while someone else stood to one side holding a small camcorder. Beyond the open back door came the sound of impatient neighing.

  To the right of the door, two men bent over a desk, flipping through papers. One straightened at their approach. “May I help you with something?”

  Scott thrust a hand toward him. “Scott Lewis. I’m the manager of Out to Pasture. This is Becky Dennison, who works with me.”

  “Jason Rawlins.” He shook Scott’s hand and nodded a smile in Becky’s direction. “Nice to meet you.”

  “I heard Stevens had a new manager,” Scott said. “Sorry I haven’t made it over to say hello.”

  He dismissed Scott’s apology with a shrug. “I haven’t managed to get out much myself. I figured things would be busy here, but nothing like it has been.”

  Jason looked toward the mare, who whinnied and pranced in a circle. The man holding her halter skipped along with her, speaking in a low voice.

  Why did Scott look so suspicious all of a sudden? He gestured in the horse’s direction, but he kept a close watch on Jason. “She’s a beauty. And unique. You don’t see nite-eyes like that very often.”

  Becky looked at the horse. She was pretty, as far as Becky’s uneducated opinion went. But nite-eyes? How could he tell, when it was daytime?

  Jason looked as confused as Becky felt. But he didn’t admit it, either. His gaze flicked to the mare, then back at Scott. “Yeah. Real unique.”

  Scott’s lips pursed, and he studied Jason through narrowed eyes. “So, have you been in the business long?”

  “Long enough.” Jason cast a quick glance behind him. “Are you here as witnesses?”

  Becky spoke quickly, in case Scott should decide they could stay and be witnesses as the mare was bred. “We’re looking for Leslie.”

  “Oh.” Jason glanced around the barn. “She was here a minute ago. She must have stepped out back to check on the stallion.”

  He seemed embarrassed, eager to get rid of them. His head jerked toward the desk, where the man he’d been talking to when they came in waited patiently for him to return. “You can go on out there and see if she’s around.”

  Becky grabbed Scott’s arm and pulled him toward the rear exit. “Thanks. We’ll do that.”

  They stepped into the sunshine, and walked a few steps away from the barn.

  Scott glanced behind him and spoke in a low voice. “Something’s not right about that guy.”

  “He seemed okay to me.”

  “It’s breeding season. Why would he be surprised at being busy? And I don’t think he knows what nite-eyes are.”

  “So?” Becky tilted her head and admitted, “Neither do I.”

  “You’re not managing a breeding shed.” He shook his head. “Nite-eyes are growths on the inside of the knees. No two horses have identical nite-eyes. That guy obviously didn’t know that.”

  “Shh.” Becky dipped her head in the direction of a woman coming toward them.

  Leslie Stevens walked with a confident stride that swung her dark ponytail, pulled through the back loop of a white cap. Becky had liked Leslie since the time she welcomed Becky to her new job as Neal’s secretary with the gift of a vanilla-scented candle. She said it would, “give the place a woman’s touch.” Becky had been pleased by the gesture, especially coming from a wealthy horse breeder and one of the Pasture’s major donors. Looking back on that incident now, she wondered if the gift had been a bribe to keep Becky’s mouth shut in case someone questioned Leslie’s close friendship with Neal.

  Recognition showed on Leslie’s face as she approached, and Becky thought her smile faded a fraction when they locked eyes, although that could have been her imagination.

  Leslie smiled at Scott when she came close enough to shake his hand. “I’ve been meaning to stop by and congratulate you on your new position. Well deserved, I’m sure.” She sobered. “Even though it came about under sad circumstances.”

  “Temporary position,” Scott corrected.

  “Not for long, I’ll bet. The board
would be insane to let you get away. You’re exactly what the Pasture needs.”

  Becky agreed, but they had more pressing matters to discuss this morning. “Leslie, we need to talk to you about something important.”

  Fear darkened the eyes that turned Becky’s way. She knew what was coming, Becky was sure of it.

  “I expected the police. Not you.” Her voice was heavy with dread. “I guess it was only a matter of time before the gossip chain started buzzing.”

  “We didn’t hear about your relationship with Neal through gossip.” Becky watched her face, saw confirmation there instead of denial. “Hugh Keller told me.”

  “Isabelle’s father.” Leslie shook her head sadly. “That poor girl. I told Neal not to hurt her. She was too vulnerable to get involved with someone like him.”

  Scott glanced at Becky before speaking. “The police found a handwritten note in Neal’s truck, arranging a meeting for the night he was killed.”

  Leslie’s shoulders sagged, and tears sprang to her eyes. “I figured they would. Given the circumstances, slipping Neal a note wasn’t my smartest move.”

  Two men came out of the shed and headed toward the paddock where a stallion pranced and tossed his head. She turned slightly so they wouldn’t see her tears. An unexpected wave of compassion washed over Becky at the grief apparent in the woman’s face, and she stepped sideways to block her from view.

  “You really cared for Neal, didn’t you?”

  Leslie didn’t answer immediately. Her lips trembled as she lifted her chin to look out over the pasture behind Becky. Finally, she nodded. “He was easy to fall for. So outgoing, so passionate about his work. But we were wrong to have an affair.” Her struggle to hold back her tears contorted her face. “I cared for Neal, but I do love my husband.”

  “You have a strange way of showing it.” Disgust twisted Scott’s features.

  Leslie blanched, then nodded. “I made a terrible mistake. Nicky deserves better. The night Neal was killed, I was going to break it off. I did break it off. I went to his house around eleven-thirty, after Nicky was in bed.” Her lips twisted in a humorless smile. “That was our regular routine.”