by Sonja Gunter
She wondered if he knew she’d used the line of credit against his name.
Tapping the pen on the table, she brooded. The decision came easy. She wouldn’t and couldn’t bring herself to use what was his.
“Let’s take a look at what you have so far,” Max suggested. He joined her at the table and took a stack of papers.
“I’ve separated the emails and pictures into batches by degrees of need. The ones you are looking at are horses in non-friendly animal shelters.” She paused to give him a minute to look them over. “They don’t have the financial means for long-term care of large animals. That means horses. I’ve contemplated they should be the first we take.”
Rosalind collected the stack to her right and handed it to Max. He dropped the one he’d been looking through and took the new pile.
“These here are the worst. I’m not sure I’ll be able to save or help them,” Rosalind explained.
As he read each applicant, she studied his reaction. He shook his head and swore a couple of times. Same thing she’d done.
“Oh my Lord, definitely the worst. The owners should go to jail for mistreating animals,” Max retorted in anger. “I’d suggest a horse vet examine each one first. Then, based on their condition—or their chances of recovery, we can supply meds to ease their suffering or agree for them to be your guests.”
“Yes, yes, awesome. Let’s make it happen.”
“Okay, I’ll handle the calls to the local vets in the morning,” Max said.
Helen bustled in with a tray. “Here you two go. I warmed up some sticky buns too.” Helen unloaded a pot of coffee with two cups, along with a plate of delicious looking caramel rolls on the table.
“Mrs. Knutson, they look very tasty. If you have any leftovers, can I take them to the ranch hands?”
Helen grinned. Rosalind studied the exchange with interest.
“I’ll do better than leftovers—I’ll make a fresh batch for you to take.” Helen hurried back to the kitchen.
“I’m going to ignore that, but if you steal my cook you’re fired,” Rosalind teased.
“I won’t. Wrong person.” Max shifted in the chair. “You might want to ask Joe. He’s the reason we’ve been having so much extra food lately.”
“Joe? Good Lord. Never would’ve guessed. I’ve been distracted.”
He handed her a file. “What do you think of these racehorses?”
“It’s hard to believe that when a racehorse begins to lose competitions, the breeder-owners sell them at auction or to the slaughterhouses.” Rosalind shivered. “It’s inhumane. I’ve seen it happen too many times.”
“I know you’re partial to them, but the law says they can do what they want with them.” Max rubbed his chin. “What if we sent hired hands to the auctions to obtain those horses before the glue factory buyers get their mitts on them?”
“Love it. Let’s go a step further. I want the racehorses tracked. When we spot horses who aren’t finishing well anymore, we can approach the owners before they send them to the auction houses.”
“What a great suggestion. Maybe you can use the Dunne name to spread the word you’re buying horses,” Max suggested.
“Good point.”
For the next hour Max and Rosalind decided which candidates would be her future boarders. Together they read each email and printed out info on the racehorses and the ones being mistreated. They put them into an invite pile to Heavens Kiss Sanctuary.
The second largest pile came from horse owners whose family members had outgrown the want of a horse or hadn’t expected the huge expense. But most were forgotten horses or mistreated by owners.
In her book, no animal deserved such a total lack of concern. As Max read the emails in the last pile, Rosalind opened a new email from someone called ‘Help for the Forgotten.’
To whom it may concern,
I love all animals and heard about your new horse sanctuary. I too own a ranch. I’m unable financially to do what you’re doing. I try to help my neighbors in their time of need the best I can, however, I’m strapped financially. There is one horse I’d like you to consider.
A few weeks ago on my way home, I spotted a stallion standing next to the fence with no shelter from the falling snow or the dropping temperature. I slowed down. I could see he didn’t have any blankets or food.
I cried all the way home, telling myself not to get involved. However, in the middle of the night I grabbed several old blankets and a bale of hay. I drove back to the horse. I secured him for the night, the best I could.
The next morning I called the owner. He said the horse was his son’s, who’d stopped wanting the horse. The man hadn’t received any money in over a year for the animal’s care. As far as I could tell the old man is on a fixed income and was doing the best he could.
I called my town’s hardware store and asked for lumber. They gave it to me and I built a lean-to. I drop off food when I can.
Would you allow this beautiful stallion to live out his life at Heavens Kiss Sanctuary? Thank you for your consideration. I look forward to hearing from you,
Sincerely, Lori.
“Max, you have to read this email. I wish the barns were ready right now.” She handed him her iPad and counted the invite pile. Twenty-two plus this new one would make twenty-three. Three more than she’d planned.
“We should definitely accept this one.” Max tapped the screen. “I wonder if we can use this person as an in-between shelter house. Kind of like a halfway home. We can supply her with funds to take on horses till we’re ready to accept them.”
“Good thought. I’ll email her right away.”
Rosalind logged on to AOL and typed.
Dear Lori,
Thank you so much for caring. You are not alone. Please do as much as you can.
I’m happy to inform you the stallion will be accepted. We are planning on completion of the barns by mid-summer.
If you have a PayPal account, send me your account name. I would like to forward you money to help pay for the stallion’s veterinarian bills.
Heavens Kiss Sanctuary, Rosalind Smith
She hit ‘send’ and as if on cue, Helen carried in a covered pan of sticky buns.
Max stood. “Thank you, the guys will devour these in seconds.”
Helen lowered her eyes and smiled. “Oh it was nothing. Can you tell Joe hello from me?”
“Sure thing, ma’am.” Max blushed and took the pan. “Well, I better head out. It’s gettin’ late.”
Rosalind grinned at the exchange. “After practice, do you want to meet? I need to run the numbers again and talk to my lawyers.”
“Yes, I can help send out the emails. And thank you, Mrs. Knutson.”
Max waved and was gone.
“Breakfast will be at seven-thirty,” Helen announced. “I shut everything off in the kitchen.”
“Thanks, have a nice night.”
“You need some sleep too, young lady.”
Rosalind pushed the chair from the table. She paused. The quietness was strange without Allan. In the short time he’d been here, his presence had become a familiar fixture. She checked the doors and headed to her room.
She opened the top drawer of her dresser and reached for a heart shaped memory box, flipping the lid open. The silver wedding band twinkled at her. It was cold as she slid the band down her ring finger, but it warmed up quickly. How plain it looked, but held so much meaning.
She stared at the foreign metal against her hand. It felt odd, but if they were to stay married, she should wear it.
Rosalind lay on the bed, not bothering to get undressed, and snuggled the pillow Allan had used. A musky scent drifted to her nose. She fell into a light sleep as dreams of him at the rodeo, the bar, and in the hotel room played in her
mind.
“Rosalind!”
“Rosalind, we need help!”
“Rosalind!”
She rose on her elbows. Disoriented, she scanned her room in the darkness.
“Rosalind!”
At the faint sound of her name being called, she shoved the blankets off and ran to the window. Joe and the others were screaming for her to come outside. In the moonlight, she saw water gushing from a pipe on the side of the barn.
“Rosalind, wake up!”
Max’s voice carried upstairs.
“Coming!” Rosalind hurriedly put on a pair of jeans and a sweatshirt and tore down the stairs.
“It’s about time. It’s a madhouse out there.” Max held the door open.
She slipped on a pair of boots, grabbed a coat from a hook, and bolted out into the cold.
“What’s going on?”
“Not sure. It looks like a water pipe burst.” Max handed her a flashlight.
“How could this happen?”
“I have no idea. We have to move the horses,” Max urged. “The temperature is dropping and the water is gonna freeze on the ground.”
“Why move the horses?” Rosalind asked.
“The water has short-circuited all the electricity, which means . . .”
“No heat.”
Without another word, Rosalind raced back to the house, grabbed blankets, and towels. When she entered the barn, the cold, wet air was penetrating.
They finished moving and settling the horses into the second smaller barn around midnight.
“Excuse me, Rosalind.”
She whirled and found Joe holding some sort of wrench. “Where did you find that?”
Max joined her and took the tool from Joe.
“I found it in the bushes by the water pipes,” he replied.
“This was no accident. I’m calling Sheriff Hoffman right now,” Max hissed.
“I knew something bad would happen today,” Rosalind shouted and pounded her fist into her hand. “Why would someone want to sabotage the barn?”
The two men shook their heads.
Madder than a yellow jacket on a summer day, she slammed her fists on her hips. “When I find the bastard or bastards who endangered the lives of my horses, they’ll pay. No one threatens my animals.”
Chapter 31
“Thank you, Sheriff Hoffman.” Rosalind gripped the man’s outstretched hand.
“The Cities might help. I’ll send the wrench to them for DNA testing. Officers will be arriving in the morning.”
“Thank you, sir. The morning will give us better light to comb the area,” Joe replied.
“Sounds like a plan. Please, if you see something suspicious call it in right away. I have a man posted at the front gate.”
“You know we will,” she said.
The sheriff and her ranch hands left. Once again the house was quiet, with a lingering odor of coffee in the air. She stared at the Christmas tree. Why had she even bothered? It wasn’t bringing her joy like it should.
“It’s a beautiful tree,” Helen offered, pressing her hands together.
Unable to share Helen’s excitement, Rosalind blew out a breath. “Did all the commotion keep you awake?”
“Like anyone would be able to sleep. Do you want a fresh pot of coffee?”
“No, I do need some sleep. The tree is special.” Rosalind grinned, remembering how Allan had struggled to cut it, and his heated kisses afterward. Not wanting to disclose that personal scene to Helen, she added quickly, “It was one my dad planted years ago.”
“Why cut it down, then?”
“There are plenty more. I planted whole fields of them, plus I have another field Grandpa Rodney and I planted.”
“What a wonderful tradition. Oh, by the way, Max said to tell you not to practice in the morning, which, by the way, is only a few hours away. You’re to sleep in.”
“I am tired.” Rosalind yawned and glanced at mantle clock. It was two in the morning.
Helen unplugged the coffee machine and wiped down the counter. “I’ll delay breakfast till nine. Max also said he’d be coming to the house around ten-thirty.”
“Thank you. He’s going to help work on selecting which horses to accept.”
“Go on now, you resemble a walking zombie,” Helen scolded. “I’ll turn everything off.”
Grinning at the thought of the older woman watching urban fantasy shows, Rosalind figured it was time to get to know Helen better. Smiling, she gave her a hug.
“Sweet dreams.” Helen returned the hug.
“Goodnight,” Rosalind murmured, heading upstairs to her room. This time she put on her pajamas and snuggled beneath the covers.
The mouthwatering aroma of frying bacon woke Rosalind. Her stomach growled. Time to rise. The sun was shining through her curtains, which meant she’d slept past her normal time. For once her natural internal clock failed. She took a quick shower, dressed, and unplugged her phone from the charger. No missed calls. Hesitating, her finger poised over Allan’s number.
Should I call?
No, he said he’d call when he had time. She slipped the phone into her back pocket and went downstairs for some much-needed breakfast.
“Morning, Helen. I hope you fried plenty of bacon,” Rosalind joked and poured herself a cup of coffee.
“You know I did. Scrambled or sunny side up this morning?”
“Sunny side up. Maybe they’ll bring me some cheer.”
Cracking two eggs into the frying pan, Helen asked, “Have you heard from your handsome husband?”
Rosalind felt her cheeks warm. “Nope, he said he had meetings. I’m hoping he’ll call this evening.”
“He’s a man of his word.” Helen dropped two pieces of bread in the toaster. “If he says he’ll call, he will. Would you like to eat in the dining room instead of the kitchen this morning?”
“The dining room is a good choice. I can work and eat at the same time.” Rosalind took a sip of her coffee.
“Okay, should be ready in five minutes.”
Rosalind topped off her coffee and stepped into the dining room. She clicked on the television to one of the local morning shows, vaguely hearing their jokes about the snow and ice fishing. She moved some papers and took a seat at the table just as an excited voice announced, “I have breaking news. Wealthy New York stock broker, Allan Smith has been arrested.”
Rosalind rocked backward in the chair, gaping at a film clip of her husband, surrounded by police officers, being led from a courthouse in handcuffs.
“Oh my goodness. It simply can’t be,” Helen exclaimed.
Catching the plate of food Helen almost toppled, Rosalind set it down, then grabbed the remote and cranked the volume. The fragment of happiness she’d been holding on to faded to infuriation.
“Mr. Smith, owner of Smith and Associates Brokerage Firm, has been arrested for insider trading. His company and several of his employees have been implicated. They are being investigated at this time. The insider trading allegations have been linked to the Dell and Nvidia hedge fund and Heinz stock trading.”
A second video of Allan being driven away in a police car flashed. Soon it was replaced by a mug shot of her husband plastered on the screen.
Shit. Who am I married to?
Could he have been using her home as a hideout?
Helen collapsed on the couch, crying and shaking her head. Rosalind cupped a supporting hand over her shoulder as the reporter continued.
“Mr. Smith has posted bond. Sources say he used newly acquired property in Minnesota where he’d been staying under the radar of the FBI. If you’re unfamiliar with who Allan Smith is, he recently married a local celebrity, Rosalind Dunne, the darling Queen of
the rodeo . . .”
Newly acquired property? My ranch? Crap.
Rosalind clicked the television off. Had Allan tricked all of them? Her eyes teared, but she refused to let them fall, knowing it wasn’t worth it. You didn’t cry over stepping in cow pies. She knew the difference between cow shit and wild honey.
She should’ve seen through his good looks, smooth talk, and sexy body.
Suddenly the landline rang.
“Hello?”
“Is this Mrs. Smith?”
“Yes, who is this?”
“I’m Kyle Wilcox from the Wall Street Journal . . .”
“I have no comment,” Rosalind yelled and hung up. It rang again.
“Hello?”
“Mrs. Smith, I’m from the Daily . . .”
“Don’t call here again.”
Rosalind slammed the phone down on the table.
Before she could say anything, it rang again. She ignored it, but Helen reached for the phone.
“No. Don’t answer it. It’s damn reporters.”
Helen snatched back her hand. “Oh, my goodness. What are you gonna do? You should go to him. You need to support your husband.”
“I can’t. He tricked us. Used me. Us. He made me think he was helping. Made me believe he cared about the horses!” Rosalind’s voice rose to a shriek.
He said he loved me. I slept with him.
“You don’t know that, honey.” Helen heaved a breath and wiped at a tear as she walked away. “I’ve seen and heard the two of you. I know you love him and he loves you. Don’t question your feelings.”
“News flash. I did love him,” Rosalind snapped, her rage reaching a new level. She headed upstairs, leaving Helen to stare after her.
Everything was so confusing. What if someone had blackmailed him? It would be worse than rustlers stealing cows or horses.
Entering Allan’s room, she frantically searched through his dresser drawers and papers. She stopped when she found a file labeled ‘Portfolio Management.’ She sat cross-legged on the floor and opened the file.