Paws For Death

by Susan Union

  “I’ll be finished in an hour. Saddle up Oro and Buster and we’ll go for a ride. Help clear your head.”

  She breathed a sigh of relief. “Thanks. I appreciate it.”

  “Anytime.”

  Randi called Kira at the restaurant and filled her in on everything that had happened, starting with the defining talk with Joe and ending by asking permission to ride Kira’s horse. After hanging up, Randi let herself fall back on the bed, her head on her mother’s pillow. Shane crossed the room, toenails clicking, and licked her face.

  He settled onto his dog bed, nose tucked under his bushy tail. The room was quiet except for the sound of the wall clock in the kitchen. Randi breathed deep through her nose. This was what she was used to. Being alone. Just her and Shane. Then her mother had come bursting into her life with a whirlwind of emotional demands. Next came Gina’s death and now everything was turned upside down.

  She closed her eyes and held tight to Pegasus round her neck. Funny thing was, now there was a hole in her heart. She missed her mother.

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  Randi waited for Shane to trot through Luke’s Dutch barn door before closing the bottom half behind him. Shane’s ears shot up and, once inside, he broke into a run. A calico cat burst from behind a hay bale, making for a thrill-filled half a second until it leapt up to a windowsill and shot the narrow opening, flicking the tip of its tail before it disappeared as if thumbing its nose.

  A breeze brushed Randi’s cheek and the noonday sun poured through the skylights, cooling and warming her at the same time. Shafts of pale yellow combined with the high ceiling made her feel like she’d come to pray for word from her mother in an equine cathedral. Fitting. If ever there were a creature closest to God it was the horse, and of all the barns she’d seen, Luke’s was her favorite. He’d taken his time with the design and had spared no expense. She closed her eyes, inhaled deep and, for a second or two, surrounded by the sweet breath of horses, the stamping of hooves and the chirping of birds, she could almost forget her mother was missing.

  Each of Luke’s stalls opened into a long, tree-lined paddock, allowing the inhabitants fresh air and exercise. Because of the ample light, the old-fashioned scroll chandelier hanging from the rafters and the matching sconces evenly spaced along the red-lacquered walls seemed superfluous, yet added ambience by design. She could live in this barn, perfectly happy to unfold her sleeping bag on a cot and take up residence next to the horses. There was a powder room and a clean, spacious tack area for her things. Add a mini-fridge, a microwave and a coffeemaker, and she’d be in heaven. With a dog by her side, what more could a woman want?

  She pulled her phone from her pocket, checking it for the hundredth time, pushing the volume up all the way. No calls. She vacillated between anger over her mother leaving without a word or a note of explanation and fear something terrible had happened to her. The last message she’d left on her mother’s phone, the fourth or fifth or sixth, had ended with a series of choking sobs.

  Did all mothers have the power to turn back the clock twenty-five years in a matter of seconds, or just hers?

  Her boots fell silently on the rubber tiles of the barn aisle. She forced a couple of coughs. Manuel, Luke’s stable hand, was blasting tejano music from his boom box and she didn’t want to scare him. The groom was a daydreaming sort and more than once he’d been startled by the sight of her.

  Shane made a beeline for a pile of wood shavings behind the crossties. You never knew what you might find buried in there: A dead mouse? A chunk of carrot? Or the grand prize—hoof trimmings thrown away by the shoer. One animal’s trash was another’s delectable debris.

  The scritch, scritch, of Manuel’s pitchfork came from inside a stall. Four of the enclosures were occupied, two empty. Oro, Kira’s palomino mare, lived in the first one on the right. Buster, Luke’s dark brown gelding, a former San Diego police horse—literally bombproof on the trail—had the stall next to Oro, and across the aisle was Frankie. The swayback old paint belonged to Luke’s secretary, Mrs. Fowler, and was almost as old as she was. Beside Frankie lived Cotton, a light grey half-Arab mare with a delicate dished face and big beautiful eyes. She was as crazy as a loon, but you could ride that horse up and down steep, rocky hillsides all day and into the night before she broke a sweat or showed any sign of tiring.

  All four horse heads peered out from behind the bars of their stalls. She waved hello to Manuel then lifted a halter from the peg outside Oro’s enclosure. Kira’s mare swished lazily at her flanks, pricked her ears and nickered softly. The greeting was more for the molasses horse cookie in Randi’s pocket than anything else, but it was okay. Randi buckled the halter over Oro’s head, admiring her gleaming gold coat and well-toned muscles. Every time Randi saw a horse galloping on a track or across a field, she got a rush of adrenaline. Been that way since as long as she could remember, and Kira’s mare was about as close to a perfect quarter horse specimen as you could get. Randi never tired of admiring her.

  Shane barked from where he sat, waiting next to the tack room as if telling her to hurry up and get on with it. In Shane’s world, hitting the trail ranked right up there with eating kibble and chasing bunnies.

  Randi led Oro into the crossties and snapped the halter into place between two chains. She did the same for Buster. Side by side, Buster stood a good two hands taller at the withers than Oro, making the mare appear small and meek. Oro was anything but. Brave and feisty were the two words that best described Kira’s palomino. Like owner--like horse.

  Manuel came out of Cotton’s stall and laid a pitchfork on top of the wheelbarrow. “Necesita ayuda, señorita?”

  “Oh…no. I’m good.” She should’ve paid more attention to Senor Aguaro in high school. “Gracias though.”

  “De nada.” Lucky for her, Manuel spoke Spanglish.

  At the sound of Manuel’s voice, Shane pulled himself away from the pile of shavings and trotted down the aisle, purr-growling, without malice, in his husky dog way, “Woo, roo, roo.”

  Manuel bent over to stroke Shane’s black and silver coat, crabbing his fingers along his spine. “Mi perro favorito.”

  Shane wiggled with pleasure.

  Manuel nodded toward the horses in the crossties. “You ride with El Jefe today?”

  “Sí.” She hoped the conversation wouldn’t go any deeper. It made her feel like an idiot when she couldn’t answer a question, much less understand it. One of these days she would enroll in Intro to Español at the local junior college.

  “Muy bueno.” Manuel grinned. “El Jefe, he like you.”

  A third grade giggle slipped out. Good grief. What was wrong with her?

  She turned her back on Manuel so as to not embarrass herself further and opened a cabinet along the wall, removing a grooming box filled with brushes, a hoofpick and fly spray. Slowly the heat receded from her face. She lifted Oro’s hoof and allowed herself half a smile. Why wouldn’t Luke like her? She was a hard worker, was never late and rarely called in sick—except when migraines got the best of her. Luke understood that couldn’t be helped, but she was pretty sure that wasn’t the type of like Manuel meant.

  The minutes passed; Manuel went back to work. Snorting and munching sounds from inside the stalls gradually replaced the awkwardness of his comment. Concrete things, not schoolgirl silliness. The jingle of Shane’s dog tags also returned as he continued his quest for buried treasure, and from the crossties, the swish of Oro’s tail and the feel of her muscles beneath the body brush helped Randi get back to a semi-relaxed state. The best she could do with an AWOL mother. Oro craned her neck, stretched her nose toward the ceiling and closed her eyes.

  “You’re just like my dog.”

  Last she picked Oro’s hooves then set the brush box down close to Buster. She went in the tack room, scooping up a black cat that’d curled into a ball on Oro’s thick saddle pad, and deposited the cat gently onto the floor. “Go catch a mouse.”

  She saddled Oro and secured the cinch,
without tightening it all the way, then went back for the bridle, admiring how spotless Manuel kept the place. The tack was cleaned and oiled. No dust, no dirt, no spiderwebs.

  Hooking the bridle over the saddle horn, where it would be ready for Luke’s arrival, she ducked under the barrier to repeat the entire process with Buster. As soon as she turned her attention to the big brown horse, Oro whinnied and stepped forward and back, over and over, as far as the crosstie ropes would allow in either direction. Swishing her hind end, she lifted her tail. Dark trails of urine stained the tops of her rear legs. Great. That would make the ride all the more interesting, and unpredictable. Oro had a good head for the most part. She was a reasonable horse not given to flighty acts of insanity, except when she was in heat. Then all her training and sensible level-headedness went right out the window. To prove it, she lifted a leg and jabbed the air like a boxer getting warmed up.

  “Stop!”

  Oro flicked her ears and gradually lowered her leg.

  The door at the far end of the barn slid open. A female voice, speaking fluid Spanish, echoed off the rafters. Randi expected to see Manuel’s wife, but instead, down the aisle a wave of black hair and a tight pink top appeared. Barbra Dubois cradled her white fluffy dog and conversed rapidly with Manuel.

  Primitive muscles tried their damnedest to raise hackles Randi didn’t have. With a huff, she pulled herself taller and went back to grooming Buster. The gelding’s skin twitched under her heavy hand.

  “Sorry.” She lightened her touch. “Barbra does that to me.”

  Manuel said a universal no to whatever question Barbra had asked and, in a voice some people used to address the help, Barbra argued back. Manuel held his ground, and it was only when Barbra pivoted, she seemed to notice the horses in the crossties. Perpetually high-heeled, ridiculous choice of footwear for a horse person, she detoured into the tack room then made her way to the crossties, ankles wobbling over the rubber tiles. A plastic smile appeared. “Hey, there.” Barbra never used Randi’s name. “You seen Luke?”

  She traded the body brush for a wide-toothed comb and made an effort to be as gentle as possible on Buster’s thick, unruly mane. “No. He told me he was out on a call, but he didn’t say where.” She was glad of that now. Had she known, she would’ve had to spill. She was a sucky liar.

  Barbra’s little dog yapped at nothing. “Bitsy, quiet.” The dog, a shitz-pookie, one of those designer crossbreeds, wore a pink polka dot bow between her ears.

  Barbra studied her face. “Is something wrong?”

  The question took her off guard. Concern from Barbra wasn’t what she expected. “Oh, uh…it’s just my mother.”

  “I understand. Mine drives me crazy sometimes.”

  “Really?” The muscles between Randi’s shoulder blades relaxed as the need to unburden herself overpowered her distrust. “Mine’s impulsive. She comes to visit then packs up her stuff and leaves without a word. I don’t even know where she went.” She was about to kick it into turbo-babble but forced herself to shut down. Telling secrets to the enemy.

  Barbra reached up to stroke the white star on Buster’s forehead. “Last January my mother took off with some guy she met in a bar. Flew with him in a private plane to his private island. Didn’t bother to let me know for two whole weeks. Said there was no phone handy. I nearly developed an ulcer.” Barbra tapped her toe. “Sometimes I feel like I’m the mother and she’s the child.”

  Randi lowered the comb and met Barbra’s eyes.

  “True story.” Barbra put her hand on Randi’s forearm. Half a second later she pulled it away. “I hope you’re able to work through it.”

  Whatever that means. “Thanks.” She dug through the grooming box, found the detangle spray and squirted it on Buster’s mane.

  “My horses are due for vaccines. Are you coming over with Luke?”

  She put the spray down. “He hasn’t mentioned it. Why?”

  “He’ll need you to hold for him. I usually do it, but I won’t be there.”

  “Okay.”

  Barbra smiled, not so genuine this time. “If you’re stressed out, Thunder will sense it. He’s a sensitive one to begin with, and I don’t want Luke to have to twitch him. It makes him nervous and gives him diarrhea.”

  Randi went to get Buster’s saddle, responding to Barbra over her shoulder. “I’ll do my best to control my anxiety.”

  When she came out of the tack room, Barbra was still there, arms crossed, Bitsy on the ground, dangerously close to Buster’s feet. Barbra arched her brows. “Luke paying you enough?”

  “Why? You want to hire me away from him?”

  “Just want to make sure you’re getting taken care of.”

  Yeah, right. Barbra’s just plain nosy regarding anything concerning Luke. Randi swung the saddle over Buster’s back, hoping she’d go away.

  “Who are you riding with?”

  “Luke.”

  “Well,” Barbra put a hand on her hip, “aren’t you full service. How nice.”

  Randi ignored her. She lifted Buster’s front leg and pulled it forward to smooth the skin bunched beneath the cinch.

  “When you see him, tell him I need him to come to the ranch ASAP.”

  “Something I can do to help?”

  “Not unless you can change a tire. I’ve got a flat on my six-horse and have to hit the road for a show in Burbank at the butt-crack of dawn this weekend.”

  “Call Triple A.”

  “Why would I do that?” Barbra tossed her head. “It’ll be much more fun to watch Luke fix it for me, don’t ya think? Especially in those jeans he wears.”

  Shane trotted past the crossties with a C-shaped paring of horse hoof clutched between his teeth. His tenacity had paid off and he’d scored the prize.

  Bitsy wriggled herself free of Barbra’s grasp and became airborne, silky white hair streaming. She landed in a heap, dislodging the bow on her head, leapt to her feet and ran off after Shane, who was totally cool with the little pipsqueak until she jumped up and snatched the hoof trimming right out of his mouth and took off down the aisle.

  Shane caught up in three strides and slapped a massive paw on her back. Bitsy screamed like she was being killed. Barbra grabbed a shovel from the corner and ran straight for Shane. Randi charged Barbra, aiming to ram her with her shoulder and knock her off her feet. Manuel rushed from the stall he’d been cleaning, grabbed the end of a coiled hose with one hand and pointed it at the tumbling, scuffling ball of canine bodies while he twisted the wall-mounted spigot with the other.

  Barbra raised the shovel above Shane’s head. She flexed, tensed, arched it through the air. The blast of water hit her straight on at the same time Randi crashed into her. Barbra screamed and dropped the shovel. The dogs scattered.

  Bitsy scurried down the aisle like a half-drowned rat. At the end of the barn she made a U-turn and dashed back to her owner. Barbra scooped up her dog, pushing chunks of wet hair from Bitsy’s face as she snapped the silly bow back in place. Shane did his best to act dignified, but the husky half of him hated water. Pull the sled team onto thin ice and you all were goners. Pride clearly wounded, he shook himself and pinned his ears.

  Randi shook with rage. She was soaked but didn’t care. Barbra had almost killed her dog as casually as one might swat a fly. She stabbed the air in front of Barbra’s chest with her finger. “Come at my dog with a shovel again, and a flat tire will be the least of your worries.”

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  With Bitsy tucked under her arm, Barbra huffed herself into her white Maserati sedan and drove off, gravel spewing. Randi paced the barn aisle. Shane lay in front of an empty stall, sunning himself to dry off, blissfully unaware of his brush with death, but it’d take a while for Randi’s blood to cool despite her soaking. The heat of her rage at Barbra had surprised her. She’d assigned most of the blame to frustration over her mother’s disappearance, but it didn’t matter what the reason, Barbra was sure to let Luke know what an insolent employee he had
on his hands.

  Luke arrived minutes later, with a concerned look and the Wranglers that, as Barbra had mentioned, fit him just right. At least he didn’t have Barbra’s baseball cap. Today he wore one stitched in the green and gold of Colorado State, where he went to vet school. He adjusted the brim. “How ya doing?”

  “Okay.” She was in no hurry to tell him what happened with the dogs. He’d find out soon enough, either from Manuel or Barbra.

  “Your mother?”

  “No news.” She slumped against one of the hay bales.

  Luke finished bridling the horses, collected each one from the crossties and led them outside.

  Randi trailed him, pulling her phone from her pocket for the umpteenth time. A blank screen. No missed calls, no texts. Damn. What she wouldn’t give to see that 970 area code flash. She checked Oro’s cinch, tightening it for good measure, and then put her foot in the stirrup in preparation to mount. Oro crabbed sideways and Randi ended up doing a disturbing version of the splits, hopping on one foot to avoid falling on her butt. “Whoa!”

  Oro jerked her head up, showing the white of her eye. If Barbra and Bitsy hadn’t come in and caused a scene, Randi would have had time to turn the mare out in the round pen and let her gallop her ya-yas out.

  Luke scowled. “What’s up with her?”

  “She’s in heat.”

  “That’ll excuse her from some things, but not unladylike manners. Let me hold her for you.” He gathered Oro’s reins below the bit, giving the horse a look that said, “One false move and your ass is grass.” The mare kept all four hooves firmly planted.

  Randi swung into the saddle. “Thanks.”

  “Good to go?”

  “Yep.”

  Luke mounted Buster with ease, settling himself on top of the horse like he’d been born there. He once told her he considered himself lucky to live in this day and age because he got to be the cowboy and the Indian. “Nothing at all from your mother?”

  “It’s been three hours. My calls go straight to voice mail. I’m worried.”