Ghost Horse

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Ghost Horse Page 7

by Patricia Rosemoor


  Rising, I placed my cloth napkin next to my plate. “If you’ll excuse me.”

  “You’re leaving before dessert?” Nissa sounded horrified at the thought.

  “I couldn’t eat another bite. Truly.” I faced Damian and asked, “Just to be clear, I do have my evenings to myself, do I not?”

  “Of course. Feel free to do whatever pleases you.”

  “Good. I’ll do just that.”

  What would please me now would be another walk, one that would take me away from the house and its inhabitants.

  The weather was driving in on the area. The sky had grown darker than it should have been at this time of the evening, and the wind attacked the house in gusts. I grabbed a flashlight, but, certain that I would make it back to the house before the storm, which wasn’t due until the wee hours of the morning, I passed on the umbrella.

  I’m not sure what I intended when I set out, but I must have had a subconscious wish to find proof that I hadn’t been seeing things the night before, because as I entered the stand of trees between the house and the river, I sought the area where I’d seen the gray horse.

  Pretty sure I’d found it, I flashed the light along the ground. I didn’t know if I would actually find any prints since the storm had even penetrated the trees. Then the beam picked up an object that didn’t belong—the flashlight that I’d dropped the night before. I picked it up and put it in my pocket and checked the ground more carefully.

  Just there…a footprint…one of mine.

  Encouraged, I widened my search and caught a few impressions made by me.

  But none that had been made by a horse.

  I didn’t understand. If the rain hadn’t been severe enough here to wash out everything, why was it I couldn’t I find any prints in the shape of a horseshoe?

  No matter what Damian said, my imagination hadn’t been playing tricks on me.

  Maybe I ought to let it go. Seeing a horse that wasn’t supposed to exist didn’t have anything to do with Dawn’s disappearance, the only reason I was here. I couldn’t let my pique, first at being laughed at, then at being yelled at, distract me from my purpose.

  I was thinking about giving up what seemed like a futile search and returning to the house when I heard what I swore was an equine snort from somewhere behind me.

  My heart skipped a beat and I whirled around and stared hard through the trees. No movement other than the mist licking the ground. The air had cooled fast, which meant fog was sure to follow. The small forested area was already turning spooky again.

  Still…I couldn’t help myself. I edged forward in the direction from which the noise had come. My breathing shallow, I crept on silent feet and listened intently for a repeat of that distinctive sound.

  There it came again!

  I traveled faster now, my pulse drumming, my excitement growing as I heard the distinctive sound yet a third time. I broke into the clearing near the bluffs fully expecting to see my mystery horse awaiting me.

  Nothing.

  I whistled, keeping the sound low and soft and non-threatening. Head turning, eyes skimming every inch of open space, I moved across the expanse, careful not to go too far lest I be fooled by the fog and take a tumble down the palisades.

  Like Centaur…a chilling thought.

  A soft whinny spun me around and I saw the gray horse standing near the forest edge, soft, dark eyes fixed on me. I moved forward. Rather than away, the horse circled me, the equine dance studied, until we had nearly reversed positions. Then the gray threw up its head and whinnied again as it clacked a hoof against rock over and over and over.

  What the heck was he doing? I couldn’t tell. I moved closer. The fog twisted up the long gray legs and around the big body, nearly engulfing the horse. Still those eyes stared at me, as if willing me to come see…what?

  As I drew close enough to touch the beast, it backed off, head bobbing.

  So I flashed my light at the rock. I stooped to take a closer look and saw something sparkle from a crack. I glanced back to see what the horse was doing, but like the night before, it had vanished. A sense of foreboding filled me as I reached for the object and pulled it free.

  One look at the exquisite silver Celtic design interlaced with pieces of topaz and my knees gave way. Gasping, my heart pounding, I fell to the ground without ever taking my eyes from the object in my hand.

  I curled my fingers around the direct connection to my dearest friend and couldn’t stop the cry that escaped my lips.

  THE SUMMER TUTOR was going to be a problem. That had been obvious from the first. Now here she was at the bluffs—again!—as if drawn to this very spot by a ghost.

  She’d picked up something.

  What?

  From the forested area looking out, it was too far to see the object in her hand. What would even compel her to look for something in this fog?

  And why the hell was she crying?

  Her head hung and her shoulders jerked and she swiped a hand at her eyes. It took her a moment, but she got hold of herself, stood and slipped the object into her pants pocket. She looked around and shuddered.

  The incident was enough to set anyone on edge. No doubt about it, Chloe Morgan was bad news.

  Question was…what to do about her?

  Chapter Six

  I walk through fog-shrouded forest, my heart in my throat…searching…always searching.

  Searching for answers…

  Searching for the truth…

  Searching for Dawn.

  A pale shadow sideswipes me, nearly knocking me over.

  Pay attention!

  I absorb the words without a voice and I know they concern my friend. My heart thunders in my chest. What am I missing? What don’t I see that I should?

  I seek the shadow, catch up to it. The pale horse. Our gazes connect and I am filled with a surety that it wants something of me. Or perhaps for me.

  But what?

  Then I see her…there all the time. She steps from behind the horse and reaches out to me.

  “Dawn? Where have you been?” I ask.

  She doesn’t answer.

  I glance down at her outstretched hand. Cradled in her palm is the hair clip. She offers it to me and looks at me as if I should know what this means….

  My eyes flashed open and a pale shadow teased me from the corner of the room. I turned sleep-heavy eyes to see the curtains flailing. The storm had hit. Rain drummed overhead. I rose to lower the windows, but before doing so, my pulse fluttering in anticipation, I looked out over the grounds.

  No matter how hard or how far I searched, I saw nothing resembling a pale-hided horse.

  I returned to my bed and sat on the edge and turned on the table light. The dull pool illuminated the night-stand and the hair clip that lay on its surface. I stared at it for a moment—the fancy hair clip whose Celtic design matched the one she’d had tattooed around her wrist. I’d bought it the year before from an artist who had assured me it was one of a kind.

  My birthday present to Dawn.

  She’d loved this hair ornament. She would never have dropped it and not gone back to find it.

  And why was it at the bluffs?

  I had trouble believing Dawn would have voluntarily gone near the palisades. She was afraid both of heights and—since she’d never learned to swim—of any body of water.

  More and more convinced that something terrible had happened to my friend, I wondered how I could prove it.

  The note!

  I checked the time—barely five—surely too early an hour for anyone else to be awake. This was it, my opportunity to get to the computer in the library without anyone knowing.

  I thought to change out of the lace-trimmed cotton nightgown and put on some shoes, but in the end chose not to waste the time. If I hurried, I could be in and out of the library in minutes and with no one the wiser.

  I cracked open my door. Night-lights glowed softly, one at the landing, the other at the bottom of the stairs. I listened
hard. No sound but the rain, which seemed to be slowing. Nissa’s door was closed and not a sound came from her room, so I assumed the girl was still safely tucked in bed as she had been earlier when I’d checked on her. As far as I could tell, not a creature was stirring anywhere in the house….

  Shallow breaths, I told myself, slipping into the hall and making my way down the steps, careful to remain as silent as a ghost. Reaching the first floor without being discovered, I took a deep, shaky breath and tried to relax. My knees were wobbly, and I could feel my heartbeat as it thumped against the wall of my chest.

  Gliding through the night-lit hall like a wraith made me think of a dozen rental movies Dawn and I had watched together, hunkered down in our living room and sharing microwaved popcorn. Thrillers, horror movies—young heroines risking their lives to save the day.

  I stopped at the library door, which was shut. I pressed my ear to the wooden panel but heard nothing that would indicate anyone was inside. I glanced at the bottom of the door but no light escaped the gap.

  A swallow for courage allowed me to turn the handle, then to let myself into the room.

  The rain had stopped during my flight down the staircase, and the moon had come out from behind the clouds. A chill blue light swept through the room, and as my eyes adjusted, I could see that it was empty. The smell of charred wood lingered, and I wondered if the scent came from a recent fire or from the one Damian and I had shared.

  The last caught me, and for a moment I was filled with thoughts of my too-compelling employer. In my mind’s eye, I could see the potency of his every feature, the thickness of his dark hair… I could feel the strength of his arms, the rock-hard solidness of his body.

  My own flesh quivered in response.

  The attraction for me was strong. So was the doubt. Part of me—unreasonably, perhaps—wanted to know why Damian Graylord hadn’t delved into an investigation of an employee’s disappearance himself. If he knew something more than I, he was keeping the knowledge close.

  Damian was no one to trust, not until he proved himself.

  I moved to the desk and turned the work lamp on low and then—praying it didn’t require some identification or password—fired up the computer.

  My nerves were on edge as I waited for the various programs to load. The process seemed to take forever before the electronic noises stopped, the screen stabilized and the computer hummed steadily. I brought up the word-processing program. No passwords. I heaved a sigh of relief.

  And then I noted the large number of folders—each with subfolders—and wondered how the heck I was going to find one lonely little file when I didn’t even know the file name. I scanned the contents of dozens of folders before it hit me that I could do this automatically. I clicked on the system’s search program and entered “Dawn,” since Damian had said the note had been “signed” with her typed rather than written name.

  The search took only a moment. Several documents came up. I changed the view so I could see “details” that included dates and chose the latest entry.

  My pulse surged when I realized I’d found it. Quickly, I read the short missive.

  Dear Damian:

  It’s been great working for you, but I met a man on one of my trips into Galena. He swept me off my feet and wants me to marry him. My things are packed and I’m waiting for him now. We’re eloping. By tomorrow I’ll be married.

  Goodbye.

  Dawn

  I printed out the message. For good measure, I called up my Web-mail account and forwarded a copy of the note in an e-mail to myself. And then I read it again.

  The missive didn’t sit right with me. Dawn was impulsive, yes…and yet this forthright explanation didn’t sound anything like her. She was a gusher. She liked to tell you all the details. To embellish. She hadn’t mentioned the name of the man she was to marry, not even a first name, just as I’d been told. And she hadn’t so much as mentioned Nissa. I knew she cared about the girl, and I didn’t believe she would walk away without at least asking Damian to say goodbye for her.

  I would swear Dawn didn’t write this. I closed the file and took a look at the others called up by the search. Just letters having to do with hiring her. About to shut down the computer, I blinked at that list of “details” about the files, and one thing connected with Dawn’s goodbye jumped out at me. The date—5/21/05—that was the day after Dawn disappeared.

  I was still trying to absorb the disparity when, from somewhere in the house, I heard a noise, as if someone were moving around….

  My fingers flew over the keys, commanding first the word-processing program to close down, then the operating system. All the while I could hardly breathe. I listened for another noise that might indicate that a person was approaching, but either there was nothing to hear or the computer program shutting down was loud enough to cover.

  Just in case, I turned off the desk lamp and prayed as I folded the copy of Dawn’s supposed farewell and slipped it into the pocket of my nightgown.

  Outside, thunder rumbled ominously, the sky lit and split, leaving me startled and sweating. Once more, rain drummed against the house.

  Finally the screen before me went dark. I clicked off the monitor and wished I could do the same to the printer to snuff the ready light. Its tiny green glow mocked me. But if I turned off the printer, Damian would know for certain someone had been messing with his computer.

  So I let it be and prayed fate was with me as I stepped toward the door. Again I put my ear to the wooden panel. Again, nothing.

  Thankful my luck was holding, I left the library the way I’d entered—silently. Even so, the hairs on my arms rose. Something didn’t feel right.

  I began my escape, but halfway down the hall I caught another sound like that of a shoe against wood, only I couldn’t tell from which direction it came.

  Another scuff shuddered down my spine and pushed me faster. I intended to go right past the staircase and into the kitchen to hide. I was nearly there when a shove in the middle of my back sent me flying. I tried to catch myself, but my feet tangled on something soft and I went down, my head connecting with something hard.

  Light flared behind my eyes…then faded fast….

  “CHLOE, CAN YOU HEAR ME?”

  The deep rumble entered my head and forced me up out of an unnatural slumber.

  “Chloe, open your eyes and say something.”

  I blinked my eyes open to meet Damian’s frown. All I said was, “I’m still alive,” as if it was a surprise to me. Which in a way it was, I guess.

  I thought the rain had stopped again because early-morning light crept from the hall window to illuminate Damian hovering over me.

  How long had I been out?

  “I didn’t want to move you in case anything was broken.”

  So he’d left me in a heap on the floor, where apparently I’d tripped over a scatter rug. Vaguely I remembered thinking someone had shoved me. Did it really happen or had my imagination been working overtime? It was possible that I’d simply been clumsy in my haste to hide after hearing those noises. I simply wasn’t certain.

  I tested my limbs. “I think everything is working.”

  “Let me help you up.”

  Damian slid an arm around my waist and lifted. I was on my feet in seconds. He didn’t let go. Warmth shuddered through me as I realized all that stood between me and him was a thin cotton shift on my part, a thin cotton T-shirt on his. He seemed to realize it, too. His gaze intensified as did his grip on me. His long fingers biting into my flesh made me warm all over, and for a moment—watching his face draw near—I thought he was going to kiss me. The idea made my heart flutter.

  He looked deep into my eyes, no doubt to see if the pupils were even. “How is your head?”

  “Hard,” I muttered, biting down my disappointment.

  A smile quivered along his lips. “I already knew that. But does it hurt? Are you dizzy? Seeing double?”

  “I think I’m okay. You can let me go now.” />
  “‘Think’ isn’t good enough.”

  He kept his arm around me as he swept me down the hall, and for a moment I thought he might lift me into his arms and carry me up the stairs.

  And then I realized where he was headed.

  Good Lord, was he really taking me to the library? How much time had passed? I wondered frantically. Surely enough so the printer-ready light would be off.

  When Damian threw open the door, he didn’t give me time to check. He whirled me around, saying, “Sit.”

  My legs were back against one of the chairs in front of the fireplace. I sat.

  “Stay,” he added, before disappearing out of the room again.

  Sit…stay…? Did I look like a dog?

  For all I knew, I might. I put a hand to my forehead, wondering exactly where I’d smacked it and what I’d smacked it against. My fingers slid into my hairline before I winced. I felt something lumpy and warm and sticky, and when I took my hand away, my fingertips were red.

  Now I felt dizzy.

  “I can fix you up,” Damian said as he came back into the room, “but I’m not a doctor.”

  “I don’t need a doctor.”

  “We’ll see how bad that cut is and how you feel when you have to stand on your own.”

  He’d brought a first-aid kit. He opened it on a side table and took out a square packet which he proceeded to rip open.

  “I’ll be gentle,” he promised, pushing aside hair to get to the cut.

  Gentle or not made no difference. The antiseptic burned. I tried not to wince.

  “Swear if you have to,” he muttered, turning the pad and applying it a second time.

  “Ladies don’t swear.”

  “Did your mother teach you that? It’s a lie.”

  “All right, then, I don’t swear.” At least not aloud. I was doing plenty of silent cursing as Damian tended to the head wound.

  He pulled a bigger packet out of the kit, ripped it open and twisted the smaller bag inside. “Cold pack,” he explained. “It’ll keep the swelling down.”

  I grimaced as I touched it to the lump on my head.

  Damian picked up a small flashlight and switched it on. Then he cupped my chin and tilted my head and shone the light into my eyes—first one, then the other.

 

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