But that had been a lifetime ago and time moved on.
Sighing, she released her seatbelt and stepped down into the sunlit morning. The first order of business was to get Jaz someplace she could move about in safety, someplace she could roll and stretch with a playful buck or two.
Her phone was ringing as she stepped to the ground but stopped before she could fish it from the back pocket of her jeans. Not recognizing the number, she turned toward the rear of the trailer only to have the same number ringing in again. It could be a new client with a horse rodeo-ready but in need of someone to do the hard part of hauling and seasoning until the animal was rock-solid. The fact that she was currently booked never made her ignore courtesy. And she had never become so complacent as to lose sight of the truth that her success was as much on her reputation and interaction with her clients as on her riding skills and tireless work.
She answered as she always did, “This is Malone.”
“Put Cowboy on the phone.”
The voice was unfamiliar and rude, so rude that she tempered her own tone to cool restraint.
“You have the wrong number.”
“No, you have the wrong answer. We know where LaMonte goes to ground.”
The use of the word We rather than I sent a small prickle through her veins. She leaned against the side of the truck wondering what trouble Tyge had gotten himself into this time. “I haven’t seen Tyge in over a year. I don’t know where you got my number but I’d like for you to lose it.”
“You tell Cowboy he can’t hide behind a woman’s skirts forever. It might take us a while, but we’ll catch up with you. And him.”
Again, us not me. Without answering, Malone disconnected the call, feeling that old flare of tension. She pushed it aside, gratified to realize that it took far less effort these days. Tyge, the rough stock rider she’d left home with at seventeen, had lived and loved with, but never married, had been in some kind of trouble off and on for years. He always found a way to finagle himself out of the repercussions of his actions.
Resolutely, she turned her mind to making Jaz comfortable before going inside to see what kind of mess might await her. The house had remained vacant since her grandfather’s death. Malone paid a local service to walk through it once a week to open windows and air it out for a few hours, to make certain appliances were running, doors remained locked, and windows unbroken. Mostly Malone needed to ensure no vagrants had taken up residence until she felt herself capable of making a decision about the house, the property. She didn’t know for sure if she’d reached that point, but it was past time to do something.
For a moment, she leaned against the fence rail, watching as Jaz explored the grassy paddock. She sent a check each month to her grandfather’s closest neighbor and best friend. He’d engaged a local handyman to bush hog the fenced areas around the barn and house on a regular basis. Her gaze lifted to the empty slope of the hills. The cows had been sold at her request. Those hills would soon be overtaken by scrub trees. Or housing projects. The thought depressed her and she turned resolutely to get Jaz fresh water.
As she neared the truck and trailer, the sound of a cat yowling startled her. Glancing around, she saw nothing, but the closer she came to the trailer the louder the sound.
WELL, this is a bit of a predicament. These side compartments open easily enough from the outside but - not being designed for occupancy, human, or feline! - have no handles on the inside. I feel the sense of desperation growing in the young girl beside me as she runs her hands along the crevices. I better understand the chock of wood she held in her hand when I first saw her. I suppose my precipitous entrance thwarted her plan to use it to prevent the hatch from closing securely.
I’ve at least had time to ascertain that this young miss, desperate though she may be at the moment, poses no threat. Although strong fright can make the actions of any human unpredictable, I detect no meanness in the girl. I allowed her to pull me onto her lap for the ride. It gave her comfort to hold another living creature I think. It also gave me a warmer, softer ride than the unyielding metal of the compartment floor.
She’s not a talkative thing for certain. Other than a whispered, “Oh no!” she hasn’t spoken since I leapt into the hatch with her.
I must alert Ms. Rodeo to our presence. I’m not certain she’ll discover us soon enough for my comfort. I have no idea how the girl will react for she most clearly didn’t want her existence known.
MALONE STOPPED at the trailer and listened, but the cat had stopped yowling. She reached into the trailer compartment for a water bucket and the sound came again, louder and closer, with an echoing quality. She had no idea how a cat came to be trapped in her trailer but it was there somewhere, and close. Malone reached cautiously for the handle on the next compartment and lifted the door, stepping to one side as she did. She didn’t want a frightened cat to take a flying leap toward her face.
But, no, a sleek, black cat sat quietly watching as she raised the door. And, there, pressed into the shadows of a corner, a young woman – no, certainly not more than a school girl – stared back at her.
“You’ll need to climb out now.” She made her voice no nonsense.
“Don’t tell them where I am.” The voice held both fear and defiance.
“Climb out,” Malone repeated, more calmly than she felt, not ready to admit she was alone on the property. She couldn’t be certain the girl was unaccompanied. She had a concealed carry in the truck but it wasn’t much use to her from here.
The cat leapt out first and Malone gave a groan as she caught full sight of him. “Good grief! You’re Tammy Lynn’s Trouble. What in the world were you doing in there?”
The girl emerged more slowly and Malone took in the faded jeans and nondescript tee shirt. Green-gold eyes with heavy lashes brushed fair skin as she blinked at the bright sunshine. Her hair was pulled up under a plain red ball cap. The wisps that escaped were dark, almost black, even in the daylight. Any lingering uneasiness at discovering a stowaway yielded to dismay when the morning rays revealed the ugly bruise on one cheek.
Malone caught her breath audibly. She said nothing for a moment, then, softly, “You’re hurt.”
The girl shrugged without responding. Her gaze was steady and guarded.
Malone’s sweeping glance caught a glimpse of another bruise just below the sleeve of her tee shirt. Keeping her tone even, she asked, “Do you need medical attention?”
At the suggestion, something flashed deep within those green eyes. “No.” She shifted a tiny step back. “I just needed a ride, just needed to get away.”
Realizing the girl was on the point of flight, Malone gestured around her at the empty property with its aura of abandonment. “You’re very much away here. Who are you running from?”
“It doesn’t matter. We’ve got to be far enough away from Louisiana that surely it doesn’t matter. What state is this?”
“Georgia.” Then the girl’s words caught up with Malone. “What? Wait! Are you saying you got on this trailer in Louisiana? At the rodeo in Lake Charles?” That had been Malone’s last stop, her last run, before arriving at the Hanna’s.
At the girl’s nod, Malone blew out a breath. She had questions. Too many. And most weren’t going to be answered any time soon if that closed expression was any indication. “Okay, this can wait. I’ve got to get my mare some water, then we’ll go inside and talk.”
“No, ma’am, I’ll just be on my way.”
Trouble growled low in his throat at the girl’s words.
Malone studied her in consternation. The girl was a stranger with a past that could hold anything, any amount of trouble that Malone didn’t need. But, to just let her wander away to an uncertain fate was beyond Malone. “Where are you headed?”
“Anywhere.” The girl reached back and pulled a duffle bag from the trailer compartment. “Someplace I can find work.”
She didn’t look old enough, Malone thought and almost asked, then realized the girl would
only lie if she were as young as Malone suspected. Clearly, she had no one to help her, at least no one she trusted. Malone had stopped acting on impulse long ago. At least she thought she’d stopped until she opened her mouth and said, “I could use a hand here, at least for a couple of days.”
“Here?” The girl looked suspicious. “Doing what?”
Exasperated with herself at making the offer and at the girl’s suspicions, Malone asked with a trace of asperity, “Does it really matter? Work is work. Money is money. Food and a roof over your head are just that.”
For the first time, a glimmer of a smile touched the girl’s face. “No, ma’am, I don’t suppose it does matter.”
Malone took a deep breath, wondering what the hell she thought she was doing. This girl was more than likely underage – Malone would get around to asking – and she was most likely a runaway. And it was equally likely that she was running away from something very mean and ugly. Malone would get around to asking that as well. For now, she had to keep the girl from running into worse danger than she’d left. The world was full of predators.
“I’ve got to get water to my mare. You first job is to go in and make sure things are on and working … lights, water heater, refrigerator, which is probably empty but we’ll worry about that later.” Malone pulled out the key chain she’d slipped into her pocket earlier and held it out to her stowaway.
With clear reluctance, the girl took it and started toward the house. Halfway there, she stopped to look back at Malone. “How much are you paying?”
Malone matched her look for look. “We’ll negotiate later. Get moving.”
As she’d expected, the girl responded immediately to that tone of authority. She wasn’t a renegade or a rebel, then, just a little girl lost. Malone watched her walk away, Trouble at her heels, and realized she didn’t even know her name.
I AM doubtful there’s much in the way of true cuisine, but like myself, the young human’s first thoughts turn to food. First stop, the kitchen, painfully clean. No one has cooked here in a while. Not even that menu of British sustenance, fish and chips. While she rummages through the cabinets, I shall make a tour of the other rooms. I sense no other human presence, but far better to be safe than be taken by surprise. Besides, there is little that can be found in a cupboard that tempts my gastronomic interest. Boxes and tins of food hold no appeal for me.
Room by empty room. At least empty of recent human inhabitance. Furnishings, to be sure, clean and bare of any clutter. Someone took the time to clear away any mementos. No photographs in frames. No magazines or books lying about. Even with that clearing away, there’s a story to be read in the polished wood furnishings and chenille bedspreads with filmy curtains over windows that overlook the hills beyond. Whoever passed their years here did so with more of an eye to need and comfort than any fashion of the moment.
Upon my return to the kitchen, I find the girl leaning against a counter, staring out a window unframed by curtains. She remains a mystery, but one I will solve, given time. I leap lightly to the counter, careful to land some distance away so as not to startle her. I peer through the window as well and together we watch as Ms. Rodeo walks purposefully toward the house.
CHAPTER THREE
C ade accepted Avery’s offer of the last cup of coffee in the carafe and she returned to the kitchen for a refill. With Malone on her way to Georgia, he no longer needed a hasty departure and had joined Dirks’ impromptu breakfast party with several other lingering wedding guests. He wondered when he’d gotten to be such a coward, that a woman could make him bolt. But she wasn’t just any woman. Malone was ... Malone.
He wished again that he hadn’t seen her up close and personal, hadn’t felt the warmth of her skin beneath his hands when she’d turned and stepped into him. Her shoulders had been silky smooth and it would be a long time before he forgot the fragrance she’d been wearing. Hell, who was he kidding? He wouldn’t forget. He would simply store the encounter along with all of his other memories of her.
Avery returned to the dining room with the carafe in one hand, her cell phone in the other, and an odd look on her face. She handed the phone to Tammy Lynn who sat opposite of Cade. “This is for you. It’s Malone.”
Avery’s expression and tone, as well as the mere mention of Malone’s name, had Cade on alert as Tammy Lynn put the phone to her ear. To his chagrin, Tammy Lynn spent the next few minutes simply listening to whatever Malone had to say. When she finally spoke, Cade found nothing reassuring in her words. “Trouble doesn’t act on whim or chance. If he chose to go with you, there’s a reason. I promise you have a problem whether you know it or not. Are you certain everything is alright? You didn’t see anything odd around your truck or trailer before you pulled out?”
Cade would have given a small fortune to hear Malone’s response. A glance around told him that Avery and Dirks felt the same. The atmosphere in the room had turned from festive to concerned.
Tammy Lynn frowned. “No, he’d best stay right where he is until you figure out why he’s there. Keep your guard up. I’m going to have Avery text you my cell number and your number to me. If you need help, you call me. And, Malone, keep in touch. Please?”
She broke the connection and looked at Avery with faint lines of disquiet creasing her forehead. “Trouble hitched a ride in Malone’s trailer. She found him when she got to her grandfather’s property.”
“She didn’t see any signs of a problem either with her truck or when she arrived?” Dirks asked.
“Well …” Tammy Lynn’s tone was hesitant. “She said she didn’t, but I sensed something in her voice, that perhaps she wasn’t telling me everything.”
“Do you seriously think the cat ended up in Malone’s trailer for some reason other than getting trapped in there?” Cade asked.
Tammy gave a rueful smile. “Well, yes. Maybe. He does seem to place himself in the mix of things when there’s trouble brewing.”
“I have no doubt that Trouble knew I was in danger,” Avery said.
That was all Cade needed. He’d heard the tales of the cat’s brilliance and had taken them with a grain of salt. Still, Dirks swore the cat had saved Avery from the young woman determined to kill her. That, coupled with Tammy Lynn’s suspicions that Malone was withholding something of concern, was more than he could ignore.
Cade stood decisively and looked at Dirks. “You two have a plane to catch. Make sure you’re on it. I’m going to see what’s going on with Malone.” It was what he wanted to do deep down at his core and the fact made it easier for him to act on the premise that a black cat had somehow deduced Malone was in danger of some kind.
Avery gave an audible sigh of relief. “That would ease my mind, Cade. Thank you so much.”
Cade took his leave in short order. He didn’t bother admitting to Avery that his purpose in making the trip was far less for Avery’s peace of mind than for his own.
IT’S INTERESTING to watch these two females dance – conversationally speaking – around each other in Ms. Rodeo’s quest for the truth. I’m listening hard because I remain convinced there is misfortune following the younger of the two. It’s as clear to me as the heartache that follows the older woman. I remain hopeful that I’ll be able catch some nuance that will enlighten me as to what hazards are in the offing. The more information I have, the better prepared I can be.
MALONE PLACED a glass of tea in front of her stowaway. So far, the girl had volunteered nothing except the fact that the refrigerator was running but bare of food as were the pantry and cabinets. Malone, who’d expected as much, had retrieved a few items from the tiny kitchen space in the living quarters of her trailer.
“Let’s start with you telling me your name.”
“Joss.”
Malone didn’t know whether to believe her or not. “Just Joss?”
“Yes.”
“Last name,” Malone prodded.
The girl hesitated. “Anything I tell you will be a lie.”
Malone ga
ve a short burst of laughter that faded quickly. “Well, that’s honest. What or who are you afraid of?”
“What I was running from.”
Ignoring her stubbornness, Malone propped her elbow on the table, chin in hand, studying the dark bruising along the girl’s cheekbone. “Who hit you?”
“My husband.”
“You aren’t old enough to be married.”
“My folks didn’t think so either. That’s why we ran off together.”
That struck a strong cord in Malone though she hadn’t gotten married and Tyge had never laid a hand on her in violence. But there was something too steady, too detached in the girl’s words and Malone suspected they were no more than that. Just words. A story invented and memorized for exactly a moment such as this. She tested the waters. “So, you got married too young and he couldn’t take the pressure and took it out on you with his fists.”
Joss shrugged. “It happens.”
“But not to you,” Malone said softly.
It took only a heartbeat for the girl to realize that Malone was calling her on the made-up story. As she tensed to rise, Malone placed a hand on hers. “I’m not going to do anything to put you in harm’s way, but I’m not going to pretend I believe that tale of yours. Your first words to me were ‘don’t tell them where I am.’ Them not him, not some made up husband.”
The girl leaned back in her chair but didn’t bother to argue the point. Malone could see the weariness and creeping despair in the rich hazel eyes.
“Whoever they are, I won’t give you away. You’re safer here with me and Trouble than anywhere outside these walls.”
At her words, Joss glanced at the cat. “He’s hungry, I think.”
Malone interpreted that to mean the girl was hungry ... and that she didn’t plan to bolt, at least not for the time being. Pushing aside the questions that clamored in her mind, she rose to her feet. “I turned the water heater on so we’ll be able to shower soon. After we eat, I’ll dig out some clothes that should come close to fitting you. You’re as tall as I am but they may be a bit loose on you.”
Turning for Trouble: Book 7 of Cat Detective Familiar Legacy mystery series Page 2