I found myself twisting the cloth napkin like I had the dish towel earlier.
“I knew those other girls were out to get her. Well, they did.” I stood. “Excuse me.”
I went to the bathroom and sat on a toilet and dabbed at tears, trying to keep from getting mascara all over my face. I’d managed to not think about Heidi for some time. The memory had been on the periphery since the day before, though, and I’d kept it out there.
Until now.
Damn Malcolm.
He touched my hand when I returned to the table. My salad had been delivered.
“You okay?”
I shrugged. “She was nine years old. Heidi. She was one of the good ones.”
“It wasn’t your fault, Vi. Sometimes, bad things just happen.”
“That’s what her parents said, too. But I’ll never forgive myself. And I won’t teach, especially kids. Okay?”
I picked at the greens on my plate. They tasted like cardboard.
“Tell me about your time at the British Horse Society school,” he said a little while later.
Jesus. What was this? Twenty questions in twenty minutes?
“It was great. I learned a lot.”
“Did you go there straight out of high school?”
“No. I tried college for a couple of years, first.”
“Then we were over there at about the same time.”
“You went to school in England?”
“University of Edinburgh. Freshman year abroad program.”
So that was what Hank was talking about when he mentioned Malcolm being at school in Scotland. Good. Now the subject was him instead of me.
“Malcolm’s a Scottish name, right?”
“Yes. My father is Scottish through and through.”
“And your mother?”
“She was more enigmatic about her ancestry. But her maiden name was Pinozzi.”
“Ah, now that’s some blood I can relate to. Is she—?”
“Died of cancer a few years ago.”
“I’m sorry.”
“She was enigmatic in general, kept her distance emotionally. I miss her, but we were never close.”
And I thought my parents were bad. “So, what did you study your freshman year abroad at the University of Edinburgh?”
“Computer systems. Finished my undergrad at Mizzou, then got a masters from Wash U in St. Louis.”
Sounded expensive. I hadn’t been able to finish a bachelor’s.
“I’m still paying off my student loans.” He took a bite of his turkey club and chewed, looking thoughtful. “I took a year off in between. I wanted to work for a while. Went back to Scotland for part of the time.”
There was more to it than wanting to work for a while, I could tell. “Between schools? Why?” If I kept him talking about himself, we wouldn’t return to the subject of me.
“Something happened in my senior year…I needed time to think.”
I gave him a look that said, I spilled my guts, now it’s your turn.
“Someone I knew, a friend, was killed. Mugged. Murdered for her purse, which contained little more than twenty dollars. Right outside her dorm. Shortly after I dropped her off.”
Yikes. “Girlfriend?”
He hitched his shoulders up. “Friend. Girl—woman—I cared about her. They never found him, the bastard.”
We sat in silence for some moments, and I’m guessing his food suddenly tasted like cardboard, too, because he pushed his plate away. Where’s the whipped cream when you need it?
“We’d gone to the movies. A Bergman retrospective. Depressing. Usually, we found a place for coffee afterwards, but she had a test to study for, so I took her home.”
I longed for the courage to touch his hand like he had mine. But I just sat there, watching his face, watching him replay what he knew of it—or imagined—behind his eyes.
“If we’d gone for coffee…”
He didn’t cry, of course, but he looked like he wanted to.
“Makes you feel helpless, doesn’t it?” I said. “Sucks.”
He met my eyes. “Sucks doesn’t begin to cover it.” He straightened his cutlery. “How did we get on this subject?”
“Taking turns baring our souls?”
He let out a huff of air. “Yeah. I think it’s my fault.”
I did touch his wrist then. With just one finger. “I’m kind of glad you brought it up. I feel a better, now. You should try crying. It helps, really.”
He exhaled again and much of the tension went out of him. “Believe me, I have. Plenty. Knowing someone who understands helps, though.”
He smiled at me, a full-on, genuine, unguarded smile, the kind one rarely sees, and I felt that scared-thrilled-fluttery feeling like I’d gone over a cliff edge.
His cell phone rang. He answered, then mouthed “Hank” to me. I watched his face go from relaxed to tense.
“What? Slow down.” He listened for a minute. “We’ll be there as soon as we can.” He disconnected, dug out his wallet and threw money on the table. “We have to go,” he said, and grabbed my arm, dragging me from my seat.
I’d been on edge since my dream, and now a sense of inevitability settled over me. Outside the restaurant, he took off at a run to the nearest exit. I raced after him.
“What happened?”
“The horses are out,” he sailed over his shoulder.
I didn’t ask the obvious question—all of them? If only some of them were out, he’d have said so. From the conversation we’d just had, I’d learned he spoke with an economy of words. If he said the horses were out, he meant all of them.
We reached his car, and he had it started and in reverse before I’d gotten my door shut. That many loose horses in open country, I thought, anything could happen. I held tight while he alternately whipped around turns and slammed the brakes until we were on the highway. By then, I’d learned a couple of colorful new combinations of swear words.
“Hank’s got some of them rounded up. Renee’s the only other person there. Captain and several others are still missing.”
I had a feeling there was more. “What else?”
“Gaston was last seen heading toward the highway. That horse hasn’t got a lick o’ sense.”
The highway was miles from the farm, but a horse without sense could get himself in trouble anywhere.
“Hank couldn’t go after them all.” He tossed his cell phone in my lap. “Both Dex’s are programmed in. Call Sandy, too. We’re going to need veterinary help.”
I swallowed hard against what he wasn’t telling me and concentrated on the phone. Sandy said she’d go right away. I called Dex Hamill next. He said he was on his way and offered to call Dex Two.
We were out of the worst of the traffic and zooming past the rest. But it was a long drive from the city to the farm.
“And?” I asked.
He glanced at me, my own worry mirrored in his eyes, and sympathy too. My heart jumped to my throat. He returned his gaze to the road.
“Cali’s hurt.”
- 12 -
Malcolm reached for the radio knob. “Music? I had a CD player installed. You can see what’s in there.” He pointed at the glove box.
“Will it help?”
“I doubt it.”
We didn’t put music on. He didn’t try to reassure me. No sense in saying everything would be okay if you didn’t actually know. I hated false sentiment. He didn’t try to distract me with inane conversation, either, which I also appreciated. He focused on getting us back quickly and safely. I tried to keep my hands in my lap and not make fists, but found myself staring out the window and gnawing my knuckles.
When we turned off the highway, I noticed him glancing out his side window. I began to do the same, keeping my eyes peeled for a glimpse of copper coat.
About a mile from Winterlight, I said, “Stop,” then braced against the dash when he slammed on the brakes. I gave him a look, then said, “Back up to that dirt road.”
&
nbsp; Malcolm shifted into reverse and slung his arm behind my head, grazing my hair. Our eyes met for a just a moment before he concentrated on the road and skidded to a halt at the opening to a field. He craned his neck to see past me.
“Could be Gaston,” I said. “Beyond those bushes.”
We got out and didn’t shut the doors. He found a couple of bungee cords in the trunk. The sound of a horse munching grass greeted us, and Gaston lifted his head when he heard us approach.
“I’ll be damned,” Malcolm said. He squeezed my shoulder. “I’ll take it from here. You get back to the farm.”
Gaston had found a patch of alfalfa. Purple flowers wobbled on the ends of the stems sticking out either side of his mouth. Sunlight turned his back golden, and a casual observer might think he looked content, but everything in his stance said he’d be gone in a second if we made a wrong move.
“You think he’ll let you lead him home with a bungee cord?”
“It’s all I’ve got. It’ll have to do.”
I was not convinced. My connection with a horse usually lasted only until I dismounted, but a bit of mental persuasion might be worth a try anyway. Malcolm walked forward, and Gaston stopped chewing, his ears coming fully alert. I put my hand on Malcolm’s arm. “Wait.”
With my eyes closed, I pictured Gaston staying still as Malcolm walked up to him and put a bungee cord…no, that was not going to work. “Take off your belt,” I said.
“Excuse me?”
“Your belt’ll work better. Put it around his neck, behind his ears like a halter. I’ll tell you what to do next.”
Malcolm looked as frustrated as I felt, but he unbuckled his belt and slid it off.
“And don’t act all mad. That will just make him bolt.”
He tried to smile, but his body language said something different. The moment he stepped toward his horse, Gaston moved back and swished his tail.
“Damn it,” Malcolm whispered.
“Can I try?” We didn’t have time to chase this horse all over the countryside. He handed me the belt and bungee cords. I stuffed the cords in the back of my pants, held the belt behind me, and walked toward Gaston, hand out like I had a treat.
“Come ‘ere. Good boy. Had a fun day? Found something yummy?”
Gaston swished his tail again, but didn’t move. He couldn’t reach the alfalfa anymore, so I grabbed a handful and held it toward him. “Come on.” He craned his neck to reach for my hand. I made it to his shoulder. While he snuffled up the grass, I looped Malcolm’s belt around his neck. I put one bungee cord around his face like a noseband, hooked the other to the belt under his jaw, and ran it through the loop around his nose forming a makeshift lead line.
Malcolm came up and I put it in his hand. “Good luck.”
I didn’t give him time to respond, just raced to the car, shut the trunk and doors, and took off, holding my breath the rest of the way.
The farm looked too peaceful when I pulled up. I recognized Sandy’s white compact and Renee’s blue Beetle. Next to that were Hank’s four-by-four and a red SUV I hadn’t seen before. Horses were in the pasture, but Mike the pony was either still at large or in the barn. Fawn was missing too, but I didn’t take a complete inventory.
Smitty stood toward the back of the first stall on the right with a bandage covering one front leg. Cheyenne was next, but I couldn’t see any injuries. I kept moving to the stall I knew Cali would be in. Noire hadn’t greeted me, and I figured Sandy must be out on Fawn, looking for stragglers, and my dog had gone, unable to resist a chance to run through the woods.
That’s when I noticed the smell. Like someone’d been smoking pot. Near the tack room, Renee walked in a small circle, waving what was either a very fat cigar, or the biggest joint in the history of the world. Sounded like she’d been smoking dope, too—she was chanting.
“What the—” I started.
She held up one hand to stop me, and continued her chant.
“Sacred sage, drive out the negativity, take away the dark energy.”
Even though I was still tired from the day before, my morning had been nice—until the phone call. Now the tension that had built since then collided with my fatigue.
“Oh, for cripe’s sake, Renee. Can’t you find anything better to do than this?”
I didn’t know what she was doing, but if she wasn’t tending to or looking for a horse, than it didn’t need to be done.
She wafted the smoke toward me. “I am cleansing this place, inviting balance to return. Your aura has dark patches. You need to be cleansed.”
I’ve never tried pot myself, but right then, the mellow mood it was supposed to bring sounded appealing. Especially since I was out of whipped cream. I waved the smoke out of my face. “What needs cleansing are these horse’s injuries.” I gestured down the aisle.
“Don’t stink the place up with this crap.”
She lifted her chin, but otherwise ignored me, and went out the back door, still chanting. I didn’t dare wonder if my day could get any worse because that just seemed to be a given. Instead, I turned to Cali’s stall.
Her ears drooped to either side, a sure sign she’d been drugged. Sandy’d left a note on her door confirming what I thought—she was out looking for Mike, and Noire had gone with her. Dex Two had ridden out on Little Miss Bong in the opposite direction. Hank and Dex One were looking for Gaston.
Cali needed stitches for a gash across her chest and might have a torn ligament in her right front leg. A puncture wound near her left knee had been flushed, but probably needed more work, the note said. The vet would be there later. The plastic bucket outside the stall held a vial of painkiller, and Sandy’d already administered ten CCs.
I sent out a mental thanks to Sandy, ran upstairs to swap my skirt for a pair of jeans, and went into Cali’s stall. She barely responded. She always had been a cheap date, easily subdued by the minimum dose. I stroked her neck and inspected the eight-inch flap of skin hanging from her chest. It looked nasty, but would heal and not affect her soundness. The leg injuries concerned me. Puncture wounds to joints were especially dangerous, and torn ligaments could become a lifelong issue if the recovery was rushed. I wouldn’t be riding her soon.
I stood back and looked over the rest of her, then slowly rubbed the flat of my hands over every inch, starting behind her ears, working my way to her tail, picking up her hind feet, then returned to her face. She had a few other nicks and cuts.
“Poor baby,” I whispered to her. “I’m so sorry. We never should have come here.”
Her lower lip hung loose, and her eyelids were as droopy as her ears. She had no idea what I was saying. I pressed my cheek to hers.
We’d been together less than a year. Her lackluster racing career had ended after several starts where she finished dead last. Unfortunately, her bloodline wasn’t good enough for breeding, and I’d been lucky to hear about her before they sold her to the killers. She was pretty and had good conformation. What she lacked in speed she made up in an aptitude for jumping.
My own lackluster career had forced me to move her several times, and I’d always managed to keep her safe, until now. Stupid, I thought. Moving all the way out here for the money. That was always the wrong reason.
Several deep breaths later, I had myself under control. I knelt beside Cali’s leg. The loose bandage around her knee came away easily, and I tossed the blood-soaked gauze pads out in the aisle. Blood in this case was good, flushing the wound of anything left behind by whatever punched the hole—probably a nail from the fence around the riding ring. I left for a moment to look outside. Sure enough, splintered rails and a smashed post marked the place where she broke out. Did something spook her? The loose horses? Impossible to know. It seemed unlikely the whole herd would escape the same day Cali broke through a fence—an extreme and uncharacteristic act of fear.
I heard the sound of my dog, and a second later, she bounded up to me, wet from the creek, tail wagging her whole body. She cleaned my face with
her tongue as long as I let her, then she made a brief stop in Cali’s stall, sniffing her knee and the used bandages, then went and took a long drink from her water bowl.
Sandy appeared in the back doorway a moment later, slid off Fawn’s back, and led her into the barn. She didn’t have Mike.
“No luck?” I asked.
“No, but he’s a pony. They’re tough, right? Dex Two’ll find him. How’s Cali?”
“Thanks for doing the initial patch up. I really appreciate it. Is Renee still out there doing whatever it is she’s doing? What the hell is she doing, anyway?”
“She’s just smudgin’ the place. Some kinda ancient Indian ritual or somethin’. Supposed to clear out our dark thoughts. Hell, I don’t know. But I think she’s harmless.”
“Maybe, but I’d rather she help with the injuries.”
“Now that’s where you’re wrong. She can’t stand the sight of blood, gets to shaking if one of the horses gets so much as a stone bruise. Nope, she’s pretty much useless thataway. What she’s doin’ is the best she can do.”
Hunh. “Anyone missing or hurt besides Smitty and Cheyenne?”
“Mikey and Gaston are the last ones we need to find. Cheyenne near tore off a shoe and a good part of his hoof. I haven’t done nothin’ with that yet. Cali’s knee should be hosed, and Smitty’s leg, but I wanted to see if I could find Mikey. Nicky’ll be awful upset if anything happens to her pony-oney.”
Sandy took Fawn to the pasture.
“We found Gaston,” I said when she came in. “Malcolm’s leading him back. He’s not hurt.”
“Gaston or the Laird? I’m thinkin’ Malcolm’s gonna be pissed at all this. There’s a few other bumps and bruises, nothing major. But I think the fence got cut. Hank and Malcolm keep that fence in tip-top shape”
I got a prickly feeling on the back of my neck. And it wasn’t because I had dark patches in my aura, whatever the hell that meant.
“You think someone did this on purpose?”
- 13 -
Coming on the heels of Norman’s murder, the horses getting loose was a weird coincidence. Bad weird. Knowing there was someone out there who would do this—who could let loose this many horses knowing some of them would get hurt? Then again, it wasn’t much of a stretch after murder. I forced my thoughts to the present, haltered Cali, and led her into the aisle.
Candace Carrabus - Dreamhorse 01 - On the Buckle Page 10