Kentucky Flame

by Jan Scarbrough

  “Vanessa.” She opened her eyes and sat up.

  “I thought you were asleep.”

  Mel sighed. “No, just thinking.”

  “I know. I can’t stop beating myself up over this. I feel I’m somehow to blame.”

  “I don’t think you are. It’s more likely me,” Mel said.

  “If I had told the sheriff sooner about Kyle Bishop’s fabulous offer for the farm, if I hadn’t given the man the benefit of the doubt, this may not have happened.”

  “Don’t do that to yourself.” Mel leaned forward and grasped her hands. “You said the state police investigated the realtor and found nothing.”

  “Well, somebody has got to be behind this.” A look of anger crossed Vanessa’s face. “I hate not knowing. It’s just like when I lose something. I can’t stop looking for it until I find it again.”

  Keeping her gaze averted, Mel took a fierce breath. “I don’t think Bishop was involved. I think it was my ex-husband.”

  “Your ex-husband?”

  She felt Vanessa watching her. “I don’t know for sure. It’s just a feeling.”

  “What gives you that feeling?”

  Mel glanced at her longtime friend. It was time to tell her. She couldn’t have Vanessa blaming herself because she’d kept too many secrets for too long. “I had dinner with him two nights ago. He wants me to sign a release so he can have all the money from the sale of our house. I refused and he threatened me.”

  A wave of shock passed over Vanessa’s features. “What makes him think you’ll do what he says?”

  “I don’t know,” Mel hedged. “He seems desperate for money, and I just got the feeling he might do something to hurt the people I love to get his way.”

  “Could be involved with the fire or Pop’s attack?”

  “I don’t know.”

  Vanessa shrugged. “Right now, I don’t know what to think or who to be suspicious of.”

  “I just wanted someone else to know,” Mel said. “In case.”

  Vanessa stood up. “Want some coffee?”

  “No thanks, I couldn’t drink it.”

  “Okay. I’ll be back in a minute.”

  Mel watched the other woman leave the waiting room, and then hunkered down in the chair once more. She had done it. Spoken her fears. It was a relief to share at least one of her secrets with her friend. Sure, she hadn’t told everything she knew. How could she do that? How could she tell Vanessa her beloved little sister was really Mel’s daughter?

  She didn’t want to disrupt Cory’s life, even though an ache as wide as a chasm split her heart when she thought about her daughter—even though she wanted Jake and Cory to be part of her family.

  The same sense of responsibility to do what was best for her daughter she’d held years ago, was strong today. Cory was happy and healthy. The little girl didn’t need Mel to come into her life and disrupt it.

  Maybe when she was grown. But not now. No, not now.

  * * * *

  Dawn was fast approaching when Jake pulled up to the remaining barn of Royalty Farm. The early morning gray sky matched his mood, for his mind had been churning continuously during his drive from Louisville. Had he missed something? What obvious clue had he overlooked?

  Was he such a poor judge of character that he couldn’t pick out the criminal among the farm’s employees? Dave had been with Pop for years, but he had had just as much opportunity to vandalize the farm as Sam or any of the other caretakers.

  The stable was the same—dark and quiet, with the familiar scents of sawdust, manure and horseflesh that he had smelled most of his life. Although he didn’t turn on the overhead lights, the horses heard him and began to come awake in their stalls—circling, snorting and pawing. Morning meant feeding time and demanding, hungry horses. Dave and Sam would soon be here to do the honors, so Jake just walked quickly down the aisle, his footsteps muffled in the sawdust of the barn floor.

  If his footsteps were muffled, so would have been those of Pop’s attacker. Jake pulled up short and took a deep breath. The old guy hadn’t had a chance. Even with Major to warn him, Pop probably had little premonition of an attack. Jake gritted his teeth. The bastard.

  Flipping on the light switch, Jake glanced around the tack room. With the saddles and bridles a muddle of destruction, the room remained as he had seen it last. The sheriff hadn’t disturbed a thing, but he hadn’t been looking for a shovel. Stepping over the slashed saddles and bridles, Jake moved to the end of the room where the grain bin was full of a honeyed mixture of rolled oats and corn. It smelled sweet and delicious. Jake eyed the grain bin, the torment in his heart sounding loud in his ears.

  The shovel was gone from the bin.

  The sheriff’s men hadn’t moved the vandalized tack. Did that mean they had found the shovel and removed it? Jake didn’t think it likely. Only he had talked to the doctor and knew what to look for.

  Rubbing his chin, Jake considered the attacker’s plight. Suppose he’d heard Pop come into the barn and go into the office. He must have been afraid the old man might step into the tack room to flip off the light left burning. Terrified of discovery, the attacker must have picked up the shovel, followed Pop to the office, smashed him in the face and fled carrying the weapon. Where?

  Leaving the tack room, Jake glanced down the darkened aisle. He narrowed his eyes. A manure spreader was parked at the far end of it right by the door.

  The flat bed of the wagon was filled with the previous day’s work—manure, wet straw and sawdust. This a perfect place to hide a large tool. Picking up the fork used to scoop manure, Jake reached over the side of the wagon and jabbed into the waste material. He circled the machine, poking and prodding the waste with the fork.

  He was rewarded for his efforts. Jake lifted the tool out of the manure with the tines of the fork. If he touched any part of the shovel, he could disturb the fingerprints or other evidence. He didn’t want to do that so he left the shovel on top of the manure. In the meager light, he could see dark stains on the back of blade.

  Had the person who used this shovel had been an employee of Royalty Farm? How else would he have known where to find it and where to hide it?

  Maybe now the police would have something to work on. Going into the office, Jake turned on the lights. Blood discolored the concrete floor. The sofa and cot had been pushed aside to accommodate the paramedics. Fingerprint powder dusted the furniture where the sheriff’s deputies had been busy. His stomach felt queasy as he yanked the phone book out of a desk drawer and searched for the sheriff’s number.

  No doubt the sheriff or the state police would interview all the farm’s employees one more time. Maybe one would slip up and admit something. Maybe the authorities could finally find out who had wreaked havoc on the farm and people he loved. He pulled a pencil out of his pocket to write down the number. As he did so, the long white envelope Vanessa had given him flopped onto the desk top.

  Curious, he switched on the desk lamp. His name was printed in block letters on the front with the address of Royalty Farm beneath it. It had no return address. Turning it over, Jake examined the back. Whatever was in it didn’t take up the whole space inside. Jake tapped the end of the envelope on the desk, shifting the object to the bottom. Next he tore the opposite end and shook out a glossy photograph. When nothing else fell out after he shook the envelope again, he picked up the photo.

  Only the name of the film maker was on the back and a very faint date stamped into the paper. It was ten years old. As he turned it over and held it under the light, Jake thought the lone figure looked vaguely familiar.

  It couldn’t be. But it was.

  A picture of a very young and pregnant Melody O’Shea.

  Chapter Fifteen

  Five minutes away from the call of the final class at the Shelbyville Horse Show, Mel rubbed a trace of mud from Jake’s black boot. Spine rigid, head erect, he sat unmoving aboard the back of Dreamcatcher like some medieval warrior upon an armored horse. His blue eyes ho
oded by the brim of his black felt Homburg, Jake stared straight toward the show ring activity. His only hint of emotion was the tic of his jaw muscle. It moved in a rhythmic manner—slowly and deliberately.

  “Are you okay?” Mel asked, sensing his tenseness. It wasn’t a typical tenseness, the kind she would expect on the night of the five-gaited championship. There was trouble behind it. Trouble she didn’t understand.

  “Sure.”

  “I’m glad you decided to show only three horses this week,” she said aloud, hoping to draw him out. “I don’t think we could have handled any more.” She looked up at him expectantly. When he didn’t respond, she went on, “I didn’t count on Royalty winning so easily tonight. Now it’s Dreamcatcher’s turn.”

  Nothing. Mel frowned as she stepped back from Jake’s motionless side and traced a hand over Dreamcatcher’s well-defined flank. The stallion’s skin twitched at her touch. As she ran her hand along the animal’s muscled hip, up to the dock of his tail, she realized something had changed between them.

  Jake hadn’t talked to her since the night of Pop’s attack, five days earlier. Oh sure, he’d spoken to her briefly about the daily, mundane aspects of life around a show barn. But he hadn’t talked with her in the same intimate way—his hand straying to her back, his finger touching her lip in a make believe kiss.

  Untying the string that held Dreamcatcher’s tail looped up to keep it from collecting dirt, Mel began to comb the coarse black strands. The week had been crazy, flying by in a blur of activity. From waiting for Pop to awaken from his operation, to sitting by his bedside, to juggling her duties at the farm, and preparing the horses for the show in Shelbyville, Mel had hardly had time to think. Now was the first time she perceived the difference in Jake. She no longer had his undivided attention and support, and a tremor of uneasiness swept through her heart.

  “Ready back there?” Jake asked with barely a glance downward.

  “Yes.” Mel spread the black tail out so that it flowed to the ground like a fan.

  “Okay, let’s go.”

  As Jake pressed his legs into the stallion’s side urging him forward, Mel flicked her comb through the tail once more. Dreamcatcher started his trot, heading up the incline into the lighted arena, and Mel scrambled to find a spot on the rail.

  Sounds and smells of the horse show carried well on the cool breeze. The scent of cooking corn dogs reminded Mel she hadn’t eaten supper, and she scowled at her absentmindedness as she put her hands on the rough railing. Laughter from the catered dining tent to her right mixed with the rhythmic organ music that changed beats with every change in gait.

  The crowd had picked a favorite horse and whooped and hollered with every pass. To Mel, so near the action of the circling horses, the thud of the hooves on the tanbark and the clucks and hups of the riders were like familiar echoes from her childhood.

  She leaned against the white railing. Her thoughts were tumbling in disarray as she watched Jake make pass after perfect pass. Yesterday Cory had won her equitation age group in walk and trot. Next show season, the little girl would graduate to the canter classes. Walk, trot and canter, a horse’s three natural gaits. Maybe someday Vanessa would buy her a five-gaited pony, and Cory would also be able to show the two manmade gaits—the slow-gait and the faster rack.

  Cory was instinctive in the saddle. Like her parents. Like her grandfather. Mel smiled slightly at the thought. The little girl had loved horses from the very first. Pop had bragged about her, not knowing she was his grandchild. Mrs. Noble had always been good about sending Mel Christmas snapshots of the little girl. Cory at eighteen months being held on the back of a pony. Cory at two and a half, being led down the aisle of a barn. Her first blue ribbon at age three on the back of an ancient, but safe white pony.

  A pang of guilt tore at Mel’s soul. She hadn’t found time to tell Jake about his child. Things had been too hectic. It had slipped her mind. In other words, she had used every convenient excuse. Uneasy, Mel glanced at the crowd, wondering if Lenny was there. Was he watching her even now as he’d done in Lexington?

  Drawing a deep breath, she realized it might be too late. Lenny might have already told Jake. Mel’s blood ran cold in her veins. Maybe that’s why Jake was so distant.

  Her throat felt strangely dry as she picked Jake out of the circling horses and riders. He was decidedly the most handsome trainer in the class. Erect, not stoop-shouldered like some of the taller men, Jake had an aristocratic air about him. He carried his natural grace well, his athletic ability allowing him to make the most of a big horse like Dreamcatcher.

  I love him so much. The wayward thought drew Mel upright. She pressed the rough wood with her hands, sucking in her breath as her heart skipped the required number of beats for someone in love. Lowering her lids, she allowed the sights and sounds and smells of the horse show to meander around her unnoticed while she dove inward to search her soul.

  She loved Jake Hendricks. Always would. She was sorry his career and her secret had gotten in the way. She was sorry they still did. Whatever happened between them, she could never erase the markings of love he had etched on the blackboard of her heart.

  “Come in and line up now and face the ring master,” the announcer’s voice directed.

  Bumped back to reality, Mel watched the riders and horses whiz by, many of them showing off for the last time before the judge. When most were safely parked out in front of the ring master, Mel angled along the railing to stand across from Dreamcatcher.

  “You looked great!” she called to Jake.

  He acknowledged her praise with a mere nod of his head and settled himself deeper into the saddle, checking to see if the stallion was properly stretched out on four legs.

  Mel sighed. She bit back another comment, dismayed by his lack of response. A grim expression marred his attractive face. Mel longed for the laughing Jake, the guy with the quick wit and practical joke. She longed to see the misplaced dimple high under his left eye. Biting her lip, she sucked in her breath one more time.

  The judge came down the row, taking a last look at each horse. As he approached, Mel raised her towel and flicked it into the air to catch Dreamcatcher’s attention. The moment the judge walked by, the stallion pointed his ears forward and stared at Mel. The horse was the picture of the classic American Saddlebred, and Mel’s heart burst with pride.

  It wasn’t a surprise when Dreamcatcher’s name was called for the blue ribbon. Mel whooped and scrambled over the railing, meeting horse and rider at the trophy presentation. After the winning photo was snapped, she pinned the long blue ribbon on the Dreamcatcher’s brow band and collected the silver plate.

  Another trophy for Royalty Farm.

  “Pop should have been here to see this.” Mel glanced up at Jake as they made their way back to the barn after the victory pass.

  Jake looked down from the back of the stallion. “He’ll be there for Louisville.”

  Something about his face, its passivity and indifference caused Mel to snap. “I’m glad you’ve allowed yourself to speak more than three words to me.”

  “What do you mean by that remark?” His voice was hard.

  “You’ve been giving me the silent treatment and I don’t know why.”

  They arrived at the stabling area before Jake had time to reply. Vanessa was there and Cory, and when Jake dismounted, the little girl leapt into his arms.

  “You won! You won! You won!” She put her arms around his neck.

  “That I did, sweetheart.”

  At the head of the horse, Mel saw Jake’s dimple pop out under his eye and a grin spread wide across his face. For a moment, jealousy twisted in her gut, but she tucked the silver plate under her arm and busied herself by removing the blue ribbon from the brow band. Dave came and led the stallion away.

  “Here, get down from there,” Vanessa admonished.

  Cory pulled a face. “Oh sis.”

  Vanessa shook her head. “It’s not very ladylike.”

 
Blond braid swaying, Cory slid out of Jake’s arms. “Oh, okay,” she grumbled and pushed down the skirt of her party dress.

  “You look mighty fetching, Miss Noble,” Jake complimented.

  He took the ribbon from Mel’s hand and offered it to Cory. Intense anguish knifed Mel’s heart. Contrite, she turned away.

  “To the mistress of Royalty Farm, our championship ribbon.”

  Mel heard the tenderness rumble in Jake’s voice. She put the plate on a table and turned back to see Cory presenting a little curtsy to Jake’s formal bow.

  “Congratulations on your win, Hendricks, Miss Noble.” The voice of Sheriff Vickers interrupted.

  Jake straightened. “Sheriff.” He offered the officer his hand.

  “I wanted to talk with you folks.” The man nodded to acknowledge all of them. “Thought you’d have some time now.”

  “Cory, go help Dave put Dreamcatcher away,” Vanessa ordered.

  Cory held the ribbon tightly in her hands. “In my best dress?”

  “In your best dress.”

  “You’re just trying to get rid of me,” she said with a pout.

  “Do what your sister says.” Jake sounded firm.

  Cory’s brows drew together. “I know when you’re going to talk about something important. I may be little, but I’m not dumb.”

  “Go on and get out of here.” Vanessa laughed and shook her head as Cory scooted away. “Sheriff.” She offered him a seat.

  He settled down in one of the director’s chairs that clustered near the entrance to the barn where their horses were stabled. Vanessa sat down with him.

  “Mel?” Jake looked at her, offering her the last seat.

  “No, I’ll stand.” Her nerves were like brittle ice. She couldn’t have remained seated if she had tried.

  “How’s your father, Miss O’Shea?” Sheriff Vickers asked.

  “He’ll be home tomorrow. Thank you for asking.” Mel leaned back against the wooden side of the barn and propped a booted foot against it.