Inn the Spirit of Trickery

by Becki Willis

  The ghost floated over the animal and leaned down to repeat the process along its injured leg.

  Another tickle of fabric, another twitch. The leg that ‘won’t move’ kicked as if to swat a fly.

  Orlan flashed a big smile and a thumbs up signal.

  “Uhm, so let me get this straight.” Hannah abruptly broke into whatever claims Shelton still made. She didn’t bother looking at him, even as he sputtered to a stop and glared at her. “The lawsuit is based on the fact that Mr. Long’s horse was injured,” she confirmed, “and not on the fact that I supposedly broke my contract.”

  “Primarily, yes,” the other woman agreed. “The injury is the driving force behind the damages we’ll both seek.”

  “So if the horse made a miraculous recovery…”

  “Which, unfortunately, isn’t the case.”

  “I’m not so sure about that,” Hannah said, gazing pointedly into the pen. She even stepped over a few feet, to have a non-obstructive view. “In fact, I’m feeling pretty optimistic.”

  Walker shared her amused smile. “You know what? So am I.”

  Jazz, Pierce, and Shelton all turned to see what held Hannah’s fascination. They couldn’t see the old medicine woman making a full circle around the horse. They didn’t see the way she knelt in the hay beside the mare’s head. They saw only the horse, lying perfectly still except for an occasional twitch of her ear and the quick, nervous blink of her eye. They saw nothing to inspire such optimism in their companions.

  They saw the horse lift her head, shake it as if to shake away a fly, and lay it back down again. The act was unremarkable and nothing new. It wasn’t the mare’s neck that was injured.

  Only Hannah and Walker saw Gouyen lean over a second time. This time, she whispered something directly into the horse’s ear. Amazingly, the horse tried to sit up.

  “Lady!” Shelton shouted.

  When the horse lay back down, the old ghost persisted. She again whispered in its ear. This time when the horse sat up, Orlan slipped onto her back. He kneed the animal in the flank, yelled ‘giddy up’ and—though Shelton and the vet both said it couldn’t be done—the mare scrambled to her feet.

  “Lady!” Shelton barked again.

  The horse looked uncertain, swaying unsteadily on her feet. When Gouyen slapped her ghostly hand onto the animal’s rump, a tiny puff of dust floated in the air. She said something more to the horse, her tone sharp and urgent. The horse responded by standing at attention, her eyes wide and unblinking. She was clearly frightened.

  Orlan swept off his broad-brimmed hat and bowed in a grand manner, his smile wide.

  “I—I don’t understand,” Jazz stammered.

  Hannah’s smile was smug. “You were right, Jazz. It’s all about trickery. Obviously, this horse has been trained to do tricks.”

  “Now, wait just a cotton-pickin’ minute!” Shelton bellowed. “Just because she’s able to stand doesn’t prove a thing. She could still be weak and crippled. She hasn’t even taken a step yet.” Turning back to the horse, he opened his mouth to bark out her name again.

  Before he could utter a sound, the ghostly vaquero pulled a trick of his own. He pressed his ghostly knees into the horse’s sides and trotted her smartly around the pen for two full turns. As their pace quickened, the horse’s eyes grew wider and more frantic. The highly skilled horse had no training for what was happening now. There were no ghosts in her portfolio of tricks.

  Orlan released a series of spirited yips. Terrified, the mare sailed over the fence with ease, clearing the top rung with feet to spare. She galloped full speed away, desperate to rid herself of the unwanted rider. The ghost floated just above the blanket, left hand held high, and having the time of his life. (Or death, as the case were.) He twirled his lasso in the air and taunted the horse to buck him off. After two unsuccessful attempts, the animal quietened. Orlan calmed the horse down, turned her back toward their audience, and brought her to a stop several feet away. He bowed again for his magnificent performance.

  Clapping, Hannah couldn’t resist a burst of laughter at the vaquero’s antics. The twinkling sound overrode Shelton’s muttered string of curse words and Jazz’s blubbering attempt to salvage the situation. Walker snagged his arm around Hannah’s waist and enjoyed a rumble or two of laughter, himself.

  Hannah darted a glance back toward the medicine woman, but her image had already disappeared. Either her work here was done, or she had expelled all her energy. Even Orlan had faded away.

  “It appears your mare experienced a miraculous recovery, horse boy.” Walker made only a half-hearted attempt not to gloat.

  Shelton had his back to them as he stared at his horse. He hadn’t run to the animal’s aid, as Hannah had expected, or checked for injuries. Instead, he stood with splayed legs and heaving chest, his hands balled at his sides.

  “Don’t think this is over,” he said in a thick, gravelly voice. His voice was loud enough, steely enough, to easily carry over his turned back. “I’ve gone too far to turn back now. It’s all, or nothing.”

  Something in his voice wiped the humor from Walker’s face. He glanced down at Hannah, who had heard the same thing and shared his concern. It was the sound of desperation. The sound of a man with nothing left to lose. Walker’s arm tightened on Hannah’s waist, and he tugged her slightly behind him in a protective gesture, even before Shelton turned slowly around.

  Even before they saw the gun in his hand.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

  “What are you doing?”

  Jazz’s voice broke the stillness. The stifling silence hung over them like an invisible curtain, shielding them, nonetheless, from their surroundings. They stood in the midst of busyness, yet they were apart from it all.

  Around them, horses nickered from their crowded pens, while lambs huddled together into one corner of theirs. In the not-so-far distance, Hats Off cast and crew scurried back and forth with their tasks, unconcerned with whatever was happening near the livestock pens. Even if they could see past the eighteen-wheelers, they would assume it was another of Jazz’s rants, or some such drama between her and lover-boy. It was nothing new, nothing worth interrupting their work.

  “Put the gun away. Let’s be sensible,” Pierce agreed.

  Shelton shook his head, his brown eyes bright with nervous energy. “It’s no use, Jazz. I can’t back down now. I need that money.”

  “We’ll find another way. We always do. Please, David, just put down the gun.”

  Hannah’s head swiveled toward the blond pixie. “David? Shelton is your brother?”

  Jazz took her eyes off the armed man just long enough to look Hannah’s way and nod. “David Shelton Long-Dawson. When our parents divorced, he and Mom both dropped the Dawson.” Her eyes went back to her brother. Her eyes, and her voice, were filled with sorrow. “Come on, David. Don’t do something we’ll both regret.”

  “It’s not too late, Long,” Walker spoke out, his voice authoritative, but oddly gentle. He might have been speaking to a skittish horse. “No harm’s been done, not really. We can spin it as a prank gone bad. Trickery.”

  “He’s right,” Jazz urged, taking a few tentative steps forward. “Give me the gun. It’s not too late to stop this foolishness.”

  “It is! It is too late!” Shelton waved the gun, pointing to no one in particular. His Adam’s apple worked up and down, bobbing nervously in the bony column of his throat. “Don’t you see? I’ve already killed a man!”

  With a collective gasp, the four people in front of him froze. Walker was the first to move, sweeping his hand behind him to ensure Hannah was safe and securely tucked behind him. Jazz moved next, shrinking back in a reversal of her steps. Pierce stood rooted to the spot, his dark face sallow.

  “K—Killed a man? Wh—Who—What are you talking about?” Jazz asked.

  “I had to find a way into the show. Don’t you see?” His voice took on the whine of nervousness. “A way that wouldn’t make them suspect you and I were rel
ated, that we were working together.”

  “We weren’t working together, David. Not until you rooted your way in.” There was an edge to her voice. A trace of resentment. “Not until you forced your horse into my show.”

  “Exactly. That’s exactly why I did it!” His eyes had gone from nervous to wild. “I needed a way in. A way to turn this to both our advantage.”

  Her face filled with disbelief. “So, you killed Rusty? Is that how you found a way in? Why? Why, David! Why would you do that?” Tears streamed down her face as she threw herself into Pierce’s arms and sobbed.

  “Don’t you dare judge me!” Shelton raged. “We’ve both done plenty we weren’t proud of. It’s what our father taught us to do. All those shows we did when we were kids. They were nothing but a cover-up for Dad. He was using us, so he could pull his own scams.”

  “He taught us to cheat, yes. To steal. To trick people out of their money.” She shook her head so hard, her blond curls swung in the air. “But not to kill. Never that.”

  Seeing the disappointment in his sister’s eyes, the sorrow, his voice took on a desperate edge again. “You don’t understand. I have to get that money. Salvidor put pressure on me. He threatened to hurt Mom again, if I didn’t pay up. When I found out you were coming to my town, I had to find a way in. I knew you would help me. You always do.”

  Despite his pale color, Pierce found his voice. “Salvidor? Vegas’ biggest mob boss?”

  Pushing out of his arms, Jazz glared up at her brother. “What do you mean, hurt Mom? Again?”

  Shelton, aka David, swallowed hard. His Adam’s apple danced again. “That wreck she had last year…”

  “When she had the blowout?”

  “It may not have been an accident.”

  “Why you—” When Jazz would have stormed him, Pierce grabbed her arm and held her in place.

  “My brother,” she spat, her words directed to no one in particular, “has a weakness for gambling. Unfortunately, he’s no better at it than he is at paying his debts. This isn’t the first time he’s gotten in over his head and come running to me for help. But, I swear,” she threw these words directly at her brother, along with daggers from her eyes, “it is the last. Never again, David. We’re done.” She turned her back on the tall man, only to whirl back around and scream, “Do you hear me, David? We. Are. Done.”

  “Fine. Little sister,” he taunted. Hard lines etched into his face.

  Had she really ever thought him handsome, Hannah wondered. Twisted in anger, his face was a study in evil.

  Evil. Her fingers found the leather pouch in her pocket. Caressing the ancient hide, she wondered why Gouyen hadn’t stayed for the final reveal. She had shown Hannah only part of Shelton’s true colors.

  “That’s fine,” he continued. “And it’s just as well. This way, I don’t have to share. Because, for the first time, I have an ace in the hole.”

  “No more scams, Shelton. David. Whatever your name is,” Pierce said. He held the devastated Jazz in his arms as he glared at her brother. “For once in your life, man up and take responsibility for yourself.”

  “I’m taking something else.” With a cold smile, Shelton made a motion with his gun. “Hannah, step out here.”

  Walker leaned back so quickly, his shoulders smacked Hannah in the face. She spat out a mouthful of shirt as a buzz started in her ears. Either Walker bumped her harder than he intended, or she was hearing things. The blood rushed through her head like a humming motor, almost drowning out the words, but she could have sworn she heard Shelton tell her to come forward.

  “Hannah’s not going anywhere.”

  This, she heard. And felt. The growled words rumbled through Walker’s chest and vibrated against her cheek.

  “I say she is. I have no doubt Joseph Duncan will pay a nice ransom to get his precious niece back in one piece. Hannah, come out here.”

  “You touch one hair on her head, and Salvidor will be the least of your worries, horse boy.”

  Shelton laughed at the lawyer’s threat. “I think you forget. I’m the one with the gun.” He waved it for emphasis. “Not that I’ve needed it, all the times in the past. Haven’t you learned by now, book boy? I can beat you any day, any way.”

  Walker didn’t hesitate to issue a challenge. “Prove it. Put the gun down, and put your money where your mouth is.” He took a step forward, even though Hannah literally clung to him. His shirt balled into her hands. He tried to shake her free as he leveled his eyes on the other man in a blatant dare. “Like Maldonado said. Man up.”

  He was tempted. Hesitation hummed in the air. The farrier clearly itched to fight his long-standing opponent and prove his superiority, once and for all. Winner take all. In this case, it would be Hannah. A woman Walker obviously cared for. A woman who would make Shelton an extremely wealthy man.

  Shelton forced himself to focus. “No deal, book boy,” he drawled.

  The hum grew louder, and for the first time, Hannah realized it was real.

  She shouldn’t have been surprised to see the golf cart bouncing along the trampled grass of the makeshift arena, weaving in and out of the trailers and piles of equipment. Leave it to Sadie, Fred, and Leroy to save the day. They approached from the far side, which meant they had to have circled the scene to approach from behind. With his back to them, Shelton never saw the sport utility vehicle dart up the path Ladybird had recently taken. Its quiet motor was nothing more than a hum, easily drowned out by the sounds around them, particularly the collective sound of their pounding hearts.

  Sadie drove, while Fred got into position. Dressed in her customary pressed western duds, red-felt cowboy hat, and her oversized sweetheart belt buckle, she wasn’t riding a horse, but she had her rope. Holding on with one arm, Fred hung half out of the cart, swirling the rope high and wide. It made a curious swooshing sound, one that drew Shelton’s attention.

  The armed gunman looked up, but not behind him. And not in time. When Fred gave the signal, Sadie tooted the cart’s horn. From the backseat, Leroy gave one sharp bark of warning. By the time the man whirled around, the rope was already looped around his shoulders. Fred let it fall to his elbows before she gave the lasso a sharp whip, cinching it tight to effectively bind his arms against his sides. The gun fell useless to the ground.

  Walker rushed in, snatching the gun and tossing the bound man onto the ground. When Fred threw him her end of the rope, he quickly used it to tie Shelton’s feet.

  Had the golf cart been a horse and Shelton a calf, they would have had a record-breaking time at calf roping.

  “You blew it, horse boy,” Walker said, his breath heaving from the effort of restraining the other man. The huge white Great Pyrenees acted as backup, standing sentry over the prone body on the ground. “You should have taken my challenge.” He grinned up at the beaming elderly sisters. “You stood a better chance with me, than you ever did against these two.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

  By Wednesday, the tiny hamlet of Hannah was quiet again. With no guests booked for the inn until the next day, the rambling old space was blessedly still. The only guests in residence were the Elliott family, booked in the Anheim Cabin for the entire week.

  Hannah used the downtime to rest. There were a hundred and thirty-two items on her three To-Do lists, but for the moment, she ignored them all. Guilt nibbled at her conscience for neglecting her duties, but she reasoned that she was taking care of something equally important: her sanity.

  They were having one of their too-rare gatherings down by the pond. A full moon hung in the inky sky, offering just the right ambiance for the meal. While Walker grilled fat, juicy pork chops to perfection, Hannah and Sadie set up the card table and brought out the rest of the meal. Fred gathered firewood and built a small fire. It was more for looks than warmth, as the temperature was mild on this late spring night in Texas.

  They finished the meal with Sadie’s famous macaroons and a couple of bottles of Fred’s ‘special reserve’ wine. Mad
e from the mustang grapes that grew in abundance around the property, it was one of her best batches yet, but she reserved it for special occasions and special friends. Tonight qualified on both accounts.

  “To Team Hannah.” They tipped their red plastic cups together as Hannah made the toast. “I’m getting us all t-shirts, by the way, that have that on them. I want everyone to know that’s what we are. A team.”

  As they sipped the sweet, tangy wine, Hannah took the opportunity to thank them all, yet again. “I know I’ve said it before, but it bears repeating. I owe so much to all three of you. Not just for this weekend, but for all the days leading up to it. Despite the fiasco at the end, we had a successful grand opening, and we accomplished all the goals we set. I couldn’t ask for a better support team than the one I have. So, again. Thank you.”

  “We did do a pretty fine job, didn’t we?” Fred preened from her folding chair.

  “I truly couldn’t have done it without you. All three of you have gone above and beyond.” She reached down to pat the big dog lounging at her feet. “Make that the four of you.”

  “I think you may be giving me more credit than due,” Walker said. “You three did all the heavy lifting.” He held his cup up in tribute. “Ladies.”

  “Don’t be modest, Walker. I know you were conveniently absent when all the painting was going on.” Hannah gave him a stern look, but it softened as she continued, “But when it came down to it, you were there for me. You stood between a gun and me. That’s nothing to shake off lightly.”

  “There was no way I was going to let that man take you with him.” His voice was gruff, still raw with the memory of the danger of that day. “Not as long as I was breathing.”

  “I’m glad it didn’t come to that,” she said softly. She tried to express her gratitude through her eyes, but how did she adequately thank him for something like that?

  The look between them was a live current, carrying in the night air like an electric wave.