by Laura Crum
“I love little horses,” I said to Blue, and swung on.
Sunny did absolutely nothing. He stood perfectly still while I found my right stirrup and gathered my reins, then plodded off when I clucked to him as if he’d done it every day of his life. His neck and shoulders looked thick, substantial, and sturdy in front of me; his ears were pricked sharply forward. He felt steady and strong, even if he did put his feet down with an audible thud.
“He looks like a babysitter.” Blue grinned at me.
“He feels like one. Want to ride down and see the swimming hole?” I asked Mac.
“Sure, Mama.”
“I’ll show you where it is,” I said.
Turning, I headed my little palomino plug down the trail, with my husband, son, and dog behind me.
Chapter 6
The swimming hole was a big hit with Mac and Blue, who couldn’t wait to get in it. From there we rode across the meadow, toward the closest ridge. I had a notion to see if I could retrace the route the mystery horseman had taken.
In another few minutes I was guiding Sunny up the gentle slope. I looked to my right and saw our camper, parked in its grove of oak trees. I was now, more or less, in the spot where I had first seen the nighttime rider. I looked down. Plenty of hoofprints there. Impossible to tell which were those of the pasture-horse herd and which were not. I kept riding, taking the line that the rider had taken.
We dropped down into a small saddle between two hills, topped a rise, and descended into another valley. I followed the valley on a slightly uphill course as it curved gently around a bend. And there ahead of us, appearing from behind a screen of trees, was a house, flanked by a barn, corrals, and arena. I reined Sunny to a stop.
“That’s Lonny’s house,” Mac said. He’d been there on the day we dropped Twister and Danny off.
I stared at the house, several thoughts chasing through my brain. It felt odd to be looking at Lonny’s home while Lonny himself was in jail. Almost as if we were trespassing. And if that night rider had followed the same course we did, he would have ended up here, too. And then what? I had no idea. But the big, silent, half-timbered house did not seem welcoming.
“There’s no point in going down there if Lonny’s not there,” I said to Blue. “It doesn’t feel right.”
“I agree.”
“Didn’t Lonny say that the gal who found this horse for him lived just on the other side of that road?” I gestured at a dirt road that snaked up the hill on the far side of Lonny’s pasture fence. “I’d like to find out a little more about this guy.”
“Lead on,” Blue said.
I lined Sunny out along a well-used trail that led toward the fence. He plodded agreeably in the direction I pointed him, not too fast, but not balky either. He carried his head low, ears tipped sharply forward, watching everything. So far he showed no inclination to spook, jig, or resist me in any way. He hadn’t tripped once, though he put his feet down more like a draft horse than the well-bred cowhorses I was used to. Still, I felt secure and comfortable on his back. I was beginning to think I might take Lonny up on his offer.
“So, do you like your little yellow mule?” I could see Blue’s smile as I looked over my shoulder at the sound of his voice.
“Why do you call him a mule? He’s cute,” I protested.
“In a common sort of way. I don’t know. Something about his expression.”
“I know what you mean,” I agreed. “His ears are a little long, too. And yeah, I like him.”
“I love the horse I ride,” Mac announced, his smile as wide as the sky.
“Henry’s a good one,” Blue agreed.
I grinned over my shoulder at my little boy on top of his steady copper red horse. Henry’s white-striped face bobbed rhythmically in time to his walking stride, his demeanor quiet and calm, as always. Mac’s eyes were dancing with delight as our cavalcade trooped up the hill toward the fenceline. Green grass swooped away in rolling curves on all sides; a redtail hawk circled overhead. Freckles trotted behind Plumber at the rear of the parade. In the moment, my heart soared like the hawk.
“Look,” Mac pointed.
I followed his finger and saw a small white house half-concealed by oak trees. It sat outside the pasture fence, on the other side of the dirt road. This must be Kate’s house. Kate, who had somehow managed to pick out my next horse for me.
I stared down at the curve of bright gold neck in front of me, topped with a sweep of cream-white mane. I’d never had a palomino before. I was surprised by how attracted I felt to this horse’s sunshine gold exterior. The buttermilk-colored ears were pricked sharply forward, looking around, as they had been throughout the ride. I liked a horse who kept his ears forward. I wondered how Kate had acquired this horse, and how Lonny had ended up with him and decided to give him to me. Maybe I would find out.
I could see what looked like a child, swinging in a tire suspended by a rope from a branch of an oak tree by the house. Somebody was home.
Sunny trudged steadily up the hill, his focus on what now appeared to be a little girl with long, light brown hair, twirling in a tire swing. Mac was watching her, too, his face slightly averted. In another minute we had reached the fence. The trail ended at a wire gate, stretched tight. Lined up in a row in front of the gate, we all peered across the road at the girl. I could see some corrals under the trees behind the house, a few horses in the corrals.
The girl’s eyes traveled over our little group and stopped on me. “Hi,” I said.
In another instant she was off the swing and running to the house. “Mom,” she called. “That lady’s riding Sunny.”
In response to this a woman stepped out the door and onto the porch, then down the steps and across her yard, headed in our direction. A short, trim woman with dark red hair in a ponytail, a snug black tank top and snugger jeans. I glanced sideways at Blue, who was watching the new arrival appreciatively. It figured.
“Hi,” I said, as the gal came to a stop near the fence. “I’m Gail McCarthy, and this is my husband, Blue, and my son, Mac. We’re here visiting Lonny. Lonny offered to give me this horse I’m on. He said you would know about him. That is, if you’re Kate.”
The woman standing in front of me looked tense, almost belligerent. I wondered if I’d said something to offend her, though I couldn’t think what it would be. Jaw clenched, she glanced over her shoulder to see that her daughter was back on the tire swing. Then she looked back at me.
“Yeah, I’m Kate,” she said.
I got the impression she was watching me for a reaction, but my face must have looked as blank as I felt. She gave a tiny—almost imperceptible—shrug and went on.
“I got that horse at the livestock auction for twenty-five dollars. He was skin and bones. I heard some horse trader bought him in old Mexico and then ran out of money to feed him and just dumped him at the saleyard. The kill buyers wouldn’t buy him—too thin. After I got a little weight on him, I gave him to Lonny to turn out. I told him he could find the horse a good home, if he wanted. He said he knew of one, maybe. Are you it?”
All this was said quickly, as if the woman just wanted to get this conversation over with. Her eyes moved uneasily from side to side as she spoke. She seemed to be watching for something.
“I might be,” I said. “Do you know how old he is?” I asked. “Or if he has any soundness issues?”
The woman shrugged. “I never vetted him. I just fed him. I’ve never seen him limp. Vet him if you want to.”
“I’m a vet,” I said.
Kate’s eyes showed a flicker of curiosity, which quickly dimmed. When she spoke, her voice was curt. “Do you know what’s going on with Lonny? I heard some rumor they suspect him of those murders at the saleyard?”
“He’s been arrested. Bret, the deputy,” I could hardly get my mouth around those words, “thinks he’ll be out on bail in a couple of days.”
Kate shook her head. Her eyes seemed to be watching some distant movie that only she could see.
“Lonny, arrested? Jesus. Lonny didn’t murder Lorene. Shit.”
At least Kate seemed to agree with my own view of the situation. The subject of Lonny reminded me of the mystery horseman. Maybe Kate would know the answer to this puzzle.
“Do you have any idea who might have been riding a horse across this pasture last night?” I was unprepared for her reaction.
“What?” Kate’s distracted eyes shot to my face, her jaw literally dropped. “What are you talking about?”
I couldn’t tell if she was angry or alarmed. “Coyotes howling last night woke me up and I saw someone riding along that ridge.” I gestured over my shoulder. “Around midnight. Any idea who it might have been?”
“You think you saw someone riding here? Are you sure? Maybe you saw one of Lonny’s horses.” Kate’s voice was intense, her face guarded. I couldn’t figure out what the underlying emotion was.
I tried again. “I’m sure it was a rider on a horse. Any ideas who it might have been?”
Kate just stared at me.
I was lost. I looked over at Blue and could tell he was as puzzled as I was. Mac was watching the little girl spin on her tire swing. I took another shot at it.
“Do you have any idea who might have been riding here last night?”
This time Kate seemed to hear me. Her eyes rested on mine. She appeared to be thinking.
“No,” she said at last.
I was willing to bet that this was an outright lie. Kate definitely had some kind of theory about the mystery rider. She just wasn’t planning on sharing it with me.
Nothing I could do about this. I wasn’t empowered to grill her. Maybe I could talk Bret into it. For the present, I said, “Well, nice to meet you,” and turned to go.
“Take good care of Sunny,” she called after me. “He’s a good horse. I’ve ridden him some. He’s gentle. I’ve even let my daughter ride him.”
“Sure,” I said. “I don’t know if I’m going to keep him, but if I do, I’ll take good care of him.”
But even as I rode off down the hill, I knew that I was lying, too. As I watched the white-gold sun sparks on the shiny side of my mount’s bright neck, I was sure. Sunny was going to be my horse.
Chapter 7
We were back in camp an hour later. I’d unsaddled Sunny and was regarding my new acquisition with some curiosity. Looping the leadrope over my arm, I slipped my thumb into Sunny’s mouth and tried to hold his jaw open with my hands so I could look at his teeth. Tried was the operative word. Sunny wanted no part of being mouthed. He threw his head high in the air and flew three quick steps backward.
I stopped him with the leadrope and we stared at each other. “Come on, Sunny,” I said, and made another attempt. No dice. Sunny jerked back even more emphatically and braced all four legs.
I stared at him quizzically. Sunny’s expression was confident and challenging, not scared. Sunny didn’t want me peering in his mouth and aimed to prevent it. Looked like my little yellow plug was a horse with an opinion.
Blue laughed. “Well, they do say not to look a gift horse in the mouth.”
I shook my head. “And there he is, the proverb in the flesh.”
I knew that Blue, a competent horseman, would have realized exactly why I wanted to look in Sunny’s mouth. As a vet, I had enough training to make a reasonable guess as to Sunny’s age if I could get a good look at his teeth. Which apparently wasn’t going to happen without a battle. Or a tranquilizer.
I didn’t feel like a battle. Nor did I feel like digging a tranquilizer out of my vet kit. I was on vacation.
“Want me to twitch him?” Blue asked.
“Sure,” I said. “Let’s see how he responds to that.”
Blue took hold of the leadrope, grabbed a pinch of Sunny’s skin along his neck, and twisted it. Just hard enough to hurt a little and distract the horse from what I was doing. Sunny froze. I was able to open his mouth and have a look. After a couple of seconds I let go of his jaw and Blue released his grip. Sunny stared at both of us, quite unperturbed. It obviously took a lot to ruffle this horse.
“So, how old is he?” Blue asked.
I shrugged. “Hard to tell. He has funny teeth. It’s like the lower ones don’t match the upper ones. Somewhere between ten and fifteen, I’d guess.”
“Just right,” Blue said.
“Yeah,” I said, and slipped Sunny’s halter off and turned him loose.
“Go on, you ornery little thing,” I said.
Paradoxically, now that he was free, Sunny stood his ground, watching me, his ears pricked forward in my direction.
“He has the cutest expression,” I told Blue. “Interested and wary, like he wants to be friends but isn’t sure.”
Blue smiled. “He looks at you right,” was all he said. “Let’s have lunch.”
We had just finished our roast beef sandwiches when a small blue Jeep drove up to the campsite; I recognized the silver-haired driver as Bret. He climbed out of the Jeep, gave us a grin, patted Freckles, shook Blue’s hand, high-fived Mac, and tossed me a quizzical look. “How you doing?” he asked.
“Okay,” I answered. “I think I’ve got a new horse.”
“You’re gonna take that little palomino?”
“Yep,” I said, “I think I am.”
“Did you talk to Kate about him?”
“I tried,” I said. “I didn’t learn much. What’s the deal with Kate?”
Bret grinned again. “She’s a celebrity,” he said. “An internet celebrity. She’s ‘Rescue Horses.’ ” He spelled it: “resqhorses.” And he looked at me expectantly.
“What’s that?” I asked.
“It’s a blog,” Bret said. “Kate is a famous blogger. She’s an anti-slaughter advocate for horses.”
I must have looked as puzzled as I felt, because Bret shook his head. “Don’t you know what a blog is?”
“Not really,” I said. “I know it’s the trendy internet thing, that’s all. Sort of like publishing your personal diary for the world to read, right?”
Bret laughed. “Not exactly. In Kate’s case, hers is all about exposing what evil things people do to horses. Trainers who are cruel, owners who sell their old retired pets to slaughter, backyard breeders who breed horses that are such crap that they’re bound to end up slaughtered, stuff like that. It’s actually fun to read,” he added. “She’s a hoot.”
“Okay,” I said. I was less than interested in the nebulous subject of blogs. “She didn’t tell me much about Sunny, other than he came from the livestock auction and was real thin when she bought him.”
“That’s right,” Bret agreed. “I was there the day she bought him. Pathetic little skeleton of a horse. He looks a whole lot different now.”
“Why did she buy him?” I asked.
“That’s what she does. She rescues horses that would just end up at the killers. When she finds a home for one, she rescues another one. She had Lonny talked into taking Sunny. I guess he was thinking you might want him. But yeah, that’s what she does. She writes this blog about stopping the slaughter of horses and rescues as many horses as she can. It’s her whole life.”
“What pays for all this?” I was mildly curious now.
“I think she gets donations.” Bret shrugged. “She doesn’t live high on the hog, that’s for sure. She and her daughter have that little shack of a house with a few corrals out back; you must have seen it if you talked to her.”
“Yeah,” I said. “So, how’s Lonny doing?”
“Okay, I guess.” Bret looked down. “He’s not very happy, naturally.” He glanced back up at me, his wary green-brown eyes the same as they were twenty years ago. Lots more lines around them, though. “I wondered if you’d want to go for a ride. See the saleyard. You, too,” he added to Blue.
Blue looked amused. “No thanks,” he said. “Mac and I are going swimming. Right, Mac?”
“That’s right, Papa.” Mac smiled a wide and happy smile.
“Go, if you want to,” Blue sa
id to me.
I thought. Spending time at the swimming hole with Blue and Mac was very appealing, but presumably I had a few more days to do this. And I was genuinely curious about this sordid crime that had landed Lonny in jail. This might be my one chance to find out more from Bret.
“Sure,” I said. “I’ll go. Are you investigating?”
“Me?” He looked shocked. “Heck, no. I’m off duty. I’m not a detective, anyway. John would have my butt if I started investigating behind his back. I just thought I could show you the scene. Explain a little more.” He cast a significant glance at Mac.
“Okay,” I said. “I’m ready whenever you are. I’m going for a ride with Bret,” I added to Mac. “I’ll meet you and Papa at the swimming hole later.”
Fortunately Mac was too focused on swimming to be very interested in what I was up to. He assented with a murmur, his attention fixed on his father.
“See you later,” Blue said as I climbed into the passenger side of the Jeep.
“See you,” I called as Bret put the thing in gear and we bounced forward.
To my surprise, Bret headed off across the pasture, rather than re-tracing his route along the ranch road.
“Where are we going?” I asked as the Jeep jerked into a shallow gully and out the other side.
“There’s a gate on the far side of Lonny’s field that leads to a dirt road. That road will take us to the saleyard. It’s the back way.”
I was thinking fast. A gate at the far end of the field. My mystery rider, headed along the ridge toward Lonny’s house. Bingo.
“Is this gate locked?” I asked Bret.
“Nope,” he answered. “Lonny never locks anything up. His house is wide open, too.”
I could see the gate ahead of us—a silver aluminum panel breaking the almost invisible lines of the smooth wire fence. If the horseman had come through that gate and headed across the pasture toward Lonny’s house, he or she could easily have traversed the ridge and passed by our camp right about the spot where I’d seen the moonlit silhouette.
“Listen,” I said to Bret, and recounted my story.
