The slow widening of her eyes revealed the moment she realized he knew far more about her than she did about him. “Who are you?”
“Food,” he said firmly, taking her elbow but keeping a wary eye on the cat that had fended off Craig Danson so handily. The cat, however, seemed to sense no threat in him. And there was none, at least no physical threat. “There’s an open air restaurant just down the block. You’ll be surrounded by people and hopefully we can find an unobtrusive place for your cat.”
At his words, she gave the cat one last stroke then placed him gently at her feet. “I’d love to have him but he’s not mine.” As if to prove her point, the cat wound once around her legs, then trotted gracefully up the steps and disappeared into the foliage.
Straightening, she met his stare fully and Dirks felt a quick jolt of unexpected and unwanted attraction. Looking into those eyes was a little like looking into a forest, he thought. At first glance, a person would catch the myriad swirl of greens and browns with flecks of gold before their gaze adjusted sufficiently to perceive the depths buried below.
Warning himself that she was an assignment, Dirks slid his hand under her elbow once more. He expected her to shrug him off. She didn’t, but she didn’t yield to his light pressure either. It was more as if she ignored or didn’t notice. Not being a ladies’ man by nature, the fact was more a curiosity to him than a disappointment.
The walk was brief and silent. Dirks’ gaze scanned the sidewalks on both sides of the quaint, paved street with its old-fashioned parking meters, boutique shops, and numerous restaurants.
“This isn’t quite the rural town I expected.”
Her lips curved. “Casino nearby. We capitalized on that like everything else that comes our way.”
We. He picked up on the nuance as he held the door of the little café that boasted French cuisine. He’d been dubious of that claim but now he wondered if he’d judged the restaurant too quickly. He’d made note of the casino in the files downloaded to his laptop but hadn’t thought of the cultural impact upon the small town. “You’ve lived here a while.”
“Yes.” She didn’t elaborate and he didn’t press. He’d studied the facts and figures of her life but, interesting though they were, they’d been nothing compared to the vibrancy he sensed below the surface calm of this woman.
Their hostess was a young woman with smooth hair and wide, deep blue eyes. She was at least twenty years his junior and the flirtatious glance she gave him would’ve been amusing if Avery Wilson hadn’t noticed it as well. Her husband, he recalled reading, had been fond of late nights with very young women.
“We’d like a table by a window,” he told their hostess. If it were cooler, he would have chosen the sidewalk area with its hanging ferns and scrolled iron railing around the perimeter, but he suspected even the wide blades of the overhead fans would not have held the heat at bay though it was nearly evening. Nor was he certain the thunderstorm rumbling in the distance would remain distant.
Seated in an alcove filled with soft light from both the sheer-curtained window and a small but elegant crystal chandelier, Dirks ordered iced tea and Avery asked for water with lemon. After a day in court, Dirks wouldn’t have been surprised if she had selected from the wine menu.
He was intrigued, even a little impressed, when she sat watching him with that fathomless regard, waiting for him to speak. She didn’t lean against the back of the cushioned chair but kept herself slightly forward, alert. Although he could see her fatigue, that direct gaze never wavered. Patience in this woman, he thought. Patience and strength. And beauty. He acknowledged the allure of that combination, made himself put it aside. It was altogether likely that his investigation would not turn out well for her.
He handed her a menu but she set it aside. “You wanted to talk and my time is limited.”
Unruffled, he opened his menu briefly as they were served their drinks and ordered a simple meal of salad and grilled white fish for both of them.
He could feel her scrutiny but when he looked up her expression was a careful blank. If she was irritated by his high-handedness in ordering for her, it was well-hidden.
As the waitress walked away with their order, Dirks removed a small fold of leather from his back pocket and withdrew two cards. Silently he handed her his credentials. One was his military ID. The other was styled as a business card with his position and responsibilities. The latter had only been created and printed a week earlier.
He watched her face as she studied them. Only when those truly incredible eyes lifted to gaze into his, did he speak. “You applied for the wounded veteran program. Equine therapy.”
Those eyes widened with what he hoped was excitement and not dread. He banished that thought as swiftly as it came. He had a job to do and this unexpected allure had no place in it.
“I’d given up,” she admitted. “I knew the government moved slowly but ...” She gave a little lift of her shoulders.
Dirks schooled his expression, not entirely sure where this was headed but entirely prepared to follow whatever lead came his way. “Your application crossed my desk about eighteen months ago,” he prompted.
“I didn’t mean to insult you or imply you were the hold-up.” She shrugged again. “I just expected someone sooner.”
Which gave away exactly nothing, he thought. He found it interesting that she toyed with the elegant black napkin which had been artfully folded around the place setting. He also noted with even more interest that there was no pale circle around her slender finger. She had not waited until the divorce was final to remove her wedding ring. From what he’d read of her husband, he couldn’t say he blamed her.
“We do eventually get to every applicant.”
He lost the opportunity to judge her response to his words as their waitress arrived with their salads. When they were alone again, he noted with interest that she’d resumed her watchful pose once more. He shrugged mentally, perfectly willing to retrieve the gauntlet he’d tossed and she’d ignored.
“When would be a good time for me to tour your facilities? Do you need a day or two to regroup?”
She blinked. “Regroup?”
“I assume this morning’s court appearance was successful given your husband’s - ex-husband’s - reaction but it must still have been difficult.”
The corners of her eyes crinkled into a smile and she went instantly from attractive to astonishing. Whoa, he reined in his reaction.
“Difficult describes the last few years. This morning?” she shrugged. “I’ll take a few hours drama in exchange for peace.”
“What will you do with that peace?” The question, he was honest with himself, had less to do with his purpose in being there than with the woman.
She didn’t answer right away, and, for a while, he thought she wouldn’t at all.
“Be me.”
She didn’t elaborate and he realized she didn’t need to add anything, not for her or for him. Those two simple words were profoundly revealing. He wondered if she realized just how revealing. What kind of a lie had her marriage imposed on her existence? And would that lie figure into his investigation?
Realizing she had said all she would, he leaned back in his chair. He had to focus on the business at hand.
“Tell me about the horses you use in your veteran assistance program.” His word choice was deliberate. Use. Not plan to use. They both knew that no veterans had been referred yet. Would she correct his word choice? Would it mean anything if she didn’t?
“My horses?” she asked. “I could talk about them forever. They all love what they do. They know their job and they love doing it.”
She didn’t remind him that she was still waiting for the first veteran to be sent to her facility, didn’t explain or apologize for funds sent but not earned. Dirks put away his disappointment, reminding himself it wasn’t really self-incrimination, and listened to the rich Southern cadence of her voice. He’d lived in so many places over the course of his career, in and
out of the states, that he himself had a diction that could have placed him anywhere and nowhere, depending upon the language he chose to employ.
Her eyes brightened as she described the animals, one by one, rarely noting bloodlines - some of which he already knew were impressive - focusing instead on their personality and backstory. How they came to her and how she felt about them were clearly more important than their sires and dams.
“I know what rescue animals are, of course, but is a kill pen as ugly as the name implies?”
Sorrow, and something he suspected was anger, touched her features. “Unfortunately, yes. And sometimes I hear about horses with great potential too late. I have contacts at several facilities who do what they can for the animals. I wish I could take them all but there are other people besides me who help save as many as possible.”
“How do they end up there? I saw a news report once that implied most of them were vicious killers.”
Her eyes flashed with pure anger now. “That’s just not true. Yes, some are mistreated to the point they strike back, but most?” She shook her head. “Animals are an investment of time, income, and energy. So many people realize that, too late, and throw them away like so much trash. Then, there are horses injured in competitive sports that need healing time and others simply too old to continue. Their owners don’t want to be bothered feeding and caring for them as they heal or age. They just move on to the next new toy. These are the ones I can usually take and train and make into a really useful instructor horse. Some, who’ve been abused, I find I can’t help at all.”
“What then? I’m certain you don’t send them back where they came from.”
“No. Never.” She sighed. “There are a few rescue farms in the area that take them when they can, but I also have a pasture full of horses that are nothing but an expense.”
“Of the ones who have worked out for you, do you have a favorite?”
“Jack,” she said without hesitation. “He was a hunter-jumper and one of my first finds for Summer Valley Ranch. He’s got papers a mile long but he was injured early in his career and his owners no longer had any use for him. He was a stallion, which is pretty rare in a successful working competitor, but so gentle. If he had made it to some big stakes wins, I never would have gotten him. He would’ve been put to stud. It took him a year to heal and another year to learn what I needed from him. I can’t wait for you to watch him in action. The amazing thing with Jack is that he is a producer and his offspring are equally talented, equally gentle. I’ve been offered a small fortune for any one of them but they aren’t for sale and won’t be unless I think they’re needed someplace more and will be well-treated. And even then there will be stipulations to the sale.”
“Stipulations?”
“If they’re no longer needed where they are, they’ll come back to me at the same price I was given originally.”
He raised his brows at that. “Could get expensive for you.”
Her quick grin was a sucker punch to the gut, one he wasn’t expecting. “Hasn’t come to that. I haven’t found a potential purchaser who meets my standards.”
He kept her talking with a well-placed question or two, listening as intently to her words as much as to the warm honey of the phrases that interspersed anecdotes about the animals she loved. He found himself hoping she was everything she seemed. She was either very clever or had absolutely nothing to hide.
Conversation flowed easily throughout their entrée and he found himself disappointed when she placed her fork aside. She’d finished only half her meal but he suspected it may have been more than she was accustomed to eating. She laid her napkin on the tablecloth.
“Thank you for the meal. Truly. I have to get back to take care of things but you’re welcome to come out anytime. I cancelled classes today so my instructors won’t be there. Tomorrow would probably be more helpful to you.”
“You have guest quarters?” He asked it as a question although he already knew the answer.
He found her momentary hesitation another disappointment. He didn’t want her to have anything to hide.
“We do,” she admitted, “but they aren’t prepared for guests. Most of our students use the bunk houses. The guest quarters – except for the one my ex-husband’s been using – haven’t been used or deep-cleaned in several months although we do keep the cooling and heating on so they’re aired.”
Her voice trailed away as if to give him an opportunity to offer to stay in town.
When he remained silent, she sighed. “I guess I could bring some towels and linens out but you’d be much more comfortable in one of the hotels in town. There are several that are truly nice.”
He leaned back in his chair, every instinct heightened. The woman most definitely did not want him staying on her property.
“I don’t need much to be comfortable,” he said blandly, “and it will be easier for me to see what I need to see if I’m there during various times of the day.”
She frowned. “You plan a lengthy stay?”
“It will take some time to evaluate everything I need to review.”
As her frown deepened, Dirks wished he hadn’t felt such a swift and unexpected attraction to her. It was almost certainly an appeal that could go nowhere.
Chapter Two
Dirks Hanna paid the tab and they walked through the dusk back to the courthouse parking lot. The energy she’d felt as she talked about her horses had faded and exhaustion seeped back into her until it was the familiar dead weight she’d known since things had gone so badly wrong with her marriage. It had been so long since she’d truly been able to rest. Not since this fight had started, not since she realized there was a fight. She’d won but she didn’t fool herself. Despite her words to Craig, she knew it wasn’t over. He wasn’t just going to go away. Maybe someday, but not yet.
As they walked, a slow sense of dread blended with the exhaustion. Along with threatening her over the course of their long, drawn-out court fight, he’d threatened the horses as well. They meant nothing to him except as a means to an end and that end was money. Always money. For newer cars, nicer clothes. For gambling. She’d realized too late the siren call that dice and cards held for him. Not to mention the women, always younger than her. When had she stopped being enough for him?
The carefully preserved oaks, so pretty by day, seemed to crowd the sidewalk with shadows. She experienced a sudden sense of urgency, a feeling she should have gone straight home.
Avery heard Dirks’ growl of anger before she saw her SUV. She wasn’t surprised to see the shattered glass of her windshield. She wasn’t even surprised to see the elegant black cat pacing the sidewalk beside the slashed tires. She had, she realized, almost been expecting ... something.
* * *
Well, I hope these two enjoyed their dinner for the games have certainly begun and I’ve eaten nothing since lunch, which was quite fine, I’ll admit, but has long since burned away with my efforts.
Unfortunately, my pretty lady is going to assume that her nasty ex-husband is the only culprit. He, I suspect, she could handle rather well, at least with my assistance. Somehow I’ve got to ensure that Mr. Military realizes a knife may have slashed those tires but there is a bullet somewhere behind that ruined glass, a bullet discharged by a very skillful hand with a gun. A gun with a silencer no less for it drew absolutely no attention from the busy street. Methinks such machinations are beyond the abilities of the slovenly ex.
It is only a slight hindrance that these two have not yet deduced my heightened feline abilities. Ah, well, one does what one must, even resorting to the ‘trite’ but true. Hmmm, a clever line, that. I do believe I must commit it to my excellent memory for my yet-to-be written memoirs. Meanwhile, there is much to do in the moment at hand.
* * *
“I’ll call the police.” Dirks, as he’d told her to call him, pulled his phone from his pocket.
“I can’t wait for them. I’ve got to get home,” Avery said, staring at her
ruined SUV. “Now! You’ve got to take me.”
She blessed the fact that he didn’t argue. He just took one glance at her face and gestured toward a dark-grey, almost black truck parked close to hers. Before they took more than a step or two, however, the cat snagged a paw in Dirks’ trousers.
Dirks uttered a mild oath as the cat sat down and stared up at him intently. When Dirks stepped forward again, his pants were snagged again. When he stopped, the cat sat. “Okay.” Dirks hesitated. His expression said clearly that he felt more than a little stupid for talking to a cat. “What?”
The cat stood and stalked back to Avery’s SUV. Dirks looked at Avery. “Your cat wants to show us something.”
“You’re crazy. He’s not my cat. And I have to get home!” Avery knew her voice had risen slightly with each short statement.
“Two minutes,” Dirks answered and he followed the cat back to her SUV.
Avery trailed after him, fighting a sense of panic and tears. Crying wouldn’t help, it never had, never would, and she’d given it up long ago. Panic didn’t change things either, she knew, but the tears were easier to quell than this horrific sense that something terrible was going to happen to things that truly mattered. If it hadn’t already.
Dirks made a closer study of the windshield, studying the broken glass. He whistled softly. “Does your ex own a gun?”
“Craig? Absolutely not. He hates guns, though I own several. Are you saying ...?”
She stepped closer, trying to see what Dirks was studying.
“I’m saying you have a problem.” He opened the door to the vehicle, quickly finding the entry and exit for the bullet that went through her front seat. Avery waited numbly while he continued his search in the back seat and pocketed two bullets. “I’ll get these to the police later. Let’s go.”
He turned with an odd expression to the cat who had observed him from the hood of the car without moving.
The Trouble with Horses Page 2
