The Trouble with Horses

by Susan Y. Tanner

  “I’ve got an errand to run. I’ll talk to the sheriff before I leave and get you released to me if he’s not willing to let you go home.”

  Case nodded, looking a little less anxious. “I need to go home, Wolf. I help with the younger ones. So, they don’t get in trouble at home.”

  Wolf knew what he meant. He was their shield from the man who’d provided the sperm but had never learned how to be a father. Knew nothing about being a real man. He nodded, “I’ll do what I can there, too. Don’t worry about going to jail, okay? Not going to happen.”

  Wolf caught up with Les and gave him an update on his exchange with the teen. Les grudgingly agreed he didn’t have any reason to hold Case as yet but voiced Wolf’s own concern. “That kid’s not telling all he knows. He knows something or he saw something. Either way, keeping it a secret could get him killed.”

  Wolf couldn’t argue the point. Not if whoever pulled that trigger got wind that Case had seen something. Or already knew that he had.

  Les’ expression turned hopeful. “You going to see Rita now?”

  “Yeah, I’ll check in with you later, see if I need to give Case a ride home.”

  “No need. I’ll owe you that much. I’ll get him home and make sure his dad knows he’s not in trouble. I’ll be waiting to hear what Rita has to say.”

  Wolf rolled his eyes and walked toward his truck. Hand on the door, he paused at the sound of a familiar voice raised in anger. Curious, he changed course. He was not in any hurry for the talk with his ex. Instead, he headed in the direction of that voice, toward a long, fancy looking horse trailer with living quarters pulled alongside one of the long barns. Grant Edmunds, one of the leading reenactment organizers from the college, was giving some poor fellow a blistering set-down but didn’t seem to be making much of an impression.

  The guy he berated tipped his cowboy hat back and crossed his arms over his chest. He wore his well-washed jeans and work shirt like a comfortable second skin. His average build and weight looked unimpressive against Grant’s above average height and bulk. But the cowboy, himself, didn’t look much impressed with Grant. “There’s legal hookups here,” he said laconically.

  “Flyers were given out to everyone bringing livestock. Among other things, it outlined the requirement to park at the rear. Seems like you’re the only one who didn’t get that message, mister.”

  “My name’s Jake. No mister needed. Ms. Kylah told me to park and sleep here, next to the horses.”

  “I don’t give a flying rat’s ass what your Ms. Kylah told you.” Grant leaned back in order to see past the freightliner and read the inscription emblazoned on the side of the trailer. K.T. West Equine. “You tell Mr. West to get in touch with me at once. That’s who has the contract and that’s the person I’m going to deal with.”

  Jake nodded toward a silver pickup moving at more than the legal speed in their direction. “Wait a second or so and you can deliver that message yourself.”

  With an eye on the dust cloud thrown up by heavy duty wheels, Wolf doubted the or so would be needed. Those wheels didn’t exactly slide to a stop at their feet – but close. He had one thought as the driver stepped out wearing a nondescript knit shirt with tight fitting jeans and no makeup. She was still a problem waiting to happen.

  Even with her eyes shielded by oversized sunglasses, Wolf had no problem recognizing her. Because her attention was fixed on the two men squared off in front of her, he had plenty of time to see things he hadn’t noticed in the low light of the bar. Things like the farmer’s tan. The top she wore sported a scoop neck and her tan line was more a vee. Glints of gold threaded her hair and he doubted any bottle produced that shine. But what did he know about hair products, he asked himself? But that body? That was exactly as he remembered.

  And so was the cat who leaped to the ground beside her.

  She didn’t glance his way as far as he could tell with her eyes hidden by those shades. Grant hadn’t noticed him either, which Wolf considered a good thing.

  * * *

  “Kylah, this gentleman would like to talk with you.” Jake gestured toward the man glaring at him.

  Kylah studied Jake’s sun-browned face a moment trying to determine why he’d called her Kylah. He didn’t seem aggravated with her. She trusted him more than she did any other person in her life. She also knew him better than any other person in her life. They’d been together a while now. Despite the fact that he wasn’t smiling, he seemed more entertained than stressed. She relaxed her spine and turned her attention to the gentleman in question who spoke up in quick response to Jake’s words.

  “Actually, no. I prefer to speak to K.T.”

  “Okay.” She extended her hand. “What can I help you with?”

  He was all of six feet and more which meant she had to look up at him but that was fine. She didn’t intimidate easily. Actually, not at all.

  He stared at her. “You’re K.T. West?”

  “I am. Or Kylah, if you prefer. And you are …?

  “Dean Edmunds.”

  For a moment, the first name confused her. She recognized Edmunds but Dean wasn’t what she recalled from their correspondence. Then she realized he’d introduced himself with his title rather than his first name. Dean Grant Edmunds. How pompous of him. She gave him a slow look. Thinning blond hair, pale green eyes. A bit out of shape if she had to guess. Not that he had a paunch. He didn’t. What he did have was a softness about him

  “You wanted to speak with me?” she reminded him. Her headache had quieted to a tolerable level thanks to coffee and a muffin. The cat had consumed her omelet on the drive to the fairgrounds. Spinach, mushrooms, and all.

  “Yes.” He still seemed somewhat disconcerted by the fact that K.T. West was a female. “Trailers aren’t allowed to be parked next to the barn.”

  “Why not?”

  “It’s the rule.”

  That answer didn’t impress her. While she wouldn’t call herself a deliberate rule-breaker, she didn’t abide by them unless they made very good sense. This one didn’t as far as she could tell. “Whose rule is it?”

  “Mine.” He looked dumbfounded at being questioned. His fair skin took on a red tinge and she gathered this was a man who disliked confrontation in any guise, preferring people to obey without question.

  “Either Jake or myself must be close to the horses at all times. He sleeps in that trailer so I’m not moving it.”

  “I’ve laid things out very orderly so as to avoid clutter and chaos around the fairgrounds. I’m afraid I’ll have to require you to move.”

  Kylah looked at Jake. “Hook up and we’ll load up. With luck, we can be home by dark.”

  “What – no – you can’t.” Edmunds was brick red now. “I’ll sue for breach. We have a contract.”

  She smiled. “Actually, we don’t. I brought it with me and it’s going to leave with me in that trailer I’m about to get moved for you.”

  Edmunds hesitated before asking, “Can we speak in private, Ms. West?”

  “Sure.” She glanced around. There was no one within hearing distance except Jake and a well-built guy in tee shirt and jeans, wearing dark, dark sunshades. Muscles without bulk, a strong jaw, high cheekbones, and a blade-thin nose. Once upon a time, the description sexy would have popped into her mind. But that was then and this was now. He didn’t look interested in their exchange, probably one of the organizers waiting to speak with the dean. “We can step into the living quarters of my trailer. Excuse us, Jake.”

  The dean – and the cat – followed her into the trailer where she gestured toward the bench seat. “You may as well sit down or you’ll end up hitting your head.” She slid her sunglasses to the top of her head, the better to see in the dim interior, and propped one hip against the counter.

  He took her suggestion and sat but launched right into his argument. “I’m sure you can understand the need for close attention to detail in an effort this large.”

  “I can understand your nervousness a
bout it,” she conceded. “I believe this is your first reenactment. Or at least the first for your college.”

  “My wife and I are ardent reenactors and have been for some years. Those experiences as a participant have been invaluable in helping me … ah … helping us plan for this event. I can’t have everyone parking wherever they please. We worked weeks on our logistics plan.”

  Since he hadn’t asked a question, she didn’t offer anything in response. He frowned at the brief silence. Like so many people, it seemed he didn’t like a vacuum and couldn’t avoid filling it. That almost always worked in her favor.

  “I’m paying you a small fortune,” he reminded her.

  “You would be, yes, but my horses are worth that fortune. And so am I. I’m leading three big scenes for you,” she reminded. “The first cavalry charge with jumps – that’s the easy one. The second charge when my horse is shot from under me. And the battle scene where my horse plays dead while I shoot over his side. My horses will grab and hold the attention of the spectators because they, and I, are damned good at what we do.” When he met her comments with silence, she pushed away from the counter and reached for the door. “Seems we’re not going to move past this impasse. I’m sure you have better things to do and so do I.”

  “Wait! Wait,” he repeated the word more quietly. He let out long breath. “Okay.”

  “Okay?” She lifted a brow.

  “The trailer can stay where it is. But I want that contract in my hand today.”

  “I can work with that.” She held out one hand and ignored the reluctance with which he shook it. Some people, men more often than women in her experience, didn’t take defeat with a good nature. Then again, some men didn’t like shaking hands with women, as if that acknowledged them on equal footing. Which they already were.

  She opened the trailer door, waiting until he and the cat stepped out before she followed. “So, any particular reason we’re surrounded by law enforcement?” She’d noted a mix of vehicles which appeared to represent everyone from city police to sheriff deputies to university officers. A mix she found very odd.

  “There was an unfortunate incident in the area this morning, sometime around daylight.”

  “Unfortunate how?”

  “A death. Accidental, I’m sure,” he added hastily. “And, even if it proves otherwise, it didn’t occur on the fairgrounds proper. I’m sure you’ll all be safe here. But doubtless the authorities will be poking about and interviewing everyone who might have been in the area at the time, including your help and you, Ms. West.”

  Before she could speak, a movement to one side of her trailer caught her attention. The man she’d noticed earlier stepped closer, coming face to face with the dean. Even from behind the dark shades he wore, she could feel his gaze sweep over her. But it was to Dean Edmunds that he spoke.

  “It won’t be necessary for anyone to question Ms. West.” His words dropped into the sudden silence. “I’ll speak with the sheriff.”

  “Wolf,” the dean said, “I didn’t realize you were here.”

  Kylah closed her eyes as the two talked quietly for a moment. The face hadn’t been familiar but the voice was unmistakably that from the recorded message on the number she’d called earlier. If you’re gonna be dumb, she reminded herself as she opened her eyes and slid her sunglasses back in place. She didn’t finish the thought. She didn’t need to.

  She couldn’t have cared less about the curious glance the dean sent her way as he was leaving but she did care about Jake’s lengthier perusal as he stepped to one side to wait for her. Jake kept up with dates, had known that yesterday was tough for her. She didn’t need him fretting about why a man he’d never seen thought he could speak on Kylah’s behalf.

  Forcing a light tone to her voice, she smiled at the stranger. “I guess you’ve come for your cat.”

  He smiled faintly. “That’s something we’ll need to talk about. He’s not my cat.”

  * * *

  Wolf watched Kylah’s reaction to that statement.

  “What do you mean he’s not your cat?”

  He suspected she was glaring at him behind those dark shades but there wasn’t much else he could say so he repeated the words. “He’s not my cat.”

  She lowered her voice. “Then how did he get in my room?”

  “The same way he got in my truck when I took you back to your room.”

  She blew out a breath. “I do appreciate you getting me off the streets. Drinking isn’t my thing so I’m sure I made a fool of myself.”

  “Not unless you count putting two jack-asses in their place – on the dance floor.”

  He could tell his comment gave her pause but when she slid those sunglasses to the top of her head, her action gave him pause. More than that, he took a punch to the gut. In the dark of the bar, he’d thought her eyes were blue or maybe gray. They were neither. Or both.

  For the first time, he could tell she wasn’t as young as he’d thought. Last night, he’d judged her to be early twenties which put her squarely off limits to him. Now he thought early to mid-thirties. Neon had given her beauty a touch of delicacy. Sunlight revealed the strength in high cheekbones and a strong jaw. Still beautiful but far from delicate. And not off limits.

  And not happy at the idea that she’d been the center of a scene. He stifled a smile at the faint frown of chagrin. She wouldn’t appreciate it.

  “K.T.?”

  The cowboy had walked up with a quiet that Wolf had to respect. He’d heard him but knew he might not have if he hadn’t seen him first. He was that quiet. Despite his slight limp.

  “Hey, Jake. Ready to get to work?”

  “Yes, ma’am. I’ve got the roan and the bay saddled.”

  She smiled. “They’ve got names, Jake.”

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  Wolf suspected this was a frequent exchange. When she glanced back his way, he touched the brim of his cap. “Looks like we’ve all got work to do.”

  For the first time, he saw a look of faint curiosity cross her face but she didn’t give voice to it. “Thanks again, Mister ...”

  “Stockton. Wolf Stockton.” He wasn’t there in an official capacity – yet – so he didn’t bother with a title. His glance included Jake as he added, “You’ll want to keep a close watch around you for now.”

  The other man gave him a look that spoke volumes but Wolf wasn’t going to apologize for the suggestion.

  Wolf turned to leave and found himself face to face with the black cat. With a quick sidestep, he kept going. No way was he going to become caregiver to a cat.

  Chapter Three

  Wolf, what an odd name for a biped. And it seems he may somehow be involved with the law. I’ll speak to the sheriff he told that Edmunds fellow, as if that would make all things right. The minute I heard that exchange, I knew my instincts were spot on. Edmunds may try to reassure that the death was accidental but the heavy presence of the law indicates suspicions to the contrary. Regardless of any attraction Wolf might feel to Kylah, and I suspect he does, a dead body practically on her doorstep – or in this case trailer-step – begs further investigation. And I’m just the cat to do it.

  No time like the present, I decide, as Wolf heads to his truck and Kylah walks toward the barn with Jake. Glancing around, my attention is drawn to an unmarked car just pulling to a stop. Two uniformed individuals step out of the vehicle and I move closer as they begin pulling equipment bags from the trunk. Bingo, I’ve grabbed the brass ring. Yes, yes, I’m mixing metaphors but apropos as these newcomers are crime scene investigators. Their arrival is confirmation of my suspicions, and exactly who I need to shadow.

  As we strike out toward the hills beyond the fairgrounds, I’m immediately disappointed by both the pace, which seems needlessly slow to me, and the exchange between the two.

  The trouble with bipeds is that they see what they expect to see and so often fail to pursue the unexpected. That is but one foible among many but the list is too long to catalog at the
present. With that said, I’ve had the pleasure of working with several intelligent humans in solving my various cases. And, while I don’t care for bias in any form, most of those have been female humans.

  Case in point, of the two I trail, the woman seems to be the more astute. It may simply be that she’s the more seasoned professional but it is she who notices me traipsing along with them. Her male counterpart remains oblivious. I don’t fault her that she doesn’t, and may never, understand the significance of my presence. I do find it regrettable that she, as well as her partner, seem more interested in discussing motive before they’ve established the physical attributes of the death. They’re already speculating it to be a crime of passion rather than robbery, simply because the victim was female. I suppose there is some merit to that thought. Then again, there are merits to other possibilities as well. We shall see.

  Upon arrival, our destination does seem an improbable place for anyone to be mucking about in jewels or carrying cash of any significant amount. The land slopes where we stand but the surrounding hills are more rugged. Scrub trees abound but no toff mansions or lakeside villas.

  Someone has marked the perimeter of the crime scene in appropriate fashion, I’m pleased to note. The investigators exchange greetings with the two sheriff’s deputies standing guard then duck under the barricade of tape which surrounds a tent, stool, and table with various paraphernalia that appear to be very old-fashioned in nature. I feel as if I’ve stepped onto a movie-set.

  There must have been a prodigious amount of blood. Several hours after the fact, the scent remains to an unpleasant degree. It permeates the ground, the stain extending beyond the outline of the deceased in what appears to be spray paint. Chalk would not have been adequate for the tough field grass amid patches of dirt and twigs.

  “We’ll work inward from here, Harley.”