“What are you hungry for?”
His voice was low and deep, but not gravely like Jake’s or boisterous like Marty’s had been. It was soothing. It appealed to her. She realized in the same instant that he was watching her, waiting for a response, and that she was staring at him.
She began tugging at the seatbelt. “I’m not picky.”
Wolf started the truck and she fought a moment’s panic. She didn’t go out to eat with men. Ever.
“Relax.”
“I’m relaxed.”
He laughed and the soft sound made something inside of her unclench.
During the short drive, she discovered that he did not smell like fish at all. He smelled like fresh air and sunshine. He smelled like man. She, however, without a doubt still smelled like horses and dust and leather.
He parked curbside at a small restaurant and walked around to open the door on her side. She stepped out, thinking the place looked a bit fancier than what she would have preferred and he smiled at her as if reading her thoughts. “They have a little courtyard on the side. We’ll sit there with Trouble.”
“Trouble?” Her gaze followed his to the cat who’d gotten out when he did.
He shrugged. “Seemed to fit.”
The cat glanced upward at them before, tail swirling in the air, he walked over to the intricate iron fence that separated an outside seating area from the sidewalk. After a look back, as if to tell them to hurry along, he stepped through to the other side.
“There’s a lot more to him than a simple cat.” Wolf held the door open for her.
Kylah shot him an amused look. “Animals are smarter than we are, by far, but I think that was a coincidence.”
He placed his hand on the small of her back and she fell silent, startled by the warmth that shot through her at his touch.
“You may change your mind about that coincidence thing,” he murmured as they followed their hostess to a courtyard table. “I’ve had an interesting day.”
Kylah wasn’t sure of that change of mind but neither was she surprised when, once the hostess turned away, Trouble moved from the shadows to sit beneath their tablecloth. Watching them for cues was one thing – most animals did that – listening and reacting to their words was a very different thing.
Wolf waited until they’d placed their order with a waiter before he told her about visiting the murder scene with the black cat.
“He made you follow him?”
She knew he could hear the skepticism in her voice but it didn’t seem to bother him.
“He convinced me to, that’s for sure. It’s tough to explain. He showed me some footprints that were outside the barricade.” He did a decent job of describing the murder scene with its barricade, the rough built table, and the outline of the victim. And the footprints beyond that.
“But the footprints could belong to anyone.” She’d decided not to debate whether or not the cat had led him to those prints.
“That’s what the deputy on the scene said but Trouble – and I – disagree.” He showed her the pictures and videos on his phone.
“These are pretty good shots,” she murmured. “And some are nice clear prints.” But there was nothing outstanding about either the faint but visible tread or the size. “Looks like whoever they belong to walked out of the woods, stood square in front of the table for some period of time, before walking toward the victim then away back into the woods.”
“You’ve got a good eye.”
“It’s part of the training of choreography, seeing how things lay out – in your mind, on paper, then in action. Works the same in reverse, I guess. The difference is that this is on grass and sticks and dirt, not paper.”
“Yeah, it’s too bad it wasn’t all dirt there. The prints would be a lot crisper. I hope the ones the crime scene workers casted will provide more information.”
“That’s what the two indentions are?”
“Yeah. About all I can tell from the prints that were left is they were made by some kind of work or hunting boot.”
“Which could belong to any of several hundred reenactors who have been scouring those slopes looking for the perfect location to set up their tent or their station.” He had her curiosity stirred now. It intrigued her to know that he was looking at the prints through the eyes of a lawman. “Do you see anything else?”
“Just what I’d expect. Whoever wore those boots walked away from there a hell of a lot faster than he or she walked up.”
“Which could mean they were guilty or they were frightened by what they stumbled upon.”
“Too frightened to find help or call it in?”
“There is that,” she agreed. They both knew that scenario was unlikely. She nodded her head toward the phone he’d laid on the table. “Did you share those with the sheriff?”
“Not yet. I asked him to meet me at the fairgrounds in the morning. I wanted to be at the scene when we looked at what I’d photographed. Unfortunately, the forecast I heard calls for another good shower or two after midnight. There won’t be much trace of any prints by morning. Still, at least he can visualize in his mind what was there.”
She smiled. “Like choreography.”
He smiled back and it occurred to her their conversation should be morbid considering the subject matter. Instead, it felt anything but that. Because they were being analytical, she told herself, not for any other reason. Before she could analyze her disquiet, she felt Trouble streak from under the tablecloth and back through the wrought-iron fence. She and Wolf watched as he was scooped up by one of two women talking their way down the sidewalk.
The very attractive redhead lowered a tote loaded with books to the concrete beside her heels and cuddled the sleek black cat as if he were a kitten. She looked across the fence at them and smiled. “Are you two where Trouble’s been all day?”
Kylah didn’t miss she’d called the cat Trouble nor the startled look on Wolf’s face at the fact.
“He’s yours?” Wolf asked. “And his name really is Trouble?”
The woman laughed. “It really is but I gather you’ve guessed as much. And you aren’t the first to have done so. He makes himself known, somehow.” Then her smile was replaced by a look of concern. “And I’ll hazard a guess that one or both of you have a problem to solve because that’s where Trouble always lands – in the middle of solving someone’s problem, usually a very dangerous one. He’s very good at it, too.”
Wolf didn’t look as doubtful as Kylah felt. In fact, he seemed to be buying into the woman’s words. “It’s not exactly our problem, but yes, there’s been a crime.”
“That poor woman who was murdered, I’ll bet. Are you law enforcement?”
“Yes, ma’am. I’m with the Cherokee Marshal Service.”
He’d surprised Kylah yet again. She caught him watching her and knew he’d realized it. He looked chagrined as if he thought he’d made a mistake in not telling her his profession. She wanted to shrug and tell him not to worry about it, that they weren’t likely to see each other again after tonight. As soon as it crossed her mind, she remembered how short a time ago she’d had that same thought and yet here he sat, right beside her. So much had happened in less than a single day. The realization left her exhausted. Or maybe it was the fact that she was running on too little sleep.
The woman gave the cat a last caress then placed him on the concrete beside her canvas tote. She pulled a business card from her purse. “My name is Tammy Lynn. Trouble may elect to come with me tonight, but I rather suspect he’ll find you again tomorrow even if he does. Unfortunately, I have to leave in a day or two. If you’ll call when your problem is solved, I can come back and get him or you can let me know he struck out for home on his own. He’ll decide which he’d rather and let you know.”
Wolf rose and stepped close to the ornamental barrier between them. “I’m Wolf Stockton.” He glanced back at Kylah. “And this is Kylah West.”
“Oh! Oh, my goodness. I thought I recognized you
.” Tammy Lynn beamed at her. “You’re Madeline Breck’s daughter! I’m such a fan of hers.”
Kylah wasn’t sure what to say to that so she smiled and said thank you, although it wasn’t as if the compliment was for her. It was a happenstance of birth that she’d been born to one of the more acclaimed stars of recent decades and nothing she could take credit for. All she was thinking in that moment was that the woman was just going to leave her cat with them, people she knew nothing about. That seemed insane to her. She couldn’t imagine leaving her horses behind with anyone except Jake.
When Wolf returned to the table, Kylah gave him a look. “That was a little wild.”
“I’m still absorbing,” he admitted.
They watched as Trouble meandered down the sidewalk behind his owner.
“You can’t believe he’ll find us again in the morning?” Kylah hadn’t meant to voice it as a question.
“I know he’s a unique cat but … I’m not sure. What about you?”
“I’m not sure either.” And she shook her head at her own admission. One or both of them was as crazy as the cat’s owner who thought her feline was a detective of some sort. “So, you’re a U.S. Marshal?”
“And you’re a movie star’s daughter.” But he said it idly, his gaze holding hers, and she could tell how little that fact meant to him.
He reached across the table to take her hand and – in keeping with every other crazy thing going on around her – she let him.
Chapter Seven
On the drive back to the hotel, Wolf made his admission. “Your man, Jake, kept me from making a fool of myself today.” He forced his attention to the road but felt her watching him.
Her glance was curious. “Jake? How’s that?”
“I didn’t realize you were a trick rider.”
“Well,” she said, “I prefer the term stunt rider or horse trainer, but okay.”
“When that horse dropped to the dirt with you in the middle of the arena, my heart dropped right along with him. I thought you were crushed.”
“Ah. Sorry. It’s supposed to be dramatic – for the audience – but I guess it can be a little much for someone trained in emergency response. Most lawmen are, right?”
“There’s that, but it felt a little more personal for me.” He wasn’t sure why he admitted to that when he wasn’t crazy about the fact that he even felt that way. He had a suspicion this woman was going to disrupt his well-ordered life.
“We’ve only known each other since this morning.” He could sense her pushing the distance into place between them as he turned into the hotel drive.
“Since last night,” he pushed right back.
“I’m not counting that as I don’t remember much of it,” she admitted.
“I remember it.”
She didn’t answer but he felt her gaze on his face.
He was careful to signal his intentions by pulling up to the front entrance of the hotel rather than parking the truck and walking her up to the side door. He didn’t want things to turn awkward, didn’t want her getting prickly on him. He suspected she could do that in an instant. He still couldn’t believe she’d agreed to go with him, still felt a mild surprise that he’d asked her.
He liked that she waited in the truck for him to walk around and open her door, an indication she was confident enough in her independence not to feel threatened by a guy’s preference to be a gentleman. Or maybe that was her movie star’s daughter upbringing.
She took his hand to step down and he held onto hers until they reached the door which slid open as they approached. He’d noticed earlier that her nails were pretty, filed short but polished with something that sparkled. She sparkled.
“Thank you for dinner,” she said.
“Thank you for going with me.” He watched as she went inside. She didn’t look back.
* * *
Wolf walked into the snug home he’d built for himself years ago, after letting Rita keep the too large one they’d built together but that she’d designed and loved far more than she’d ever loved him or any other person. He switched on a few lights and looked around, much less content than he’d been twenty-four hours earlier.
Damn.
After a hot shower, he pulled a beer from the fridge, then sat at the bar studying the photos he’d made of the crime scene that morning. Closing them out, he hesitated, then sent Kylah a text, wondering what she’d make of the fact that he was still thinking about her.
* * *
Kylah lay in the dark of her hotel room, thinking through the next day’s drills for her horses, something she did most nights when she was this close to a performance. She heard a soft ding from her phone and raised it, illuminating the screen so that the text was visible. The two simple words, ‘good night,’ and the fact that he’d sent them curved her lips in a faint smile. She placed the phone back on the nightstand and rolled to her side, exhausted but unexpectedly content.
It was morning but still dark out when her phone dinged with another text, this one from Jake. ‘I’m cooking.’
She was smiling as she rolled out and headed for the shower. She and Jake were so predictable. Like an old married couple. From time to time someone would think that’s what they were. Every now and again, she wondered what Jake wanted from his future but she’d never felt more than friendship and a certain responsibility to him and for him. As far as she knew he had no family. There was an ex-wife somewhere, but she’d left him when he wouldn’t leave rodeo. All he’d ever said was that it was his fault he’d loved the sport more than her. And the sport hadn’t been faithful to him. Stomped one too many times by one too many bulls, he’d emerged from a hospital, broke, with a permanent limp and no way he knew to make a living except doing what he could no longer do.
For Kylah, he was as much friend and mentor as employee. He worked for room and board and what little cash he’d accept from her. The rest she put up in CDs in his name. He knew they existed. She showed him where they were in her office safe but he wouldn’t touch them. She had no idea why.
* * *
Kylah could smell bacon frying as she stepped out of her truck at the fairgrounds. Jake stood at the outdoor grill and he wasn’t alone. The black cat watched his every move from one of the folding chairs that was a perpetual part of their lifestyle. She would’ve liked to feel more surprise at the sight of the feline. Since she didn’t, she decided to ignore him instead.
“Morning, Jake. We’ve got a lot to do today.”
He handed her a cup of coffee and grunted. “Well, whatever you got on your list, you can add one more thing. That Edmunds fellow called a meeting with the organizers, the staff they’ve hired to help, what he called unit commanders and their officers, and paid performers.”
“Interesting. What time?”
“One o’clock, this afternoon. At the college.”
Damn. That was right in the middle of her day. “Who do you suppose are paid performers besides us?”
He cut her a glance. “Probably nobody. And that would be you, not us.”
“Huh.” She drank her coffee and waited for her bacon and eggs with as much anticipation as the cat.
* * *
Well, that was tasty and more than sufficed. Jake is quite the chef of humble fare. I notice he watched like a hawk to be certain Kylah did not skimp. He had no such concerns with myself and was ready with second portions of both eggs and bacon and wise enough to withhold grits. Even with a quantity of melted butter, the real thing from real cream, I find what is basically cornmeal mush too bland for words and not worthy of edging out lightly turned eggs and perfectly crisped bacon.
Now, if I’m not mistaken, I recognize the sound of the well-tuned vehicle turning into the fairgrounds. With Jake and Kylah both disappearing into the barn, I am left to greet Wolf Stockton. I daresay there may be some disappointment in that for him but I shall not take offense. I note his careful look around as he leans against the side of his truck at my approach.
“
Good morning, Trouble.” Now that is a good man. I appreciate being greeted by name. “The sheriff will be here soon if you’d care to join us on a brief expedition back to the murder scene.” A wise man, too, to recognize the value in my presence.
The sheriff, on the other hand, does not deign to acknowledge me upon his arrival. I doubt he even notices my presence as we traipse back across the nearby hills to the site of the murder. Like myself, Wolf navigates the uneven terrain with little effort while the sheriff reveals his lack of fitness with a bit of huffing and puffing.
“This better be worth my time, Wolf.”
“It may or may not be. Did the crime scene investigators show you pictures of footprints right in front of where the victim was found?”
“No.”
“Any of your deputies?”
“No.”
“Then it should be worth your time.”
The sheriff grunts his displeasure but I’m not certain if it’s displeasure at Wolf’s sarcasm or displeasure at the gap in the thoroughness of his deputies as highlighted by Wolf’s questions.
When we reach our destination, the tape forming the barricade sags between posts that lean in the rain-sodden ground. The sheriff studies the photos and videos on Wolf’s cell phone screen.
“You know these could belong to anyone?”
Well, he’s heard that before. Twice, with this being the third.
“Your deputy pointed that out to me – while I was doing his job for him.”
Touché. The sheriff’s pained expression would indicate a hit.
“Are you still looking at Ella Necaise?”
The sheriff walks to where the footprints would have been, were they not now washed away. He stands in silent contemplation in front of the somewhat crude-looking table. “No. There were security cameras at the rest stop and she chanced to park within range. She was there, asleep in her truck, at the time of death. So, unfortunately, she’s cleared.”
The Trouble with Horses Page 46
