“Nah,” Jacob said. “She was busy up at the barn. I’d wandered off. Found him grazing in a back pasture out by the creek.”
“Are you sure it was my horse? Chestnut thoroughbreds are common, even in a place as small as Deloro County.”
Jacob snorted. “Uh, yeah, chestnut thoroughbreds with lip tattoos and heart-shaped scars on their hind leg? I don’t think so.”
“You got close enough to see his scar?”
“Yeah. I got into the pasture with him. Called him over and checked him out. It’s your horse, for sure. With that big-ass scar and everything.”
“Don’t say ass,” she replied automatically, biting her lip and staring down Market Street, lost in thought. “Where’s the boarding facility?”
“About seven miles out of town, on Countyline Road. You know where Jimmy Loftus’s place is?”
She nodded.
“The facility is about a mile from Jimmy’s. Three big white barns. A couple covered arenas. It’s all brand-new and shiny—you can’t miss it. If you go through the main gates and then follow the service road downhill, you’ll find your horse. He’s is in the pasture at the bottom of the hill, along Elderberry Creek.”
Relief coursed through her, bathing her in light, in hope, easing some of the ache she felt from losing Remy for good. She’d found Visada. Life was looking up, after all, even if only in some small way.
She’d get Juliet to give her a ride over there this afternoon. Talk to the owner, let him or her know she wanted to buy her horse back. It might take a good month to come up with the money, but Janice had promised tips were good at Ye Old Coffee Shop & Hardware. She’d get the funds. And then she’d get her horse.
“Uh, Coraleen?”
Jacob’s voice brought her back to the present. She glanced at him and didn’t much like the way he was swallowing, or how he’d turned a bit…green.
“You look like you’re almost ready to barf. What’s wrong?” she asked.
“It’s just…that horse…” He sucked in a huge breath, and some color returned to his cheeks. “I was somewhere I wasn’t supposed to be, and I kinda overheard something I wasn’t supposed to hear.”
She started. “About Visada?”
He nodded. “Uh…yeah. And it wasn’t good.”
“Jacob…” she intoned. “Tell me.”
“I don’t want to get into trouble for eavesdropping.”
“Pretty sure there won’t be an arrest warrant put out for you with that charge, but I promise I won’t tell anyone I got the information from you. Now spill.”
His words came out fast, and he didn’t meet her gaze. “Your horse is on its way to an out-of-state auction. And it was pretty clear from the conversation I happened to overhear that he’s about to become…um…you know.”
Bile filled the back of her throat and her stomach heaved. She almost replicated her puking agenda of two mornings before. Somehow she managed to keep upright—and managed to keep her breakfast in her belly.
“You’re kidding, right?” she whispered.
“I’m sorry. Really, I am. The owner of the place, Sherman Something-Or-Other—”
“Sherman Wannamaker.” Had to be—how many other Shermans were there in Deloro County? Sherman had been her first riding instructor, way back when. A little on the serious side, but amazing with horses.
“Yeah, that’s him. He was talking on the phone to someone else and was totally going on about how he’d transport the chestnut racehorse out of California in two days and how by the end of the week the horse would be in a dog food can. He acted all pissed off at whoever he was talking to, but it all seemed pretty much like it was all decided.”
“Oh, god!” She cupped a hand over her mouth. Fear and fury clashed inside her like two armies on the front. That would not be Visada’s fate. No way. No how. She had to get someone to take her out to the barn now. She forced herself to concentrate. To think.
Sherman was a nice guy; it was hard to believe he’d do something so cruel to a horse. Yeah, she believed Jacob, but maybe Sherman had been joking. Didn’t matter, though, why Visada was being taken away, all that mattered was she stop it somehow. She’d get out to Sherman’s facility, convince him to sell her Visada. She’d borrow money from Juliet, or Delilah, or beg Chessie—heck, she’d even beg Remy—to buy back her horse.
“Do you have a phone I could borrow?” she asked Jacob.
He shook his head. “Nope. Principal Sloan confiscated it yesterday because I was texting Madison in class. Dumb jerk. The principal, not Madison,” he added quickly.
She glanced up Market Street, then down Broad Street. When had all the pay phones been removed? God, five years away and wow, how things had changed. No phone, no problem—she’d borrow Dave’s bike and ride out to the barn herself. She’d be there in under a half hour.
“Thanks, Jacob,” she said quickly, giving the boy a pat. “You’ve been a great help.”
Shoving his hands in his pockets, he ducked his head a little and gave her a shy sideways grin. “I didn’t do anything, though.”
“You did plenty.” She started to turn away, then hesitated and faced him. “And Jacob? About Madison…she’s lucky to have someone like you in her life. Don’t get her in trouble. And bring her flowers. Or one of Delilah’s bacon muffins. Actually, go with the muffins.”
Then she whipped around and broke into a run, headed to Dave’s mountain bike and to her horse.
And to her future, even as small and tiny as it seemed it would be. Because without Remy—and there could not be a future with Remy—her future looked bleak. But at least Visada’s future didn’t have to be.
For a moment she allowed all the pain and longing and wishing for Remy to wash over her. And then she shoved her spine into place and a smile on her face and pushed herself forward.
Passing Jimmy Loftus’s driveway, Coraleen pressed down hard on the pedals, amazed at how much sweat was dripping off her brow and into her eyes, even more amazed at how massively painful her thighs felt with each push. It had been five years (not like there was a need for bikes in lockup—after all, where would one go?), and wow—her thighs were most definitely letting her know this was not a fun adventure. But she still had a ways to pedal. Too bad Countyline Road had to follow along the curve of Jimmy Loftus’s property, adding a good half-mile to the route.
She pulled to a stop and balanced on one foot, eyeing Jimmy’s driveway. She used to ride around these parts on Visada when she was young. From what she could recall, a footpath led off Jimmy’s drive, wound through his pasture land, and met back up with Countyline Road. She could cut a good half-mile from the trip if she took that trail.
But then she’d be trespassing.
And for a woman who’d gone to prison for five years, breaking the law wasn’t actually something Coraleen had really done before. But what the hey—people already thought she was a criminal. Might as well act like one.
She put her foot on the petal and pushed off, making a sharp right onto Jimmy’s drive, headed to the footpath. Five minutes later, she bounced over a rugged berm that marked the end of Jimmy’s property and wheeled back onto Countyline Road. Almost there.
She glanced up the road. There, at the top of the hill, sunlight glinted off bright metal gates. Sherman Wannamaker’s place. She pedaled harder, forcing her quivering thighs to respond, reminding her body that the one good thing left from her life before lockup waited for her at the bottom of the hill.
She was panting by the time she reached the front gates, which were fortunately open. Three large barns surrounded a free-standing office building and courtyard. The breeze rustled freshly emerged leaves on a tall and wide valley oak, and a squirrel chittered around, but Coraleen couldn’t detect any other sound or movement other than the quiet swish of horses’ tails from the grey, pinto, palomino, and bay in the pasture to her right, who kept their muzzled buried in the bright green grass, grazing leisurely. Where was Sherman?
After leaning Dave’s
bike against the office wall, she knocked at the door. No answer. She peered inside a window, but saw no one. Acid churned in her stomach, a mix of nerves and eager anticipation. She could stand there all day, waiting for someone to show up and lead her to her horse, or she could go find Visada on her own.
It was a no-brainer.
She took off on foot, headed down a service road that sloped downhill. On either side were pastures with horses grazing, some trees and shrubbery. She could hear the gentle murmur of Elderberry Creek in the distance, but the road turned to the right and she couldn’t see all the way to the creek. Visada had to be somewhere at the end of this road. He just had to.
She broke into a trot, running about a tenth of a mile until she passed the bend in the road. And then she stopped.
There, at the bottom of a gently sloping hill, stood a chestnut thoroughbred, grazing in the bright green spring grass. Visada? Her heart beat so hard she could hear the pattern in her ears. Oh, god, it had to be him.
She put her fingers to her lips and blew out a sharp and undulating whistle, just the way she used to when she’d call him in for his supper.
The horse raised its head quickly and gazed around, as if looking for her. She let out a bubbling laugh, then caught herself.
“Any horse might prick its ears up at a whistle,” she murmured out loud, letting worry hold back her happiness. “Doesn’t mean it’s Visada.”
She whistled again, and this time the horse’s ears flickered back and forth and began swiveling on the top of its head. But then he centered on the sound, saw her in the distance, and suddenly charged forward, galloping like he’d shot out of the starting gate at the Kentucky Derby.
Oh, god. It was him!
“Visada!” Coraleen cried out. She couldn’t stop smiling. Or laughing. Or crying—she couldn’t figure out what the heck her emotions were doing to her body. All she knew was that her horse was charging up the hill to her and she was running down the hill to him and everything would be okay once she could be with Visada again. She ran down the lane, trying to get close. When Visada came racing up to the fence, he slid to a stop, snorting and squealing. She clambered over the fence, and in an instant was on him, sobbing, laughing. Completely and utterly overwhelmed.
He smelled the same. All horsey and like sunshine. Felt the same. Strong and warm under her hands. She wrapped her arms around his neck and held him for a moment, then pulled back and took his soft muzzle in her hands and kissed his face. He wuffled her hair the way he always used to, and stomped his feet.
Suddenly he backed up and then whirled around, racing off, bucking and twisting, then came charging back to her, pulling up to a sudden stop like he was trying to be a quarter horse.
She laughed and stroked his face. “You’re as happy to see me as I am to see you. Oh god I’m so glad it’s you!”
A man’s voice calling out caught her attention. She turned and looked to see someone walking down the lane toward her, hands in pockets. Sherman Wannamaker. He came up to her and leaned on the fence.
“Hey, Coraleen,” he said slowly, his voice low and rumbling the way she remembered, but he wouldn’t meet her eyes. He stared at Visada’s hooves, instead.
She frowned. Was Sherman one of the Meadowview citizens who thought so poorly of her? God, how many of her detractors were there?
“Good to see you, Sherman. I didn’t realize you were the one who’d bought Visada.”
“Uh, what are you doing here?”
Tension grew thick between them. She stroked the horse’s neck. Visada grew agitated, backing up a few steps, then coming forward to bump his shoulder against hers.
“I’m here for Visada. I’ve been looking for him ever since I got back into town.”
Sherman scratched the back of his neck. “I heard.”
She jolted. “Why didn’t you let me know? I had everyone trying to find him, to figure out who bought him at the auction of Pop’s stuff.”
“Visada was never auctioned off.”
The horse nudged her, nickering in her ear and nibbling her hair. She stroked his face, calming him down.
“I’m confused. How’d you end up owning him, then? He was supposed to go to Juliet when Pop passed.”
The big man let out a long sigh. “I don’t own the horse. And I’m not allowed to tell you who does. I’m boarding him for his owner, is all. Coraleen, you have to go. I can’t have you here.”
Her lip trembled and she bit it to keep from crying. “I want to buy him back, Sherman. Can you—”
“He’s not for sale.”
“But he is! Someone overheard you on the phone, saying he’s going off to an out-of-state auction!”
Lines formed between his brow and his mouth turned down. “Juliet Terrell tell you that? She shouldn’t have overheard that conversation.”
“It doesn’t matter who told me,” she said sharply, then panic hit her and desperation entered her tone. “Sherman, you know what happens to those horses. They don’t come back.”
He let go of the fence. Backed up. Shoved his hands deep in his pockets. “I’m sorry, Coraleen. His fate’s been decided. I’ll give you a few more minutes with him to say goodbye. But if you’re not gone in ten, I’ll have to call in a report that you’re trespassing.”
He turned and lumbered up the hill, each step seemingly weighing him down. In the distance, a mourning dove let out its plaintive call.
And Coraleen collapsed at Visada’s feet, her shaking legs unable to hold her own weight.
On his own, Visada lowered himself down to lie next to her, like he did that day out in the woods when he’d snapped his canon bone, stepping wrong in a gopher hole. And like that day, he placed his muzzle in her lap. And like that day so very long ago, he let her cry hot tears as she refused to say good-bye.
Remy drove like he was being chased by the mythical furies. Taking the corners of Countyline Road leading out to Sherman Wannamaker’s place at high speed in a Jeep wasn’t advisable, but hell—someone had to get out there before Coraleen got herself in much more trouble. The hard and brittle place that had cracked and crumbled when Coraleen had come back into his life now seemed to be building back up, putting pressure on the inside of his chest. He wasn’t all that sure what to make of the multiple messages coming through to him, relayed by Gail in Dispatch, but something sure as hell was wrong.
Mrs. Peterson had called in to say she saw Coraleen steal Dave Dawson’s mountain bike from in front of the library.
Jimmy Loftus had informed Dispatch that Coraleen was trespassing on his property.
Sherman Wannamaker had reported that Coraleen was trying to hotwire his horse trailer and steal a horse.
“Damn it, Coraleen,” Remy swore, and stepped on the gas.
Two minutes later, he wrenched the Jeep to a stop in Sherman Wannamaker’s circular drive, cutting off a wide-eyed and determined looking young woman driving an older model Ford dually with a horse trailer attached.
For a moment, he was impressed. Coraleen had really managed to hotwire a vehicle? Damn.
He shut off the Jeep and exited, motioning for her to turn off the vehicle and get out.
She did. Slowly.
“Are you going to arrest me, Sheriff?” she asked even before her feet hit the ground.
“I’ll have to if Sherman chooses to press charges,” he admitted. “Where is he?”
Coraleen tipped her head toward a single-story white clapboard building. “In his office, probably calling his lawyers. Guess he got ahold of the police, since you’re here.”
“You know I can’t let you steal your horse. Get in the Jeep. I’ll take you home.”
Tears filled her eyes. “Sherman won’t tell me who owns Visada. And whoever owns him is sending him to auction tomorrow. And not a good auction. One of those bad ones. Remy, I can’t let that happen.”
“And I can’t let you break the law.”
She frowned and blinked back the moisture brimming her eyes. “Because you uphold
the law at all costs.”
“No. Because I care enough about your future to protect you from your own idiotic ideas. Stealing a horse isn’t the answer, Coraleen.”
“Then what is?”
“God! I don’t know, okay?” he shouted.
He smacked his hand to his forehead, blew out a breath, stared into the warm, blue sky for the count of five, then lowered his hand and leveled his gaze on her. “I’ll figure something out. Now go get in the Jeep and wait for me. I’ll talk to Sherman. See what I can do.”
“I need to know who owns Visada—I have to stop this transport.”
“I understand, kiddo. But let me handle this the legal way. Let me follow the law before you start breaking it.”
“You know me and the law,” she said, her voice trembling, a forced half-smile on her face.
He softened. “No matter what, I’ll get to the bottom of this. Have a little faith in me.”
Her crooked smile faded. “Wrong thing to say. I have no more faith. No more hope. I lost it a while back and I don’t want to find it again. Hope hurts.”
God, he wanted to hold her. He fought the urge to go to her and wrap her up in his arms. Kiss the hell out of her. Smell her, taste her, touch her. Instead, he pointed to the Jeep. “Please wait for me,” he said quietly. “Because we’re all out of options, here.”
“I know,” she whispered, dropping her gaze to the ground.
Ten minutes later, he joined her in the Jeep. But he didn’t put the key in the ignition. Instead, he gripped the steering wheel and tried to untangle the mess in his head.
“Am I under arrest for grand theft auto and horse thievery?” she asked, her voice small and quiet.
“No. Sherman’s not pressing charges. Said to get you off his property, and he’d forget about the attempted theft. Since his vehicle never left his land, it’s his call.”
“So can I get my horse back?” Coraleen asked.
He shoved a hand through his hair. “Sherman says he’s not for sale.” He rolled his head against the headrest and glanced at her. She blinked, hard. Trying to hold back tears, he knew. He reached over and stroked her cheek with the back of his fingers. “I’m sorry.”
Always the One: (Meadowview Heroes # 2) (The Meadowview Series Book 6) (Meadowview Heat) Page 17
