by Susan Fox
He studied her, and she sensed that he understood. In her structure-ruled life, there were few things that felt as free and liberating as letting Beanie run with the wind.
“Ready to try trotting?” Robin called back.
“Sure,” Jake called. “I’m feeling brave.”
“Trotting can really jolt you around,” Brooke warned, worrying about his bullet wound as she held her horse back to fall in behind him again.
“Not if you sit it properly,” Robin said. She stopped Concha, waiting for Jake to catch up so she could ride beside him. “You need to really feel Sage’s movements and kind of absorb them. Don’t tense up and fight it, but don’t sag either. Let your lower body follow the movement, so your back and tummy move forward and back just a little. Keep your upper body and hands calm and steady.”
“That’s a lot to keep in mind,” he said doubtfully.
“It’s like learning any other physical activity,” the girl said. “At first you concentrate, almost too hard, then it just kind of clicks and you start feeling it rather than thinking about it.”
“I’ll give it a try.”
They started out at a slow trot and Brooke took pride in automatically doing all the things Robin had listed, feeling her body move comfortably along with Beanie’s. She grinned to herself, remembering the ache in her butt and thighs after her first few rides.
Jake did his share of flopping around and moaning, while Robin laughed, teased, and coached him, to no avail. The girl slowed them all to a walk. “Okay, Cousin Arnold, let’s figure this out. What kind of exercise do you usually do?”
“What makes you think I do any?”
“Like I said, you have muscles. You don’t spend your whole life sitting at a computer crunching numbers.”
“Smart girl,” he said, his tone admiring and, to Brooke’s sensitive ears, also holding a touch of ruefulness at being caught out by a child. “You’re right. Desk work’s hard on the body, so I try to get to the fitness club before work every day. I do the typical routine: treadmill, machines.”
“Huh.” Robin’s one syllable made it clear she thought a fitness club was a poor substitute for riding and ranch work. “When you run on the treadmill, you don’t just use your legs, right? It’s a whole-body thing. Core strength, balance, keeping all the parts working in harmony?”
Jake studied her with surprise as he agreed, but Brooke wasn’t the least bit startled by the girl’s knowledge and the way she applied it. She’d had a good teacher in her mom, and was an integral part of Riders Boot Camp.
Robin coached Jake some more; then they tried a trot again and this time he did better—or allowed Arnold to do better. “You’re a good teacher,” he breathlessly complimented Robin.
When the trail came out by a small lake, Brooke made Jake pose for a few photos and he said, “I’ll have to get copies from you. My mother and siblings will never believe it.”
“You could get an office in town,” Robin said, “and a house that’s a few miles away, like near where we live, and then you can get a horse and ride to work.”
“You’ve got it all worked out, haven’t you?” Jake teased her.
Brooke knew the girl’s plan would never come true, yet Robin’s words sent a twinge through her. Having Jake nearby sounded appealing. Imagining him as part of her life . . . But no, that was ridiculous. It wasn’t what she wanted, and it certainly wasn’t how he saw his life going.
She forced a smile. “Rob, do you think Arnold’s ready to learn how to lope?”
“Lope?” Jake asked. “Is that another word for gallop?”
Robin promptly launched into an explanation of the two gaits and the differences from the English-riding canter, and Brooke thought how well the two of them got along. Even when Jake was playing Arnold, his own qualities like respect for others, curiosity, and sharp intellect came through.
They rode on, with Robin instructing Jake and telling him about some of the flora and fauna, and Brooke let herself relax and enjoy herself. Half an hour later, Jake held Sage back to ride beside Beanie. “Having a good time?” he asked.
“I love doing this. When I cleaned up my act I learned meditation as a way to de-stress, but riding in the country is even better. I lose track of time, live in the moment. Jessica and Evan talk about stopping to smell the roses, and it’s amazingly healing.”
His polite but rather baffled expression told her he didn’t get it. She wouldn’t have expected an undercover cop to understand.
“You can cover a lot of country too,” he said reflectively.
Guessing his train of thought, she said, “Yes. And you see riders all over the place. No one thinks anything of seeing a horse and rider following some country road or trail.” If he wanted to visit the grow op, doing it on horseback would be less obtrusive than using a vehicle. Still, she wished he wouldn’t. She didn’t want another bullet hole in his sexy hide.
“You can stay for dinner, right?” Robin called back to them. “Dad’s coming, and Gran and Gramps.”
A rueful smile tugged at Brooke’s lips. When she’d first been drawn into these big family dinners she’d felt so uncomfortable. Now she knew everyone accepted her and she loved nothing better than a family get-together. Tonight, though, she’d have preferred to be alone with Jake. Putting selfish thoughts aside, she said to him, “As well as being wonderful people, Jessica’s parents have lived in Caribou Crossing forever, and Dave’s one of the community leaders. You couldn’t find better people to talk to.”
“Sounds great,” he said enthusiastically. “If they don’t mind me smelling of horse. I didn’t bring fresh clothes to change into.”
Robin hooted. “We love the smell of horse, Cousin Arnold!”
When Jake rode into the barnyard with Brooke and Robin, the girl said, “Mom’s group is back.”
The yard didn’t look any different, but he noted a few people on the porches of the cabins and bunkhouse, many with a beer or soda in their hand. Robin waved at them and they waved back, and Jake thought that he could sure go for a beer.
He swung with Arnoldy clumsiness from Sage’s back, his body aching. It wasn’t just the bullet wound; riding a horse used a different set of muscles than riding a Harley. He experienced another unusual feeling too. Despite the nagging pain, he was relaxed and almost . . . content.
Normally, he was either caught up intensely in his work, exhausted after a demanding job, or restless and wanting to get to work again. Yeah, occasionally he and Jamal relaxed over pizza and a game on TV, but contentment hadn’t been a word in Jake’s vocabulary. This must be what Brooke meant about de-stressing and stopping to smell the roses.
“You did great,” Robin told him, her eyes sparkling as she took Sage’s reins from him. “Don’t you love it?”
“It wasn’t bad at all. I’m not sure I see myself riding to and from work, but I’d do this again.” And he would, happily, as Jake, though likely he’d never get the chance. At the beginning of the week, the investigation would heat up again, with Sergeant Miller and other prominent townspeople available to be interviewed by Arnold. Jake hoped to wrap up the case within the week, and at that point his subterfuge would be exposed. He felt a pang at deceiving nice people, but that was what the job demanded. Brooke would explain it to her family and friends and they’d understand why it had been necessary.
Seeing that Brooke was taking off her horse’s saddle, he asked Robin, “What do I do next?”
She coached him through removing Sage’s saddle and exchanging the bridle for a halter, then brushing the horse, demonstrating with her own horse. He noted that Brooke was quietly and competently managing on her own.
As Robin turned the horses out into a grassy paddock, Jake went into the barn. In the spirit of being Arnold, he returned his Resistol to a hook on the wall and changed back into loafers, wishing for either sneakers or sandals. And a beer. He really wanted an ice-cold beer.
Robin took him and Brooke up the road past the boot camp buildings to her home, wh
ere Evan, looking tanned and healthy in a T-shirt, cargo shorts, and sandals, greeted them. “Feel like a beer?” he asked Jake.
Would Arnold drink beer? Hell, yeah—at least to be polite. “That sounds good.”
“I’ll get the drinks,” Robin offered, and bustled into the house.
She returned in seconds with two beer bottles, which she handed to Jake and Evan, and two bottles of a carbonated fruit drink, one for Brooke and the other for herself.
Everyone opened the drinks and took long swallows; then Jessica came from the house, wiping her hands on well-worn jeans.
They’d barely settled in chairs on the wide wraparound porch when Jessica’s parents arrived on foot. Miriam Bly was trim in casual pants and a pretty shirt, her sandy hair and freckles giving her a youthful appearance. Her husband Wade’s hair and beard were mostly silver, and he walked with a hint of a limp, but there were muscles on his rangy frame and his handshake was firm. His eyes, the same deep brown as Jessica’s and Robin’s, were as friendly as his wife’s gray ones.
The introductions had barely been made when Dave Cousins arrived. Also on foot, in jeans and boots, he said, “I rode over. Malibu is down at Boots.”
As the group got set up with drinks and began to chat, Jake watched for signs of strain between Jessica’s husband and her ex, but there were none. The men acted like brothers, joking and slapping each other’s back.
Brooke had a pretty amazing family. And, he found out over the next half hour, every one of them was determined to make him welcome and sell him on the idea of moving to Caribou Crossing.
Jake and Brooke managed, on one pretext or another, to insinuate the name of everyone he was investigating into the conversation. None of the family did business at Cray’s bank, and no one liked him. As for Sergeant Miller, Wade Bly said, “He’s a hands-on guy. Gets involved in things himself, takes things personally.”
“Too much so, maybe,” Dave Cousins commented.
“What do you mean?” Brooke asked.
“Remember that constable, Mac Jones?” Dave said. “He came into the Wild Rose a lot, and we got to be friends.”
“He left Caribou Crossing a year ago,” Wade said. “Got transferred, right?”
“He requested the transfer. Didn’t get along with Miller. He said the man didn’t let him do his job, and kept taking work away from him.”
Jake filed that information away.
At the next lull in the conversation, he said, “Someone at the fund-raiser mentioned a place that might be coming up for sale. I think the owner’s name is Baxter.”
“That’ll be Bob Baxter,” Wade said. “He’s in his late eighties, has Alzheimer’s. He’s living in a care facility and likely won’t last much longer. Pity. He was a good man, loved this place. Has a nephew, name of, let me see”—he ran his hand over his short silver beard—“Gideon, that’s it. Lives back east somewhere. Has a family, seems happy there. I imagine he’ll sell the place when his uncle passes on.”
“I don’t think it’d be right for Arnold, though,” Miriam said. “Bob sold his house back when he moved into the facility. The property Gideon will inherit is undeveloped land out in the middle of nowhere.”
“Arnold has to be in riding distance of town,” Robin put in. “He’s going to get a horse.”
“Right,” Jake said dryly. “You just keep thinking that.”
They all laughed, then moved around to the back patio and settled in for a dinner of barbecued chicken and ribs, potatoes baked in foil, and corn on the cob. The topic of conversation moved to a discussion of Riders Boot Camp and Jake listened, impressed by how involved and committed they all were. Though it was Jessica’s dream, they’d made its fulfillment a family project.Wouldn’t it be nice if all families were like this one.
Miriam and Jessica went to the kitchen, to return with two peach pies and a tub of vanilla ice cream. He tasted the pie, which Miriam had made, and moaned. Brooke’s eyes, across the table, danced with amusement.
This was, bullet wound aside, the sweetest assignment he’d ever drawn.
Adroitly he steered the conversation to drop a few more names, but learned nothing new.
The evening wound up early. Evan walked Jake and Brooke to the car. “We’re on a different clock here,” he said. “Go to bed early and get up at or before the crack of dawn. Takes some getting used to. But it’s a healthy way of life.”
Jake held the passenger door for Brooke. “I guess it is. Thanks for a most enjoyable evening, Evan.”
He climbed in and pulled away from the house. “You have a nice family.”
“I know. Did you learn anything useful?”
“Snippets, but not a lot. Either your family doesn’t know any real dirt on our suspects,” Jake said, “or they aren’t going to gossip with a stranger. We’ll see if Jamal digs up anything more, like on the trips Cray, Miller, and Vijay Patel take.”
“You talked to Vijay at the fund-raiser, didn’t you?”
“Yeah. He said all the right things about the break-in at his store, for what that’s worth.”
“What else can I do to help?”
He smiled warmly at her. “You’re doing great. Just keep asking friendly little questions of your clients. But don’t push. I’d rather not solve this murder than have you in danger.”
“Honestly? That’s . . . reassuring.” Her tone was serious, not joking.
“Hell, Brooke.” He broke off and shrugged, not sure what he wanted to say to her.
She was a strong woman. But she hadn’t always been. The murder victim, Anika, hadn’t been strong, but maybe she could have been if she’d been given the right chance. And then there was Sapphire, his informant, who believed she was so in control but lived such a dangerous life. Was there any way he could get her to quit the streets?
He reached over to rest a hand on Brooke’s jean-clad thigh. “What made you turn your life around? Was it really the bipolar diagnosis?”
She gaped at him, obviously surprised by the change of topic. After a moment of reflection she said, “Yes, because I realized it wasn’t all my fault. I had an illness, and it was treatable. Then I was able to admit what I’d never acknowledged before: that I was an alcoholic. But that can be handled too. It was like a new lease on life. I could never undo the wrongs I’d committed, but I could start living a decent life rather than always feeling like a failure, feeling depressed and guilty.”
He took that in, the only sound for the moment the low hum of the car’s engine. “If you knew someone who was in a bad place in their life, what would you say to help them turn it around?”
Though he was watching the dark highway and sparse traffic, he felt her gaze on him. “Depends on the person, their situation, my relationship with them. Like you with Jamal. I’d want them to know they had options. When you’re really down you can’t see any way out, so I’d try to show them a way. And let them know someone cared.” She paused, then asked, “Who are you thinking of?”
“Sapphire. Anika’s friend.”
“You want to get her off the street.”
“Yeah. Dumb, eh? She’s just another hooker; there are hundreds like her.”
“Oh, Jake, you can’t save them all.”
He pulled into her driveway and turned off the engine. “Probably can’t save any of them,” he said gruffly.
She rested her hand on top of his and squeezed. “It won’t stop you from trying to help Sapphire.”
“I guess not.”
“You saved Jamal.”
“Ah hell, Brooke, he saved himself.”
“With a little help from a friend. You showed him a way out, and let him know someone cared if he took it. Maybe you can do the same for Sapphire. I can see why you want to try.”
They climbed out of the car and walked toward the house, up the steps, and onto the porch. Brooke didn’t open the door and go in. Instead she sat on a slatted-wood couch with green-and-white-striped cushions. She patted the seat beside her.
He sat, putting an arm around her shoulders and drawing her close.
“Jake, tell me honestly what you want out of our relationship.”
Where had that question come from? “Your company. For as long as I’m in town.” He thought he’d been clear about what kind of man he was, but now he worried. “You weren’t thinking—”
“No!” Her head shook vigorously against his shoulder. “No, that’s exactly what I want too. It’s the only way I could do this. I don’t want a permanent relationship with a man; it terrifies me to think of that kind of commitment.” The words flew out; then she paused, ran a hand through her hair, and went on more reflectively. “Well, maybe years down the road. If the lithium still works and I’m ten or more years sober. It might be nice to have a companion as I get older. A man who likes a quiet life, values family, enjoys gardening and quiet evenings by the fire.”
“A white-picket-fence kind of guy.” He gestured past her neat garden to where the row of white pickets gleamed dimly under the starlight.
“Exactly. I guess, basically, the opposite of you.”
It was true. The last thing he wanted was a sedate, boring life. So why did her words feel like jabs, poking under his skin and right into his heart?
He thought about what she’d said, tried to build the picture in his head, and some of it definitely came into focus. He could imagine Brooke and some silver-haired guy gardening together, going riding with the grandkids, enjoying dinners with the rest of the family. But what about in the bedroom? This was one hell of a sexy lady. Would the picket-fence guy satisfy her in bed? And what about the side of her that liked the excitement of living inside a mystery novel, as she’d put it?
Her voice broke into his thoughts. “What do you see for your future, Jake? How long will you be an undercover cop?”
He shrugged. “I don’t think much about the future. The job’s good, my life’s good.” He stroked his hand across her thigh, feeling her warmth through the denim. “I’ll keep on as long as I can.”
“It’s a dangerous job,” she said quietly. “What if . . .”
“I’m seriously injured or get too old for it?” He tried not to think about that. “I’ll deal with that if it happens.”
