by Vella Munn
Hope closed and opened her eyes, drawing Niko’s attention to her long, thick, dark lashes.
“No wonder you got pregnant. Must have driven the stallions crazy.”
Another horse nickered. Hope’s ears perked up and she studied the direction the sound had come from.
“You like hearing from other horses, don’t you? Of course you do. You’re a herd animal. Maybe that’s what’s wrong. You need to feed your baby. Maybe what’s bothering you goes deeper. Humans betrayed you.”
* * * *
“No. I’m sorry, but I’m not going to agree to being interviewed. Why not? Because this is a law enforcement issue, not my department’s.”
Darick frowned for Doc’s benefit as the female reporter repeated what she insisted was the need to give the public as complete a picture of the situation as possible. Someone, one of the police officers who’d come out to the Moyan place most likely, had told the reporter who had found Cheryl’s body. As the reporter pointed out, she was hardly the only member of the media who’d be contacting him. If he’d meet with her and answer the questions every other reporter would be sure to ask, he could put that behind him. The other reporters would realize there was nothing more to be gained from hounding him.
“I appreciate you pointing that out to me.” He tried to keep sarcasm out of his voice. “But unless and until my supervisor orders me to speak about my involvement, I won’t.”
“Your finding the body had nothing to do with your job. You’re a private citizen in this matter.”
She’d made a point. “What about this?” He again frowned at Doc Beck. “Let me make some calls, talk to law enforcement. Give me your number. I’ll let you know what I’ve decided.”
“When should I expect to hear from you?”
The reporter—what did she say her name was and had he seen her on TV—was impatient. He didn’t envy her her job but he wasn’t about to give her the gory details he was certain she wanted.
“How long has that been going on?” Doc asked after Darick ended the connection.
“Just started. This is the second call I’ve gotten.”
Doc added something to the board listing the day’s surgery schedule. “I’m sorry you stumbled upon the body. I’ve seen my share of dead animals but a human’s different, especially the way she was treated.”
“I could have done without it,” Darick admitted. “It’s going to take a long time for the memory to fade.”
“If it ever does. If you need to talk—”
“I appreciate the offer, but I think I can handle it.”
“If you can it’s because, like me, you’ve seen more carnage than most people. Hell of a thing for us to have in common.”
“Yes, it is.”
“I need to talk to Hank about something,” Doc said. “Initially, I thought I’d go to the media about the mare and colt so they can ask for the public’s help in identifying the owner. Now I’m not so sure that’s a good idea, because the grays are a common denominator when it comes to the horses and the woman you found. People are fired up enough about the dogs as it is.”
“Also, Niko Fox is involved with both situations.”
Doc rubbed the back of his neck. “Yeah. I wouldn’t be surprised if you want to protect her. Unfortunately, I don’t see how we can keep her out of this.”
The vet was right, so why had he expended so much mental energy trying to figure out a way to keep her role, or should he say roles, private?
“So,” Doc said, “I take it you want to see the little guy.”
“Of course. How is he doing?”
“I’ll show you. My staff will arrive in a few minutes, followed by the first appointments of the day. From then on things will be crazy.”
When he’d been nine or ten, Darick had declared he was going to become a vet. He hadn’t been interested in what his parents had tried to tell him about the amount of education needed or the cost of said education. At the time the family had been fostering a large dog with three puppies. Playing with the puppies had trumped school in every possible way. He’d loved watching them wrestle and having his toes chewed on. He hadn’t even minded cleaning up their liquid and other deposits.
Now, as he walked into what he considered the recovery room, he accepted that being a vet meant knowing not all patients could be saved. At least Doc’s tone had indicated that the colt was doing as well as could be expected.
Or better.
“Look at him,” Doc Beck said as they approached the pen where the colt stood on spindly legs.
When Darick extended his hand, the colt initially tried to back out of reach. Then he extended his tongue and licked Darick’s fingertips. “He’s adorable.”
“And getting stronger. He’s taking a bottle. No more feeding tube.”
“That’s wonderful.”
“It’s also a lot of work. This little guy wants to be fed every couple of hours.”
Between listening to the news last night and again this morning, Darick felt as if he’d been shoved into a nightmare. Having his fingers mauled this way pulled him out of it.
“Does Niko know?” he asked. “She’d love to see this.”
“She will.”
“Oh?”
“She’s already here, in the barn.” Doc again rubbed the back of his neck. “When she called earlier, I told her I hadn’t yet seen the colt. She asked when I was getting to the clinic and could she come by on her way to work.” Doc slanted a look at Darick. “Same as you.”
Niko might enter the room at any minute. He’d see her, try to carry on a conversation, watch her eyes light up when she saw the foal. “I appreciate you accommodating my schedule,” he said.
“No thanks needed. This isn’t a nine to five job. Let me take this character’s vitals. Then we’ll know whether we can celebrate.”
Darick moved aside to give the vet room. He couldn’t stop listening for the sound of a door opening. He probably should let Niko know about reporters running him down so she could prepare for the same thing.
Too bad he couldn’t protect her.
What was he thinking?
“His heart rate is still a bit faster than I’d like,” Doc said. “Otherwise, I’m pleased.”
“What’s next for him? How long does he need to stay in here?”
“I haven’t decided. I want to make sure he continues to improve.” Doc lifted his head. “Someone’s here.”
The ‘someone’ turned out to be Niko dressed for work. She wore a white blouse that sharply contrasted with her dark hair and dusky skin. Her slacks emphasized her toned legs and, for some crazy reason, he kept looking at her leather sandals. Like her fingers, her toes sported no artificial color. She’d put on lipstick, but he couldn’t tell whether she’d applied any other makeup. This was the first time he’d seen her with her hair in anything except a braid. The way the strands floated around and highlighted her face was almost more than he could handle. She was so damned feminine.
“I didn’t expect—you,” she said by way of greeting.
Doc glanced from Niko to Darick. “Good morning, young lady. Like I told the Fish and Wildlife officer, crazy is about to start, but you two can stay with the colt if you want.”
Niko hadn’t taken her attention off Darick since she’d walked in. He’d had his share of girlfriends and had once been engaged. As a result, he figured he knew as much about the opposite sex as most men, but he’d never imagined being in a situation remotely approaching the one he and Niko were in.
“Mist looks incredible,” she said.
“Mist?”
“That’s what I’ve decided to call him.” She started massaging the colt’s neck. “Hope approves.”
“Hope?” He was starting to sound stupid.
“Mist’s mother. She’s doing, I don’t know. She seems depressed.”
He watched as she continued working on the colt. He wasn’t sure whether he liked Mist for the little guy’s name, since many Oregon coastal days
began with fog. Fortunately, a lot of the time, the sun chased off the fog by noon.
“Doc, there’s something I want to talk to you about,” she said. “It should just take a minute.”
“Oh?” Doc asked.
“About putting Hope and Mist together. I think she needs to see her baby. Smell him, touch him, have him try to nurse.”
“What made you come to that conclusion?” Darick asked.
The way she was studying him, he wondered if this was the first she’d realized he was here. “My grandfather is helping me research the Hopi.” She looked around as if reassuring herself that only the three of them were in the room. “That’s where the grays come from.”
“Okay,” Doc said. “But what do the Hopi and a mother-son reunion have to do with that?”
“Harmony. Keeping a good heart.” She ran her fingers over the top of Mist’s neck. “Did that feel good, little guy? Much of traditional Hopi belief revolves around the concept that everyone needs to get along. But how can there be peace and harmony if people, or in this case horses, aren’t allowed to be together?”
“I’m not sure,” Doc said, “but I’ve been wanting to reunite the two. Now that Mist—not a bad name by the way—is stable, I’ll have one of my staff get him out there. I don’t want him walking very far yet, plus he’ll fight a rope.”
“Why can’t I do it?” she asked. “After all, I carried him.”
“He’s stronger now. He’s going to struggle.”
“I’ll do it,” Darick said. If he waited, he might change his mind about offering. It wasn’t that he wasn’t willing to do the lifting, but spending more time with Niko was problematic in ways he couldn’t define.
“All right. Go for it,” Doc said.
After explaining they needed to keep a close eye on Hope to see how she reacted to having her son, who she might not recognize, in her stall, Doc left the recovery room. Voices came from the reception area, but Darick didn’t care what was going on beyond this space. Niko had left Mist and was near the hound she’d rescued.
“I didn’t think to ask Doc how this guy’s doing.” She worked her fingers through the cage. “What about it?” she whispered. “I imagine you’re ready to get out of here.”
“How does his wound look?”
“The way he’s positioned, I can’t see it. He lets me touch him, but he doesn’t act as if he’s thrilled.”
Darick noticed that the hound’s tail was tucked between his hind legs. “He doesn’t trust people. That’s going to take time.”
“Time I want to give him.”
“Seriously?”
When she straightened and faced him, her eyes glittered. “Seriously. I’d like to adopt him.”
“Maybe law enforcement will claim him, at least for a while. After all, he’s part of their investigation.”
“What is there to investigate? Cheryl Moyan is dead. Everyone figures they know who, or I should say what, is responsible.”
“We can’t put a spin on what happened. What we can do is try to pull off a reunion between mother and son.”
Chapter Eight
Despite Mist’s attempts to buck, Darick didn’t appear to have any trouble carrying the colt into the barn. Niko hadn’t wanted to see Darick with the colt in his arms, hadn’t wanted to risk losing the wall she’d built around her emotions, but she couldn’t help her reaction. This often-armed man with the bad back and dedication to law and order was also a gentle soul. He held Mist close to his chest and once settled his mouth against Mist’s neck.
He waited as she unlatched and opened the stall door. Then he brushed past her, coming so close she felt his warmth. Once he and his burden were in the stall, she re-latched the door and moved to where she could keep an eye on the horses. So far, the mare just looked confused.
“It’s your son,” she whispered. “Hopefully you remember his smell, his everything.”
Darick settled Mist on his legs so the animals’ heads were close then joined her. “Maybe this will work. I don’t want to risk our being in the way of those hooves if she kicks.”
She could’ve told him Hope probably wasn’t strong enough to kick, but that called for pulling her thoughts together enough to get her mouth to work. Darick was closer than she wanted him to be, taking her mind back to last night’s kiss. Making her regret it.
Making her want it again.
“There’s something I need to tell you,” he said after a brief silence. “A heads up.”
“Oh.” Mother and son were regarding each other but giving no hint of their thoughts. Maybe, like what she was experiencing, it was all confusion.
“The media found me.” Darick continued. “If they can do that, I’m thinking it’s only a matter of time before they learn about your role in what’s been happening.”
His words brought the world back, shoved it in her face and made her long to run away.
“Did you talk to them?” she asked.
“Briefly. So far it’s just been a couple of reporters trying to set up interviews. I’d love to turn off my phone.”
“But you need it for work, right?”
“Unfortunately.”
“I don’t know how I feel about talking to the media,” she said. “I’d rather not, but if I do, it might improve the chance of what they put out being factual.”
“Facts have a way of getting twisted or lost. I’ve been interviewed before so I know it can be hard to stick to the message.”
“My world turned upside down when my mother died. I felt helpless, everything out of control.” She slipped closer to Hope. “It feels too much like that now, except I’m an adult and supposed to have a better handle on things.”
“Being an adult doesn’t make a difference.”
He wasn’t simply making an observation. He was speaking from personal experience. “No, it doesn’t. If or I should say when the reporters call, I’m going to focus on Hope and Mist. Ask the public’s help in identifying the owner.”
“If the reporters give you a chance to say that. Doc wants to do the same thing. They’re going to grill you about your involvement in the murder.”
“I know.” She threaded her fingers through Hope’s mane. “Come on, sweetheart, this is your son. You went through so much bringing him into the world. Now he’s here, needing to feel your love.”
She started when Darick rested his hands on her shoulders. “Give them some space.”
He was right, of course, but did he have to get her all confused and off-balance by touching her? She did her best not to react as he hauled her away from the skinny mare.
Finally, thank goodness, he guided her through the gate and let go. She took hold of the top railing and willed herself to study the horses. Darick stood beside her, still too close, alive and warm, compassionate. Confusing.
“So,” he said, “you’ve been looking into the Hopi. What you’re learning has you deciding mother and son need to be together?”
“Pretty much.”
“I know it’s more complex than that. Where do you think the grays fit in? They aren’t about peace and harmony.”
“No, they aren’t and yet what they’ve done—”
“They might not be done.”
Mist had positioned himself near his dam’s side and was trying to get his head under her belly. Like Doc had said, Hope might not have any or enough milk, but at least she wasn’t rejecting her son. So far.
“The grays haven’t finished their task,” she said.
“You’re sure of it?”
No way could she keep on avoiding Darick’s gaze. After filling her lungs, she angled her body toward him and looked up. The zinging sensation she’d experienced last night returned.
“Someone was responsible for what Hope endured. The grays aren’t going to let the guilty party get away with it.”
“First they have to determine who the guilty party is. I don’t think they have. Otherwise, there’d be proof.”
“Like another body
,” she said. “And what about Cheryl Moyan’s husband? If the grays decide or have decided he’s responsible for what the hound was subjected to, does he have a target on his back? Maybe they’re waiting for the perfect opportunity to get to him.”
“If he has a brain cell, the man won’t stay around.”
“If he had a brain, he wouldn’t have done what he did.”
Darick nodded. “Like my parents said, you can’t fix stupid. Maybe the police will warn him.”
“I wish they wouldn’t. Is that something you and Jeff have to get involved with?”
“Maybe.”
“Do you want to?”
“I’m not going to answer that.”
The conversation could go around and around, but it didn’t matter. Neither she nor Darick were capable of slipping inside the grays’ minds. All they could do was wait for Smoke, Gun and maybe Lobo and the pups to act.
And in the meantime?
Darick’s cell phone sounded, startling both her and Mist, whose knees nearly buckled.
“I don’t recognize the number,” Darick said. “I’m willing to bet it’s another reporter.”
Before she could tell him she wasn’t interested in accepting the wager, her cell vibrated. She took it out of her pocket and showed him the screen.
“That’s the same number I got,” he said. “Don’t answer it.”
“I’m not going to.”
As she continued looking at Darick, she acknowledged that in many respects they were on the same journey, one they didn’t want but which would forever unite them.
* * * *
Lucky was the last person James Moyan wanted to spend time with, today or ever, but he’d agreed to his brother-in-law’s demand that Lucky be allowed into the mobile. Lucky probably thought his forceful personality was responsible for the capitulation. Lucky couldn’t be more wrong. Truth was, he didn’t want come here by himself.
Because Cheryl’s brother was obsessive about being on time, James had made sure to arrive a good ten minutes before he expected the other man. He’d come here a little before dark last night but hadn’t stayed. Daylight made things easier, but not by much, in part because chicken carcasses and feathers littered the yard. Mostly he couldn’t stop thinking about how Cheryl had died.
