by Dana Mentink
“We’ll leave in the morning, then. I’ll stay and take the night watch.”
“That’s not...”
He ignored her, sitting on the couch and putting his feet up on the fruit crate that served as a coffee table, the rifle across his lap. “Don’t mind me. I’m just going to relax and watch The Weather Channel. Won’t even know I’m here.”
And how was it possible she could forget that there was a gorgeous, stubborn cowboy with a loaded rifle doing MP duty in her living room? Though she would never admit it to him, she was secretly relieved. “Who watches The Weather Channel for relaxation?”
“Me. Grandad used to say the weather always gets its way. Did you know that the fastest a raindrop can fall is eighteen miles per hour?”
She sighed.
“I’ve got more weather trivia. Want to hear it?”
“No.”
“The low is expected to be in the twenty-degree range tonight.”
“I am not going to change your mind, am I?”
“That’s an affirmative.” He grinned and then he sobered, blue eyes earnest, compelling. “Ella, we are going to prove Bruce Reed guilty.”
She started to protest, but he held up a palm.
“If you don’t want to go through the police, I will respect that. We can make this a covert mission if you want, but we’re going to win. He’s going down and you and Betsy will be safe.”
He sounded so rock-solid certain that a tiny corner of the fear lifted.
She grabbed a blanket from a basket and handed it to him.
He laughed at the raggedy patchwork squares. “I remember when you made this your freshman year in high school. For a home economics class project, right?”
She smiled. “Yeah. I didn’t get a very good grade because the seams are crooked.”
He chuckled, draping it across his shoulders. “I like crooked. Straight seams are overrated.”
She sighed. “That’s exactly what you said to me the day I was crying over that grade.”
“I know,” he said softly, “I remember.” In the dim light the blue of his eyes turned to liquid silver and she felt lost in their luminosity.
And suddenly the sweetness of their shared childhood past seemed to wash into the present, the same, but different. Owen Thorn, her companion, was now a grown man ready to put his own safety and future on the line for hers. Did he feel the same quickening of the pulse? The odd sensation that their relationship was both old and brand new?
No. He’d always been the protective, loyal best friend of her brother.
Semper fidelis. Always faithful.
That was all and that was enough, she told herself.
“Good night, Owen,” she said.
* * *
The next morning, Owen drove Betsy and Ella to the ranch, stopping in front of Grandad’s cabin. Knowing his mother, she’d probably checked to be sure the place was in the same pristine condition it had been in when Grandad was alive. There was already a ramp in place, so moving Betsy in her wheelchair was no problem. He made sure she had everything she needed.
“Meeting at twelve hundred hours in the kitchen,” he told her.
“What meeting?”
He gave her a wink. “Battle plans.”
She sighed. “Why do I feel like I’ve just enlisted?”
He handed over the box of tools.
“What’s this?”
“Ran into Zeke in town yesterday. He meant to give you this when he loaned you the truck. Said you can return them when you get yours back. There’s an apron and an anvil in the barn too.”
She accepted the farrier’s box tenderly, as if she was taking the hand of a small child. He could tell she was fighting tears that she did not want him to see. “You don’t... I mean, your family doesn’t have to let me work. I don’t want to be a charity case.”
He stopped her then, tipping her chin up with his finger until he looked into those anguished eyes, sparkling with tears. “Hey,” he said quietly. “You are the best farrier we’ve ever had on the Gold Bar. Do you think we’d let just anyone work on our horses?”
She did not smile. He allowed his fingers to graze the silk of her cheek, to skim tenderly over her bruised throat. “I heard from Zeke that you were recruited to work for the farrier team for the Olympics a while back. You never told me that.”
She shrugged. “I declined the offer. That’s all there is to say.”
“Why? It’s been your dream to work with champion horses like that.”
“God’s plan was better for me than my own.”
He cocked his head, puzzled.
“It’s not important right now,” she said. “I’d be happy just tending to the horses in this town, if anyone still wanted me.”
“We want you, same as we always have.” I want you, his heart unexpectedly supplied. Startled, he took his hand away.
“Rocky’s thrown a shoe and we’ve got three that need hoof trimming,” he said breezily. “Whenever you can get to it.”
She lifted her chin. “Betsy’s inside helping your mother. I’ll start right now.”
He grinned. “I figured you would. See you at lunch.”
He watched her walk to the barn, lugging the heavy box, though he did not dare offer to help. Ella Cahill was holding onto her life with both fists, clutching as hard as she could to keep it all from slipping away. It made him burn with pride and determination.
“We’ll beat this, Ella,” he said. “You have my word.”
* * *
Ella held Rocky’s hoof between her thighs, the split legs of the leather apron allowing the perfect grip for her to pry off the old shoe and begin trimming the frog and cleaning the sole. Then came the nippers to cut away the excess hoof wall. When the horseshoe was properly adjusted to her satisfaction, she nailed on the new shoe.
She gave Rocky a rub on his spotted sides. He nickered softly and she imagined he was saying, “Thanks, kid.” Three more to go, she told herself, relaxing for the first time since her ordeal had begun. There was no other place in the world where she knew she belonged, knew that she was doing what God intended for her, than when she was tending to horses.
And no one’s going to take that away from me, she said to herself as she finished up with Rocky.
Though she wanted to finish her trimming duties, Owen summoned her for lunch. They gathered in the Thorns’ kitchen, Betsy proud of having set the table and Mrs. Thorn handing around sandwiches and bowls of savory vegetable soup.
“Where’s Keegan?” Owen said.
“Here.” Keegan sported the ever-present grin, black hair falling across his forehead. “Sorry, took me a while to get Barrett’s chores done along with mine.”
“Wash up and sit down, honey,” Mrs. Thorn directed. “We’re about to say grace.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
Owen’s father led them in a simple prayer of thanks, which echoed in Ella’s heart. She was profoundly grateful that she was sitting in the crowded kitchen with her sister, about to enjoy a meal with people who were not tainted by suspicion of her. The gratitude lasted until fear took its place. What if she never saw any of the Thorns again except for prison visitation? What if she could never prove her innocence? Suddenly her appetite was gone.
“Eat, Ella,” Mrs. Thorn said, grasping her forearm. “Stay strong to face these troubles.”
Mrs. Thorn knew a thing or two about troubles, having lost her first daughter-in-law to a drunk driver. She’d always managed to encourage Ella to attend their family gatherings when her own father was on his cross-country trucking jobs and she was left alone with Betsy. Somehow it had never seemed like charity, or pity. Mrs. Thorn had a way of making people feel loved, not just taken care of, and that was a gift from God—she was sure of it.
Keegan wolfed down a couple of bites of his sandwic
h. “So what’s the game plan? I haven’t been able to find that thermos, even with the metal detector.”
Ella sat up straighter. “Wait a minute. I just thought of something. It’s Tuesday, right? It’s my day to work at the Gregory’s ranch.” She blushed. “Macy Gregory hasn’t canceled me yet, anyway, unless it slipped her mind. I’m working on Trailblazer today.”
“That’s her new jumper?” Owen asked.
Ella nodded. “Macy lives and breathes to jump horses.”
“While her husband, Drake, tends to the real stuff, like keeping a working cattle ranch afloat,” Keegan put in, ignoring a pointed look from his mother. “Heard he didn’t want her to buy Trailblazer in the first place since she bought and sold another jumper just last year that never even ribboned in a competition. They had to sell off some stock to bring in some cash.”
“That’s their business,” Tom Thorn said.
Ella grew thoughtful. “Macy hasn’t been satisfied with Trailblazer’s performance and I’ve seen Bruce Reed there a few times looking him over with Macy. It seemed like they knew each other well,” Ella mused. “I’m going to go over and see if she still wants my farrier services. Maybe she’ll talk to me about Reed.”
Owen put down his napkin. “I’m coming too.”
“Keegan and I will keep looking for the thermos,” Jack said.
“Good plan,” Keegan said. “Mrs. Gregory is not my biggest fan. She won’t forget about me flying my drone helicopter too near her property.”
“That was nosy and as I recall, we grounded you for three months,” Mrs. Thorn said.
Keegan grimaced. “Longest summer of my life. I missed the rodeo and everything, but that was years ago, anyway, and I apologized.”
“Best for you to keep clear. And Betsy and I,” Mrs. Thorn announced, “will do some cybersleuthing.”
Everyone stared at her.
“What?” she said, taking in their surprise. “You don’t think I have it in me to be a detective?”
Keegan laughed. “The way you used to ferret out when I’d cut school or gotten into a fight? You’re a regular Mrs. Perry Mason.”
“No,” Tom said. “She’s a Mrs. Tom Thorn. Let’s keep that straight.”
The laughter echoed through the kitchen, mingling with the warmth from their shared meal. Though she did not dare put much stock in it, Ella could not help but feel the tiniest flicker of hope.
TEN
Owen idled the truck a minute along the approach to the Gregorys’ Three Stone Ranch. In the distance, Drake Gregory sat astride a quarter horse amid a sea of cattle. He sighed. There was nothing so beautiful as watching a good cow horse at work, the instinctive way they could anticipate the movement of the herd, their fluid grace in singling out an animal from the rest. It was truly a partnership between cowboy and horse. It took Owen’s breath away every time.
Drake was in the saddle, focused on his task, oblivious to Owen’s truck. Owen admired his ease, knowing his own leg would be screaming at him. He’d never admit it to any living person, but his riding stamina was still not what it had been, even after a long year of rehab. He suspected his brothers knew, as they always seemed to turn up with a job for him when he was pushing himself too hard. Their pity left a bitter taste in his mouth.
Gonna get it all back, he told himself again. Almost there.
Ella put a hand on his arm. “Okay?”
“Yeah, sure,” he said. “Admiring the horse. I’m almost done working with Glory, for Drake. Hoping she’ll be just as good as his others.”
“She will be, if you’re training her.”
She said it so matter-of-factly, but pride flushed his cheeks. How did she do that? Make him feel like a whole man again with just a couple of words. He wanted to thank her, to hold her hand and let the feelings spill out, that fragment of fear that would not dissipate no matter how hard he worked, how much he prayed. Instead he drove the truck to the stables and parked.
Jaw set, Ella got out with her tools.
Macy Gregory was on the phone, forehead creased, shoulders tensed. After a moment, she must have heard some good news because she relaxed, huffing out a breath that ruffled her short, gray-streaked hair.
When she saw them, she clicked off the phone.
“I didn’t expect to see you here,” she said to Ella.
“It’s Tuesday.” Ella flashed her a smile. “I’m here to take care of Trailblazer.”
“No need for that,” Macy said.
“Please, Mrs. Gregory. I didn’t have anything to do with Luke’s murder. You’ve got to believe me.”
She took off her glasses and polished them with the bottom of her T-shirt. “It’s not that easy.”
“Yes, it is,” Owen said. “Bruce Reed is trying to frame Ella for murder.”
Macy stared at him. “Got proof?”
Ella cocked her head. “No,” she admitted. “Can you tell us how you met him?”
Macy looked in the distance toward the field where her husband was working the cattle. “I met Bruce a few years back in San Diego when Drake and I were...on a break. It wasn’t...you know, a good time in my life.”
“Did Reed try to get money out of you?” Owen said.
She winced. “I never let it go that far. Drake’s a good man, even though he’s hard to live with. He can’t stop thinking about ranch business for one single moment.” Her mouth crimped. “But he’s always been like that, so why would I expect any different?” Her gaze went hard. “Sometimes I think he loves those horses more than he could ever love me.”
Owen shifted, uncomfortable to have this glance into the Gregorys’ marriage. He cleared his throat, not sure he wanted to hear the rest. “So you met Reed?”
“Yes. I was at a horse auction, looking at some animals that my husband complained we couldn’t afford, and we bumped into each other.”
Right, Owen thought. More likely, Reed targeted you for a lonely, vulnerable woman. Macy must have picked up on his thoughts.
“Believe it or not,” she said, “my head was working fine, just not my heart. He wined and dined me. It was fun, flattering and he shares my passion for jumping, unlike Drake.” Her mouth clamped in an unforgiving line. “Anyway, Reed knows his horses.”
“Did he advise you to buy Trailblazer?” Ella asked.
Her eyes narrowed. “Yes. I got Trailblazer through a connection of his. Not unusual. Linda Ferron over in Rock Ridge did too. Reed knows how to connect people with the horses they want.”
“For a nice cut of the action, I assume.” Owen said.
Macy frowned. “Your mother taught you to be polite, Owen. What happened?”
Owen did not break eye contact. “I don’t want to cause you embarrassment, Mrs. Gregory, but Ella’s life and future is on the line. Reed is targeting her, framing her for Luke’s murder, and that’s got to stop.”
“I’m sure Reed didn’t have anything to do with that. He’s after Luke’s aunt, after all.” Her eyes flashed. “Or her millions, anyway, so why would he kill her nephew?”
“That’s what we’re going to find out.” Owen settled his cowboy hat against the breeze. “He advised you to buy Trailblazer. Are you happy with the horse?”
She looked away. “Ella knows, she’s been around enough. Trailblazer was inconsistent. One minute he was nailing the jumps and the next he’d refuse. It drove me crazy.”
Ella nodded. “You were hoping to work through it.”
“Well, I didn’t. Not champion jumper material, but that happens sometimes. That’s the horse business. It was a mistake, an expensive one.”
Owen pressed. “You didn’t get the horse you paid good money for. That must be frustrating, since you bought and sold a jumper just a year ago.”
“Thanks for reminding me.” She shrugged. “You have to put out in order to find that one-in-a-million c
hampion. I wish my husband understood that.”
Drake was no doubt more concerned with keeping the Three Stone solvent than indulging his wife’s expensive hobbies. Their business, he reminded himself.
“I have things to attend to,” she said, still not looking at them.
An alarm sounded somewhere in Owen’s gut. She’s lying about something, and she’s not going to tell us any more.
“I’m happy to see to Trailblazer while I’m here, Mrs. Gregory.”
“No, Ella.”
“Please. You don’t have to pay me and I understand you want to find another farrier, but it will take time and he needs his hooves trimmed. At least let me do that one last time.”
Macy turned impassive eyes on Ella. “I meant that you can’t take care of Trailblazer because he’s dead.”
The words fell like stones.
“He died a few hours ago.”
* * *
Ella’s mouth dropped open as she tried to process Macy’s bombshell. “What?”
“You heard me,” she said.
A strong, healthy horse? Dead? As Ella was struggling to process, Zeke Potter came out of the barn, brow furrowed. He nodded to Ella and Owen.
“Can’t explain it,” he said. “One of those things. Colic. He didn’t have a chance.”
Ella had seen horses suffer with severe colic and it was a horrific thing to watch. Horses had such delicate digestive systems that a simple gastrointestinal upset could progress to full-blown intestinal strangulation or impaction, which could lead to an excruciating death. It happened, so why was she having such a hard time believing it had happened to Trailblazer? Her heart ached for the passing of that playful, beautiful creature.
Macy continued. “He was distracted when I took him out this morning but not pawing or rolling. Heart rate and rectal temp were good and I listened to his gut. Everything sounded normal. I stabled him to keep an eye on him, withheld food, water and all that, but I had to tend to some things in the house. When I came back, he was dead. I called Zeke, even though there was nothing he could do.”
Drake walked over to them, face sweaty and grimed. “Doc?”
Zeke blinked hard. “I’m sorry, Drake, but Trailblazer’s dead. Colic.”
