by Anna Jeffrey
“Ah, yes, the horses,” Mayfield said. “Would your sister have some bills of sale or—”
“Of course she would if she’d bought ’em,” Pic said testily.”But not all of her horses are bought. Some of them, she breeds herself.”
Drake could tell that even his easygoing little brother was growing annoyed. Mayfield frowned and stroked his chin. “Well, that could be a problem. It’s hard to put a value on something that wasn’t bought and paid for.”
“Our sister turned down a quarter million for Proud Mary just last year. That should tell
you what they’re…what they were worth,” Pic said.
“Nor entirely, Mr. Lockhart. That’s speculation. We have no way of knowing for sure which horses were destroyed. But I understand what you’re saying.”
“Kate will know,” Pic said.
Just then someone called to the sheriff and he excused himself. Obviously relieved for the opportunity to escape the Lockhart brothers, the insurance adjustor backed away, excused himself and followed the sheriff. Insurance adjustors were on Drake’s list of people who strained his patience. He added George Mayfield’s name with a huge red flag beside it. He could already see trouble.
He and Pic walked the perimeter of the rubble. Nothing had been removed, including the burned carcasses of what had once been talented, beautiful athletes. Bile rose in Drake’s throat, but he swallowed it back. “This makes me sick,” he mumbled.
“Me, too,” Pic said grimly. “I threw up when I first came over here this morning.”
“I suppose Troy still up in Fort Worth?” Drake said, referring to the annual NCHA World Championship Futurity finals, in which Troy and Kate both had horses competing.
“Yeah. He trained a horse that’s headed for the finals. He’s riding her.”
“Whose horse is it?”
“Guy from Kansas. Pretty Kitty is her name.”
“Ah. I watched him ride that horse last Wednesday in the pre-lims. I figured they might make the finals.”
“Well, they did. Good purse this year, too. Around four million. Kate’s horse didn’t make it though. That’s why she was here when the barn caught fire. She was upset and came home. I haven’t called Troy and told him what happened yet. I didn’t want to distract him when one of his clients is depending on him. I’m going to try to catch him closer to the end of the show, before he heads for Dallas.”
“Dallas?”
“He’s got a girlfriend up there now. He stays at her house for days at a time.”
“That sounds serious. Who is she?”
“Some gal Jordon Palmer introduced him to. I told him he ought to keep away from that lowlife and any of his friends, but he and Jordan have been halfway buddies ever since Kate’s engagement to the asshole.”
“That’s not good news,” Drake said.
They stayed at the fire site until dusk began to cast the landscape in shadow and the temperature grew colder.
“Let’s get on back to the house,” Pic said. “I’m freezing my ass off and I’m hungry. We can’t do anything here anyway.”
“I agree. Let’s go.”
They climbed into the truck again and Drake slowly drove away, continuing to look across his shoulder at the rubble. Pic unclipped his phone from his belt and keyed in a number. “I’m gonna call Will at the hospital and tell him not to bring Kate back to her house. I don’t want her to see this. At least, not yet. He should bring her to the Double-Barrel.”
“Good idea,” Drake said. He listened to Pic’s conversation with Kate’s neighbor. They rode another short distance in silence before Drake said, “Have you called Mom?”
“I figured you would. You’re the one who gets along the best with her.”
Drake hadn’t talked to their mother since their breakfast on Monday. On a sigh, he reached for his phone, speed-dialed her number and reported Kate’s tragedy. Betty Lockhart gasped and exclaimed and broke into tears. She planned to drive to Blue Horizons immediately, but Drake persuaded her to wait until tomorrow morning.
“Tomorrow, huh?” Pic said, after Drake disconnected. “That’s good maybe. But it could also be bad.”
“What’s that supposed to mean? This is still Mom’s home, you know.”
“Bullshit. This stopped being her home when she moved to Fort Worth. Besides, you know how Kate feels about her.”
“Kate needs to get off her high horse,” Drake said. “She doesn’t know that much about all that’s gone on between Mom and Dad, so she has no business being judgmental. Mom hasn’t done her any harm. And right now, Kate needs her support. Doesn’t look like she can rely on Dad.”
“She doesn’t need either one of them, Brother,” Pic said. “She’s got you.”
Chapter 14
Back at the Double-Barrel, the aroma of searing meat and spices floated through the house. Johnnie Sue reported that supper was still forty-five minutes from being ready.
“I don’t know about you, Drake, but I could use a drink,” Pic said.
Pic was a moderate drinker. Growing up with their father had made them both resistant to irresponsible overindulgence. But this evening, something to dull reality’s sharp edges was welcome. Drake followed Pic into the den.
A fire burned in the fireplace, forging a cozy ambience. Pic walked over to the small bar hidden by paneled doors beside the fireplace. “God, what a day,” he said, opening the folding doors and exposing a small bar. “I’ve been up since three o’clock this morning. I thought you’d never get down here.” He lifted two heavy crystal tumblers off a glass shelf. “What’s your poison these days, Brother?”
“Whatever you’ve got,” Drake answered absently. He sank wearily to the seat of a massive leather-clad recliner.
“Whatever Dad’s drinking is what we’ve got,” Pic said, as he searched a wall cupboard. He pulled out a full bottle of whiskey and read the label. “Looks like his latest preference is Jim Beam.”
For the first time in hours, Drake thought of their father and the fact that Pic claimed not to know where he was. “Pic, we need to try to find Dad. He needs to know about this. And you know damn well Mom will expect to see him.”
Pic brought a glass with an inch of whiskey in it over to Drake, but made no comment.
Drake took the drink, shaking his head, thinking again of the senseless dichotomy of their father’s behavior—whining about his wife not returning, yet chasing after a string of other women. But this wasn’t something Drake wanted to even think about, much less have a conversation about at the moment. For once, he refused to allow his parents problems to overshadow the horror of the day and the magnitude of Kate’s tragedy. Their feuding had already divided the family.
He sipped at the whiskey, grimacing as it burned his gullet going down. “You said Kate got a quarter-million dollar offer on Proud Mary? She never mentioned it to me.”
Pic took a seat on the sofa to the right of Drake’s chair and set his glass on the coffee table. “Probably because she never even considered taking it. If you recall, from the time that horse was a filly, Kate had her pegged as a winner. She always figured she would collect more than two-fifty in cutting competitions. And she did.”
“Who made the offer?”
“A syndicate. You know how it is in Texas these days. If you’ve got a little money and a wild hair to be a cowboy, you invest in a cutting horse.”
Being horse lovers, Drake and his family disliked syndicates, but he knew why they had evolved. Cutting horse values had skyrocketed. Those who were afraid of the risk of owning one, or couldn’t afford one, often put together a group, with the intention of sharing earnings. Or losses. One illness or crippling incident had its obvious tax benefits.
The Lockharts believed that most syndicate members knew or cared little about the horses or the sport and skill of cutting. Cutting horse ownership gave them access to an exclusive club. If the animal turned out to be a champion, which was rare, the windfall might be small, given that it was divided amo
ng so many investors, but the bragging rights on the cocktail circuit got heftier.
“Several Fort Worth bankers, I think it was,” Pic said. “You know bankers.”
“Yeah. Cheap fuckers when they’re on the buying end.” Speculative investing in a living animal had a capriciousness to it that Drake found detestable. Too often he had seen the money become more important than the animal. When it came to investing, he preferred the solidity and permanence of land.
Pic leaned forward, his elbows propped on his thighs, his big hands wrapped around his glass. “Want to know what I’m thinking?
“Shoot,” Drake said, leaning back in his chair and crossing an ankle over the opposite knee. “Maybe what you’re thinking makes more sense than what’s going through my head.”
“I’m thinking about what that insurance man said. Or didn’t say.”
Drake hadn’t devoted all of his thoughts to George Mayfield, but insurance had been in the back of his mind ever since he had first seen Kate’s damage. “And?”
“I’m betting they won’t pay fuck-all for those dead horses. The minute Mayfield started blabbing that crap about bills of sale and so on, all I could think was this’ll be like that little bunch of our cows that got run over by that fuckin’ semi a few years ago. We couldn’t prove their value because we bred ’em. Registered mother cows got turned into hamburger and the insurance company paid us by the pound. Like they were culls.”
“I remember,” Drake said.
“Four purebred cutting horses with bloodlines long as my leg? They could be worth a million, if not more. Proud Mary went all the way back to a King Ranch horse. Her foals were worth a hundred thousand the minute they hit the ground.”
Drake sat forward, too, cradling his glass between his hands. “The insurance company will investigate this before they pay out a dime for anything. We might as well suck in our guts and swallow it. I’m assuming that the Austin people Mayfield referred to are arson investigators.”
Pic’s eyes widened. “You think it was arson?”
Drake wasn’t ready to give voice to his suspicion. “I’m not saying that. I just know insurance companies. Kate’s barn cost roughly three-hundred thousand when we built it years ago. Replacement at today’s prices will be higher. Even without considering the value of the horses, there’s equipment, a new dually truck and a fancy horse trailer. Easily a million dollar loss. They won’t process a claim that large without a thorough investigation.”
“That figures,” Pic groused.
Mentally, Drake chastised himself for not being more involved in the business end of his little sister’s horse operation. Especially after he had built the high-tech barn for her and knew the kind of money she was earning and spending on horses. “What do we know about Kate’s insurance? I’ve never seen her policy, have you?”
“Nope. She bought it through Jordan Palmer. If you think back, you’ll probably remember when Kate was engaged to that flake, he was in the insurance business. Hell, at one time, he carried the insurance on most of the stuff on this ranch.”
Before he switched the real estate business, Drake thought and again, Shannon Piper darted through his mind. “Shit,” he said. “No telling what kind of policy she’s got.” He sighed. “How long have we been tied to Jordan Palmer?”
“Well, Kate was about twenty when she got engaged to him that time. About twenty-one when she finally saw the light and got rid of him. She’s twenty-eight now, so that would be seven years he’s been hanging out with Troy off and on and moving in and out of our lives.”
Drake huffed a bitter laugh. “All I know is I’m suddenly seeing and hearing way more of that sonofabitch than I want to. Sometimes I wonder if it’s some kind of karma.”
“You don’t believe in that crap any more than I do,” Pic said. “It ain’t karma. What it amounts to was damn poor judgment on Kate’s part back when she was just a kid. The whole time that mess was going on with Palmer, I kept reminding her what Grandma always says.”
“Which is?”
“You lay down with dogs, you get up with fleas. Now, I find myself trying to tell Troy the same thing.”
Just then, Johnnie Sue called them to supper and he and Pic sat down to beef fajitas and all of the trimmings. They didn’t talk much. Drake had been so sobered by what he had seen at his sister’s place, he was out of words.
Half way through the meal, a truck engine sounded from outside. “That’s Will’s rig,” Pic said. “Kate’s here.”
They met their little sister at the front door. Both of her arms were swathed in burn wrap. She looked haggard and bedraggled. Her lips were cracked and dry, as if she had suffered a severe sunburn. They were covered with something greasy. But what was more painful to see was her blond beauty masked by a look of defeat. An urge to pound something with his fist flew through Drake. When they were younger, he had been his little sister’s avid protector. He carefully drew her into his arms and held her.
“They wanted her to stay,” Will said, coming up behind her. “I tried to get her to, but she wouldn’t.”
“Kate, baby,” Drake said. “I’m so sorry.”
She buried her face against his shoulder and began to weep. “Oh, Drake, it’s so awful. I lost Proud Mary. And—and Peppy’s Pretty Boy and Blue Diamond and her colt, Baby Blue.”
Drake had heard all of those names of horses Kate had bred. “Shh-shh.” He stroked her back. “We’ll fix it, darlin’.”
“Not even you can fix it, Drake. You can’t bring them back. They needed me and I wasn’t there. They were penned up and I couldn’t get to them.” She broke into sobs. “I can still hear them crying for me. I’ll never forgive myself.”
Seeing his little sister’s broken heart pierced his own. He stroked her hair and clasped her head to his chest. “Shh-shh, darlin’. It wasn’t your fault.”
“I don’t know what happened, Drake. I’ve thought and thought, but I can’t figure it out.”
“Let’s don’t talk about it tonight. You hungry? Want to eat something?”
She sniffled and shook her head.
Over Kate’s head, Drake caught Will Harrington’s eye. The neighbor shook his head and said, “I think they’ve given her enough drugs to put down a horse. She ought to drop any minute.”
Drake held her away and looked into her face, saw an unusual glitter in her sky blue eyes. “Then it’s time for you to get to bed and get some rest. We’ll tackle all of this tomorrow. Remember what I’ve always said? Even the worst things look better in the daylight.”
Johnnie Sue spoke up from behind them. “The bed’s all made up in your old room, Miss Kate.”
“Let Johnnie Sue help you to bed.” Drake hugged her again and urged her toward the housekeeper. “We’ll get together tomorrow after you’re rested.”
After Kate was escorted from the room, Will said, “God, y’all, this is just about the worst thing I’ve ever seen.”
“What do you think happened?” Pic asked him.
“I have no idea, Pic. By the time I got there, the barn was already collapsing onto itself.
The truck and trailer were gone and the horses were already done for. I had to drag Kate away to keep her from getting hurt bad.”
Overcome by the pall of tragedy, Drake, along with Pic and Will, stood there, silent and grim-faced for a few beats.
Finally, Will said, “Well, I need to get going. I’ve still got stock to take care of.”
“I saw horses that I presume were Kate’s grazing in the pasture,” Drake said. “Do you have a place they can stay for tonight?”
“I was planning on rounding them up and putting them in my barn. I’ve got room.”
“Thanks, Will,” Pic said. “If you need help, I can send—”
“That’s okay, Pic. I got it.”
“We won’t forget what you’ve done for our sister,” Drake said.
“Don’t worry about it,” Will said. “Kate’s my neighbor. But more than that, she’s my friend.”
The next morning, Drake arose before daylight. He and Pic met in the kitchen at the coffeepot. After finishing breakfast, they climbed into Pic’s truck and rode the ten miles to Blue Horizons. As they came to a stop, Drake saw several vehicles already there and parked at odd angles. Jose Avalo, who owned a small construction company in town, was sitting on his backhoe, the engine idling.
Drake spotted Sheriff Tom Gilmore, several other people he didn’t know and George Mayfield, still wearing earmuffs,. He also saw Blake Rafferty, the Texas Ranger assigned to serious crime investigation in Treadway County. The Lockharts had known the Ranger for years. They had often hunted together.
“Shit, there’s Rafferty,” Pic said, yanking on the door latch. “That means they think this is a crime.”
Blake’s presence confirmed Drake’s suspicion of arson. “So I see.”
They scooted out of the truck. The stench of the fire still hung in the chilled air. “Sickening smell,” Pic said and walked over to Avalo.
As Drake approached the investigative group, the Texas Ranger broke away and met him. “Mornin’, Drake.” The Ranger put out his right hand.
Drake shook hands. “Blake. How’s it going?”
George Mayfield walked up and took charge immediately, called one of the other men over and introduced him as Carl Barlow, an experienced arson investigator. He also explained that the people combing through the debris were part of his team, along with a forensics team from the Department of Public Safety lab in Austin.
The fact that arson was out of the closet for all to know suited Drake fine. “So where are we?” he asked.
“Too soon to tell,” Blake answered.
Pic walked back from Avalo’s backhoe. “Any reason we can’t take these horse carcasses out of here?”
The Ranger and Carl Barlow exchanged looks. “Give us an hour,” Barlow said.
