by A. Nybo
He moved his hand over her and watched for any signs suggesting she was about to bolt or spin. When she shifted her weight in preparation to move, Birch stepped back a few steps. He slowly lifted his hands to gesture her away and clicked his tongue a few times. The mare moved off in the other direction, and he went to the centre of the yard and kept her going.
She trotted around the yard a few times, and then Birch got her headed in the other direction for a few rounds before he let her stop. “She’s got a lot of stiffness in her neck. You can see the way she turns it out when she goes to the left.” She was a little more relaxed this time when he touched her. He moved his hands along her neck. Sections of muscles had tightened, and he guessed she was protecting an injury.
By the time he had finished examining her, he’d found three sources of pain. “Little surprise she doesn’t like being handled,” said Birch. “She’s got two separate problems with her neck, and that hip is giving her grief.”
“You’ve certainly got a magic eye.”
“You want to see some magic? Give Jeanie Margolis a ring. She’ll sort this girl out for you. I reckon a few adjustments and she’ll be far easier to handle. If she’s not, just give me a call.”
“Are you sure you can’t do it?”
“Why?”
“Jeanie is First Nations—and angry.”
Birch stiffened. “So am I, Jerry. What of it?”
“You know what Seb’s like and can handle the asshole. Last time Jeanie was here, Seb was rude to her, she got fired up, and he ended up telling her never to come back. I thought she was going to run him over with her pickup.” He chuckled. “It was kind of a shame she didn’t.”
“What I do with Seb is better known as ignoring.”
“Whatever it is, it allows you and Seb both to do what you need to do.”
“Yeah, well, I got one up on Jeanie. The equipment I got between my legs allows Seb to put up with shit from me. No way is he going to take that from a woman. If he’s seen to acknowledge a woman’s got more skills than he has, well, that’s just going to make him look all kinds of stupid—or weak or emotional or whatever it is he’s so scared of. Especially if that woman happens to be First Nations.” Birch climbed through the railings. “Just give her a call. Seb might be scared of her, but she sure as hell isn’t scared of him. If Seb gives her any trouble, step up and tell him unless he’s going to fix the problem with the horse, then he should leave her to do her job.”
“But the horse isn’t even supposed to be here.”
Birch laughed. “Come on, Jerry. Is it really that likely to come up? Even if it does, pick the owner who has the most horses here and say it’s one of theirs. Seb’s not going to know the difference unless the horse has kicked or bitten him.”
“That’s the problem. Almost all the horses here have at one time or another. The man’s attitude draws hate from everything.” Jerry walked Birch towards the pickup. “How much do I owe you?”
“For what?”
“Looking at the horse?”
“No charge for occasional rescues, and even if there were, the loan of the pickup would more than pay for it.” He opened the door and climbed in. “If you let Jeanie know the horse is a rescue, she might do it for free as well. She might be an angry Indian, but she’s also a good-hearted person.” He closed the door and muttered, “Probably why she gets so angry.”
Chapter 4
THE MOMENT Birch walked into Anton’s establishment, the barman called into the back to alert Anton and then put a couple of beers on the bar for them. Thanking him, Birch picked them up, and had only just settled at one of the tables when Anton came out. He turned the chair opposite Birch and straddled it with his forearms resting on the back.
“Are you coming for dinner tonight?” asked Anton by way of greeting.
“Depends who’s cooking, you or Jess?”
“Funny.”
Birch grinned. “Yeah, I’d like that, thanks. I’ve got to buy some tack oil, but other than that, I’m done for the day.”
“I’ve got another half hour on the stock orders, so that should give you enough time, eh?” Anton took a slug of beer and hummed his appreciation. “So what exciting thing has happened in the world of Birch this week?”
“My pickup was wrecked all to hell.”
Anton perked up with interest. “Do tell.”
“I was in Deliah’s Café about a week or so ago, and this Australian came in having a panic attack because someone had taped a bullet to his SUV door handle. He called some guy who organized Geoff Sayer to be waiting for us personally when I took him to the police station.”
“That was you in the car chase that was on the news? Why am I only hearing about this now?”
“Things have been a bit hectic since.”
“For a phone call or a conversation over a beer?”
“By day’s end all I’ve wanted to do is shower and fall into bed.”
Anton nodded acknowledgement. “There’s a lot of asshats around, but bullets on door handles is a bit radical for around here, isn’t it?”
“The drive to the police station sure as hell was. That’s how my pickup got wrecked. We’re assuming it was the guy who left the bullet that was chasing us, but he kept ramming the pickup and ended up pushing us into parked police cars outside the station.”
Anton sat with his beer poised halfway to his mouth, his eyes wide. “He was still attacking when you were outside the OPP station?”
“Yeah, more than your garden variety nutter. The Australian guy wasn’t far behind in the nutter cup.”
“Can you blame him if he’s got this guy leaving bullets for him and ramming into cars? He’s obviously pissed off the wrong guy.”
Birch barked a laugh. “I think he’s pissed off everyone within pissing distance—and then some. He sure wasn’t into making friends with Geoff Sayer.”
“Maybe it’s something that’s been following him for a while.”
“It is. He knew exactly what sort of bullet it was.”
“Maybe he’s military or something.”
Birch shook his head. “No. His hair was tied up in a kind of ponytail that hadn’t been pulled through properly, but I reckon it would have reached halfway down his back. Definitely not a buzz cut.”
Anton’s eyes sparkled as he smirked. “Exactly how many of your buttons did he press?”
“What do you mean?”
“You should see your face.” Anton chuckled. “You’ve gone all starry-eyed.”
“I admit he was horrendously easy on the eyes, but his personality left more than a little to be desired.”
“Horrendously easy on the eyes? You get stranger by the day. You’re spending too much time with horses and not enough with people.”
“To begin with, I couldn’t take my eyes off him, but that sure changed in a hurry.”
“Are you going to see him again?”
“Hah! No. I have no desire to get caught up with whatever mess he’s in. Besides which, I don’t think he’s gay.”
Anton took a pull from his beer. “Sounds all very cloak-and-daggerish.”
“Yeah, I’m out. Shame, though. He was absolutely gorgeous.”
“Yeah, but you think that guy with the big nose is gorgeous. What’s his name?”
Birch laughed. “Ross Poldark. Well, the guy who plays Ross Poldark. And he hasn’t got a big nose. Besides, this guy looks nothing like him. He has really clear blue-grey eyes, and his hair is a red-gold colour.”
“Uh-huh,” Anton drawled.
“What?”
“Really clear, are they? His hair is red-gold?” Anton laughed. “Most people usually call that orange. It’s orange, Birch. Orange. Are you sure you’re out?”
“Definitely out!”
“I got to admit, I think the whole bullet thing would be enough to put me out.”
Birch smirked. “You’re into guys now?”
“No, dickweed. I meant if I was. Phwoosh,” he voiced his ex
hale, “I don’t know why I even bother answering you when you say shit like that.”
“Me either.” Birch drained his glass. “Okay, well, I’m off to buy tack oil. I’ll be back in twenty or thirty minutes.”
Leaving the borrowed vehicle parked outside the bar, Birch cut through the alleyway to the hardware store two streets over. Even after he’d done what he needed to do and dallied at the newsstand, he still had time to spare but decided to head back to Anton’s bar.
He had just entered the second alleyway when he was grabbed from behind. He tried to kick out but was slammed up against the wall of a building. His breath whooshed from him, and his shoulder blade was on fire. He was vaguely aware of the sound of the tack-oil tin rolling into the gutter.
“Where’s Henri?” The man-mountain who held him pinned to the bricks by the neck had biceps almost the size of Birch’s thigh.
His throat was so constricted he barely managed a loud rasp. “I don’t know!”
The man pulled him forward until their faces almost touched. The emotionless eyes were terrifying. “Where is he?” His voice was low and gravelly.
“I don’t know!” he ground out. “I left him at the police station.”
The man dragged him closer, and Birch braced for impact as he was hurled backwards.
THE FIRST movement caused Birch to grunt with pain, and so did the second. He opened his eyes, but everything was blurry. He couldn’t understand the fuzzy light and dark shapes, so he closed them again.
“Take it easy. I’ll call the nurse.” The male voice wasn’t familiar, and there was something odd about the way he sounded. There was motion around Birch’s bed. “One should be here in a minute.”
“Nurse?” The light hurt his eyes, so he kept them closed.
“You’re in hospital.”
“Was I thrown off?” Jesus. It’d been a long time since he’d been injured this badly—must’ve been a shocker of a horse.
“No. You were beaten in an alleyway. Your friend Anton found you when you didn’t show up when you were meant to.”
Birch tried to remember what had happened but drew a complete blank.
“Do you want me to call Anton?”
“Who are you?”
“Name is Jason Lemalu.”
When Birch opened his eyes again, they focused a little better. He looked at a man with dusky brown skin, dark eyes, and a frown that would scare children away even if he were holding a puppy. “The name sounds familiar, but I don’t recognize you.”
“We’ve spoken on the phone. Regarding Henri Morgan.”
Memories began to trickle in. That’s why he sounded strange; he had an accent. Henri, that’s right. The good-looking crazy man he took to the police station. “Oh.” Jesus, and that man-mountain that attacked him. He put his hand to his forehead and encountered a bandage.
“Do you know where he is?” Jason asked.
“Who?”
“Henri.”
“No. I don’t know why everyone is so interested in him. He’s erratic to say the least.”
“He has his reasons.”
“Yeah? And what would they be?” Birch closed his eyes again. There was a dance party happening inside his head.
“Personal.” Jason paused. “So it looks like we’re going to hang out together for a while.”
“Why?”
“I’m guessing the guy you ran into in the alley was about my size? Australian?”
Birch didn’t bother opening his eyes. “How big are you?”
“One hundred and ninety-eight centimetres.”
“Give me the feet and inches version.”
“Six six.”
“Yeah, about that. How did you get from the phone to here?” That didn’t sound right, but he couldn’t decipher what was wrong with it.
“Geoff Sayer contacted me and said you’d been attacked.”
“Evening, Mr. Jacobs” came another male voice. “How are you feeling?”
Birch cracked his eyes open to see a twentysomething man dressed in nurse blues examining the drip next to his bed.
“How’s your pain level?” the nurse asked. “On a scale of one to ten, ten being the worst.”
“Six,” said Birch.
“Okay, we’ll give you something for the pain and see how that goes.”
“What’s the damage?” Birch asked. Trying to placate his head, he hadn’t yet moved from there to check other potential injuries.
“Concussion, a head wound with seven stitches, a bruised scapula, and multiple minor contusions. Apart from the concussion, nothing too serious.”
“How long will I be here?”
“Mr. Lemalu has organized for you to leave tomorrow morning.”
“He has, has he?”
Jason broke out into a broad grin that transformed his scowl to a look of daisies and sunshine. Birch had already seen the scary side, so he wasn’t going to be fooled by that grin.
“Don’t worry. There’s nothing much wrong with you, and I have basic medical training. The whole point of us staying here the night is to ensure no complications as far as the concussion goes.”
There might not be very much wrong with him, but it sure as hell felt like it. “Us? You’re staying here at the hospital?”
“Just you and me sharing a room, mate. Promise not to snore too loud, but I hope you can sleep through a blender running by your bedside.”
Birch groaned. It promised to be a fabulous night’s rest. “Do those painkillers you’re going to give me cause sleepiness?”
“Afraid not,” said the nurse. “But don’t worry, Mr. Lemalu’s snoring isn’t as bad as he’s making out. We could only hear him two floors down.” The nurse patted his shoulder. “I’ll get those painkillers for you.”
“You never told me whether you wanted me to call Anton for you,” said Jason.
“If you wouldn’t mind. Tell him I’m okay, but to stay far away from this mess. I’ll call in a few days.”
“Will do. I’ll just be outside. Get some sleep.”
THE FOLLOWING morning, Birch awoke to the chorus of Jason’s gentle snores. The dance party in his head had gentled to a cabaret, and he was ready for food. For the first time, he got a good look at Jason. The man was built like a castle wall—tall, sturdy, and hard as stone. Like the guy who had attacked him, Jason looked like a gym rat, but the foundation those muscles were piled onto was au naturel.
Taking care not to move too quickly and start his head off again, Birch rose and went to the bathroom. When he returned, Jason was awake and rubbing his face.
“I’m glad no one attacked while you were asleep,” said Birch.
Jason stood and stretched. “One would hope the cop outside the door would have woken us.”
“Touché.”
Jason offered a small smile. “There’s some clean sweats in the cupboard, along with your phone and wallet.” He pointed to the small bedside cabinet. “We’ll go by your place and get a few sets of clothes. Anton has your dog, but neither of us knew what commitments you had, so you’ll have to take care of that yourself.”
“Where are we going?”
“Some house along Fourth Line. I can’t remember the number.” Jason went to the door. “Grab a shower, and we’ll get going. Oh, and remember to keep your dressing dry. The stitches are under there.”
By the time he was ready, Jason had returned with a breakfast that Birch judged was from a café. It had been a long time since he’d been in hospital, but he doubted the food had improved quite that much. Even if it had, he was sure there was a special law making it illegal to serve decent coffee within a two-kilometre radius of a hospital.
They had just settled into a brown SUV with windows tinted so dark they couldn’t be penetrated by an onlooker when Jason’s phone rang.
“Morning,” Jason answered, his tone wary. He looked over at Birch and uttered a string of uh-huh’s to the person on the other end. “I’ll tell him,” he said and terminated the call.
Birch stared at Jason, his mouth ajar. Thank God Anton had taken Cortez. “How did he even find out where I live? Or who I am?” There was nothing of value in the house; it was just the trappings of living. But hell, they were his trappings.
“Your wallet? Or maybe from the pickup he was ramming? I assume the pickup was in your name?”
“But how would he find out I’m the owner? Only the police have access to that sort of information. Don’t they?”
“He’s resourceful.”
“Why am I so important that he needs to know everything about me?”
Jason glanced at him. “If it’s any consolation to you, and it should be, you’re not important to him. You’re merely collateral. Which,” Jason emphasized, “works in your favour.”
“Why the hell has he destroyed my house, then?”
“He thinks you can lead him to Henri.”
“I don’t know where Henri is.” How many times was he going to have to say it?
Jason released a long slow exhale. “Doesn’t matter. He thinks you’ll lead him to Henri sooner or later, through either me or the police.”
“What did Henri do to piss him off?”
“What makes you think Henri did anything?”
“Someone wouldn’t go to all this trouble for no reason.”
The corner of Jason’s mouth pulled in. “True.”
Since Jason wasn’t going to volunteer more information, Birch tried a different tack. “So what? Because this Russell guy comes after us we get an Interpol agent to protect us?”
“Interpol agent?”
“Aren’t you an Interpol agent?”
“No.”
“Then what are you?”
