The tinny ring of metal clattering against the floorboards drew Mac up short, and she moved into the doorway of the stall for a better look.
“I’ll be damned,” Sheriff Wilkes said, bending closer for a look at the pocketknife lying on the floor with its blade open. A blade covered in blood.
“The proverbial smoking gun.” Mac leaned on the handle of the pitchfork and glanced up at her.
Wilkes took a picture of the knife and slid his camera into his jacket pocket. “We’ll see what the crime lab makes of it. There’s a lot of blood on it, more than I think could come from the gash across the horse’s chest.”
Mac agreed, but he held his tongue. What had seemed like a horrific accident six hours ago was slowly beginning to look like murder, and he didn’t want to upset Emma right now, even though he was pretty sure she was already beginning to understand the implications.
Wilkes took a rubber glove out of his pocket along with a baggy. He pulled the glove on, squatted next to the knife, picked it up and put it in the bag.
“I’m going to order an autopsy on Victor’s body. There are enough unanswered questions in my mind to warrant an investigation.”
Mac pulled in a breath and turned for the stall door. Once outside, he leaned the pitchfork against the wall, feeling a measure of tension in his body that wouldn’t dissipate. “What can we do to help?”
“Watch yourselves.” Wilkes stepped out into the breezeway. “Contact me immediately if you see anything suspicious, or out of the norm. I should have some results by the end of next week.”
Concern plagued Emma’s features and creased the space between her eyebrows.
Mac stepped closer to her. Reaching out, he rubbed his hand across her back, feeling the tension in her shoulders. The reality that a killer could be roaming freely at the farm didn’t exactly thrill him either.
“I was hired to protect Navigator, and with McFarlane’s arrest, the horse is safe now, but I’ll stay on as long as Emma needs me.”
“It certainly can’t hurt. I’ll continue to send a unit out this way on a regular basis for the next week or so.”
“Thanks, Sheriff.” She glanced over at Mac with a look he couldn’t quite decipher, a look somewhere between curiosity and relief.
“I finally remembered where I’d seen Craig McFarlane before last night. He was driving the truck that delivered my sweet feed.”
“That would explain how the bute got into the feed sacks at so many farms. I’ll question him about it.” Wilkes pulled off the protective glove inside out and shoved it into his pocket.
“A heads-up. You’re both in line to receive equal portions of the reward money for McFarlane’s apprehension. With his confession and Brad Nelson’s arrest, the case is officially solved. My department will be cutting the checks.” Wilkes turned and headed for the exit.
“Twenty-five grand?” Mac asked as he reached for Emma’s hand. They fell in step next to Wilkes and left the barn.
“Oh, hell, did I forget to mention the reward doubled?”
“Yes, you did.” He wanted to turn his good ear on Wilkes to make sure he’d heard correctly.
“You’re each going to receive a check for fifty thousand dollars. You can come in to the department to pick them up on Tuesday afternoon.”
Emma’s knees buckled.
Mac caught her.
Wilkes grinned and headed for his car.
Chapter Eleven
Using the first rays of dawn to see the damage, Emma stared up at the massive timbers inside the blackened barn and listened to Mac’s report.
“The fire chief said there’s no structural damage. None of the heavy timbers burned. The siding on the outside can be replaced and the interior can be pressure-washed to remove the smoke damage. I’ll put a call out to a cleanup company. We’re lucky it didn’t ignite in either one of the haylofts or the place would be a total loss.”
“We’re lucky, all right. Lucky you were here, that you caught McFarlane and that you got Navigator out in time. Did you mean what you said about staying on?” She stared over at him.
“Every word. There are still too many unanswered questions, like who tampered with the tractor and who installed the surveillance cameras. If Sheriff Wilkes proves Victor’s death wasn’t an accident…” He turned toward her and grasped her upper arms. “I don’t plan to leave until I know you’re safe.”
The physical contact warmed her skin where he touched her and she looked up into his face. “I don’t want you to go, Mac. Firehill needs you…I need you.” She let her gaze slide to his lips, rocked up onto her tiptoes, closed her eyes and kissed him.
Desire roared through Mac’s body, scorching his resistance in its wake. He locked his arms around her and pulled her against him. Deepening the superficial kiss, he parted her lips with his tongue and explored her sweet mouth.
The smoky smell of the barn intermingled with her scent of vanilla, straw and the outdoors.
She arched against him, a moan sounding deep in her throat.
Every cell in his body burned for satisfaction. She was balm on his soul. The woman he wanted to lead him out of the desert.
Mac broke the kiss and pulled back, warring with his conscience as he did. She shivered in his arms as she buried her face against his neck.
Reaching up, he stroked his fingers through her hair, cupped the back of her head and closed his eyes, breathing her in while he worked to tame his out-of-control response to her. Maybe it was fatigue busting down the barriers, maybe something more, he wasn’t sure.
“I have no right to want you this much.”
She pushed back and stared up at him, her whiskey-colored eyes bright in the gloom of the cavernous barn. “No right? You have every right, Mac.” She reached up and brushed her fingertips along his scarred jaw. “I don’t care about this, or that you lost your hearing.”
He closed his eyes, clamped his teeth together and fought the overwhelming urge to jerk away. To put a stop to the soul-stripping deprivation her assessment generated in his mind.
“It changes nothing. You’re the same person you were before it happened, aren’t you? You’re honest and good. You protect people…and a horse, and you save lives. You’ve sacrificed more than the average person ever has and you deserve to be happy.”
She was playing fast and loose with his motto, the one he’d always used to define the perimeters of his life.
Get in. Get out. No emotional attachments.
He opened his eyes, reached up and locked his hand on hers. Staring into her face he pulled her hand away, severing the intimate touch. He released her fingers, but his push-back gesture didn’t seem to faze her.
A slow smile bowed her sexy, swollen lips and she stepped back. “I’m fixing supper tonight at the house to celebrate the end of the attacks on Navigator’s Whim. I’d like you to come. You’re the reason he’s safe now. Get some rest. I’ll see you at seven.” She left the barn.
He stared after her. How in the hell was it possible she’d pegged him like that? His identity as a Secret Service agent had evaporated after the shooting and he wasn’t sure he’d ever get it back. In fact he was almost certain now that he couldn’t.
Mac walked out of the barn, realizing the cavernous black hole in some ways resembled the pit he’d been rolling around in for a long time. Maybe even since he was a kid. He owed it to Emma to level with her. To tell her that Paul Calliway—a bitter man who’d hated Thadeous, and Firehill, and who’d never let that fact go unspoken until the day he died—was his father.
He crossed the open area from the barn to the bunkhouse and considered how she would take the revelation.
Frustration glided over his nerves. Emma was a straight shooter and he hadn’t been totally honest with her. He reached the bunkhouse door and remembered that he hadn’t had the chance to clean up the chaos inside.
Dead tired, he turned the knob and opened the door.
A whiff of her scent hit him as he sucked in a breath a
nd glanced around the tidy room. She’d found the time to slip away and take care of the mess left by the intruder. His gaze settled on the freshly made bed covered with a bright patchwork quilt.
Stepping inside, he closed the door behind him, feeling a surge of gratitude swell in his chest.
How was it Emma always seemed to know what he needed, even if he didn’t?
EMMA PUT THE LAST PLATE into the dishwasher, filled the soap cup and turned it on. She flipped off the kitchen light on her way out and joined her dad and Mac in the living room, where they talked about what distinguished a good horse from a great horse.
“It’s one quarter training and three quarters heart, Thadeous. You can condition them equally, but the horse with heart will give you everything he’s got, and then some. Look at Seabiscuit, Canonero II, who won the Derby in 1971 from out of nowhere, and Barbaro. Heart wins races.”
She settled on the sofa across from Mac, watching his mesmerizing blue eyes glisten with excitement as he talked to her dad about four-legged legends.
“There’s no substitute…for good breeding. I never bought a horse…based on heart. You can train them…to run, but you better start…with good lineage.”
Mac glanced across at her and grinned, then turned his attention back to her father. She had to believe he was enjoying the conversation, and she found herself wondering where he’d acquired his horse sense. He was so much more than an amateur.
“I’ll give you that. An impressive bloodline is a plus to build on, if the horse has heart.”
“Dessert, anyone?” Emma asked as she came to her feet. Her dad chuckled and shook his head. “Not tonight…dear. I’m going to…watch my program…in the den.”
Mac stood up and reached out.
They clasped hands and shook.
“Come back soon, Mac. That’s…the best…time I’ve had in a while.”
“I sure will.” Mac watched the old man manipulate the control lever on his wheelchair and purr into the hallway. He liked Thadeous Clareborn. His mind was still sharp and he knew a hell of a lot about horseflesh, had even witnessed some of the greatest strides to glory.
“I made apple pie and there’s vanilla ice cream in the freezer. Would you like some?”
“You’re spoiling me, Em, but no thanks, I’m still full from supper.”
“Maybe later then, after you help me put up the Christmas tree?”
He glanced at the stack of boxes in the corner marked “C-mas decor,” and knew he had to put his inner Grinch aside, at least for tonight. He’d helped her cut the tree, it was time to help her decorate it.
“Tell me what to do.”
“I’ll get the stand set up, then we’ll bring in the tree and put it up in front of the window.”
Half an hour later, Mac watched Emma wrap the noble fir in miniature colored lights.
Climbing down from the chair next to it, she rummaged in a box and pulled out a star. She held the tree topper out to him.” Would you do the honors?”
He took it, feeling a surge of emotion he’d denied all evening. The Clareborn’s were a family and their house was a home.
“Just put it on the top?” he asked, feeling like an awkward kid.
“Yes.” Emma’s throat tightened as she watched Mac stare at the Christmas star they’d been putting on the tree since she was a child. “Hey.” She reached out to him and touched his forearm. “You don’t have to do it if you don’t want to.” She met his dark blue gaze and wondered about his hesitation.
“I want to do it.” He turned around, stepped up onto the chair and put the star on the top of the tree.
“How’s that?”
She gauged the alignment. “A little more to the left, back toward the window. There. Perfect.”
Mac stepped down off the chair and tried to relax, tried to enjoy the time alone here with her. It suddenly didn’t matter that his early life had been filled with turmoil at this time of year, every year. It was time to let the past settle into oblivion and live in the moment tonight.
“What’s next? I’m ready.”
They hung the mismatched ornaments one by one, until the tree was covered in them and Emma was smiling like an excited little girl.
His heart squeezed in his chest as he watched her work. This was important to her. This was a joyous time. He sobered. “I need to check on the colt.”
“Not yet. You have to partake in a Clareborn family tradition first.”
“What’s that?”
“A mug of mint hot cocoa, on the front porch in the swing with the tree lights shining through the picture window.”
“I’d go for that.”
She smiled at him as she hurried into the kitchen and returned ten minutes later with two steaming cups of cocoa. “Would you plug in the tree?”
Working his way around to the back, he found the cord and shoved it into the receptacle. He stepped back and smiled, before meeting Emma’s gaze.
“It’s beautiful, Mac. Thank you.”
“Thank you for straightening up the bunkhouse.” He put on his coat and took the mugs while she pulled her coat on and opened the front door.
“You’re welcome. I knew you were exhausted.”
He followed her out to the porch swing and waited for her to get settled before he handed her one of the cups. He sat down next to her seeing the lights shimmer through the glass.
“I need to discuss something with you, Emma.”
“Discuss?”
“Rahul announced this morning that he has taken Victor’s place at the stable.”
“I don’t have a problem with that.”
“He wanted me to tell you they’d like to lease the other six stalls in the barn. His employer will increase the lease amount. The only catch is he wants Navigator removed from the stud barn immediately.”
“That’s ridiculous. He knows I’ve got nowhere else to house the colt until the barn is restored.”
“I know they’re going to need at least two more stalls beginning on Monday night when Rahul returns with the horses from quarantine in Front Royal. He gave you until then to make a decision.”
“I’ve got a check for fifty thousand dollars coming. Maybe I should give Rahul and the sheikh notice to vacate the stud barn. I only leased to them because I was desperate. I’m not desperate anymore.”
“I know.” A measure of caution attached to his thoughts. Would Rahul find a way to retaliate against her? Or would he leave quietly?
“Has Doc Remington called yet with the results of Navigator’s bloodwork?”
“No. He’s suppose to let me know in the morning.”
“We’re going to need to continue the remedy until midweek. He’ll probably be clean by then.”
“I hope so. Hey, thanks for chatting with my father tonight. He loved it. I haven’t seen him that animated in years.”
“I enjoyed it, too.” Mac drained the last drop of mint cocoa from his mug and pulled in a lungful of crisp night air. This was living. Living like he’d never done before.
“I’ll check on the colt before I turn in.” He angled to face her, watching the sparkling lights reflect in her eyes.
He reached out and took her chin, easing her to face him. “I’ve been thinking about the things you said to me in the barn this morning and it reminded me of something else you once said.”
“Sounds serious.”
“It was at the time. You drew a comparison between my wanting to hear again with my left ear and your hope that Navigator could win the Derby. And I made peace with one of them. I won’t ever regain the hearing in my left ear, but your colt can win.”
He leaned forward, kissed her on the lips, handed her the empty mug and stood up. “Good night, Emma.”
“Good night, Mac.” She listened to his boots on the front steps, then watched him until the night wrapped him in its velvety blanket.
Letting down the walls in her mind, she instilled his image and realized she’d fallen for Mac, like a newborn filly on
unsteady legs.
She left the swing and went inside the house to rinse out their cups in the kitchen sink and go to bed.
MAC SHOVED HIS HANDS in his coat pockets and headed for the stable. He focused on the light emanating from the barn’s doorway, but his thoughts were squarely on Emma as he looked for an opening in the hedge on the perimeter and stepped through it.
The garbled sound of raised voices made him stop to listen. Turning his head to the right, he tried to decipher exactly where the argument was coming from.
Two of Dago’s grooms shuffled into the doorway at the mouth of the breezeway. Notes in Arabic seemed to raise and lower with the hand gestures one of the men made repeatedly.
He didn’t know what they were saying, but it alarmed him. He stepped back into the protective cover of the hedge to wait it out. Once they were gone, he’d check on the colt and turn in for his first solid night’s sleep in weeks.
Movement at the far left corner of the barn caught his attention. He focused on the exact spot were he’d seen it, trying to pick it out again in the darkness.
A shadow? A person? He couldn’t be sure. He didn’t see anything until a man in black edged to the front corner of the barn and flattened himself against the wall, twenty feet from the arguing grooms.
Was he listening, too?
Mac held his position, feeling the first tingle of realization take hold in his brain. He’d never considered that someone could be spying on the Dago stable. Did that mean there were cameras planted somewhere in the stud barn, as well?
The two men left the stable, headed for the bunkhouse, still yelling at each other, but Mac kept his eyes on the man dressed all in black.
On his right he heard the bunkhouse door slam. He maintained his focus, determined to track the thug.
The man pushed away from the wall and jogged toward the bunkhouse.
Mac’s caution level cranked up. He tried to blend deeper into the brush, going still as the man hurried past his location and up the driveway.
Turning back toward the yard, Mac hugged the hedge, listening to the man’s nearly silent footsteps padding along on the asphalt on the other side of the protective barrier.
Christmas Countdown Page 12
