He reached back into his pocket and handed the photo to her. “Careful, or you may find yourself treading the straight and narrow.”
“Gee, funny man. Don't push your luck.”
“If you do find the missing horse, don't put yourself in danger by trying to get him out. Call me and I'll bring in a team to extract him. And you.”
“Like you did with Daniel Campbell? Touch me like you did that day and I'll break something you won't like. Remember, I'm one of the good guys.” Blue eyes flashed a challenge before Sarah turned the horse back the way she'd come, and touched her heels lightly against the glossy brown coat.
As the horse surged into a trot, Caleb's gaze dropped and he allowed his imagination free rein. Sarah was a superb horsewoman, moving as one with her mare, but the sight of her rear end perched on the saddle and her slim thighs hugging the giant horse gave him other ideas, even as dust kicked up behind them and they disappeared from view.
Not that he would permit himself more than these few moments of purely masculine appreciation for a beautiful woman. Having accepted his request for assistance, Sarah was, to all intents and purposes, a work colleague. As such, she was most definitely off limits. Quite aside from the fact she hated his guts for doing his job.
Caleb checked the time as he strolled back to his unmarked four-wheel drive police vehicle and opened the driver's door. Leaning his hip against the seat, he reached for his radio. “Operation Recovery is go. Repeat, we are go. Sarah Tait is onboard and heading for first camp.”
“Copy that. Keep your distance, Richards. Give her space and observe for now. Repeat, observation only.” Glen Kaiser's staticky voice was unemotional and clear. Caleb's superior believed Sarah Tait was involved in the theft of the racehorse. Caleb had expressed his opinion to the contrary and volunteered to trail her. Rather him than one of the stock squad boys. His jaw tightened as he recalled the off jokes flying at the briefing.
Gut feelings might not be scientific but Caleb would stake his reputation Sarah was not like her father and her brother. “According to her itinerary, we have two days before she reaches our first contact.”
“Check in at seven every night.” Sarah would have set up camp or be inside the homes she was staying in well before dark, which fell early in winter. The order grated and Caleb bit back the urge to remind Kaiser he'd been thoroughly briefed already. But micro-managing everything from cases to his children's lives was second nature to the chief officer.
“Yes, sir. Over and out.” He flicked the off switch and hung up the hand piece before reaching for his canteen of water. He drank a mouthful, tossed the canteen onto the passenger seat and climbed in. He had a campsite to set up, out of sight of Ms. Tait's prearranged overnight spot, and several hours to fill.
And a sneaking suspicion that out of sight would not mean out of mind where Sarah was concerned.
Chapter Three
Sarah rubbed the long nose of the three-day-old colt while her host, Sue James, curried the mare's coat. “Have you decided his name yet?”
“Nothing's come to mind. His dam is Vixen and his sire is Black Jack.” While Sarah's host was a friend of her mum, Sue's offer of a bed had more to do with their shared love of horses and the very real respect they held each other in. “Got any ideas?”
“Let's see—Vixen plus Black Jack—” The colt's dark brown head nudged her hand, seeking attention. Sarah resumed stroking the velvety nose as she considered possibilities. “Dark Fox? Foxy Boy? Jack Fox?”
Sue giggled, a girlish sound at odds with her no-nonsense approach to work. “I think you can't see beyond his mum's name.”
“What's in a name? Okay, smarty, just how many choices have you come up with?”
“Point taken. For no reason other than it sounds like Jack Frost, I'm going to pick Jack Fox. Happy?” Sue hung the curry comb on a hook and patted Vixen. From a nearby stall, Tabitha whinnied softly.
Sarah wrapped her arms around the colt's neck and whispered in his ear. “Welcome, Jack Fox. Next time I visit, I want to see you grown into a strapping teenager.” She stood and dusted off her jeans. “I'll just say goodnight to Tabitha.”
Sue paused at the open stable door. “G and T on the front veranda in twenty minutes?” One of the things Sue shared with Sarah's mum was their fondness for the cocktail hour.
“Sure, only can you make mine a rum and Coke?” Grinning over her shoulder, Sarah headed towards Tabitha's stall.
“Okay, baby girl. I forgot you're not ready for adult drinks.” With that parting salvo, Sue dodged through the sliding door into the darkness of early evening.
Despite shorter days which meant shorter rides, winter was more comfortable for endurance riding in the north. Leaning against Tabitha's shoulder, she rubbed a spot between the mare's ears. Tabitha lowered her head, enjoyment clear in her closeness. “As if Sue is going to let us get away early. We're going to have to work hard to reach tomorrow night's campsite, my girl.”
“Can I help?” A familiar male voice came from the dark end of the stables.
Heart thumping, Sarah stared at the lean shadow before the detective stepped into the circle of light in front of Tabitha's stall. “Damn it, Richards, didn't your mother teach you it's rude sneaking up on people?”
“All the better to catch bad guys, Ms. Tait.”
He drawled her name and her brief fright was replaced by the need to cut him down to size. But then every time she saw him, she had the same feeling. Maybe one day she'd get over this animosity for the detective.
Yeah, and elephants might fly.
“Aren't you supposed to be keeping a low profile? As in, what the hell are you doing here?”
“You didn't respond to my text so I came to check you're okay. What sort of policeman would I be if I didn't have my partner's back?”
Caleb Richards having her back was about as likely as snow in The Isa. Did he really believe what he was saying? More likely he was checking up on her.
“I'd be happy never to set eyes on you again, but I hoped not to be subjected to your company before my third night out. So why did you text?”
Richards arched an eyebrow. “Don't you ever believe people?”
“Why should I? Horses on the other hand—”
“Okay, I get it. As far as you're concerned, I'm persona non grata. I was concerned our line of communication wasn't functional. Given you're working for me, albeit reluctantly, it's my duty to ensure the safety and welfare of my staff. So,”—he leaned against the outer wall of Tabitha's stall— “why didn't you answer my text?”
In truth, Sarah hadn't even thought to check her phone but damned if she'd tell him that. “Why would I bother?”
“Oh, I don't know. Maybe asking for confirmation you were receiving messages okay so I knew you were safe was an invasion of your privacy.”
“Detective, I don't like what you've done and I don't like you. And I'm helping only because there's a horse out there that needs rescuing. But believe me when I tell you, the less I have to do with you, the happier I'll be. Is that message received?”
“Loud and clear.” He held her gaze as he stepped away from the stall. “Don't forget to acknowledge receipt of my message when you go inside. We both have to follow standard operating protocols.” As softly as he'd entered, Richards melted into the shadows, leaving Sarah fuming.
“You can shove your message where the sun don't shine, Detective.”
##
Caleb pulled the four wheel drive up beneath the sparse shade of a melaleuca tree and checked the paper map. Sarah's route was marked in orange highlighter with green circles around her overnight stopovers. Two nights down. He checked the third green circle then looked around the unpeopled landscape and back at the map. This should be the right place.
Not that she would be thrilled to see him. A tongue lashing was more likely but he couldn't blame her. Caleb stretched and set about gathering firewood and unpacking the camp oven. After the rescue of Daniel Campbell, he had ver
y quickly surmised that Sarah had nothing to do with his kidnapping. But the night she'd spent in the lockup added to the fact Caleb was responsible for putting her father and brother in jail had given her a strong aversion to his company. And Sarah Tait had an independent streak a mile wide. He hoped a hot meal waiting at the end of a long day's ride would hold her long enough to listen to his plans.
But he wouldn't hold his breath.
He dug a shallow fire-pit and set a fire, before preparing a meal for the camp oven. Maybe the aroma of lamb casserole would soften Sarah's resistance to his company. While the meal cooked slowly and the sun baked the earth, he sat in a small patch of midday shade and read over the file notes on Sir Alain's disappearance.
The irony of his chief believing Sarah Tait was involved in any way with another kidnapping wasn't lost on him. Baby—horse; it didn't matter what the victim was. It was clear to him Sarah was a protector so why had Glen Kaiser flagged her as a suspect?
Caleb rested his elbows on the arms of the camp chair and leaned back as he thought over each interaction with Sarah. Angry, sassy, smart-mouthed.
Did she ever smile? There had been little for her to smile about in recent months. A twist of regret for the part he'd played in her sadness nudged him. Not for doing his job but that the crimes committed by her family had led to this tension in her. Shadows didn't suit her violet-blue eyes.
Violet-blue? Shit, when had he started waxing poetic?
He picked up the file and began reading where he'd left off.
##
Long shadows stretched across the hearth and a wisp of smoke curled lazily skywards from the fire-pit as Caleb watched Sarah ride into camp. She looked around, and a frown furrowed her brow as she dismounted.
“Anybody there?” She tied the reins loosely to a branch and unclipped her rifle before he moved into her line of sight.
“Good evening, Sarah. Dinner's almost ready. How was your day?”
“You again? I really must have done something wrong to be punished with your presence so often. I suppose there's no chance you won't follow if I move camp?” She cocked her head and skewered him with a stormy gaze.
“You know the answer to that.”
She turned her back and unsaddled Tabitha, seeing to the bay mare before setting up her swag on the upwind side of the fire.
It was a novel experience to be so studiously ignored. Caleb hunkered down beside the fire and scraped away the covering over his camp oven. He lifted the heavy pot from its bed of embers and set it carefully to one side. As he eased the lid up, the breeze changed direction.
Sarah swung around and sniffed the air, her attention fixed on the pot beside Caleb. “You made lamb casserole?”
“It's a good meal when you're expecting company. Pull up a pew.” He nodded at the canvas chairs leaning against a tree.
Sarah looked at the freeze-dried meal in her hands and shoved the packet back into her saddle bag. “Don't think you can sweet-talk me. But I won't say no to a hot meal.”
He'd counted on it. “There's beer and cask wine in the esky. Help yourself.”
Sarah stowed her gear, and fiddled with Tabitha's harness. When there was no more reason to delay, she strolled over to the blue and white esky and lifted the lid. “Which do you prefer?”
Progress, mate.
Caleb stifled his grin and lifted two large foil-wrapped potatoes from the pit and set them on a pair of battered enamel plates. They had held every camp meal his family had ever eaten but his mother would never use them again. He pushed down a wave of regret and realised Sarah was waiting for his answer.
“Beer, thanks.” He unfolded the camp chairs and set them near the fire. When she was seated, beer in holder and wary gaze on him, he handed her a plate and a fork and then took the other chair.
“Is cooking for your team standard operating procedure too?” She raised the can and drank before setting it in the drink holder of her camp chair and settling the plate on her lap.
“Depends if they've had a busier day than me. I can cover sixty kilometres in less time than you so cooking dinner seemed only fair. Besides, it makes reporting more—of a certainty.”
“Of course. And you suspect Susan James of being a horse thief?”
“Not at all. Unless there's something you haven't told me?” He raised an eyebrow and waited. Thin as the file on this case was, he knew more about Sarah Tait's friends and family than she would be happy with, and Susan James was not on his list of suspects. But he needed Sarah to observe and report everything.
Her lips twitched into the glimmer of a smile before she dug into her casserole and scooped up a forkful. “Food first.” Her lips wrapped around the fork and her eyes closed.
Caleb thought he heard a tiny moan of pleasure as she chewed with intense concentration. Her tongue touched the corner of her mouth before her throat rippled as she swallowed. Slowly, her eyes opened and she met his gaze.
“You can actually cook!”
“You sound surprised.”
“A little. It's”—she blinked and her gaze shuttered— “it's edible, although I was looking forward to a vegetable curry.”
“Damned with faint praise. Ah, well, it will fill a spot.” A tingle of something positive flowed through Caleb at the connection between them. Brief as it was, it pleased him to have given Sarah a moment of enjoyment. Sympathy for her situation, and respect for the way she faced gossips and snarky comments wouldn't distract from the operation. But his instructions could wait until dessert.
They ate while the light faded with only the sound of forks scraping over plates to fill the silence.
“There's more in the pot if you'd like seconds.”
She leaned back in her chair and patted her stomach. “That was elegant sufficiency as my mo—.” Pink flooded her face before she turned away.
“Your mother? My mum says that too. Must be a generational thing.” He served himself a single scoop from the pot to give her time to collect herself. Her mother's departure before the trials of her husband and eldest son must have been tough. Like a building under demolition, her family was imploding and nothing she could do would stop it. Something they had in common, but he wouldn't be sharing that. Not even to strengthen their tenuous connection. “Like another beer?”
“You wanted my report, didn't you? But why, if Susan isn't on your list of suspects?”
“Daily reports are important to chart the progress of an operation. Sometimes it's the smallest of details that cracks a case, but even if there is nothing of significance to report, my chief likes to cross the ‘t's and dot the ‘i's. So. . . Susan James?”
Perched on the edge of the chair, Sarah linked her fingers around her knees. Her chin rose a fraction as she met his gaze. “I'm sure you're aware she's a family friend, and know the details of her property. Like most farmers in the west, she's doing it tough. Drought has cut her herd to a fraction of what it was but she's surviving. Barely. On the equine news front, her favourite mare dropped a gorgeous foal four days ago. Jack Fox. I got naming rights.”
As she described the colt in detail her voice lost its neutral tone and her lips turned up in a smile that riveted his attention on her mouth. Without makeup and rumpled from her day's ride, she was still attractive. Maybe beautiful when she smiled that smile. Dragging his mind back to the job, he realised how much of a coup it was to have Sarah on his team. Her description of the colt was so thorough he could see the long-legged foal clearly in his mind. If anyone was hiding Sir Alain in their stables, she would recognise him.
“Well done, Sarah. Now we can relax and dig into some apple pie as a treat. It won't last beyond tomorrow night.”
“You've brought apple pie on a campout?”
“Present from my mum.”
“I didn't know she lived in town.”
“You don't know anything about me, Sarah. Why would you know that?”
Not a good idea, sharing personal stuff with a virtual stranger. Especially one who tou
ched his protective instincts.
He stood and strode to the esky and yanked it open. Why had he mentioned his mother to Sarah? Only a handful of mates knew he'd brought her to live with him a month ago. Modifying the granny flat attached to his house to accommodate her wheelchair had taken every spare moment and a few favours. But in lieu of a transfer to Townsville, it was the only solution to caring for her now his father was gone.
He stared into the esky. What was he looking for?
Sarah's shadow blocked the flickering light from the fire and plunged the inside of the esky into darkness. “Oops, sorry.” She moved to the other side and waited as he rummaged through the contents.
He closed a hand around the red and white plastic container, ripped the lid off, and offered the box to Sarah.
She selected a slice and cupped her other hand beneath as she bit into the pie. “Detective, thank your mother when you see her. This is seriously good pie.”
There it was again. A subtle softening in her voice at odds with the usual aggressive sarcasm she tossed his way. Food soothed the savage female as well as the male it seemed. The humour of the situation restored his equilibrium and he carried the pie box back to his chair by the fire. Second helpings of dessert went without saying.
“I'll tell her you enjoyed it. She loves cooking now—”
Dammit. What was it about Sarah that he forgot to be cautious. Revealing personal details just didn't happen in his world. He cleared his throat. “While the billy boils, there are a couple of important things you need to do.”
“More than keeping an eye out for Sir Alain, you mean?” She licked her fingers and wiped them on a handkerchief.
“Sarah, you're in a unique position not only to explore the stables but to chat with persons of concern.”
“Don't you call them suspects anymore?”
“Call them what you like but we need to hear everything they have to say concerning their horses and movement of stock around the state. I want you to wear a wire when you visit Selkirk tomorrow. Anything Ralph Jenner says to you may be evidence if we have it taped. You need to engage him in lots of talk about horses.”
Long Way Home (Hearts of the Outback Book 3) Page 2
