The Girl with the Broken Heart

by Lurlene McDaniel

  “Rescue horse work. Yes, Austin’s spoken of you.”

  Kenzie laid her hand on Austin’s, asked, “How are you?”

  “Doing good.”

  The air was thick with tension. She glanced between the two men. “What’s going on?”

  The older man caught Austin’s eye, took a step back, and offered a nod and a look that said, You have my permission to tell her.

  Still Austin hesitated, knowing that he was about to break her trust one final time. Kenzie hated lies. And liars. His head pounded. He longed to push the red button on the overdue respite from his pain, but instead looked up into Kenzie’s questioning blue eyes. “This is Dale Stinson, my boss.”

  Her eyebrows shot up. “Just how many bosses do you have?”

  “Detective Dale Stinson.” The man fingered a business card from a pocket. She took it. Black type. Official crest. “Go on,” Stinson said to Austin. “Give her the big picture and I’ll fill in the blanks.”

  Resigned, Austin said, “My name isn’t Austin Boyd. It’s Tyler Austin Buchanan. I never graduated from the University of Virginia.” He gritted his teeth, pain swamping him. He pushed the red button and felt the drowsiness start to set in.

  “So going to law school—that’s not true either?” Her stomach knotted.

  “No,” he said, grimacing, eyelids heavy. “I’m a cop with the Knoxville police force. Six years in.” And with that, Austin gave Stinson a pleading look, closed his eyes, and let the morphine take him.

  * * *

  —

  Kenzie watched Austin’s face go slack as he fell into the oblivion granted by the narcotic. Numbly, she tried to get her head around what he’d just told her. All that she’d known about him, all she’d believed—no, all she’d been told—had been untrue.

  “Miss?”

  She startled, having forgotten the man still standing next to her. A man with tired eyes and meaty jowls.

  “He’s going to be out for quite a while.” Stinson shoved his hands into the pockets of rumpled khaki slacks. “I know this is a shock, and you must have questions. There’s a consultation room down the hall, where doctors meet with patients’ family members. If you’ll walk down there with me, I’ll tell you everything I can about what’s going on.”

  She shouldered her purse, threw Austin a lingering look, and followed Stinson down the corridor. Her vision tunneled along the stretch of pale blue walls, red flooring, and patient room doors until they entered a cubbyhole of a space across from the nurses’ station. Modern furniture, including a two-person settee, two armchairs, and a side table with a lamp, filled the area, and a larger table divided the seating. Boxes of tissues sat on both surfaces. A room ready for tears. Kenzie squared her chin. No way would she break down and cry. She wanted the truth; she could handle it.

  She took the sofa, and Stinson grabbed a chair across from her. He steepled his fingers, caught her gaze, held on. “Kids were dying. Opioids. Five area high schools had lost seven teens in four months. The whole county was in an uproar, not to mention parents, grandparents, friends, neighbors, law enforcement. The deaths touched and broke a lot of families.”

  Kenzie was no stranger to the weight of grief. She’d fought it, wallowed in it, cursed it. The anguish clung like an unwelcome parasite, its tentacles sneaking up and snaking around her head and heart without warning. Working with wounded horses had certainly assuaged her pain and helped her focus on the things she could change, the things she could heal. And this summer, with Austin at her side, she’d felt a lessening, a distancing from Caroline’s suicide.

  Austin, who’d lied to her.

  Stinson blew out a breath. “At the time, we couldn’t understand how so many got hooked so fast. National addiction studies stated that it could take five doses to hook a person on heroin, but we were seeing junk that could hook in one hit. And worse, one hit that could kill.” He held up a finger for emphasis. “One. An epidemic—that’s what we called it.” Stinson ran a hand over his hair stubble. “I recognized a kid we booked one night for possession, also an addict. I asked him, ‘Why? You’re a champion wrestler who can write your own ticket to college!’ He told me, ‘The first time I used, I felt like I’d been kissed by an angel. Every time after, I was chasing that feeling. Never got it again.’ That kid’s life is ruined, Kenzie. May I call you Kenzie?”

  She bobbed her head, seeing a line of faceless teens, like the ones she’d known in high school. February. Cold. Headstones in a cemetery. She kept silent.

  Stinson eased back into the chair. “We didn’t know where the stuff was coming from, but we had to do something about it. We worked out an undercover scenario, to put somebody into those schools and find the sources. Tyler—Austin,” Stinson corrected himself, “he volunteered.”

  “Austin returned to high school?”

  Stinson shook his head. “The guy’s good, but he couldn’t pass for a high schooler.” For the first time since meeting him, Kenzie saw a half smile lift the corner of Stinson’s mouth. “Instead, we gave him a fast car. We used his middle name, made up his last name, gave him a legend—that’s a background story kids could believe—and we sent him to the rural back roads of our county, where serious illegal drag racing was happening every weekend. He took on all comers and consistently beat them. He became the guy the kids wanted to challenge. As cops, we backed off interfering with the racing. Oh, we made a few busts, just to make it look like we were still policing, but mostly we kept away and let Austin do his job.”

  Kenzie didn’t doubt it; she, too, had been one of the jobs he’d done well.

  “Those meets were also where so many of the drug deals were going down. An elaborate scheme where the producer distributed product to a few key sellers, who took it back to schools and resold it to others who resold it—you get the picture. It took a couple of months for Austin to work his way into their group, but the more races he won, the more he was respected. And trusted.”

  Kenzie recalled how she’d lectured Austin about gaining the trust of an abused horse. Only now did she understand how much of a pro he truly was. Her lips trembled, but she said nothing.

  “We were after the producer, of course, and that person was elusive. It took Austin five months undercover, but he found the source. Turned out to be locals, a family clan up in the mountains, brothers and cousins who used to cook and sell meth. But meth is volatile and dangerous, so they turned to opioids and mixed it with some chemistry of their own to enhance a high. Thing is, it was also lethal.” Stinson shifted in his seat wearily. “We raided their makeshift factory in April, jailed the whole lot of them, and charged them with every crime on the books.

  “We wanted to keep Austin’s part in the takedown secret, for his protection. We looked for a place to stash him for a few months, until things cooled off and we could bring him back to work in Knoxville again. We needed an out-of-the-way place, where he could hide in plain sight.”

  “Bellmeade,” she said. From the police’s perspective, living in rural farm country and working with a girl to rehabilitate neglected horses was a safe, ideal location. A perfect cover.

  “Exactly. He had a background with horses, and word came through channels that Jon Mercer was looking for someone to help with a summer horse rescue program.”

  “So did Jon know about Austin? Who he was hiring, and why?”

  “No. But the police chief in Windemere knew what we were trying to do and called Jon, talked up Austin.” A friend of a friend…word of mouth. A helper for Kenzie Caine, and safety for their man.

  Stinson’s big hands scrubbed his face, and he sank lower in the chair. “Then your father got involved. He insisted on meeting Austin, laid out his reasons why he wanted Austin to watch over you.”

  “That’s been explained to me. Please, go on.”

  “Austin and I talked it over. I couldn’t see any reason wh
y he shouldn’t agree, so he told your father he would. A win-win.”

  Simple. Cut and dried. Her mind flashed to the night of the stabbing. “But Austin wasn’t safe, was he?”

  “We hadn’t counted on a cousin not caught in the raid, a lone wolf, who made it his life’s mission to destroy the snitch who’d taken down his family and its lucrative business. Guy got his name from conversations with the kids, other drag racers.”

  She curled her legs on the sofa. “So how did he find Austin?”

  “Your act of kindness. The story in the paper.”

  “What story?”

  Stinson pinched the bridge of his nose and sighed. “Don’t people read newspapers anymore?” Her shrug was his answer. “The story your local paper printed about the little girl with cancer and the horse you and Austin gave her.”

  His words felt like a physical blow. That “act of kindness” had almost gotten Austin killed? Her stomach went queasy. “I never knew about the article.”

  Stinson shook his head. “After it was printed, it got spread around Facebook as a story to warm the heart.”

  He waited a beat. Finally, she said, “I don’t have a Facebook page.”

  “Our bad guy does. You two got a ton of likes and shares. He eventually read it and knew right where to look for Boyd. According to the perp’s confession, he came to Windemere on a Harley, rented a motel room, surveilled Bellmeade from across the road for days, waiting for the opportunity to get Austin alone. The perpetrator is a hunter. He’s patient and very careful. On Friday night, Austin went to the stable alone. The guy saw his opportunity and took it.”

  The horror of that night returned in vivid color. Kenzie buried her face in her hands. When she looked up again, she couldn’t hide the dampness in her eyes and reached for a tissue.

  “The guy snuck into the stable, aiming to stab Austin in the back. Austin turned just in time, so that makes the perp a bad dude and a coward. Face to face, one on one, Austin had a chance of taking the guy down because he’s been trained in hand-to-hand combat. The man’s been charged with attempted murder. He’ll go away for a long time.”

  Justice. Austin deserved it. “Thank you for talking to me.”

  “Do you have any other questions?”

  She had a thousand questions but couldn’t begin to put into words what was going through her head. The world from outside the consultation room intruded. Nurses’ soft chatter. Dings from elevators. Footfalls whisking along the hallway. Life goes on. “Not now.”

  “Then if you don’t mind, I’d like to sit with my man for a while. I know you came to be with him, but—”

  “I don’t mind. I’ll sit here for a bit, peek in on him before I leave.” She needed to process what Stinson had told her.

  The detective rose from the chair stiffly, stretched his back. At the open doorway, he paused. “I know you’ve heard a lot information tonight. You have my card, so if you want to talk again, call. Truth is, our world—a cop’s world—has a dark underbelly. It’s a tough job filled with people you’d rather not ever meet and a job that can go sideways in the blink of an eye.” He fisted his hand on the doorjamb. “If there’s any consolation for you in all this, trust me when I tell you that working with you and those horses this summer brought Austin a lot of happiness.” Kenzie quickly looked down, her cheeks flushed with embarrassment. “Just for the record, Austin ‘Boyd’ Buchanan is one of the finest young cops I’ve ever worked with.”

  * * *

  —

  Much later, Kenzie checked on Austin, still sleeping soundly. She ran the back of her hand over his scratchy dark stubble of beard, bent over the bed, and kissed his forehead, torn between what she desired and the risks that she faced over having it.

  She left the hospital. Night had fallen, and mercury lights lit the dark. She climbed into her SUV and rested her forehead on the steering wheel, her mind warring with her heart about all she’d heard, remembered, known, felt, and experienced over the past several months. Too much! Loss was loss, no matter the circumstances. A sister. A summer. A man she desired. Mended horses. Broken dreams. What was left for her?

  Grabbing her phone, Kenzie did something unusual for her and shot a text to Lani.

  Will you let me know when the hospital releases him?

  Of course I will, Lani replied.

  Just remember, I’m fifty miles away. I’ll need time to drive over.

  Not a problem. Our staff knows how to slow-walk paperwork. I’ll put out the word.

  Satisfied, Kenzie dropped the phone into her bag, started the engine, exited the parking lot, and drove west, determined to fulfill a promise she’d made on the day her summer illusions had begun to unravel. Kenzie Caine went home.

  * * *

  —

  Days later, Kenzie leaned against the doorway of Austin’s room, watching as he sat on the side of his bed in jeans, barefoot and struggling to pull a shirt over his head. An Ace bandage circled his torso, and a clean new dressing covered the wound in his chest. Lifting his arms was proving painful. “Want some help?”

  Startled, he eased the tee onto his lap. He hadn’t seen her since the evening Stinson had talked to her. When Austin had been alert enough to ask his boss how she’d received the information, the man had said, “She listened, asked a few questions, but that’s about it.” The fact that Austin hadn’t heard from Kenzie for days told him she’d washed her hands of him. During his five-day stay, he’d had several visitors, but not Kenzie. Yet now, here she was in front of him, her unbound hair, spilling in a silver-gold tumble over her shoulders.

  He’d showered and shaved earlier, and smelled of antiseptic hospital soap. “The broken ribs are the worst part, because I can’t bend in the middle.” He was feeling helpless and sounded apologetic.

  “Let me. Please.” Taking the T-shirt, she stretched the neck hole, pulled it over his head, and gently worked both his arms through the sleeves and brought the shirt down his body.

  “Thanks.” He raked a hand through his tousled shaggy hair, darker now, less sun-streaked. “Um, why are you here?”

  “I heard you were escaping today.”

  “How?”

  “Friends in high places.”

  Lani. She’d stopped by his room a couple of times, full of cheer. “Kenzie, you’re not supposed—” He stopped, knowing he’d said too much.

  “To be near you?” she finished. “Are you talking about my father’s rant when you were lying in this hospital bed, barely conscious and in pain?” She rolled her eyes. “I know all about it. Detective Stinson came to the house, and the three of us had a talk. My dad’s sorry for what he said and how he said it. He’ll get around to telling you himself at some point.”

  “He was concerned for you. A father’s prerogative.” Austin realized he was staring at her like a hungry vagrant. He cleared his throat, fumbled around on the bed for his hospital “goodie bag” of pills and pamphlets and written instructions. He needed to keep the conversation informative, devoid of his feelings for her. “Jon’s scheduled to pick me up today. He brought these clothes yesterday and said I could stay at the bunkhouse as long as necessary. I have a checkup in ten days, but after that, I expect to be cleared for duty. I’m supposed to call Jon when I’m ready to leave, but the paperwork is moving at the speed of a glacier.” He glanced up to see the corner of Kenzie’s mouth lift. “Can’t figure out what’s taking so long. Stinson gave them all department insurance info days ago, and I signed the release forms.”

  “Shoes and socks?” she asked, ignoring his grumbling.

  “On the chair.”

  Kenzie grabbed the clean socks, saw his familiar work boots on the floor beneath the chair, felt a hitch in her breath. “Let me do this.”

  He cupped his hands over hers, holding the socks. “Kenzie, please…stop it.”

  “You’re hurt, Austin. I wan
t to help.”

  His eyes, green as the sea in the room’s light, bore into hers. “I appreciate that, but I’m not one of your rescue horses.”

  Her face flushed. “Of course not. But you’re about as stubborn.” She regained possession of the socks, bent her knee, and thrust her jeans-clad thigh forward. “Put your foot here, and let me work the end over your toes. If it will make you feel manly, you can pull it up.”

  “You sure are bossy.” He grinned, placed his foot flat against the length of her upper leg.

  While she worked, first with one foot, then the other, she told him, “Sarah adopted Blue. Ciana said Sarah picked him up three days ago. I think the two of them are a fine fit. They need one another, you know.” Kenzie’s heartbeat raced as she said the words.

  Austin lowered his foot, reached out, lifted her chin. Her gaze, so clear and deep blue, held his. Had she sent him a message? He didn’t want to assume anything. Instead, he changed the subject. “Why aren’t you in classes?”

  “Change of plans. I’m waiting out this semester and living at home through the Christmas holidays. I’ll return to Vanderbilt full-time in January. Meanwhile, I’m taking a few courses online.”

  “What changed your mind?”

  “Mom. She asked me and Dad to go with her to her therapist. She insists we’ll all benefit from family counseling. So we’re going. These last months have been hard for all of us.”

  Austin tried to imagine a man like Avery agreeing to attend therapy sessions. A man could do a lot of things for someone he loves. “It’s a smart move. Healing takes work. And time.”

  “Ready to roll?” A hefty male nurse pushed a wheelchair into the room.

  Austin tapped his forehead. “Ah! I haven’t called Jon yet.”