by Karis Walsh
Rachel walked past Don’s car and over to Fancy’s stall. She peeked over the door and saw Don sitting on a folding chair. Fancy had her hoof in a bucket of steaming water, and her head was low and resting next to Don’s knee. He was reading out loud from a gun magazine, and Rachel recognized the low and soothing lilt she used around the horses in his voice. The pinto dozed quietly while Don read an article debating whether to use the Isosceles or Weaver stance while shooting.
Rachel backed away before Don saw her. She walked back to her place, quietly closing the yard’s gate behind her. When Don had so vehemently refused to switch from Fancy to Ranger, Rachel had assumed his argument was with her. But maybe—and shockingly—Don’s reluctance hadn’t been about Rachel. Maybe he actually liked his horse, his crazy little mare. Rachel had heard it in his voice this morning when he thought she was seriously hurt, and it was there again as he sat near her, doing his best to help her.
Rachel glanced back toward the cluttered arena and the quiet barn before she climbed the stairs to her apartment. She and Cal were desperately trying to teach the officers how to handle the sounds and sights they’d be exposed to on the Fourth. But the bond between horse and rider—and between the members of the unit—were the only things they couldn’t teach or force. But they could mean the difference between life and death when the team was on the streets.
Rachel got a beer out of her fridge and settled in her recliner. Her own situation wasn’t any better than it had been this morning, but she felt a curious sense of relief. Don and Fancy, Billie and Clark and their horses. They had a chance. She had helped, but they were the ones who were creating partnerships. Suddenly her own problems seemed less stressful. She missed feeling like part of the department, and her body still ached for Cal’s touch, but the unit would be okay. And that was all that mattered.
Chapter Thirteen
Rachel jogged down the road and past the barrier blocking the park’s entrance. Her rubber soles made a slapping sound on the pavement, but the noise was swallowed up by the night as she veered onto the grass, and then onto a dirt path. Sunday night. She had been tossing in her bed and had finally given up on sleep. It wasn’t even midnight yet, but she needed to get out of her apartment, start her run early. She’d see Cal tomorrow, at the unit’s afternoon lesson, and she hoped she could get through the encounter with some dignity intact. She had offered herself to Cal and had been rejected, but she had to act as if she didn’t care. Untouched and unfazed. Untroubled by constant thoughts and dreams of Cal naked and moaning and calling her name.
Rachel sped up as she passed the upper edge of the zoo parking lot. She had worked herself and her team hard, fueled not only by the desire to train them properly, but also by the need to distract herself. She had schooled the horses every morning, riding through drills designed to increase their manageability and agility. Then she had worked with the team in the afternoon as they rode the horses around flares, under tarps, and over wooden planks. Fancy was on stall rest at least until the farrier arrived on Tuesday, but Don could continue most of the desensitization exercises in her stall. They’d be heading onto the roads and trails of the park this week, riding among the families and bike riders and cars in the park. Rachel hoped she had done enough to keep them—and everyone around them—safe.
Her worry drove her to run faster than usual. She took long, deep breaths of night air. The park seemed so still, she almost felt as if she couldn’t pull enough oxygen into her lungs. The usual owls and raccoons were eerily silent, and she changed routes after a short spurt through the forest. Instead of going farther along the Drive, she ran down the sloped parking lot of Owen Beach, nearly out of control as she let gravity increase her already brisk pace. She ran along the water, glad to have the liquid sound of the lapping waves as an accompaniment to her quiet footfalls. And cool, briny sea air to breathe. And…
Smoke. Rachel stopped running and wrinkled her nose as she inhaled, turning around as she tried to pinpoint the source of the smell. It was coming from the southeast. Where her apartment was. Where the horses were. She was running again, flying past the marina and the ferry dock, when she heard a shrill neigh echo along the bluff.
She could see the flames as soon as she turned onto the road leading toward the stable yard from the ferry landing. Her lungs burned from the steep road, the fast pace she had set earlier, the panic as she watched flames curl and leap across the roof of the barn. She ran along the fence line, clawing at the gate card she always wore around her neck when she was in the park, but the gate was propped slightly open when she reached it. She ran toward the stables, fighting to keep her head while the horses screamed from their stalls.
The door to the feed room was open, and Rachel could barely make out the outline of what looked like the box of flares as it burned. She knew they had been stored far from the barn, on the other side of the parking lot in a small maintenance shed. But she couldn’t stop to wonder who had moved them into the room filled with dry hay and shavings. She recognized Bandit’s deeper neigh among the others and wrestled with a momentary urge to rescue him first. But Ranger’s stall was closest to the fire source, so she went straight to him. She grabbed his halter and lead rope from the hook outside his stall and pulled off her T-shirt. She had to protect her hands with the shirt as she opened the hot metal latch on his door.
Rachel eased into the stall and toward the tall chestnut. He cowered near the back wall, occasionally half rearing in fright. Rachel kept her voice calm but loud enough to register over the crackling of the fire. She barely had buckled his halter when the gelding reared again, tossing her against the side of the stall. She ignored the pain in her shoulder and lunged for Ranger’s lead rope, quickly draping her shirt over his eyes and tucking the edges under his halter. Once he was temporarily blinded, he settled enough for her to urge him out of the stall and across the yard. She tied him to the chain-link fence and ran back to the barn.
The acrid smell of burning diesel hit her as she entered Sitka’s stall. An accelerant. The flames were rolling across the roof of the barn, traveling faster than they normally would. She forced her hands and voice to stay steady as she approached the bay gelding who was shaking with fright in a corner of his stall. A section of the roof fell next to them, and she paused to stomp out the fire as it quickly spread through the clean shavings. The whole barn was a pile of kindling waiting to erupt in flames. She haltered Sitka and wrapped the shirt over his face. He almost ran her over as she trotted him out the door and over to where Ranger was tied.
Cal’s three flares hadn’t prepared the horses for this. They pulled against the fence, and the rattling chain link combined with their loud screams to fill the night with terror. Rachel felt as if she was pushing through quicksand to get back to the barn and into Fancy’s stall. The mare, sore and reluctant to walk on a good day, planted her hooves and refused to move out from the perceived safety of her stall. Rachel used the end of her lead rope to smack the pinto’s hindquarters, but she stubbornly put her ears back and locked her legs. Rachel swore and pulled, until finally a small chunk of glowing wood fell from the burning roof and landed on the mare’s back. She dove through the door, nearly knocking Rachel to the ground, and limped over to the two geldings.
Rachel almost cried in relief when she finally could run to Bandit’s stall, the last in the line. She could hear sirens in the distance, but she didn’t have time to wait for help. Bandit’s entire doorframe was on fire, but the gelding came toward her when he heard her frantic voice. Even though she could feel his tremors as she slipped on his halter and covered his eyes with her smudged shirt, he unhesitatingly followed her through the ring of flames like a circus horse.
The first fire truck pulled into the lot while Rachel was tying Bandit next to Fancy. She leaned against the fence and slid down until she was sitting on the ground, close to Bandit but safe from his restless hooves. The metal diamonds dug into her back where it was unprotected by anything but her sports bra. She had p
ulled her shirt off Bandit’s face and tossed it aside when they got to the fence, but she was too weary to look for it.
Rachel watched numbly as the crews got organized and began to fight the fire. She was sure it had been started in the feed room, with the flares, and it had spread quickly over the stalls. The short side of the L-shaped barn, where the tack room and office were, looked fairly undamaged. Someone had wanted to hurt the horses. And if Rachel hadn’t been out in the park, they probably would have succeeded. She wiped a sweaty hand across her forehead, unable to shake the sensation of heat and destructive energy from the flames even though she was too far away to feel them anymore.
One of the firemen came over and draped a blanket over her shoulders. “Hey, Rachel,” he said, shining his flashlight over her singed arms, “you did good, getting all the horses out. Are you injured anywhere?”
“I’m fine, um, Mark,” she said, finally recalling his name. She had been on plenty of calls with him in the past, but she was having trouble doing anything but stare at the burning barn. “I bumped my shoulder in one of the stalls, but I can move it.”
She rotated her shoulder to prove it was all right and barely hid her wince as a stab of pain shot across her collarbone. She stopped moving it.
Mark laughed as he gently probed around her shoulder. “Yeah, didn’t look like that hurt at all. It’s not dislocated, and nothing seems to be broken. Probably a deep bruise, but you’ll need to get to a hospital and get checked out.”
“I will,” she promised. Tomorrow. Or the next day. If it still hurt.
Mark went back to the fire, and suddenly Clark was standing by Rachel. He looked pale and shaken.
“I had my radio on,” he said. “I heard the call and…I thought I’d get here and find all the horses were still…”
He dropped next to her with a thump. “I checked Sitka while Mark was here with you. He has a couple of singed spots, but he’s okay. He’s really okay.” Clark repeated himself before he put a hand on Rachel’s shoulder and squeezed. Then he clasped his hands between his bent knees. “I can’t believe you got them all out. How’d you get here so fast? Do you know what happened?”
“I was out jogging,” she said, out of habit omitting the part about being in the park after it closed, even though she doubted he’d give a damn about the broken rule. “I smelled smoke, and then I heard the horses neighing. The gate was open.” She told him about the box of flares.
“Billie got a few out of the shed yesterday, but she didn’t move the box. I can’t believe anyone would do this on purpose.”
Rachel shrugged out of the blanket, suddenly hot and agitated. She had been scared, and then numb. Now she needed to get moving. “Well, someone poured diesel in the barn. I could smell it. And the box of flares was moved into the feed room. Doesn’t sound like an accident to me.” She stood up. “I’ve got to get these horses out of here. Can you unlock the trailer while I go get my truck?”
“Of course. Where will we take them?”
“Not we.” There were already a couple of patrol officers arriving on the scene, and she had a feeling Hargrove would be along any minute. “I’ll take them to Cal’s farm. I need you to stay here and handle the paperwork. I don’t feel up to answering a ton of questions. Tell Hargrove I’ll be back in the morning.”
Clark nodded and moved toward the trailer. Rachel jogged across the street to get her truck. She had the key and wallet in the pockets of her shorts, so she didn’t bother going upstairs. She wanted to get away from the smell of smoke. Get the horses safely to a clean barn and herself safely out of the clutches of Lieutenant Hargrove.
Chapter Fourteen
Rachel called Cal as she drove. The horses had seemed as anxious as Rachel to be on the road, and she and Clark had gotten them loaded without any trouble. Cal’s voice sounded sleepy and then shocked on the phone, and she assured Rachel they’d have stalls ready by the time she arrived. Rachel ended the call and wondered if Cal had been in bed with someone when she answered. Tangled in the sheets, tangled together. Exhausted by a night of sex.
Forget it. It’s not important. But Rachel would rather contemplate Cal’s love life than face what was important. Someone had tried to kill her horses. She pulled the trailer slowly to the shoulder of the road and idled there for a few minutes, her arms wrapped around her shivering body. She still only wore her shorts and sports bra, but she wasn’t cold. She was experiencing a normal physiological response, like she’d seen in so many other people she dealt with as a cop. She recognized the moment when the immediate threat had disappeared, but the reality began to settle in. She understood the stages as a victim processed an event like this, but understanding it didn’t make the anxiety and tremors go away.
Rachel pulled back onto the deserted highway leading to Cal’s farm. She needed to talk this out, figure out what was going on, but first she had to get the horses settled. She heard a thud as one of them kicked the trailer when she accelerated. She was so relieved to have them alive and ornery and kicking. Clark had promised to call Billie and Don in case they heard about the fire and panicked about the horses.
Rachel parked the trailer in front of the brightly lit barn, and a group of people led by two dogs came out before she had even turned off her ignition. Cal. With her mother, Jack, and two men and a woman Rachel didn’t recognize.
Cal had been pacing since she got Rachel’s call. A fire. The horses. Rachel was coming. She had appreciated her mother’s overbearing nature for once as Cecilia calmly took charge of the situation and helped the grooms fill four empty stalls with deep beds of shavings and fresh water and hay. Cal had been sound asleep, her usual dreams of Rachel even more intense than usual because she had been excited and nervous to see her this afternoon. Rachel had been vague about the fire on the phone, and Cal had been half-asleep and unprepared to question her, but now she was wide awake and concerned. How could a fire have started in the brand-new barn?
Rachel came around the front of her truck, and Cal swore silently. Rachel’s arms and face were covered with soot and nasty red welts. Her right arm was bruised from the shoulder all the way to her elbow. But her expression got to Cal more than the surface marks. She looked exhausted, haunted, and Cal stepped forward and grabbed her in a big hug, taking care to avoid her injured arm. Rachel hugged her back, burying her face in the crook of Cal’s neck.
Cal rubbed her hand over Rachel’s back, relieved to have her close. The sharp crack of a horse’s hoof against the trailer made her step back with a laugh.
“They sound impatient. Are any of the horses injured?”
Rachel shook her head. “Only a few small burns from drifting embers. We were lucky.”
Cal followed her to the back of the trailer where Jack and Craig were already lowering the ramp. Yes, lucky. What horse owner didn’t dread barn fires? And Cal felt as close to these mismatched horses as she felt to her own. She would have hated losing any one of them. And Rachel. What if she had been seriously injured, or worse, as she ran into the burning barn with no regard for her own safety? Cal was sure, without a doubt, Rachel hadn’t even considered herself for one moment as she pulled the horses out of the barn.
Cal’s mother had set up a mini triage center in the aisle, and as each groom led a horse into the barn she inspected it from head to hoof and began treating the minor burns. Rachel stood to one side, pointing out singe marks, and Cal slipped her arm around Rachel’s waist.
“Come on, Rach,” she said. “You can take a shower at my place, and I’ll make you something to drink.”
“No,” Rachel said as she pulled weakly out of Cal’s grasp. “I need to take care of the horses, and then I should go home—”
“Nonsense,” said Cecilia. “We’ll take good care of your animals. You go with Cal. You need to wash those burns and get some ointment on them.”
“But Fancy has a stone bruise, so she’s lame. And she has a burn near her withers,” Rachel protested, although she looked ready to drop at any
moment.
“Child, I’ve been taking care of horses since before you were born. Go.”
No one disobeyed when Cecilia gave a direct order. Not even Rachel. She went over to Bandit, where Dana was applying some cream to a scraped foreleg, and wrapped her arms around his neck in a hug. She came back to Cal, but still seemed reluctant to leave.
“Thank you for doing all this,” she said. “The department will pay board for—”
“Come on, Rachel,” Cal said.
“Go!” Cecilia ordered at the same time. “Goodness, what kind of a monster would I be if I didn’t let—”
Cal left while her mother was still talking. She towed a now-unresisting Rachel around the barn and down a dark path to her little bungalow with Tar and Feathers scampering ahead of them. She had moved out of the main house when she was eighteen, and she loved the privacy of her secluded home so much she rarely even brought girlfriends there, preferring to have her separate space. The thought of Rachel showering there, sleeping there, was surprisingly okay.
Maybe a little too okay. Cal kept Rachel’s hand in her own as she walked her through the house and into the bathroom. It was decorated in greens and browns, with horses running across the shower curtain. Cal let go of Rachel and opened a cabinet. She chose a forest-green towel for Rachel—perfect with her eyes—and draped it over the shower rod.
“I’ll leave some clothes on the counter,” Cal said, backing out of the bathroom and pulling Feathers with her by the collar. She lingered in the bedroom, allegedly giving Rachel some time alone to strip and get in the shower before she came back in with a pile of soft sweats and shirts. But she really needed the time to gather her willpower. She would leave the clothes and go into the kitchen. Not into the shower stall. Make Rachel a drink instead of making her come. She was so relieved to have her there and safe, she didn’t want to let Rachel out of her sight or beyond her touch. But even more, she had missed Rachel this weekend. Had gone over and over their little scene from last week, but in her imagination she always said yes when Rachel invited her back to the apartment.
