Red Thunder Reckoning

by Sylvie Kurtz

  Ellen fussed with the inhalation station they’d set up for the horse. Breathing deeply, she took in a bracing whiff of eucalyptus. Still the remembered feel of him burned against her, still the bone-deep pulse of him thrummed inside her, still her heart struggled to slow its runaway pace. What must he think of her?

  “The water’s cold,” she said. “I’d better get a refill.”

  Mind lost somewhere between the heat of his kiss and the brute force of her reaction to it, she grabbed for the bucket. Her hand missed, knocking it over and sloshing water all over Kevin’s shirt and jeans.

  He bent down to pick up the empty bucket. One hand clutched around the handle, he lifted it and gave a rusty chuckle. “Since I’m already wet, why don’t I take care of it?”

  Face burning hot, she couldn’t quite meet his gaze. Her useless fingers twisted in front of her. Her tongue tangled in a knot. “Sure.”

  She’d made a right fool of herself. Kissing a ranch hand. What had she been thinking?

  As he walked out the stall, she wrapped one arm around her quivering stomach, then touched her lips with two fingers. She could still feel the throb of his kiss. Shivering, she hitched in a shaky breath.

  God help her, she wanted more.

  She couldn’t explain why her natural reluctance to being touched seemed to fly out the window when Kevin was around. All she knew was that she wanted to be near him even now when her brashness had him seeking escape.

  She followed him to the tack room where his bed was set up. A layer of muddy slime still coated the floor. The blankets on the cot hung soaked from the sides. He couldn’t sleep here tonight. “You can move your stuff to the guest room in the house.”

  “I’ll stay with Calliope tonight. Why don’t you go in and get some rest? Tomorrow’s going to be a long day.”

  He had his back turned to her and was taking off his wet T-shirt. The Xs and zigzags of anger carved on his back, the fading bruise on his shoulder, brought reality back to life. He’d been hurt badly. She could understand the self-preservation instinct to avoid more pain. And what could she honestly offer him when she was still in love with a dead man? Without thinking, she reached out and touched the marks on his back. “I’m sorry.”

  He flinched as if she’d burned him and whirled to face her.

  She rubbed one wrist with the opposite hand and shifted her weight from one foot to the other. “I—I didn’t mean to startle you. I—I just—”

  “It’s really not a good idea for you to stay here right now.”

  At the tightness in his voice, she looked up. He held the wet T-shirt tight in both hands. The muscles of his chest were taut as if on guard. In his eyes, she’d expected to see hurt or anger. Instead, attraction glimmered, hot and strong, and oh, so primal. The fierceness of it took her breath away. The heat of it shot an arrow straight to her core. Her body answered without her permission, softening, lubricating…yearning.

  “I, uh.” She licked her lips, trying to find thoughts in the strong stir of desire engulfing her mind, her body, her senses. “I wanted to apologize.”

  “You already have.”

  “I thought…”

  “What?” He cocked his head. With a finger he reached out and stroked her cheek. “I’m not what you need.”

  Fight sprang up from old hurts. Was another man trying to tell her what was best for her? “What do you know about me or what I need?”

  “You seem like the type of woman who’d want a fairy tale—a prince who’d come home every night, two point five kids and a dog. Not a one-night stand with a drifter.”

  “You’re wrong. About the fantasy, I mean.”

  “Am I?”

  She’d always thought of black as cold, but Kevin’s eyes were the hottest things she’d ever seen as he stepped closer. With a finger, he stroked the crooked fall of a curl, skimmed her cheek. A delicious tremor shivered down her spine, making her head light, her blood warm, her body scream for release.

  “Tell me the truth,” he crooned as if she were one of the horses. “Weren’t those the dreams that filled your head as a little girl?”

  “I had big dreams once.” Her voice croaked from the dryness of her throat. Once, she was going to be a vet. She was going to marry Kyle. Together they were going to raise horses and children and live happily ever after. “Dreams change.”

  “And now?” His breath whispered against her lobe, sending a shower of delight fluttering through her. “What do you want?”

  She wanted to lie, to tell him a pretty tale to prove him wrong, but could think of nothing but the truth. “I’m not sure what I want.”

  He looked around. “Seems like you’re on your way to something solid.”

  “Maybe.” She scanned the barn. The walls were good and strong. Her house was the home she and Kyle had once imagined. The land was rich enough to support her horses. They weren’t the purebreds of her childhood dreams, but they needed her. And she needed them. Wasn’t that what was important? “When I heard about Luci, I got mad. I, I…”

  She had the urge to tell him everything about Kyle and Garth and the lost years, but even a man who wore his scars on the outside for all the world to see might not understand the helplessness of fifteen years without a voice.

  “She needed a home, so you gave her one.”

  The gentleness of his voice constricted her throat. “Yes.”

  “You have a good heart, Ellen Paxton. Don’t waste it on a man who has none.”

  Even as he spoke, she saw the hard hammer beat in his chest. She placed a hand, fingers splayed against it. He sucked in a breath. The heat of him seeped through her palm. “You’re wrong. You have a generous heart. Your dog knows it. The horses know it. Maybe one day, you’ll figure it out and stop running away.”

  He pulled her hand from his chest. She felt the rip of the connection and cringed. “Sometimes the idea of things is better than the reality.”

  “And sometimes reality can surprise you.” Not knowing what to do with her bereft hand, she tugged at the rubber band holding the end of her flyaway braid. “My behavior earlier was inappropriate. I’m not looking for…anything.”

  “I didn’t think you were.” He reached into his duffel bag for a clean shirt. “But I’m human and I need a bit of space now.”

  “Oh, okay, then. As long as we understand each other.”

  He gave a curt nod. “I’ll heat the water.”

  “Thank you.”

  As she strode away, the heels of her boots clicking on the concrete aisle, she muttered a curse. She’d handled this all wrong. Raking a hand through her hair, she tore apart the loosened braid and walked back to Calliope. She sat in the thick nest of wood shavings in the stall and cuddled up to Blue. But even hiding here couldn’t dispel her awareness of Kevin.

  His every movement in the tack room brought pictures of him into her mind. Not just of his body so lean and sexy, and his eyes so dark and hungry, but of his strength, of his gentleness, of his seemingly tireless energy. Everything about him was wrong for her. But her body, for so long stiff and hard like forgotten clay, had found a new malleability under his gaze, and wanted to explore this new feeling of aliveness.

  “The last thing I need is to make a fool of myself over him.” When the horses left, so would he. Unless she managed to keep them… She growled and shook her head. No, she wasn’t ready for that. Not with so many unresolved feelings still trapped inside her.

  She reached for Blue’s head and scratched behind his ear. He plopped his head on her thigh and looked up at her with soulful eyes.

  “It’s too complicated,” she told the dog.

  Her anger, her guilt, her enduring love for Kyle still hid in a corner of her mind. Part of her feared opening herself to the sorrow she’d find there. Part of her knew she had to let go.

  Twenty minutes later, Kevin entered the stall and set the steaming bucket of water he carried onto the upturned garbage can. The scent of eucalyptus wafted on the visible waves of steam.
Speaking in low, sandy tones, he wrapped a clean towel around Calliope’s nose and encouraged her to breathe deeply.

  Watching him murmur to the horse, she suddenly knew what it was about him that disturbed her so much. Her hand stilled on the dog’s head. Her chest tightened. Her heart melted.

  This was the man Kyle could have grown into given time and love.

  Chapter Nine

  The sound of an engine woke Kevin from a fitful sleep filled with disturbing dreams of cutting rocks and raging rivers and wild lovemaking. Remembering the reason for his stiff back and the crick in his neck took him a minute. He’d fallen asleep sitting in Calliope’s stall while he was supposed to keep an eye on the horse.

  Through slitted eyes, he focused on the mare. She was nibbling hay from the net. Her sides weren’t heaving. Her breathing was normal. She was going to be all right. Relief slumped through him. Losing the mare would have hurt Ellen too much.

  Then he became aware of the weight on his shoulder, of the hair tickling the side of his neck, of the heat molding his body so perfectly it might have been a blanket. Ellen. He couldn’t remember sitting so close to her. He’d argued long and hard with her to go back to the house and get a decent night’s sleep. One of them should. And with the memory of her tender kiss stirring his blood into chaos, he doubted he’d get one.

  There’d always been something addictive about the feel of Ellen. He should have known one kiss wouldn’t be enough. He wanted more, but he didn’t want to frighten her with the fierceness of his need. So he’d savored what she was willing to offer. Now he’d have to keep his distance, because her guard would surely catch up with her impulse. Her regret would make things awkward and he wasn’t ready to leave yet. Not until Bancroft was out of her life and she was out of danger.

  The engine noise came closer. Blue didn’t stir from Ellen’s side. Kevin scowled. Had they missed morning feed? He looked out the window. No, the sky was too dark. Gently, reluctantly, he eased Ellen from his side and settled her into the soft bedding. She mumbled something in her sleep. It sounded like “Kyle” and had him holding his breath for a second. But she didn’t wake. As he went by the feed room, he glanced at the clock by the feed bins. Five-thirty. Who would visit at such a time?

  At the barn door, he paused and watched the navy Double B truck splash through puddles and halt before him. Rain pelted against the barn’s tin roof in drowsy splats. Catching sight of him, Luci and C.C. left the shelter of the shed and trotted to the gate, expecting breakfast.

  “What are you doing here?” he asked as Bancroft and his wife exited the truck.

  “We’ve come to check on the horses.” The wife’s smile reminded him of a robot playing at feeling. “The front gate was open.”

  The front gate was always locked. “What happened to Dr. Warner?”

  “His wife is ill. He’s with her. I’ll be collecting the data today.”

  Collecting the data? There was a coldness to the woman that didn’t sit well with Kevin.

  Bancroft crammed a hat onto his head and hiked the collar of his rain duster over his thick neck. “We don’t owe you an explanation. Get on with it, Tessa. I don’t have all day for this.”

  “Of course, sugar. I’ll be done in half an hour if you’d rather wait in the truck.”

  Bancroft stuffed himself back into the truck’s cab and reached for a steaming mug of something. Tessa stalked into the barn as if she owned it. At least today she’d dressed the part of the equestrienne—somewhat. Paddock boots covered her feet. Tight riding jeans showed every well-toned curve from hip to calf. A brown silk blouse, wet from the rain, clung transparently to her, leaving nothing to his imagination.

  “Why are most of your stalls empty?” She extracted what looked like a blue accounting book from the black bag she carried.

  Wood shavings sticking to her hair, Ellen silently questioned him over Calliope’s stall door. He raised one shoulder and let it drop.

  “Because someone tampered with the watering system yesterday and the stalls are drying out.”

  She shoved the book back in the bag. “I’ll call for my van then, and take the horses home.”

  He shook his head. “Afraid not. The judge has already been by to see the damage and approved of the care they’re getting. You’ll have to wait.”

  Without looking at him, Tessa dug the book back out and turned the pages. Her jaw tightened. Her teeth seemed to grind in slow circles while she tamped down her anger. “Please fetch the horses for me.”

  He grabbed a halter and lead rope from the tack room and handed them to her. She held them by two fingers as if she didn’t understand their use. “You want ’em, you get ’em. I’ve got chores to do.”

  Her features pinched. “Do I need to get my husband?”

  “If he wants to help, he’s welcome.”

  She thrust the halter at him. “Have Ms. Paxton fetch them.”

  “She’s busy tending to one of your horses who’s come down with pneumonia.”

  “Pneumonia?” Tessa’s high-and-mighty eyebrows curved into a reproachful arch. “How could she let that happen?”

  Like you don’t know. “You can thank whoever flooded the barn for that.”

  “I’ll talk to the judge.”

  “Knock yourself out. He already knows she’s too sick to move.”

  Kevin turned away and headed to the feed room where he noisily set about mixing the morning rations. Interesting that the horse’s condition held no concern for her other than a way to fault Ellen or get them back in her clutches. From the corner of his eye, he saw Tessa steam, nostrils flaring like a Thoroughbred filly after a race. But he’d left her no choice. If she wanted the horses to “collect her data,” she’d have to get them herself. How important was the data to her? What information did it give her?

  Tessa bent down and replaced the book in the black bag. When she exited the barn, he grabbed a bucket of feed and headed down the aisle. Ellen hurried out of Calliope’s stall, trapping Blue inside. The dog scratched at the door.

  “We don’t have long,” Kevin said, examining the bag. Tessa had left the zipper just so, cracked open three-quarters of an inch, a wood shaving balanced on the pull, an “S” crease in the leather on the side. “Look out front and make sure Bancroft doesn’t surprise us.”

  Ellen went to her post and laughed. “This you should see.”

  Crouching beside the bag, he removed the shaving and carefully slid the zipper open. “What?”

  “Bancroft singing along with the radio.”

  Chuckling, Kevin extracted the book. “Any good?”

  “A lovely froglike bass.”

  The paddock gate squealed a warning. Thank God he hadn’t gotten around to oiling it yet. Kevin grabbed the knife from his pocket and cut a page as close to the binding as he could. He shoved the paper in his back pocket, hiking the hem of his T-shirt out to cover the bulge. Then he returned the book to the bag, the zipper to the three-quarter-inch mark, made sure to crease the “S” and balanced the shaving as he’d found it.

  By the time Titan’s hooves clopped onto the aisle, Kevin was in Calliope’s stall and Ellen was stuffing hay nets in the feed room.

  A soaked Tessa took pulse, respiration and temperature readings and made entries into her mysterious protocol book. She scratched notes on a pad and handed them to Ellen.

  “I’ve altered their feed rations,” Tessa said. “Make sure you see to the changes. It’s important they’re fed the grain we sent.”

  Ellen glanced at the new schedule. “Why?”

  Tessa huffed with barely suppressed impatience. “Because it’s balanced specifically for their needs. You are harming them by feeding them ordinary oats. Is that what you really want?”

  “Of course not.” A pang of worry creased Ellen’s forehead. Kevin wanted to shake Tessa for deliberately stabbing at Ellen’s weakness.

  “Then stop being obstinate and feed them their proper rations. I’ll send another load to replace what you
lost in your unfortunate flood.”

  Tessa breezed away like a queen done with her lowly subjects.

  Kevin went to stand by Ellen at the barn door.

  “Well, that was weird,” Ellen said, hands on her hips.

  “Yeah, weird.” Had the Bancrofts arrived early in hopes of catching them still asleep? If so, why? He’d have to take a look at the gate. He withdrew the pilfered page from his pocket and ironed it with the side of his hand against his thigh. “What do you think?”

  Beneath the date, eight months ago, each horse—or he assumed the code stood for a horse—had a series of numbers entered in columns. Twelve horses in all. Two horses had red lines and no data in the spaces beside their names. Dead?

  “What does it mean?” Ellen asked, frowning.

  His fingers tightened on the page to keep himself from reaching for her and pressing her head against his shoulder. “Beats me.”

  They looked at each other, then down the aisle at the row of horses waiting expectantly for their breakfast.

  “You finish the feeding,” he said. “I’ll start on the stalls. The sooner we’re done with the chores, the sooner we can start looking for the answers.”

  Before he filled the wheelbarrow with fresh shavings to cover the bared stalls, he trotted to the gate and examined the mechanism. Not a scratch. He pressed the remote button. The gate hesitated, then swung closed smoothly.

  In all the chaos yesterday, had they left the gate unlocked? The answer was a resounding no. He and Blue had walked the perimeter before the rain and the gate had been closed and locked.

  THE RAIN and the constant interruptions for chores and consultations with the vet and the plumber hampered their research. They’d found a Thoroughbred-pedigree query page and left their request for all six of the Bancroft horses’ lineage, but hadn’t gotten very far on the rest of their investigation.

  The data on Tessa’s logbook page still remained a mystery. So far, they’d deciphered the entries for temperature, pulse and respiration. The numbers in the other three columns didn’t seem to relate to anything they’d seen Dr. Warner or Tessa do. Ellen had copied the information on a fresh page for Dr. Parnell to examine. He’d promised to look at it after his rounds.