Red Thunder Reckoning

by Sylvie Kurtz

  By nightfall, the rumble of the sky was a reflection of the growl reverberating inside her. Ellen was dying for a shower, for an hour of uninterrupted Internet time, and mostly, for answers.

  A knock sounded on the kitchen door. Without moving from her spot next to Kevin on the hunter-green corduroy couch, she called, “Come in.”

  The plumber peeked through the door, rain dripping from his slicker onto the kitchen floor. “Everything’s back in order.”

  “I can take a shower?”

  He smiled. “Might want to let the water heat back up first.”

  “You’re a miracle worker.” She cheerfully wrote out a check and thanked the plumber profusely.

  “You go first,” she told Kevin as she sank back into the comfortable seat. He started to speak, but she interrupted him, leaning toward the screen of her laptop propped on the mission-style coffee table. “I want to run a load of laundry, so I’ll need your clothes.”

  Shooing his hands from the keyboard, she placed her own fingers on the keys. “Where are you?”

  He leaned in too close. She shut her eyes and inhaled the scent of horse and man and tried not to think about how good he’d tasted last night. “Checking the racing schedules. Something doesn’t work. You said they were racing in Houston, but the Thoroughbred-racing season at the Sam Houston Race Park ended in April.”

  “April?” She stared at the screen and scrolled up and down on the displayed page. “That doesn’t make sense. If they weren’t there, where were they?”

  “Didn’t Bancroft say they were on their way to slaughter?”

  “Yes, of course. Maybe they were going from the ranch to…there.” She waved him away. “I’ll check that angle while you shower.”

  Half an hour later, he came back smelling of soap and toothpaste and that unique scent of his—something like sunshine on first-cut hay. If she hadn’t felt so grimy, she might have given in to the temptation to curl herself on his lap and drink in the clean scent of him. The urge to run a hand over his chest was nearly overpowering. The yearning to taste him again almost impossible to resist.

  “I’ve been checking on where else they might have raced.” She cleared her throat and squinted at the screen. “Thoroughbred racing doesn’t start for another week at Louisiana Downs. I’ve got the page for Lonestar Park in Grand Prairie loading.”

  Tripping on the edge of the braided rug, she left before she could make a fool of herself, and scrubbed away what felt like an inch of dirt and sweat from her skin and hair. But as hard as she tried, she couldn’t wash away her desire for his touch.

  Fresh clothes and a glass of iced tea gained her back some composure. She joined him on the couch, flinching at the unexpected jolt of thigh brushing against thigh.

  “They were racing at Lonestar,” Kevin said, moving closer to the edge of the cushion, creating space between them. “None of them won.”

  “Well, that’s enough of a reason to kill them all,” she huffed. “If they were coming from Grand Prairie, then they had to be heading south, so that works. They were probably going home.”

  “I doubt it.” He turned the screen so she could see the page displayed. “That’s the Double B.”

  Head after head of cattle. Not a horse in sight. “So, where were they going?”

  He seemed to hesitate, playing with the keys. Deep ridges formed on his forehead. “Kevin?”

  “Legacy’s Apollo, Legacy’s Pandora, Legacy’s Calliope, Legacy’s Titan, Legacy’s Hercules, Legacy’s Perseus.” He rubbed the thigh of his jeans, his fingers lingering on the small lump where the pocket would end. “The pedigrees came back while you were in the shower. They all have the same sire. Legacy’s Prometheus. He’s standing at the Royal Legacy Ranch.”

  “Maybe they were going there.”

  “Maybe.” He typed in an URL. Slowly, the page loaded. Thoroughbreds galloped across the top border. A ranch house with a fieldstone front and a stained glass-adorned door appeared. A picture of foals frolicking in a pasture bordered by a blinding-white fence popped up on the left. A black horse crossing the finish line by a length took up the middle spot. On the right, a head shot of Legacy’s Prometheus—a black devil with an attitude.

  Below, line by line, her nightmare came back to life. Blond hair, brown eyes, a smile that could dazzle and kill in one breath. Hello, darlin’. His drawled endearment echoed in her head and grated along her nerves. He seemed to pop right out of the screen and stand beside her as he’d done so many times over those helpless years. Remember, darlin’, when you thought you could manipulate me as easily as you did your sweetheart? You learned your lesson, didn’t you? I always win.

  “Royal Legacy is owned by Garth Ramsey.”

  Her heart stopped beating. Her blood seemed to drain right out of her. Her skin went cold and clammy. When she found her breath again, it jarred her heart into over-drive. She jolted up, swayed, found her footing and scrambled sideways.

  “Ellen?”

  “I—I…” She ran a hand through her still wet hair, not quite sure what to do with herself. Not Garth. Not again. How could he? He’s in jail. The horses belong to the Bancrofts not to him. “I need to check on the horses.”

  “Let me do it.”

  He stood behind her as if ready to catch her should she fall. Don’t touch me. Please, don’t touch me. She strode to the kitchen, reached for her baseball cap on the hook under the bar mirror, caught sight of her ghost of a face and looked away. Stuffing her feet into boots, she concentrated on breathing. Breathe in. Breathe out.

  “I’m fine.” Breathe in. Breathe out. “I want to make sure everyone’s settled in for the night.”

  “I’ll go with you.”

  “No,” she said through gritted teeth. Breathe in. Breathe out. “Keep looking.”

  “Ellen—”

  She slammed the door in his face and hoped to God he wouldn’t follow. She could barely keep herself from flying apart, let alone handle an explanation.

  Would Garth never stop haunting her? Rain pelted down, but she didn’t feel its sting. Somewhere along the way, her cap blew away and her already wet hair became soaked. Slipping and sliding, she managed to find her way to the barn.

  Busy, she had to keep busy or thoughts of Garth would drive her crazy. She had to force him out of her mind. Jamming her brain in neutral, she moved from stall to stall. Her legs jerked stiffly as she walked. Her hands shook as she fumbled with the latch on each stall. She couldn’t feel her fingertips. The weight in her chest grew, but she refused to think, to cry, to feel. She checked each horse, but couldn’t have said if they were dead or alive. She stuffed hay nets, swept the aisle, cleaned the tack room.

  Move, move, keep moving.

  But exhaustion caught up with her. Her tired muscles rebelled, cramping, twitching. She crawled onto Kevin’s stripped camp cot. She drew her knees to her chest, felt herself fall into a dark pit. Despair wrapped around her, choked her, sucked her will, leaving her limp.

  Garth.

  Even in jail, the man responsible for her coma, for her imprisonment in a nursing home, had the power to ruin her progress into health. She thought she’d put him and his cruelty behind. She’d sworn nothing he’d ever done would touch her again. Then this. Was the accident no accident at all? Had he “given” her the horses to build her up, then tear her apart?

  I always win.

  If he’d searched for a hundred years, he couldn’t have found a more perfect way to torture her.

  A raw, strangled wail ripped straight from her soul. She held it in with both hands. “How could you? How could you? How could you?”

  Her stomach heaved with each suppressed sob. Her throat felt raw from her stifled cries. She gulped in air. The brutal images of Garth, of his anger, of his murderous intent returned in full, living color. They swirled in her mind, dragging her deeper into endless black. If he was willing to kill her to keep his secret, if he was willing to drug her to influence her father, wouldn’t he be willing to us
e the horses to have the final say? He blamed her for being in jail. As they’d led him away, chains jangling at his wrists and legs, he’d sought her gaze and mouthed, I always win.

  “No.” She sat bolt upright, hanging on to the edge of the cot as if it were the only thing that could keep her sane. “I can’t give up. I can’t let him win.”

  A burst of lightning filled the tack room. Thunder exploded, shaking the ground. A frightened whinny pierced through her pain.

  “Apollo.” The gelding had refused to come in, even as his herd mates were snugged inside, away from the elements in freshly dried stalls.

  With leaden legs, Ellen forced herself to stand, then to walk, then to run outside. Apollo paced the pasture gate.

  “What’s wrong?” Rain drenched her to the skin.

  As another boom of thunder rattled the ground, Apollo stood shaking. Was he reliving the night of the accident? Ellen opened the gate, slipped on a halter over his head. “Come on, Apollo, let’s go in.”

  But the chestnut gelding just stood, trembling with fear. Helplessness filled her. “Please, Apollo, follow me.”

  She begged. She cajoled. She pushed and prodded and begged some more. Soaked and scared, all Apollo would do was stand, eyes wide and panicked, limbs shaking as the ground shuddered beneath them after each crash of thunder.

  “Apollo.” The word rasped raw out of Ellen’s throat. She flung her arms around the gelding’s neck and squeezed hard. “Please, Apollo.”

  All the tears she’d tried to hold in came flooding out, mixing with the rain and the lightning and the thunder. She pressed her hands on both sides of Apollo’s cheeks. “Now you listen to me. I can’t help you unless you come with me. You got that? You want out of this nightmare, then you’ve got to follow me inside where it’s nice and dry.”

  She grabbed the side of the halter, then stepped out, confidently expecting Apollo to follow her. The leather slipped from her fingers. With a sob, she let go and kept walking. Apollo, please. One step. Two. In the next, she felt Apollo’s nose press against the small of her back and a stream of fresh tears flowed. “That’s it. We can’t let him win, Apollo. We just can’t.”

  A few minutes later, Apollo settled down, munching on hay. Ellen grabbed a grooming caddie. With a scraper, she sloughed off the excess water from the gelding’s coat. Then she twisted hay into a wisp and massaged the horse.

  Sobs racked her body. Pain and despair keened out of her. She kept rubbing, refusing to stop even when gentle hands tried to pry the tool free from her fingers.

  “I won’t let him win.”

  KEVIN CRADLED the weeping Ellen in his arms and carried her into the house. He sat her in the overstuffed chair in the living room, draped the afghan on its back around her shivering body.

  “I’m fine,” she said. Her tears had finally run dry, but the flatness of her voice and her shaking limbs told him otherwise.

  He wasn’t sure how he’d expected her to react to Garth’s name. Anger, maybe. Resentment. But not this complete devastation. He needed to hold her, to wrap his arms tightly around her, but sensed doing so would only suffocate her. Still, he couldn’t let her go completely, so he tugged off her muddy boots.

  He hunted through the kitchen, looking for something strong, but had to settle for chamomile tea. He brought her a steaming mug. She wrapped her hands around it, hunched over until it rested on her knees and her nose was over the rim. Rain dripped from her hair and plopped onto the braided rug at her feet.

  From the bathroom he retrieved a kiwi-colored towel and a wide-toothed comb. Gently he towel-dried her hair. Then strand by long strand, he combed it out. Bit by bit, her shaking subsided.

  “I grew up with Garth Ramsey,” she said, still holding on to the cup as if it was an anchor. “He was my—I don’t know what you’d call Kyle. He wasn’t quite a fiancé, but certainly more than a friend.” Kevin’s hands stilled at the mention of Kyle. He forced himself to go on. “I tolerated him because he was Kyle’s friend. He had these weird ideas about how I should wear my hair and clothes. He gave me the creeps sometimes. But Kyle liked him. So I said nothing.”

  Kevin’s breath caught in his throat. His chest tightened. He didn’t want to hear about Kyle. It would only increase his guilt. But she needed to talk, so he pushed himself to relax his touch and keep combing.

  “I loved Kyle.”

  He closed his eyes, swallowed hard. The bruise over his heart ached with every breath he took. I loved you, too.

  “But he had this notion he had to prove something to somebody. I was never quite sure who. Maybe my father. Maybe his grandfather. Maybe even his brother. He always felt like he didn’t measure up.”

  Carter Paxton hadn’t thought him good enough for his daughter and missed no opportunity to tell him so. He wasn’t too likely to have approved of their planned engagement. John Henry Makepeace cursed him every time he bailed him out. You’re going to turn out just like me. Is that what you want with your life? Why can’t you be more like your brother? And Kent had made it plain enough that he was tired of acting like a buffer between him and the world so hard up to bite him on the heels.

  Kyle thought he’d hidden that hole in himself from everyone. The brash cowboy, flashy and fast. Everyone had believed the tough image he’d projected. How could she have seen through it so clearly?

  She swallowed a gulp of tea. “He was everything I wanted, but he didn’t believe me. ‘Someday I’ll make you proud,’ he’d say. And I’d say, ‘I’m already proud.’ But he had to go. For himself. I understood, really, I did. But I was scared. I’d already lost so many people I cared for. I couldn’t lose him, too.”

  Kevin strangled the comb in his hand. He needed to hold her so much, to tell her was sorry. Instead, he continued stroking her hair. “Maybe he had to go so he could come back.”

  She shrugged one shoulder. “He never got the chance. We got into a stupid fight. Said things we both regretted. Then I made things worse by pretending I didn’t care. I tried to make him jealous. Instead, I got him drowned.”

  “You can’t blame yourself.”

  She shook her head and let out a throttled sound. “If I hadn’t gone to the river that day… If I hadn’t tried to make him jealous, then none of this would have happened.”

  And if I’d been able to bare my soul, he thought, if I’d been able to tell you I wasn’t quite ready to settle down yet, that I needed a little time and a little distance, that I would come back because my heart was full of you, and that it was that fierce passion that scared the hell out of me, then there would be no reason for you to try to make me jealous.

  And her deep emotions had scared him as much as his own. Scared him still.

  He knelt beside her, hooked a finger under her chin and lifted it until she looked at him. How could she even think she was to blame? “Whenever I railed about my fate, my grandmother used to tell me there was a reason for everything.”

  “Did you believe her?” Her gray-green eyes looked at him with such hope for release.

  He dropped his hand and shook his head. On that score, Nina’s words had brought him no comfort. “No.”

  “Maybe she’s right. I’ve certainly paid for my mistake.” She drained the mug.

  He took it from her, set it on the coffee table and sat on the corner, knee to knee, but not touching her. “You didn’t do anything wrong.”

  “I tried to blackmail Garth into helping Kyle when he got into trouble with the river. Garth turned on me. He bashed my head against a rock, then rolled me into the water to drown. I’m still not quite sure what happened after that. The doctors say I might never remember. I was in a coma for a long time.” She lifted a hand. It spasmed. “That’s why I twitch like an old fish when I’m tired. Some of the connections still haven’t woken up.”

  “I hadn’t noticed.”

  She gave a dry laugh. “You’re a bad liar.”

  He hoped he was good enough of one to play his ranch-hand role for another few days. The l
ast thing she needed was selfish Kyle showing up at the wrong time in her life.

  “When I started coming out of the coma,” she went on, a small frown rucking her forehead, “Garth started visiting.”

  She gulped in air and started shaking again. Kevin clasped her hands between his and rubbed warmth back into her icy fingers. “You don’t have to explain anything to me.”

  Gazing at her feet, she ignored him.

  “Twice a week. Regular as clockwork, he’d visit. Once in a while, he’d slip a needle into the vein of my arm. I couldn’t stop him. I was too weak. When I close my eyes, I can still see him there beside me.”

  Her breath shuddered. Her eyes were fixed and fuzzy, her gaze frozen somewhere in inner landscape. He blew on her fingertips to warm them. “You were strong. You didn’t give up. You survived.”

  “I could hear and see and understand everything that was going on around me, but my muscles seemed to belong to someone else. And I could feel. God, I could feel. Hurt and anger. Hate. So much hate.”

  She gulped in air. “But I couldn’t scream. I could barely move without help. I couldn’t find the words to speak, the tears to cry. It was like there were two of me. The heavy me in the body and the light me in my head, and the two couldn’t connect.”

  He squeezed her hands harder, wishing he could extract and absorb all of her pain.

  Her breath hitched. “Garth would come in and drawl in my ear. He’d tell me how beautiful I was, how lucky I was, how he would always take care of me because he loved me so much.”

  Kevin gritted his teeth, said nothing. He wanted to kill Garth with his bare hands, watch his eyes bulge, his face turn blue, his tongue swell. Then he wanted to choke him all over again.

  “When I finally got away, he told me that I’d never be free, that I’d always belong to him.” Tears streamed silently down her face. They clawed at his heart, ripping it to shreds.