What Cade could do was comfort a frightened and grieving young man, and he pulled Luke against his chest and let him cry.
* * *
Two mornings later, Ryder made one more trip to the rodeo grounds, striding into Cade’s office with an air of satisfaction. Cade laid aside the bills he was approving for payment and got to his feet.
As the men shook hands, he said, “The first time you came in here you were a man on a mission. Now you look like a man with mission accomplished.”
“Not entirely,” Ryder admitted, “but a satisfying part of it.” At Cade’s gesture, he took a chair opposite the desk. “The foster parents are nailed. Because of Joss, we got there just in time to stop a fifteen-year-old kid – boy this time – from being loaded on a truck to hell.”
Cade was glad for that, gladder than he could say, but his thoughts went immediately to Joss. “So, she won’t have to testify, right? You’ve got all you need?”
“All we need and more, but – the thing is – the boy wants to talk to Joss. He doesn’t know her name, but he knows her story. That she had courage and character to come forward. And because she did, we were there and ready. And this kid, and who the hell knows how many others, are safe now.”
“Joss will be happy at the outcome. Whether or not she’ll talk with the boy is her choice and I don’t know how she’ll feel.” Cade was adamant on that. It was Joss’ decision.
“Fair enough. But I’ve got them on standby waiting for a call back. I need to know. I need you to ask.”
Cade pulled up Malone’s number, experienced the now-familiar rush of emotion in the moments it took her to answer. “Good morning, again.” They’d shared coffee outside her trailer door, watched the sun rise together. Coffee and memories and possibilities. Joss had figured into that conversation. “Can you bring Joss to my office? No, nothing’s wrong. Ryder’s here with news. Good news.”
He put the phone aside and nodded at Ryder. “It will take them a few minutes. They’re at the barn.”
While they waited, Ryder brought him up to speed on other aspects of the case. Frank would likely spend the rest of his life in prison. The charges against him were staggering. Ryder hoped he could use some of those charges to convince Frank to talk, to help him locate the head of a crime organization of monumental proportions. The man had eluded capture for far too long. Ryder needed this to be the case that brought him and others to justice.
Both men stood when the door opened. Malone glanced quickly at Cade. Whatever she saw must have reassured her because she found a faint smile for the deputy marshal. Joss looked just as tense but she also looked determined to see this through, just like she had everything else that had come her way.
Before Cade could close the door, Trouble slipped by him and made the leap over Townsend to the windowsill.
When they were all seated, Cade nodded at Ryder who started talking. By the time he was done describing the eleventh-hour rescue of another teen, silent tears streamed slowly down Joss’ cheeks.
“You did it,” she said huskily. “You really did it.”
Ryder shook his head. “No, Joss. You did it. And the boy you saved wants to thank you for that. He’s waiting for us to call him, if you’re willing.”
Joss swiped at the tears and lifted her chin. “I’d like that.”
Ryder pulled up a number and slid the volume up on his cell so they all could hear. His agent answered promptly and Ryder said, “Joss is here. Put him on.”
There was a faint rustling at the other end, then, “Joss? My name’s Kevin and I just – I just wanted to thank you. I can’t believe what happened. What almost happened to me.” His voice was low and breaking in places as a boy’s voice often did in early teens. And, perhaps, as much from the horror of the past hours as his youth.
“But you’re safe now.” Joss’ voice was firm. “Everything’s going to be okay.”
“I wouldn’t be safe if you hadn’t been brave, if you hadn’t stepped forward and made someone listen.”
Cade saw the glance Joss gave Malone, the soft smile. “It didn’t take much ‘making’. All I had to do was open my mouth and say the words. There was someone here ready to listen all along.”
Chapter Twenty
I suppose this rodeo life is perfect for those who love it but it seems like much hard work to me. I ascribe to the theory ‘work smarter not harder’ and there doesn’t seem to be much leeway with this sport. But it is exciting, I’ll grant you that. Especially now, on this final day. I’ve ascertained that Malone is neck and neck in money earnings with two other contestants. It all comes down to this final day, this final ‘run for the money’.
Malone is ‘up’ as they say on the big mare she calls Jaz. I recall the day Malone came to Summer Valley Ranch to pick her up. There was an immediate rapport between the two. And now I hear the announcer extolling the virtues of both.
“Ladies and Gentlemen, our next rider is Malone Summers, a long-time professional in the sport of rodeo. Her fellow competitors know that Ms. Summers lost her beloved Jupiter to a tragic accident two years ago. Then just a few months ago, just as he was clocking some of the best times on the circuit, her good horse, Mylo, was sidelined with an injury. Some barrel racers only get one true champion barrel horse in a life time. Ms. Summers has had - or should I say created - many more than that. And now I’d like to introduce you to JJ’s Red Jasmine, a rescue horse that has been rescued indeed. Ms. Summers calls her Jaz and most of us believe Malone has saved the best for last with her hopes riding high on the big red mare’s ability.”
Quite unexpectedly, my own heart is pounding with excitement. There must be something supremely exhilarating about riding an agile equine through an intricate pattern of incredible speed, brief slow-downs and what look to be sling-shot turns. There is also that twinge of fear for my temporary human who looks so small and fragile above the massive creature.
As they fly back toward the alleyway, the announcer, always so professional and in control, unexpectedly shouts with excitement as he calls out the time. Apparently, my human has set a new record for the week. I am pleased, to say the least. Life has not been easy for her but I don’t think she expects it to be nor grieves that it is not. She takes each day with a sense of joy as does my Tammy Lynn whom I have begun to miss enormously. It is always so at the end of a case and I am no longer caught up in the urgencies of saving lives and solving crimes. Time for me to return home and I will be glad to do so.
* * *
Malone slowed Jaz as they hit the alleyway. Her heart was so full she wondered that it could contain her happiness in that moment. Jaz was everything she’d hoped and needed her to be. Never a replacement for Jupiter. Never a replacement for Mylo, if it had come to that. But a treasure and a joy in her own right. Malone knew she was blessed to be able to make her living in just this way and she never, ever took that or the animals that enabled her to do it for granted.
Midway down the alley, a cowboy stepped away from the fence panel and placed a hand on Jaz’s rein. Malone looked into Cade’s eyes and it felt like coming home. For a moment, she was twelve to his seventeen, at the beginning of a crush that had turned into so much more and lasted a lifetime. For both of them.
Epilogue
I ride shotgun, looking out Cade’s truck window. I switched vehicles at the last truck stop … quite a bit of girl talk going on in the other rig which is all well and good if you’re a female. I’ll admit new beginnings are exciting. Malone is moving herself, Joss, and her horses back home to LaGrange, Georgia which is satisfyingly close to Mr. Silver Eyes’ family abode. No coincidence in all that I suspect. It is also in nice proximity to my home with Tammy Lynn in Wetumpka so they’ll make a wee stop there to ensure my long over-due arrival.
Although, in my estimation, it would have been fitting for our Joss to witness the arrest of the couple who had so sorely betrayed her, I suppose Ms. Rodeo has the right of it. Joss should be spared any further sight of them. Would that
she could be spared the thought of them as well, but Ms. Rodeo is of the firm belief that time and love will heal all wounds.
Otherwise, the wrap up of our case was entirely satisfying to me. I enjoyed watching as the villains were arrested, even the gentleman with the starburst scar whose part in this drama I’ve yet to discern. I think I would have enjoyed, even more, seeing the moment when the nefarious foster parents were handcuffed and forced from their homes but it must suffice that Joss was assured it was so. Never again will innocent victims be at their mercy.
There was a bittersweet moment for Ms. Rodeo when the Tyge was carried away on a stretcher in handcuffs. He saved her life, after all, and they were once much to each other. We’ve since learned that Tyge has a chance at probation or at least a lighter sentence. Although guilty of transporting drugs, he didn’t knowingly transport guns or humans and has wisely expressed a willingness to share information with the law.
I’ve a concession that must be made. The sight of the Aussie standing guard over our villain was unexpected and must be acknowledged. I suppose it now behooves me to leave off the scathing abbreviation of his given name. He has earned the right to his dignity. Townie is no more. Townsend, it is.
There’s another touch of sadness mixed in with the happy. It seems the renowned veterinarian, Dr. Tucker, has determined that Mylo will live to a comfortable and ripe old age, but his career days are over. Ms. Rodeo has a nice pasture in mind for him to graze and play to his heart’s contentment right where she can take good care of him.
She and Joss will be busy for a while turning the old homestead into a thriving training facility for young equestrians who have a goal of becoming as great a competitor as Ms. Rodeo. Not that she’s planning to retire from her own competitive endeavors. She assures Joss there’s plenty of opportunity for both, as long as she’s not competing in two circuits.
Yes, they will be busy indeed with lots of hard work, but I think Mr. Silver Eyes will bring much to that endeavor in terms of willingness, energy, and muscle. I suspect I hear wedding bells tinkling in their future. I do hope they recall that I am quite fond of wedding delectables.
Now if Townsend will quit trying to climb up beside me on this seat, I believe I can take a much-needed nap.
Acknowledgments
Thank you to FB Launch Party contest winners, Susan Eiland Hayes and Katylynn Thomas Wright. Susan submitted the name Townsend and Katylynn suggested the breed of Australian Shepherd. I hope you love reading about him as much I loved writing him into my story.
Continued thanks to my sister, Janice Jones for stick horses and prayers.
And, ever, to my daughter, Stephanie Chisholm, who supports me mentally and physically in all the things I love to do.
And, always, to my son, Jeremy Rogers, who does for me all the things that need to be done so I can focus on doing all those things I love to do.
About the Author
Although Susan Y. Tanner is best known for her historical romance novels, she is finding her niche in a new genre – contemporary romantic mystery. In Trouble in Summer Valley, her first book in the Trouble Cat Mysteries series, she introduced readers to the rescue horses of Summer Valley Ranch. In Turning for Trouble, she combines her passion for barrel racing with her passion for rescue horses in a rodeo setting. Tanner continues to barrel race and write with equal enthusiasm.
www.susanytanner.com
Trouble’s Wedding Caper
Trouble Cat Mysteries #8
Trouble’s Wedding Caper
Chapter 1
“Are you ready, Trouble?”
My new human mate, Annabel Wilder, scoops me up, mind you a little too eagerly, and scratches the top of my head.
With a sophisticated purr that only the most refined cats can conjure, I let her know that I approve of the delicious scratches. I tilt my head, so she can properly get behind my ears.
“This is going to be the one. I can feel it.” Her excitement over visiting the Public Storage facility piques my natural curiosity. I’ve never heard of anyone purchasing the contents of an abandoned storage unit filled with someone else’s belongings. While I find it highly unlikely that humans in England do such things, I believe that the remarkable Sherlock Holmes would find it an utterly fascinating opportunity to study human nature.
Annabel’s racing heart beats against my body as she glances between the elevator and me. She taps her foot, too, as if that will make the doors open more quickly. At least her touch on my fur is still gentle. I find I rather like this energetic young woman.
I’ve quite enjoyed my stay thus far in Jupiter, Florida. It’s a quiet place, not like other parts of Southern Florida. Once you cross the bridge over the Intracoastal, the sea of cars clogging the roads magically disappear, and the sense of urgency to be in the right place at the right time slips away. My owner, Tammy Lynn, told me I’d have a nice, relaxing, drama-free time with her friend’s niece while Tammy Lynn boarded a yacht for a remote island to examine a few rare books with a dear friend.
I’m rather glad she didn’t take me. I doubt I’d appreciate the boat, surrounded by a salty ocean, no matter how good the fish might be.
The second the doors ding open, Annabel dashes through the modest lobby and races across the parking lot to her bright-red, hardtop Jeep. I’m thankful that, so far, she’s only taken the very back part of the top off. Unlike a dog, I do not like to stick my head out the window with my tongue lolling out.
Such an unrefined species!
Annabel settles me on the pink, plaid cat bed she bought the morning she agreed to take me in for a few days. The bed is comfortable, and it was very sweet of her to procure it, but pink is no color for a male cat of my stature. Here in the US, pink may be the new masculine color, but I prefer more dignified tones.
After kneading the appalling bed for a few moments, I settle in for the ride. Annabel hops into the driver’s seat, amped up as though she’s drunk an entire pot of coffee, even though I know she hasn’t touched a drop. As she pulls out onto the road, her fingers tap constantly on the steering wheel, and she fidgets in her seat.
Her restlessness is bad enough, but her attire is even more distressing. I have no problem with a woman wearing denim shorts, but hers are frayed and full of holes, as though they’ve been chomped on by wild creatures. And her tight, red-sleeved T-shirt bears the words SALTY CREW. Whatever can that mean? In other circumstances, the origins of the phrase SALTY CREW might be worth investigating. But right now, I’m on vacation.
However, I shall make it my mission to help her wean herself away from wearing her rather grubby baseball cap backward on her head. With her sapphire eyes, high cheekbones, and flawless skin, she could be a fashion model. She has a devastating smile that can turn even the cloudiest mood to a sunny one. The cap makes her look like a troubled teenage delinquent.
Ding, ding, ding.
Ahead, the Intracoastal drawbridge on Indiantown Road that allows tall boats to ease through the waterway signals that it’s about to lift. Annabel slows the Jeep to a stop.
“Crap. I can’t be late. I can’t be late,” she mutters.
I press my paws against the dashboard to get a look at the rising bridge. My earlier experience with the bridge tells me that it will take ten minutes to cross. Because we’re one of the first few vehicles in line, we’ll be on our way quickly enough. I recall her saying the facility is ten minutes away, and she has to be there by 9:30. I remember because I have a superior memory. It’s only 9:05. We shall make it.
When we finally reach the other side of the bridge, Annabel, her fingers still drumming, soon pulls the Jeep into an establishment containing acres of metal buildings and a rough gravel parking lot. We park in a spot near where a crowd of people have gathered.
“Want to come with me?” Annabel gets out, leaving her door open. She smiles at me.
No way am I going to sit in this heat and wait for her. She might do something foolish. She’ll need my help and advice.
&n
bsp; I raise my paw and reach out, tilting my head. I’ve seen many a cat pander to humans in this manner. After all, Annabel doesn’t know I’m a superior cat with intelligence and wit. Not yet, anyway.
She lifts me from the car seat, and I settle myself in her arms. I could walk, but why? This pavement is cracked, and twenty-two people stand right outside the office door, waiting impatiently, tapping their feet. I have no desire to be anywhere near that.
Being as smart as I am, with more than impressive detective skills, it’s hard for me not to take a look-see around. There is a four-door sedan parked in front of the gate at the entry to the storage facility. I note an outstretched arm fiddling with a keypad before a fist bangs against the door of the vehicle. A man, wearing a short-sleeved white dress shirt, pink shorts, and a baseball cap steps from the car.
A young boy, no more than twenty, based on his complexion, races from the main building toward the unhappy man.
My human scratches my head, reminding me I am indeed on vacation and being aware of every detail around me is not necessary, though, out of the corner of my eye, I continue to watch the heated discussion.
An older woman with graying hair steps from the office, greeting the crowd with a welcoming smile, but it’s obvious, she too is slightly interested in whatever is happening between her employee and another customer.
It isn’t until the customer disappears into the office that I focus my attention back to the older lady as she explains the rules with such enthusiasm that even I feel a tinge of excitement. Okay, I’m more indifferent, but I’m listening, and one thing strikes me as odd. If a person can’t afford to pay their storage fee, how can anything of value be left behind?
Turning for Trouble Page 20
