“I thought we’d eat here, rather than the dining room.” She indicated the wide, quartz topped bar where she’d already laid out flatware on napkins and glasses filled with ice and water. She didn’t want him to think she was going to any trouble to impress him. Summer Valley Ranch should be impressive enough, was impressive enough on its own.
While Dirks stepped into the downstairs powder room to wash up, she placed the fish and fresh garden vegetables on the bar along with the salt and pepper grinders. And took another deep breath.
* * *
I’m quite impressed with the culinary expertise of Mr. Military. Although I suspect Ms. Gorgeous would rather he pack his briefcase and all those precisely pressed garments – yes, I’ll confess to a bit of snooping in his quarters – and depart, I fear my diet would suffer in terms of variety. I’d like to say that I have no reason to question that there is more to his appearance here than ensuring the adequacy of Summer Valley Ranch for wounded veteran rehabilitation but – alas – once again things are not as they seem. My elevated olfactory sense enabled me to detect a significant amount of firepower secreted around his lodging in various locations, which I find interesting accoutrement for a desk jockey. While these two dawdle over lunch, I shall make further use of the computer in the office next door. Judging by the intensity between these two, I doubt I shall be missed anytime soon.
* * *
“Where is Carlee’s mother?”
Dirks had asked a few probing questions about Craig’s role at the ranch, seeming satisfied when Avery explained that he’d really had little to do with the physical management of the place. Craig had been involved with only a bit of the bookwork and he’d been an ear to listen when she needed to balance some decision. The question about Craig’s first wife caught Avery by surprise and she sighed, the heavy weight of sorrow pressing on her even after all these years. “She’s deceased. It’s a sad story. Craig’s had a lot of loss and I try to be compassionate because I don’t know how much of his current breakdown has to do with that.”
“Breakdown? You think he’s suffering from some kind of emotional incapacity?” Dirks raised his brows and she could almost feel his skepticism.
“Honestly, I don’t know all that is going on with him,” she admitted, “but, in the end, I had to accept that I couldn’t allow him to destroy what my team and I have worked so hard to build and he refused any suggestion of professional help. I believe that some diseases are a ‘disease of choice’. The victim doesn’t choose to have the disease but they do choose – or reject – the opportunity for healing. Carlee’s been a Godsend to me and she’s certainly suffered as much, if not more, than Craig in all this.”
She hesitated, feeling a bit of a traitor to expose her stepdaughter’s personal heartache. “Carlee’s twin died horribly when the girls were just eleven. They were both students at the facility where I gave lessons but in different programs. Carlee was in an elevated hunter-jumper class, probably headed for the Olympics. Caren was placed with me in a therapeutic program.”
Dirks had stayed silent while she talked, swirling his water glass and watching the motion of liquid and ice thoughtfully, almost as if to give her space. But at her words, he shifted that piercing gaze to hers. “Therapeutic? Had she been in some kind of accident?”
“No, Caren was born with cerebral palsy. The child was absolutely brilliant academically but walking was difficult for her. She could walk but was much more mobile, more self-sufficient from her wheelchair. The girls were more than close, as I guess most twins are. But Carlee ... Carlee was devoted to her sister, always came to watch her ride, cheering her on for the slightest victory. She was devastated by Caren’s death. They all were. We all were.” The entire academy had shut down on the day of Caren’s funeral. She was that well-loved. Remembering, Avery focused her attention on her plate, knowing her eyes glittered with tears. She didn’t want Dirks to see and construe them as some kind of weakness that might make her unfit as a business woman strong enough for the responsibilities associated with the wounded veteran program.
“Had she been progressively ill? I know a little about cerebral palsy, not much, but I know it can impact a number of organs.”
Avery shook her head. “No, her death was a horrible, horrible accident. Her wheelchair somehow rolled into the pool. Carlee found her when she came in from after school softball practice. Carlee was into every sport imaginable. Margaret, their mother, had fallen asleep on the sun porch while Caren sketched. That was one of Caren’s favorite pastimes, second only to riding. She was very artistic though she only had full use of her right arm. The muscles were stiff and atrophied in the other.” Avery still had nightmares, waking to images of Caren slowly sinking into the pool, struggling to release the seatbelt intended to keep her safe when her chair was in use, helpless to free herself as the water closed over her head. She could only imagine the horrors that Craig and Carlee endured thinking about Caren’s death.
“She wasn’t just a student to you. You loved her,” Dirks said softly.
“Everyone loved Caren. She was an incredible child. Loving, courageous, sunny … in spite of her disability. It was a complete tragedy. Her mother took her own life a year later and Craig was left to pick up the pieces. Carlee told me once it hurt to the core that she didn’t just lose her sister and best friend but that she wasn’t reason enough for her mother to want to live.”
Dirks reached over as if to touch her hand but at the last minute didn’t, placing it on the table instead. “I think that’s a common and certainly natural feeling among family members of suicides, especially young children.”
“I won’t pretend to know what I’d do in similar circumstances but I can’t imagine knowingly, intentionally leaving my child to face my death and grow up without me.”
“You said Carlee was ‘probably’ headed for the Olympics.” There was a faint question in his voice.
“She lost heart after Caren died – just quit riding. Some months after her mother’s suicide, Craig came back to the academy. He was desperate to distract Carlee from her grief and thought horses might help. By then, I’d made the barest beginnings with Summer Valley Ranch and he chose to bring her here, thinking it would be an easier environment.”
She fell silent for a moment, thinking back to that long ago summer. Dirks’ steady gaze reminded her of the reason she was sharing all of these personal, sometimes happy, sometimes painful experiences.
“Carlee didn’t want lessons, not in any of the venues, she wanted only to be around horses and ride on her own. So that’s what we did. Mostly long trail rides, just the two of us.” It was through those months that she and Craig had drifted into a relationship. She pushed aside those memories, now tarnished by the ugliness of more recent history.
Avery watched as Dirks processed what she’d told him, and she wasn’t in the least surprised when he circled back to his initial question and asked, “Do you really think – this many years later – that Craig suddenly finds it impossible to deal with the losses of his daughter and his wife?”
“No,” she admitted. “No, I don’t. What I really think is that I missed a weakness in Craig, missed it at the start and failed to watch it grow. I was too caught up in creating my dreams for Summer Valley Ranch, too caught up with the hard work and my love for the horses to see what was happening to my husband. And to my marriage.”
“His addiction isn’t your fault or your problem.”
The intensity in his voice surprised her until she realized he’d mistaken her meaning. “I agree, it isn’t, but I should at least have recognized sooner that it existed. I might have made different decisions.” She sighed, realizing she might as well acknowledge an aspect she’d neatly skimmed over in earlier conversation. “Carlee manages accounts payables. For a while Craig managed accounts receivables. I’ve taken that part of the business on for the time being. I suspect, now, that he was putting a good bit in his pocket right from the first, but a few years ago, the revenue
from the ranch started shrinking noticeably. I brought in an independent financial guru to help me maximize my profit. She’s the one who found that Craig was pocketing nearly as much as he was depositing. I confronted him, he denied it, and I filed for divorce.”
None of it had been as easy as that admission must sound to an outsider, but that pain, that drama was over and done and not anything she wanted or needed to relive by talking about it now.
Her cell phone broke the complete silence that followed her stark words. She glanced at the caller I.D., noting the time, and sighed. She looked at Dirks before she hit answer. “I guess it’s show time.” Careful to lighten her tone, she spoke into the phone. “Hey, Tucker.”
“There’s a Mr. Markham to see you. He’s pulling an empty horse trailer.” Tucker sounded worried and she realized immediately that she should’ve given her team a heads-up.
“And he’ll be pulling an empty one on his way out,” she said reassuringly, keeping her voice calm. “Where did he park?”
“In the main drive.”
“Tell him I’m on my way. You can go back to your barn. You have a student, don’t you?”
“They just pulled in but I really think I should be here with you.”
She heard the edge in Tucker’s voice and knew at once he didn’t like the appearance of their guest. “I’ve got this, Tucker, I promise. Go take care of your student.” Her years-long fight with Craig had affected more than just her. Her team had become protective of her. Too protective.
As she put the phone down, she realized Dirks had already gotten to his feet. “Not you, too.” She fought the urge to roll her eyes. “I’ve got this,” she said, repeating the words she’d spoken to Tucker in exasperation.
“Let’s go,” was all Dirks said.
Irritation washed through her and she flashed Trouble a scowl as he sauntered out of the office and through the door with them. Another alpha male. She was surrounded by them.
* * *
Well, this is all getting extraordinarily interesting. My time on the computer wasn’t wasted. Mr. Military hasn’t been a desk jockey for any length of time – if he is at all. His credentials are real but he’s seen significant military action in the not too distant past. I didn’t get to his current day situation in my sleuthing but time for that later. Good thing I was keeping an ear tuned to the kitchen conversation and an eye on the clock. I wouldn’t miss seeing Ms. Gorgeous handle this threat to her equines for the most tempting serving of steak tartare, which – most unfortunately – I’ve not had the pleasure of being served in far too long. With my love of all things British, I can still concede that the French do occasionally come up with some delectable edibles.
I must say, however, I’m not sure why such a hurried pace has been set by the humans. I much prefer a leisurely approach to an all-out hike, especially in this atmosphere of southern sauna-like heat and humidity. Nonetheless, I manage to keep pace as I follow close on the heels of Mr. Military and Ms. Gorgeous as we head toward the barn area.
My, my! That’s quite a fancy rig, very flashy and shiny with all that chrome, parked directly in the middle of the drive. I daresay either truck or trailer alone cost a bomb. Together they certainly appear appropriate to the posh main drag into the ranch. I must acknowledge that someone has done an excellent job with landscaping and lawn maintenance. The rustic board fence of weathered silver is neat without being obvious. The white board railing, evident in many of the rural equine establishments, has been the rage for years, but I much favor this pastoral ambiance.
I’ll stroll around the semi and trailer for a closer look while these humans exchange pleasantries they certainly do not mean. Hmmm … now here is something of interest. I was checking for state of registration on the license plate, but find instead TAG APPLIED FOR as in ‘just purchased’. Apparently, no mere hired rig would suffice for Mr. Markham.
Uh-oh, voices are rising. I do believe I must abandon my snooping to move closer to my humans and prepare to enter the fray.
“What do you mean your horses are not for sale?” The nob speaking isn’t a particularly handsome representative of the species, but with those thin brows drawn together over a thinner nose and lips compressed with the force of his frustration he is even less so. I simply do not understand the current affinity for shaved heads among human males. Every creature looks a bit better with a healthy covering of hair, or fur, as the case may be.
“My horses are not for sale. It’s that simple.” Ms. Gorgeous is keeping her cool thus far but, somewhat incongruously, that silky tone is marvelously menacing. “I cannot fathom that you would travel from Canada without asking first.”
“I’m done talking with you. Where is your husband?”
Why, now, that comment must be extremely insulting to a self-made woman. Most certainly the result the gentleman intends, though I suppose I must use the term ‘gentleman’ with a certain sarcasm.
“I don’t have a husband.”
Oh, that’s jolly. She’s being deliberately obtuse with her response. I do love that in a dispute but I’m not certain it’s her wisest course. I particularly dislike the manner in which the dandily dressed Mr. Markham is tapping that crop against his shiny boots.
“Impossible. Of course you do.”
“Why is that?” I can see the rising suspicion in those exquisite green eyes. Not as brilliant a green as mine - Tammy Lynn loves my eyes - but truly remarkable with the swirls of brown and flecks of gold. Remarkable and intelligent.
“Because it was your husband who took money for the animal. Half last month and half to be paid today. Cash.”
The figure he names is shockingly high if the widening of Ms. Gorgeous’ eyes is any indication.
“I’m truly sorry for you, Mr. Markham. You’ve been cheated but not by me. I’ve taken money from no one because – as I said – my horses are not for sale. Not now, not ever.”
What a prat! He’s stepping closer, bowing his rather insignificant chest. Fortunately, Mr. Military is also moving in and he has no need for any pathetic endeavor to appear bigger or stronger than he certainly is. “I believe you’re done here.”
Mr. Markham clearly sees that he is outmanned, as it were. He steps back but not down. “Not until I’ve loaded Mr. Tarent’s animal.”
For some reason the name Tarent lights a match to a tinderbox. Ms. Gorgeous’ hands are shaking now and not in fear.
“Tarent? Burris Tarent? That despicable man will never own one of my horses. He may be rich enough to buy from some but not from me. His mishandling has destroyed some of the finest animals in the world.”
“Ridiculous! Mr. Tarent is highly respected in his field. He’s obtained, and I have trained, dozens of horses to success in the show ring.” The toff is clearly offended.
“The ones you didn’t manage to cripple you mean.” Oh, the lovely fire in those eyes now. And she is the one stepping forward, ready to do battle – and physical, I suspect, as much as mental. “Get off my property. Now. Before I call the police.”
“Oh, I can promise you the law will definitely get involved. Your husband implied you might be obstinate, but Mr. Tarent’s influence is wide and he’s spent a fortune on this transaction. This truck and trailer were delivered from Tennessee just this week, awaiting my arrival at the airport. I assure you he didn’t purchase those, as well as pay an astronomical amount for a yearling of the famous Flying Jackanapes, only to lose both the animal and the money.”
“Jack and his offspring are not for sale and, if they were, it would never be to the likes of either you or Mr. Tarent. I don’t care how influential you feel yourself to be. Neither of you have any power or control over me. People just like the two of you were responsible for Jack nearly being destroyed. He was put back in the ring barely healed from surgery to remove a bone spur. He tore a tendon performing his heart out for his owners, and they would have put him down for his loyalty! I rescued him just in time and his babies will never be for sale.”
&
nbsp; “Your husband took Mr. Tarant’s currency. There will be consequences.”
“Take it up with Craig. If he fleeced you, your problem is with him, not with me. I’ve taken no one’s money and mine is the only name on the papers of any horse on this property and the only name that ever has been. Now get out. Go.”
Oh, my, I fear the confrontation is about to get physical. Mr. Military is definitely done with the exchange and closing in for the kill. “Mr. Markham, I suggest your employer focus his attention on the person who swindled him. You have about five minutes to back this flashy rig out of here. After that you’ll be held here until the law arrives and charges you with trespassing.”
Mr. Markham is either a plonker or has a desire for assisted suicide. He’s thrusting his chin belligerently. Uh-oh, now the dandy is eyeing Mr. Military with contempt. He’d better chose his words carefully or fisticuffs will ensue.
“Her husband said she was slutting with the hired help. I guess you’d be one of them.” Oh, I say, Mr. Markham has tipped the kettle. Even Ms. Gorgeous is clearly shocked.
“Four minutes.” Mr. Military is a man of great restraint, but if the fists at his side are any indication, I believe he’d choose to use them instead of words.
I would prefer this countdown not continue on its present course lest I be forced to take action in this suffocating heat. I do suspect a few feline scratches on that nice paint would distract Mr. Markham from his stupidity.
Whew. It appears the man has some sense of self-preservation as he takes one step backward and then pivots. I can see now his flanks are as narrow as the rest of him. Sharply clothed, mind you, but supremely narrow.
* * *
Dirks watched as Avery stood with clenched hands until the moron climbed back into the semi and backed it with more caution than skill down the long drive. Avery could have stepped to one side and allowed Markham to make the full circle … the drive had been designed to offer large trailers an easy turn. He hoped Avery’s pointed action was not lost on the bastard.
A Box Full of Trouble Page 63
