* * *
Things have certainly been very, very busy this morning. It’s been hard to keep an eye on every quarter. Even a feline as adept and agile as myself can hardly be in multiple barns and paddocks at once. One can only hope that Mr. Military is as watchful as I believe him to be, although his focus does give the impression that his thoughts are rather single-mindedly with Ms. Gorgeous. It’s telling, though, that the lady in question seems singularly oblivious to the fact.
I’d hoped to spend a bit of time on the computer but Carlee is hard at work on a list of purchase requests she gathered from Tucker and Leanne for their respective barns. Ms. Gorgeous added an item or two and off Carlee went. Even an hour later, my peek in the window showed her still hard at work, though she’d moved on from vendor websites to a complex spreadsheet. Accounts payable most like. Keeping up with the paperwork necessitated by a venture such as this would require great diligence.
With Mr. Military keeping his gaze upon Ms. Gorgeous as she grooms, exercises, and cools one equine athlete after another, I‘ve taken several turns through the barns. The cameras are handy at night when access to the barns is limited, but I don’t see them as having much value with so many non-ranch persons, clients as they’re called, in and about. Yet all remains quiet.
Ah, there comes Carlee now. I’ll just hang about until I’m sure she’s done in the office. It would be tiresome to have my own computer work interrupted but I would definitely have to yield to her stronger claim to the resources should I detect her return.
* * *
Dirks was surprised when Carly newly emerged from the house, joined him at the fence. She hadn’t shown any interest in making him feel welcome or initiating small talk. Even so, she propped a worn but quality work boot on the lower fence rail as if she planned to be there for a while.
Since he’d been given the opportunity, he took it, introducing a topic he knew would get Craig’s daughter talking. “The mare she gave away this morning, the Connemara, was she a rescue horse, too?”
Carlee gave him a quick glance, as if wondering that he felt the need to talk to her. “Yes, but not from a kill pen. Some freaking Californian with more money than sense decided it would be lovely to own a pony from Ireland so she bought Silver Dollar and had her shipped over. Stupid bitch didn’t realize there would be several weeks of quarantine and testing for diseases once Silver Dollar was on American soil or that the expense of it would be out of her bank account. She got bored before the end of the quarantine period and left Silver Dollar to her fate. Somehow the pony got hurt during the quarantine and the authorities couldn’t find anyone to adopt her and take on the vet expenses necessary for her treatment. Avery got wind of her just days before she would have been put down. We drove cross country to get her with Avery checking in with the officials every few hours to make sure every shift and every person there knew we were headed that way so they wouldn’t go ahead with the killing.”
“That was a long drive to pick up a horse that might not have worked out.”
Carlee shrugged. “It wouldn’t have mattered. That wasn’t why we went. But Silver Dollar was a good addition to the ranch and she’ll be hard to replace. Still, Avery did the right thing and we’re all glad for that.”
Like Dirks, her attention was still fixed on Avery who had brought the fast canter of a short, stocky horse to a sudden stop and now had him spinning circles with only the lightest touch of her feet to his sides, her hands perfectly centered and still on the reins.
“She’s working it off.” When he didn’t respond, Carlee gave him a sideways look and elaborated. “It’s what Avery does when she’s worried or stressed more than she can handle. She gets on a horse and makes each one do what they were trained to do. And she always finds that thing that they love during the training, that one thing that they’re best at doing. But it’s still work for them and for her.”
It was, he recalled, almost verbatim, what Avery had said about Carlee herself. “Is that what you were doing yesterday afternoon? Working it off?”
“A bit I suppose, but mine was more anger than worry.”
So Avery had gotten that aspect of it right as well. The two women knew each other well, but he supposed that was to be expected.
“I won’t have him torment her like this,” Carlee expounded. “He was stupid and it cost him. He can get over it or not but I won’t let him make her life a complete misery.”
“Strong words from a daughter.”
Carlee turned to face him, propping her elbows on the paddock fence behind her. Dirks would have thought the pose deliberately provocative had her lips not remained pressed thin and her stare challenging and even a little hostile. He surmised she was unaware of the cleavage showing above the top button of her faded blue shirt.
“I’m her daughter, too, maybe even more than his. He hasn’t been much of a father in the past few years. I’m just another means to an end to him.”
“What do you mean?”
At his question, her expression became more guarded. “It doesn’t matter. All Craig, and you, need to know is I’ll do whatever I need to do to keep Avery safe and this place safe for her.”
“You see me as a threat?”
“Not at all,” she said dismissively. Carlee pushed away from the fence and walked away, her hips swinging with what he acknowledged was an unconscious femininity. She’d clearly exhibited no desire to entice him with either her conversation or her walk.
* * *
Well, well, well. Now wasn’t that an interesting exchange. There seemed some point to Carlee’s conversational gambit but I’m not at all sure I know just what that was. Judging by Mr. Military’s expression as he watches her depart, he is as perplexed – and as unimpressed – as I.
Chapter Eight
Avery unsaddled then finished cooling Jingle. The hard work of the morning had helped ease the sense of doom she’d felt hanging over her. There was nothing more soothing to her than the familiar tasks that she loved. Unfortunately, the bit of peace she’d gained had been eroded by the sight of Carlee’s departing saunter - and Dirks staring after her. She hadn’t missed, either, those few minutes when the two had been face to face in deep conversation. Carlee’s back had been to her, but Dirks’ expression had been one of intense interest in whatever thoughts she’d been sharing with him. Avery didn’t allow herself the luxury of analyzing why that nipped at her. It didn’t matter. She couldn’t let it. Dirks was there to do a job, then leave.
It stung that the job he’d come to do was that of judging this place that she loved so much and into which she’d poured her heart, soul, sweat, and tears. Not only judging the buildings and the horses, but her and the team who’d worked so hard right along with her. And it stung all the more that it seemed to be taking him such a long time to make that decision. He’d only been here a couple of days, true, but he had to have done his homework before he got this far. Anything less would have been a wasted trip. She couldn’t imagine one Dirks Hanna wasting effort in any direction.
Jingle nudged her and she rubbed his neck affectionately before walking him back to his stall. “You’re right,” she murmured to the horse. “Carlee’s a grown woman. Her business is her own.” Even if Carlee decided to get something going with Dirks Hanna. Or if he decided to get something going with her.
Giving Jingle a handful of treats, she kissed his forehead, hung his halter on the hook outside his door. Then she stepped around the corner to his older sibling’s stall. Jangle, the seven-year-old son of a thoroughbred mare, was his exact opposite in looks. She and her team marveled that every one of Jack’s offspring carried the physical genetics of the dam but – more importantly - the mental and emotional characteristics of Jack. They learned quickly, loved to work, and were blessed with a natural affinity for people who needed them. Every one of them had shown his amazing ability to connect with damaged humans. And, so far, none had been born a filly which was an oddity in itself.
Jangle was close t
o sixteen hands with the lean muscles of his thoroughbred mother but none of that breed’s potential for flightiness. He was as solid as the rock he looked to be. Avery ran her hands along the leather of the bridle, then the stirrups and front and back girths. It was as automatic for her to check for signs of wear on saddle leather as it was to breathe. They couldn’t afford to take chances with the safety of any of their clients, some of whom were just at the beginning of their horse experience. She and her team cleaned and maintained all of the tack meticulously but Avery insisted upon a full check before any clients were mounted. She did the same for herself, almost religiously, to set that good example.
She positioned several low jumps before snugging the cinch and swinging into the saddle, aware of Dirks still there, still watching. She wasn’t used to an audience and found it more than a little disconcerting. Even so, she carefully put Dirks’ presence from her mind and gave her full attention to Jangle. He was a joy to ride. Jumping would never be her preference in riding, but the gelding loved it and she’d learned to handle the low jumps for his sake.
She took the small hurdles all slow and easy, letting Jangle set the pace, letting him choose when to soar over each. Her job was simply to stay out of his way. Unlike Jingle, who still needed her help, this sibling knew what to do and when to do it.
It wasn’t until the third round of jumps, that she felt something slip in the saddle beneath her. Her heart dropped at the unexpected sensation of insecurity. She sensed when Jangle felt it, as well, but it was too late for either to react. They were in the air and all Avery could do was try her best to stay centered until he landed. She quickly realized she wasn’t going to be successful. Her thought as the ground flew up to meet her was that at least they were clear of the jump.
The landing took the breath from her and, for a moment, she was completely dazed as she stared up at blue sky. She heard Dirks’ shout of concern, and wanted to tell him not to startle the gelding, but there was no breath in her lungs for the words.
Then Dirks was crouched over her, looking into her eyes and telling her not to move. She would’ve laughed if she could because moving wasn’t an option until she could breathe again.
When her breath did come back to her it was almost as painful as having it knocked out. Almost. She pushed to her elbows.
“I need to get up.” Her voice sounded weak even to her.
“You need to be still until I figure out how badly you’re hurt.”
Ignoring Dirks, she sat. “Bruised, maybe. Where’s Jangle? Something happened.”
At her movement, the gelding stepped toward her. He’d stopped in his tracks as soon as she landed. Dirks reached up to take the reins so the animal couldn’t come any closer.
“Whoa, fella. It won’t help if you step on her.” He gave Avery his arm to brace herself as she pulled to her feet. “You’re a hard-headed woman.”
She didn’t hear any admiration in the comment so accepted it for the scold it was without responding. When she reached for the reins, Dirks released them. She watched as he picked up the saddle and carried it over to the fence rail. When he had his back to her, she bent forward at the waist, pulling in air, but she kept that show of weakness brief. While Dirks was absorbed in studying the saddle, she checked Jangle, carefully walking alongside him. He didn’t show any sign of injury from what could have been an awkward landing. Only when she was satisfied with his well-being, did she follow Dirks to the rail where he examined the English saddle she’d been using.
He glanced up at her approach. “Do all of the horses have their own saddles?”
That seemed an odd question to her. “Most, yes, because they have different jobs. Sometimes we have to swap out for rider size. Often we can just adjust stirrup lengths, but if a rider needs a larger or smaller seat, that can’t be adjusted.” She studied the saddle, trying to see what he saw. “Why do you ask?”
Dirks’ expression was grim as he asked, “Who else was likely to ride in this saddle today?”
“I’d have to check the calendar to see who was booked. Otherwise, just me or Carlee. Leanne’s never gotten comfortable riding English even though Jangle’s in her barn.”
Since Dirks hadn’t answered her question, Avery moved in closer, knowing she wasn’t going to like anything she saw and she was right. The leather she’d checked so carefully was intact, but the steel girth ring was broken through.
“I don’t understand,” she said bewildered. “This isn’t an old saddle. And I’ve never seen that happen before.”
“It was filed thin.” Dirks turned the backside of the metal piece toward her. “See on either side of the break? You can tell some kind of file was used to wear through the metal.”
“A rasp,” Avery said numbly. “Most likely a farrier’s rasp.”
“Is that something you keep here?”
“Yes. We don’t do our own horses’ feet but occasionally we have to rasp and pull nails from a shoe until the farrier can get here, just to prevent additional damage from a partially pulled shoe.”
Avery stared at the damaged ring, feeling the heavy thud of her own heartbeat. She wasn’t concerned with the risk to herself but the thought that someone would put a client – a client likely recovering from previous injuries – at risk like this made her nauseous. That took a very sick sort of person.
“I don’t know what to do.” The comment slipped out before she thought. Never would she have revealed that kind of weakness and uncertainty to him. Or anyone else.
Dirks turned to look at her and the harsh angles of his expression eased. “You’re going to call the sheriff and warn your team. I’m going to make some calls of my own.” Almost as if he couldn’t help himself, he brushed at some sand on her face. His touch was light, gentle. “Are you okay to take care of your horse?”
Fighting the impulse to lean her cheek into his touch, Avery straightened her shoulders. “I’m fine.” And she would be. She was used to doing what had to be done and what had to be done was rarely quick or easy.
She felt Dirks’ gaze on her as she walked away. She tried not to limp but she could already feel the stiffness that would get worse before it got better. Her lips twisted wryly. She didn’t suppose her stride looked nearly as attractive as Carlee’s had just a short time before.
* * *
Here I’d thought things couldn’t get much uglier, but it seems they definitely can. Dead critters in a few water troughs is a mere prank next to what just happened. Ms. Gorgeous could have been crippled or killed under the hooves of an animal that size! His gentleness couldn’t have saved her and he truly is a gentle giant. Some of the other equines are a bit cheeky and that requires watching. It may seem like great fun to chase a black cat detective through a darkened pasture but it’s not fun to be on the receiving end. It was, in fact, rather demeaning to have to literally run for my life but such was the position in which I found myself last night while doing a bit of recon. Very young equines have a peculiar sense of play.
But, this – a saddle deliberately sabotaged and failing during use – is extremely dangerous. Not child’s play at all.
And, unfortunately, I find myself almost in the same predicament as Ms. Gorgeous in not knowing what to do next. The cameras are only going to be useful if someone is trying to break into one of the barns at night. I can only hope we get that lucky as these midnight rounds are getting tiresome. We need a break soon. I think I shall hang with Mr. Military a bit, see if he has any ideas that I can put to good use with or without him.
Ah, there he is, pacing the wide front porch – verandah my Tammy would call it – and talking on that cell phone of his. I do wish these humanoids would realize how difficult it is to eavesdrop. The distance to the ground is difficult enough. Being forced to keep up with the strides of an agitated human male while listening in is beyond ridiculous.
“You’re right, this is important. I know I don’t often ask for favors. There’s a reason for that as you damn well know. Pay back is always
hell with you.”
Ah, a chuckle, that’s encouraging. I thought this was a disagreement of some sort.
“Yeah, work your magic. The sheriff’s on it, but, I’m not sure what he’ll share with me even if he does manage to dig something up. I need to know who her ex is in debt to and how much he’s in for.”
Whew, he’s stopped pacing for a moment. The conversation will be a bit easier to follow.
“No, I wouldn’t lay odds on her guilt or innocence over the missing checks but there’s something going on here a hell of a lot bigger than that. It seems straightforward enough that her ex got himself up to his eyeballs in some kind of gambling thing. He obviously planned to pay it off selling the ranch and the horses. The judge’s ruling in the divorce put an end to any hopes he had of that.”
He resumes his pacing. This restless energy is uncharacteristic of what I’ve observed since his arrival on the ranch.
“Don’t worry about how I feel. It won’t change the outcome of my investigation here.”
My, my I do believe I detect a bit of attitude from Mr. Military. Whoever he is conversing with has touched a sore spot and I daresay that spot is Ms. Gorgeous.
“Can’t disagree with you on that. If he got her deep enough in debt, she might have signed off on those fraudulent checks and split the difference with Cassidy on our end.”
Oh, I say, that’s not right! Fraudulent checks? Surely he doesn’t suspect Ms. Gorgeous of wrong-doing! Now I am on the wrong side of both Mr. Military and whoever he’s talking with.
“BS on that. I’d rather pay you in dollars. Yeah, yeah, I know - you’ll get it back in spades. Just come through for me on this. I’ve got the ranch covered but I need boots on the ground elsewhere. One more thing, check on a Burris Tarent for me. I don’t know how he plays into all this, but I need to know if he’s a real bad-ass or just a wannabe. Hey, and thanks, okay?”
A Box Full of Trouble Page 67
