A Box Full of Trouble

by Carolyn Haines

  She pretended not to notice as he rummaged through her cabinets, passing up her everyday wine goblets to find what he wanted in a lighter-than-air crystal tinted a rich emerald green.

  He pulled the cork on the wine with quiet expertise and poured. When he handed her the glass, he smiled. “Almost the same shade of the green in your eyes.”

  And her heart tilted. She took the glass he held out to her, their fingers barely brushing, but the touch, soft as butterfly wings, had her heart dropping as if on the wildest roller coaster.

  * * *

  Once Dirks started the grill, the team started gathering. With her part done, Avery took her wine glass to the double-glider, dropped her sandals to the deck and tucked her feet under her. Trouble bounded agilely to the seat beside her and curled up, waiting in anticipation of steak she supposed.

  Tucker came first, sniffing appreciatively at the scent of hickory flavored charcoal. “Oh, man, I know that stuff ain’t good for you, but it’s so worth it.”

  Dirks just smiled and offered him a beer from the kitchen as if it were his to offer. Avery lifted a brow and smiled as Tucker stepped in and grabbed a bottle and a glass and returned just as quickly. He took a seat on the back step and poured his beer into the glass.

  “I don’t think grilling over gas is considered any healthier than charcoal,” Dirks offered.

  Tucker frowned at that, considering, and then shrugged. Apparently, all he cared about in that regard was the steak. “You learn anything new or interesting while you were in town?”

  “Not new, but interesting. Just reaffirmed some things in my mind.”

  Avery wondered what that meant but had no intention of asking him. She thought Tucker might ask but Carlee walked up and, as usual, there went Tucker’s attention. She’d smile if she thought Carlee had any real interest in him. As it was, she feared Tucker was in for a real heartbreak if he got any more serious. She hoped he wouldn’t. The team worked well together. A failed romance or broken heart could ruin that. And she wasn’t entirely selfish in her hope. Tucker didn’t deserve heartbreak. He deserved the love of his life to love him back. And there she went again, believing in fairy tales.

  Leanne arrived next, her husband with her. “Avery, hey, Leanne said I was welcome to join y’all.”

  Avery stood and gave him a hug. “You’re always welcome here, Jason, and you have as much right as any of us to know what is going on. Especially now. This is probably not what you expected to come home to.” She still felt guilty that Leanne was at any kind of risk because of her problems.

  Jason had wide shoulders, a full head of dark hair without a hint of curl to it and dimples that Leanne told her he preferred to call creases. Leanne went straight to the kitchen to get them a drink and Jason pulled two of the wooden chairs closer to the action.

  For a moment, it seemed to Avery that the atmosphere was turning almost festive, at least until Carlee stepped out of the house with a glass of ice water in her hand. The glance she gave Dirks at the grill was just as cool as the drink she carried as she moved close to Avery.

  “Are you still feeling sore?” Avery asked, scooting over to make room. Trouble leapt to the deck, not looking back at the two of them, as he curled his tail around him.

  “Hardly at all. Quit worrying.” It was an order but Carlee said the words lightly with a smile. She glanced around. “Are we eating out here? It’s cool enough for a change.”

  “I actually cleared the dining table, but we could I suppose.”

  Before the suggestion could become a debate, Dirks’ security duo arrived.

  With the potatoes roasting on the grill and the group settled in various places, Dirks took the lead, giving quick introductions to those who hadn’t yet met. Avery immediately liked the two men Dirks had brought in but she was uncertain that they could be effective when no one could guess where the next risk lay. She wasn’t surprised when Carlee said as much.

  “We don’t know who or what my dad has turned loose on us or even what he might decide to do next. Jesus, running Avery’s car off the road? There’s just no talking to him. I can’t get through to him at all.”

  “When was the last time you talked with him?” Dirks asked.

  Carlee thought a minute. “Two days ago, I think. I tried twice today. He’s not answering his phone. Guess he doesn’t want to hear it was his own daughter he nearly killed.”

  Carlee’s voice held deep bitterness and Avery’s heart ached for her. Clearly, Carlee had come to accept Tucker’s opinion that it had been Craig who had run her off the road. Avery reached for her hand but all Carlee allowed was one quick squeeze. Carlee wasn’t – had never been – what Avery thought of as a hugger. Even so, the fierce pressure of Carlee’s hand in hers, however brief, held a wealth of emotion. Feelings Avery knew Carlee would never put into words.

  “Even if the truck was your father’s,” Dirks said evenly, “he may not have been the driver.”

  Carlee stared at him, perplexed. “What are you suggesting? That someone could have stolen his truck and then tried to run me - or Avery - off the road? That doesn’t make sense.”

  “Depends on who was driving.” Jeremiah had a quiet, low voice, but one that commanded immediate attention. Avery suspected he’d never have to shout to be heard. “Your father has made some serious enemies. He owes them money and they want what’s due them.”

  Avery realized what Jeremiah was hinting at before Carlee did and watched as understanding dawned.

  “You think someone did something to him? Hurt him and stole the truck?”

  Carlee stood and began pacing, nearly stumbling over Trouble in her distraction.

  Glancing at Dirks, Avery’s heart dropped as she realized the men suspected Craig was more than somewhere hurt. Carlee was angry at her father now, but Avery had no doubt she would be devastated to lose him. He was her only blood relative since the deaths of her sister and mother. From his expression, Dirks at least thought it might well have come to that.

  * * *

  Rather than risk being trampled by clumsy feet, it would behoove me to take a turn about the barns and paddocks. Add to that, with the humans all gathered in one place, the villains would have free-rein should they decide on an attack in the next bit. Not that I think they will, mind you, nor does Mr. Military, I’m confident. If he had concerns, he would’ve taken additional precautions. Still, a bit of extra reconnoitering would not come amiss since the bit of prime steak I’m anticipating is still ‘resting’ on the kitchen counter. I took a peek earlier and, though I remain perplexed why a dead cow should require rest, the humans in my life all appear to deem that a necessity prior to displaying their culinary expertise.

  It’s a lovely night, less humid than typical. I can almost catch a scent of autumn on the evening breeze but it’s a certainty that there are several more weeks of brutal heat to come. I don’t sense any agitation amongst the small herds of the young or the old equine in their respective pastures. All seems definitely quiet there as well as within the barns. It would probably be a waste of time and a bore to make another reconnaissance but the steaks aren’t yet upon the grill so I may as well.

  There are times that boredom can be appealing and the stroll is good exercise. It’s vitally important that I maintain a solid physique as certain aspects of sleuthing can be draining if one is not in tip-top shape.

  After meandering along the pastures, I find myself at what Ms. Gorgeous refers to as Barn Three. It’s late enough that all of the child-prodigy equine have been fed and, once fed, are snoozing on a full belly. Barn Two is much the same. Noble heads hang over stall doors, gazing at me rather quizzically as I pass by. Some of the horses doze in a corner, caring less that I’m here for their protection.

  All appears as it should be, yet I have this sense of disquiet, that all is not as it should be and, in Barn One, I find exactly the sort of thing I dread to see. A note fastened to a stall front. Not just any stall but that of Ms. Gorgeous’ most beloved equine,
Sir Jack. Ah well, just Jack as the humans call him, but really, how mundane is that?

  I find nothing distressing about the scent, or lack thereof, that clings to the small area that encompasses the stall. It is clear, however, that this needs the humans’ immediate attention. These humans leave each other reminders or information upon a whiteboard with colored markers. They do not use pen and paper and thumb tacks.

  * * *

  Avery looked almost relieved when Dirks decided the grill was ready and refused to talk business for the next little while. He declared the steaks he’d hand-picked were prime beef and not to be relegated to ‘back-seat’. Sensing her stress at the turn the conversation had taken, he deftly changed the subject altogether, effectively distracted the entire group by producing the ranch calendars he’d picked up while in town.

  He glanced willingly at the pictures on each page, though the only ones that truly caught his attention were the six that featured Avery with six different animals. Even he could tell that her attire had been matched to suit both tack and horse. Sleek sophistication matched to a tall, athletic hunter-jumper. Bling, as Leanne laughing tagged it, when she sat astride a compact quarter horse under western saddle. Jaunty Irish togs as she leaned lovingly against the little Connemara she’d given away to a young boy in need.

  But even he had to acknowledge the stark elegance of the photograph of Carlee that Tucker called to his attention. Her hair was tucked completely under a hat and the photographer had been positioned so that the camera caught only her profile against a darkening sky of sunset plum and lavender. The horse was sleek and muscled, captured dramatically between one movement and the next.

  But looking from the photograph of Carlee to the inner-lit beauty that was Avery, he thought ‘no contest’. He could see her relaxing into the quiet camaraderie of the group but the respite proved brief. Trouble leapt onto the porch with a yowl, drawing everyone’s attention to him. He circled Avery’s feet until she stood and placed her glass of wine on a small table.

  “What is it, Trouble? What’s wrong?”

  “Really, Avery,” Carlee said with a half-laugh. “He’s hungry as usual and smelled the steaks on the grill.”

  “I don’t think so.” Avery stood for a moment, just staring into Trouble’s green eyes. Instinctively, she stepped down from the porch. “I’ll be back when I’ve checked out what’s stressed him.”

  She seemed barely aware of Dirks’ handing over the tongs to Tucker. “They’re ready. Get everyone served and we’ll be back.”

  He followed close by her side as Trouble led the way. Her pace quickened and Dirks realized with a silent dread where the cat was leading them. “Jack!” He heard the urgency in her voice but all was quiet in the barn and there was her beloved Jack, safe, his head thrust over the stall door as usual at her approach.

  Dirks slowed as he saw the folded paper tacked to Jack’s door, just below the handle where the horse could not reach and worry it free. He hesitated then pulled it loose, handing it to Avery who had been solely focused on Jack.

  Slowly, she read it aloud. “You will connect with any buyer who contacted you in the past asking to purchase the offspring of Flying Jackanapes and you will now offer them - all of them - for sale. You will receive drop off instructions for the money from each sale. If you fail to sell them or fail to produce the money, the animals will die, one by one. You have 24 hours to offer the first sell, no more, no less.”

  She looked at Dirks in absolute terror and surprised him, as much as he suspected she surprised herself, by moving into the shelter of his waiting arms. Dirks couldn’t help himself as he brushed his lips against her temple. Her action proved that she trusted him, even if only instinctively, trusted that he would help her keep her horses safe. And he would, if it took his last ounce of effort - by God, he would.

  “I don’t know what to do,” she admitted, whispering the words against his chest.

  “Yeah, well I do,” he said and prayed that she would believe him, trust him.

  * * *

  Carlee stood up as they walked back toward the gathering.

  “You found something after all, didn’t you?” Her gaze searched Avery’s face. “The horses? They’re all right?”

  Avery handed her the threatening note and Carlee blanched upon reading it. Without missing a beat, Carlee shot Dirks a hard glare. “So much for your crackerjack security team,” she said derisively, but her voice softened as she turned back to Avery. “What are we going to do?”

  “I’ve got the beginnings of a plan worked out,” Dirks said. “We’ve got at least a day before there will be another move.”

  For a moment, Avery thought - feared - Carlee would explode, the anger was so clear on her face. And Avery understood, truly she did. If anything, it would appear to Carlee that Dirks was interfering far more than he was helping, but, unexpectedly, Carlee nodded. “That’s probably true. The note says twenty-four hours.”

  She turned to Avery, studied her quietly for a moment. “You’re completely wiped, aren’t you?” she finally asked softly. “We both are, I guess. We need a mental break. Let’s get away, at least for a bit, maybe trail ride tomorrow, talk through our options and come up with a plan. Do you trust Mr. Hanna to keep an eye on things for a few hours in the morning?”

  Avery heard the disregard for any plan Dirks had in the making as well as the challenge. She knew Dirks would have heard it as well, but he responded calmly. “I can handle things here, Carlee.”

  Avery wasn’t sure that Carlee was convinced, but somehow, Avery was.

  Chapter Seventeen

  I remain uneasy about the notion of Carlee and Ms. Gorgeous out in the open spaces of the ranch with no protection and so, I suspect, does Mr. Military. On the other hand, I can understand Ms. Gorgeous needing a ‘mental break’ as Carlee put it. As weighty as my sense of accountability toward my humans, I can only imagine the strain of having sole responsibility for the livelihood of three full-time employees – with Carlee being family as much and more than employee – as well as the safety of all of these large animals enjoying, as am I, the pre-dawn coolness.

  All seems peaceful, at least for now. Mr. Military’s security duo has been as vigilant as he could want through the night, but my anxiety increases nonetheless, perhaps due to nothing more than lack of sleep. I’ve pushed past my own limits, I fear. One last swing through the barn and past Jack’s stall and then a much needed power nap. I dare not allow myself more of a rest than that, not until I sort through my disquiet.

  Fortunately, all is as serene in here as without and Ms. Gorgeous’ favorite chair is looking satisfyingly cozy there at Jack’s stall door. All I need is a few moments rest and I shall be ready to go again.

  Oh, dear, there is a light on in what these horse humans call a tack room, where saddles and bridles and various and sundry other equipment and supplies are kept. With the memory of the devastation wrought on the evening of my arrival at Summer Valley Ranch still strong in my mind, I move to the doorway on silent paws.

  Odd. It is Carlee, who really should be sleeping at this hour, particularly so soon after her nasty wreck. Yet, here she is running her hands over the attachments that make up a saddle, the various straps and buckles and screws. Her expression is intense but not tense. As I watch, she turns from one saddle to another and repeats the scrutiny.

  I hear a sound and press against the wall as I turn to look down the long barn hallway. Ah, it is one of our fearsome protectors striding quickly but surprisingly lightly toward the glow of the light. He hesitates as he recognizes one of the denizens of the ranch.

  “What are you doing? Is something wrong?”

  Carlee’s laugh is a brittle sound. “Other than the fact that I haven’t slept since this mess with my father started? No, everything’s lovely. Avery and I are going riding this morning out in the hills on two of the younger horses. Broke but still fairly green. It’s good for them and something we routinely do.”

  “But?” />
  “But just recently Avery took a bad tumble because tack had been deliberately damaged. I’ve found a piece or two since then that I’ve had repaired. We always use western saddles out in the hills and at four a.m. my eyes opened as I realized I hadn’t checked these since ... well since then.”

  “Everything seems okay?”

  “Yes, everything’s fine.”

  He nods, hearing clearly as do I, the dismissal in her tone. He can’t know that she has just shared more with him than is typical. In my time here, I’ve discovered Carlee to be a young lady of surprisingly few words.

  As he exits, I glance back at Carlee and feel a distinct and unpleasant shock as she slides first one, then another gleaming rifle into two scabbards and attaches each carefully to the saddles in front of her. Clearly, she expects danger or is at the least direly worried about the possibility. It is only a bit reassuring that her movements are sure and confident. This is not her first outing with rifles.

  Carlee seems not to notice me as she strides from the tack room and the barn. I glance at the cozy chair in front of Jack’s stall but I’ve an inexplicable, yet solid, feeling of unease that isn’t going to allow for a nap.

  * * *

  Avery opened her eyes to an unexpected sense of well-being she immediately attributed to her decision to take a day for herself. For her and for Carlee. They both needed a time out, away from the ranch and the worries that surrounded them. The thought of being out in the low hills with just the horses was quieting. It was a thing she and Carlee did regularly but not often and they’d made time less often as their business grew.

  She trusted, absolutely, that Dirks would keep Jack safe in her absence. That trust amazed her but also gave her an immense sense of relief. And Carlee was right, they couldn’t put their world on hold or fall apart in dealing with this new threat. Nor could she be sure this would be the last threat to come at her.