by Vella Munn
The first time Nate had talked to Marti, Marti had insisted the old bitch had poisoned his guard dog. After lengthy questioning, Marti had admitted he didn’t keep the dog on a chain or fenced in and it had a habit of rummaging through trash cans along the road. Besides, by the time Nate saw the dog, it had recovered—if it had been poisoned.
The Hatfields and McCoys didn’t have anything on those two.
Adding to the fun, Marti firmly believed the humane society in general and Nate in particular had it in for him. Nate fully expected Marti to tell him the society had gotten what it deserved with regards to the upheaval following the fatal dog attacks.
At the moment Nate was parked as far off Ball Road as he could, looking through binoculars at Marti’s horses. He could have gone other places this afternoon, dealt with other cases, but not only did he stand a better chance of avoiding the press out here, he needed the peaceful setting.
Maybe Crosby was right. He’d let himself be sucked into something that might destroy him. It was either regain self-control or—or what?
He’d dealt with hundreds of dogs over the years. Some he’d returned to their owners, some he’d saved from cruel situations, some he hadn’t been able to save. He was no longer the green new hire who’d taken every case home with him, because he’d learned how to balance the job’s realities with working on his place, hiking and getting together with friends like Douglas.
It wouldn’t be easy now, in part because of his feelings for Rachelle and Joe, in part because of Masau—the Force.
You don’t own me, he railed at the incomprehensible thing that had taken over his life. I won’t let you.
But did he have a say in what was happening? That's what he had to, somehow, shove to the back of his mind so he could deal with today.
The last time he’d been out here, Marti had been packing thirty horses on the acreage near Opal. There seemed to be about the same number now. More to the point, they looked leaner than before.
Delaying getting out, he closed his eyes. A painful memory surfaced. The agency had received several frantic calls from drivers who’d seen a horse being led down Ball Road behind a slow-moving pickup. It had taken him the better part of an hour to get out here and locate the vehicle. By then the driver had reached his destination and the mare was down.
Barely holding himself in check, Nate had ordered the man to help him try to get the mare back on her feet before her weight crushed her internal organs. She’d managed to stand, and Nate had been trying to make sense of what the man had in mind when the mare went down again. She’d died with her head resting on Nate’s lap. Far from showing any indication he cared about the animal, the man had said the mare was barren and those were the breaks.
Breaks! She’d been a good two hundred pounds underweight, her hooves overgrown and split, and her front teeth so long she’d barely been able to eat.
The man had gotten off with a suspended two-month jail sentence and a five hundred dollar fine. If someone ever needed a dose of the grays’ brand of justice, it was that man. And others like him.
“You understand why they do what they do,” an inner voice said. “You are right to want to protect them.”
“What do you think?” Douglas asked. He was standing by the open window.
Grateful for the distraction, he acknowledged the deputy who’d agreed to accompany him out here as a hedge against Marti’s temper. Their conversation had ended with agreement not to talk about what had happened in Crosby’s office. What he hadn’t been able to promise Crosby was that he could focus on what had brought him out here.
“It’s hard to tell from here,” Nate said. “But I’m seeing some ribs I didn’t before. Maybe Opal’s right this time.”
Douglas shaded his eyes and stared at the distant herd. Then he held out his hand and Nate gave him the binoculars.
“I don’t know a lot about horses,” Douglas said, “but they’re pretty shaggy.”
“I want to look at their hooves. If they’re seriously overgrown—”
“I’m betting they are. No one can care for that many animals. It must cost him a fortune to support them. You can’t limit the number he has?”
As Nate opened the door, Douglas backed up to give him room. “That’s a gray area when it comes to horses. Besides, he insists he’s boarding some of them for their owners.”
“I guess we should be grateful he isn’t into cats.”
He was referring to the last time they’d gone out on a case together. Douglas had come along to make sure the couple who hadn’t gotten around to spaying and neutering their cats didn’t get in the way while animal control officers rounded up over twenty felines. Douglas had pitched in by scooping up several half-grown kittens. He’d been bitten and scratched for his efforts.
“If I was a betting man I’d say we stand a snowball’s chance of getting close to those nags,” Douglas said after they’d slipped under the barbed wire fence and were walking toward the horses.
Even though he suspected Douglas was right, Nate had brought along a halter and lead rope. The horses had bunched together the way herd animals do, and were staring at the approaching strangers. It felt good to be dealing with horses and not the grays this afternoon. He needed time with normalcy.
To shake the we aren’t alone feeling.
“Douglas? I’d like to buy you a beer once we get off work.”
“As long we talk sports and my offspring, I’ll take you up on it.”
He pondered whether he’d like living here. His commute would be longer, and he wasn’t sure what he’d do with the acreage he’d have to buy because of the zoning, but he liked the idea of living out here.
How would Rachelle react to Ball Road?
Was this where the grays could live out their lives?
“Hey, what the hell are you doing?”
“You’re about to meet Marti Nedrow,” he told Douglas. Going by his muddy clothes and not so casually held shovel, Nate guessed Marti had been in the pasture when Douglas and he arrived. Maybe he’d deliberately stayed out of sight. What did he mean, maybe? No wonder he’d felt as if they were being watched.
Marti was over six feet tall and a good two hundred fifty pounds. On more than one occasion Marti had used every one of those inches and pounds to try to intimidate Nate. Nate suspected Opal managed her fear of the big man by hiding behind animal control and law enforcement. Today Marti wore faded, torn-at-the-knee jeans and a flannel shirt with the sleeves cut off. Nate didn’t want to know what in addition to mud caked his boots.
“You have no business being here.” Marti glared at Nate and Douglas by turn. “I know who’s behind it—that old bitch. What’s she saying now?”
“Put down the shovel,” Douglas said. “Then we’ll talk.”
A ghost-grin touched Marti’s mouth. “I’m on my property. I can damn well carry anything I want.”
Douglas stepped forward. “Put it down. You don’t want to start out this way.”
After mulling that over, Marti tossed the shovel as if it were a spear.
“What we’re here for,” Nate said, “is to get a better look at your horses. That’s the only way we’ll be able to accurately assess their condition.”
“You’re looking for something to fault, I know you are. There’s no damn—”
“Are you or aren’t you going to cooperate?” Douglas interrupted. “If we have to get a court order we will, but I don’t think you want to do it that way.”
This wasn’t the first time Marti had heard that, but, as when Nate had said the words, it took him a while to process things. Nate didn’t believe Marti was mentally slow so much as locked into doing as he wanted.
“Fine. I can’t stop you, but you’re crazy if you think I’m going to help you catch them horses. I’ve got to get back to work. Damn irrigation.”
In some respects Marti had won this round. If anyone could get close to the half-wild animals, it was the person who fed them. However, Douglas and Nate
stood a better chance of doing their job if they didn’t have to keep an eye on Marti.
Nate held up his binoculars. “We don’t have to touch them for me to get a preliminary idea of their condition.”
“And if you don’t like what you see?” Marti asked.
“Then we deal with it,” Douglas supplied.
“Damn busybodies. Whatever happened to a man’s castle? I’m not hurting anyone, just trying to make a living.”
The last thing Nate wanted to do was get into an argument bound to go around in circles. Leaving Marti, he started toward the herd. Douglas matched his pace but didn’t say anything until they’d put distance between themselves and the antagonistic man.
“I take it he’s always like that,” Douglas said.
“Pretty much. Every time I try to talk to him about why he has so many animals, he tells me it’s none of my damn business. Maybe he doesn’t know what compels him to do what he does. Maybe he lets the herd keep growing because he knows it pisses off Opal.”
“Great reasons for having more horses than he can feed or care for.”
Eventually Marti’s him-against-the world nature would blow up on him. Today might be that day. On top of everything Nate was dealing with, he didn’t need this. Unfortunately he didn’t have a choice.
“I don’t have a good feeling,” Douglas said. They were walking slowly because the pasture was so uneven. “Cop intuition maybe. Maybe because he’s behind us and we’re out in the middle of nowhere.”
“You’re nervous?” Even with the need to make sure he didn’t break an ankle, Nate didn’t try to fight the impulse to take in the setting. Something indefinable made the hairs at the back of his neck stand up. That something might have nothing to do with Marti after all.
“Cops don’t get scared. It isn’t in the job description. Besides, it isn’t Marti. I’ve seen enough men like him to know he’s barking and not biting.”
“Then what?”
“I don’t know.”
I do, maybe.
Chapter Twenty-Five
Joe had been watching the History Channel when Rachelle arrived, but he’d turned off the TV with his good hand when she stepped into the room. While waiting for the cardiologist, she’d given him a rundown of her day except for the call from a couple of detectives insisting they needed to talk to her. They’d already been to Joe’s place but the dogs hadn’t been there. The sooner the grays were rounded up, the detectives said, the sooner the public would be safe. If she refused to cooperate, they’d have no choice but to visit Joe in the hospital.
Backed into a corner, she’d agreed. Fortunately, she’d convinced them to wait an hour before interviewing her. Hopefully by then she’d have talked to Nate—Nate who was responsible for law enforcement knowing about Joe and her.
What was he doing and did she want to have anything to do with him?
The cardiologist gave Joe a cursory exam, followed by a detailed description of what the tests had told him about his patient’s condition. Joe was doing better than expected, which meant he could be released as soon as tomorrow.
Rachelle thought her dad might argue to be sprung tonight, but he didn’t say anything until after the doctor had left.
“I could get a—a taxi tomorrow,” her dad said. “Have them take me home. That way you don’t…”
On the brink of arguing that she had no intention of letting him fend for himself, she acknowledged she could be in custody by then. “Let’s don’t worry about that until you’re sprung. I have every intention of being here.”
He held up his hand. Determined to let him say whatever he needed to, she waited. He struggled to sit up.
“They’re out there.”
“Here?” She didn’t need to ask whom he was talking about.
“No but thomewhere.”
“You sense their presence?”
“Yeath.”
Her heart started pounding. Fighting the sensation, she stood and positioned herself next to him. Taking his hand, she brought it to her chest.
“I didn’t wan to say anythin about that ’cause…”
“Because what?”
“You wouldn’t understand, believe.”
“Dad, there isn’t anything I wouldn’t be open to where the grays are concerned.”
He studied her. “You mean it?”
“That research I did about the Hopi, not long ago I told Nate it’s possible a spirit they call Masau is responsible for the grays killing those animal abusers. I’d call that open, wouldn’t you?”
“Yes,” he said after a moment. “My connection with ’em, it’s deeper than you know.”
“In what way?”
“I, ah, sometimes I’m in their heads. See through their eyes.”
Their eyes. “Is that why you didn’t worry when they were gone, because you knew where they were?”
“Yeth.”
Much as she wanted to shake him for keeping something so vital from her, she understood his hesitancy. Anyone but her would call him crazy.
“You saw the killings?”
“The firth one. After that I couldn’t—I didn’t want…”
“Of course you didn’t. I’m so sorry you witnessed what you did.”
“They did right. What those poor dogs—so cruel. So wrong.”
When he was stronger, she’d try to determine if he wanted to say more about what he’d seen. “Where are the grays now?”
His grip tightened. Then he closed his eyes. She waited.
“Open land. Not many houses.” He paused. “Horthes.”
“Horses, you mean?”
He nodded.
“What are the grays doing?”
“Watching. Learning.”
“Learning what?”
He frowned, or rather one side of his mouth did. “Not good.”
Her palms dampened, and she wiped the free one on her slacks. If only he could speak without effort. “What isn’t good, Dad?”
“The woff dog. With them. I don’t trust him.”
“Why not?”
“I—can’t read him. Men. Three. Why…”
“Why what?”
“My babies, hiding.”
“Dad, can you tell what the men are doing?”
“Walkin. To the horthes. The grays—wathing.”
“What are they waiting for?”
“Tense. So tense.”
The dogs weren’t the only ones. She felt as if she might snap. “Have you ever seen them like this? What about just before…”
Silence spread out to encompass the room. If she pushed Dad would he admit he’d known what was going to happen before the grays killed?
“What about Lobo?”
“Near but not with ’em. He’s watching, learning.”
Where is this taking us? “Can you tell anything about the horses?”
Dad squeezed his eyes shut and started nodding as if listening to some inner tune.
“Gun leathing the others, going to the horthes. Damn, damn.”
He gripped her hand so hard he mashed her fingers. “What?”
“The horthes are in bad shape.”
This was real, not some drug-induced fantasy. “The men. Can you tell who they are?”
“I don—Smoke. Crawlin’ toward the men. Growlin’.”
“Are they on the hunt?” she forced herself to ask. “Like before?”
“Do—don’t ask.”
“I have to! Tell me the truth, Dad. The truth!”
“Nate.”
No! “He’s there? What is he doing?”
“Talking. Looking. Angry. There, a polith—officer. Another man. Angry.”
Despite the gaping holes in her knowledge, she put enough pieces of the puzzle together to conclude that Nate and the police officer had come to wherever they were to confront the other man. The confrontation had something to do with horses.
The grays and Lobo were also there. Maybe endangering the man she— “Where is this taking place?”
she demanded.
“I don’t—country. Farmin’ and ranchin’ land.”
Not enough information! No way could she warn Nate unless—
* * * *
Most of the horses trotted away when Nate and Douglas approached, but several mares remained. It didn’t take Nate long to conclude it wasn’t because they liked humans.
“Look at their hooves,” he muttered. “Those are sand cracks. Deep as they are, their feet have to be sore. The condition’s caused by a variety of things. In this case I’d say it’s a combination of dry ground and poor nutrition.”
“They’re definitely underweight,” Douglas said.
“Yeah, they are.”
“Because they’re not getting enough food.”
“Maybe.” Nate shaded his eyes. “Tooth problems might make it hard for some of them to eat, or they could have worms. I told Marti to worm them. He said he would.”
“Obviously he lied.”
One of the mares, a skinny pinto, was deeply swaybacked. Her lower lip sagged, the hairs on her muzzle were gray, and her face had a hollowed appearance. “She’s old,” Nate explained. “She should be on a diet high in protein and fiber and be getting vitamins and minerals, which I’m sure she isn’t.”
When Nate whistled, the elderly pinto perked up and started toward the men. Thinking to limit the amount of walking she had to do, he headed in her direction.
The temperature was in the high seventies and it would have been comfortable if not for the strong wind. There was something dead about the breeze, as if the area were waiting for the rainy season to begin. It smelled of dry grasses, dirt and horse excrement.
Douglas was only a few feet away, and yet Nate embraced his aloneness. The horses would either accept or ignore him, but they wouldn’t judge. Their welfare lay in his hands. He was responsible for them. They weren’t ungrateful, just oblivious to the forces complicating his life.
Surprised by his unexpected philosophical bend, he held out his hand. The elderly pinto blew warm, moist breath over his palm and worked his fingers between her loose lips.
