Trouble in Summer Valley

by Susan Y. Tanner

  She had landed on her rear a few feet away. For long moments, they simply stared at each other as both horses bolted away from the sound and smell of gunfire and one unleashed black cat.

  That black cat sat guard between Carlee and her pistol and, at this point, Dirks couldn’t be sure the cat wasn’t capable of using it.

  “Get Carlee’s pistol, Avery.” It was all Dirks could trust himself to say for a moment.

  For answer, Avery scrambled to her feet, dusting the back of her jeans. She rubbed the fur between Trouble’s ears before scooping up the gun.

  Only when Dirks saw the pistol secure in her hand, did he ask, “Do you have your cell phone?”

  Avery gestured in the direction the terrified horses had fled. “I’d say it’s about halfway back to the barn.”

  “Then come get mine and call Tucker, then Farley.”

  As she walked toward him, Dirks let himself breathe a sigh of relief. Avery was safe. They’d sort the rest out, but – for now – that was all that was important, all that mattered.

  The days came and went and turned into a week and then another. Avery worked and grieved and healed. Dirks had left her with a kiss and a promise that he’d be back but she wasn’t sure how she felt about that. She wasn’t sure how she felt about anything. He called her each night, sent her a text each morning and still she didn’t know, wasn’t sure. They’d actually known each other such a short while, a matter of days, really, before it had been time for him to leave. Was that enough?

  “Avery?” At the sound of her name, she glanced over her shoulder. Leanne stood at the entrance of the barn, watching as she ran a brush lovingly over Jack’s gleaming neck. “Ben – Sheriff Farley – drove out to see you. Do you want me to send him in here?

  “No, I’ll come out. I’m done.” She gave Jack a hug and led him back into the stall before slipping the halter from his head. It was the horses, Leanne and Tucker, the ranch itself, the work she believed in, that brought the healing she needed.

  But she missed Dirks. Little as she liked it, as uncomfortable as it made her, she couldn’t deny the fact.

  The sheriff waited beside his truck. He’d placed his hat on the hood and the dry September breeze ruffled his silvering hair. “Avery.” He studied her closely. “You look good. Rested.”

  He’d been present, witnessed as his men had loaded a hand-cuffed Carlee into the back of a patrol car. He’d watched as tears of shock and disbelief had slid down Avery’s cheeks.

  “I’m better,” Avery said, smiling at him, “but I don’t know about rested. It’s been busy around here.” And without Carlee they were short-handed but Avery wasn’t ready to add anyone to their team just yet. Not yet, not this soon. She’d have to eventually, she knew, but bringing someone into their day-to-day lives was an important choice and they’d make it together, she and Tucker and Leanne.

  “What brings you out this way?” Though she suspected she knew and dreaded to hear.

  “I’ve got news of Carlee. Thought it best to tell you face-to-face.”

  Avery braced herself and waited.

  Ben Farley sighed. “She waived all rights and refused a court-appointed attorney. Told the judge every detail of what she’d done and what she planned to do. And showed no remorse or shame or even a hint of emotion for any of it. It beat all I’ve ever seen, Avery.”

  “But they judged her as insane, right?”

  The sheriff shook his head. “No, Avery, they didn’t. She still might plead for that and might even get it, but for now, she’s moving through the system. She’ll have her day in court before it’s finished, but ...” He sighed. “When it’s all said and done, I expect she’ll get one life sentence for murdering her twin and another for murdering her mother.”

  “I’ll never understand,” Avery whispered.

  “No, ma’am, nor will I. She was a cool one, all along, could have been killed when she rolled that SUV.”

  Avery looked startled. “What do you mean?”

  “There was a witness, a hired heavy on a bike trailing her and thinking it was you, planning who knows what kind of threat to get a payoff for his boss. Dirks put me on to him but it took a while for me to track him down. He was willing enough to talk when I did as long as it was off the record. Said Carlee was alone on the road ahead of him. No one forced her off.”

  “That’s insane.”

  “Crazy business every bit of it,” Ben agreed. “Speaking of which, have you heard anything from her dad?”

  “Craig? No, I haven’t and don’t expect to.”

  “I heard he lit out after Carlee was arrested. Guess he’s still running from his debt, but at least you won’t be bothered over that again. Dirks Hanna and I made enough visits in uniform to be sure of that.”

  “Dirks?”

  Ben looked at her quizzically. “You didn’t know?”

  “Seems like every time I turn around there’s something I don’t know.”

  “Well, looks like I stepped my shoe in it this time, but I’ll leave the explanations to him.” Ben gave her a hug before getting into his truck. “You call if you need me, Avery, any time day or night.”

  “I’ll be fine.”

  Ben smiled as he closed his door. “I expect you will, at that.”

  She watched the sheriff pull out of the drive before turning back to her work, nearly stepping on the sleek black cat in the process. She scooped him up and rubbed her face against his soft fur. “You saved my life. I’ll never forget that.”

  Well, yes, I did. Me and Mr. Military, who is long over-due for return. And that needs to be soon as I’ve been gone from my Tammy Lynn long enough. But though the danger has passed, Ms. Gorgeous is still in need of my attention. She doesn’t wake us both crying out in her sleep now but her dreams are restless and her heart is in need of attention that only a human, and a human who loves her, can give. I’m a poor substitute for Mr. Military but I’m all she has for the moment.

  I’ve tried to spend time with young Tucker as well. He fancied himself in love with Carlee and he has fared poorly these past few weeks. Ms. Gorgeous has tried to comfort him but needs as much as she gives there. Such a pity. I’ve heard the term heartless and perhaps even used it upon occasion, but truly, I don’t think I’d ever before met a human who simply had no heart in the emotional sense of the word. I’d met those with an evil heart but none, like Carlee, where no heart existed at all. Neither heart, nor soul.

  It was time to convene a meeting of her team, Avery decided. A month had come and gone since Carlee had exited their lives in a way none could have foreseen. A month since she had seen Dirks. A month to pull herself together. Now it was time to be there, to be present, for her team.

  At the end of the work day, they gathered in her garden. She with a glass of wine, Tucker with a beer, and Leanne with a tumbler of iced tea. Trouble shared the double-glider with her and she kept it moving gently because that was what he liked.

  Avery took a breath and jumped right in. “I’m doubling our part-time barn help. We’ll have one morning, one afternoon student for each barn. I contacted the school and they’re going to send us the applications and resumes of the students who are interested. I’ll need you to look through those. It’s also time to start building the clinic, Tucker. Dr. Snow is planning to retire next summer. He has someone to take on his small animal practice but would like to send his equine clients to you.”

  Tucker looked shell-shocked but only for a moment, before he grinned broadly. It was his first real smile since Carlee’s arrest.

  “Which,” Leanne inserted, “means we’ll need to start looking for someone to manage Barn Two.”

  “It does, yes, and I’ll need both of you heavily invested in that selection process. We’re a team and we’re going to want to bring in someone with that same mindset. I’m also going to begin looking for someone to take over the accounts. I do it well enough, I suppose, but it isn’t what I love and I can’t manage it and my barn as well.”

&nb
sp; Her gaze went to Leanne as she spoke.

  “You already know,” Leanne said accusingly.

  “Perhaps,” Avery admitted, rubbing a hand along Trouble’s back. “But you could tell us.”

  Leanne laughed. “Well, we don’t know the sex but arrival will be mid-March.”

  Tucker hooted. “We’re having a baby? Awesome! Uncle Tucker. Sounds good, right?”

  “It does.” Leanne leaned her head into his shoulder. “Uncle Tucker.”

  “And so ...?” Avery prompted.

  “And so at some point I’ll need to slow down, for a while at least, so I could take over the books then. But we’ll for sure need someone to help you out now and be ready to take my place once the baby is here. I’m not a bookkeeper at heart either.”

  “It will take a bit of juggling but we’ll work it out. I’ll start talking with some of the colleges for prospects as well as place an ad or two in some of the journals we subscribe to.”

  They talked until nearly dark and it felt good to be finally looking forward instead of behind. Leanne drove away home and Tucker drifted back to his bungalow but Avery continued to swing and sip a second glass of wine.

  It seemed almost as if she’d been expecting the headlights that turned into the long drive. Trouble seemed to be as well, purring against her hand but not bothering to come to attention as he eyed the sweep of light along the neat fences before the truck parked.

  Avery stayed where she was, watching as Dirks walked toward her. He stopped, seeming to drink in the sight of her as much as she was of him. He held an envelope toward her.

  “The acceptance of Summer Valley Ranch into the veterans’ equine rehab program.”

  She took it without speaking, turning it in her hand. The program, her acceptance, was still important to her, but not, she thought, as important as this moment. Not nearly as important as this man standing in front of her.

  Searching her eyes with his gaze, Dirks held out his hand to her and she took it. She allowed him to tug her to her feet, and – without hesitation – she stepped into his arms.

  Ah, time now, at last, for me to make my way back to my lovely Tammy Lynn. I can leave here with a good conscience, knowing that I leave the security of Summer Valley Ranch in the very capable hands of my resourceful Avery Wilson and one Mr. Military.

  Acknowledgments

  Heartfelt thanks to Janice Jones for the lovely stick horse in the cover art and Debbie Jones Kuykendall for an author’s photograph which actually looks like me – only better!

  About the Author

  Susan Y. Tanner is best known for her historical romance novels. In Trouble in Summer Valley she combines her love of horses and cats, and steps into a new genre—contemporary romantic mystery. Writing in the voice of a black cat detective, especially one with a slight British accent (thanks to his addiction to Benedict Cumberbatch as Sherlock Holmes) has spurred a series idea that will be sure to delight readers. Her upcoming Trouble books will feature characters with a backstory set in the world of equines, a mini-series within the Familiar Legacy series. Tanner lives on a small ranch in Mississippi and barrel races.

  Thank you for reading this KaliOka Press e-book.

  To receive special offers, bonus content, and info on new releases, visit Susan Y. Tanner’s Amazon Author Page.

  Visit online at

  amazon.com/author/susanytanner

  facebook.com/susan.tanner.376

  susanytanner.com

  susanytanner@yahoo.com

  Familiar Legacy #5

  Small Town Trouble

  Small Town Trouble

  Chapter 1

  There’s nothing like an overenthusiastic canine to ruin a stakeout. I have my eye on a blue sedan parked across the street from the Walsh Estate, where I’m visiting, but it’s deuced difficult to concentrate with an obnoxious Jack Russell terrier barking up at me from the driveway. All of the other cars belonging to the partygoers—and it is a lavish affair--are parked in a nearby field, but the men who directed the parking are long gone. The dark-haired woman in the sedan is a latecomer, and she stares, unmoving, at the Walshes’ posh house, her eyes hidden by sunglasses. With no small degree of nonchalance, I stretch across the top of the deliciously warm brick pedestal, and squint down at Jocko, the offending creature. Who has ever heard of such an idiotic moniker? Jocko, indeed.

  I know for a fact that Sherlock Holmes never had to deal with such an annoying canine—not counting that Baskerville brute, of course. Sherlock, who is my role model and personal hero, made good use of an intelligent chap named Toby that was half-spaniel, but these Jack Russell types are thoroughly mad. They dash about the countryside, yapping constantly, chasing down rodents (an occupation much more suited to accomplished cats like me), and bothering horses.

  I warn Jocko to calm down with a low growl. In return, he whines and pants and waggles that ridiculous curled tail. What a hopeless wretch he is.

  At home in Wetumpka, Alabama, my human, Tammy Lynn, would never have such a beast hanging about. But during our visit with Erin Walsh, the daughter of the late Rita Walsh, Tammy’s childhood babysitter, Tammy was called to Milan, Italy, to authenticate a priceless book that some monks found in their library. The Italian antiquities bureaucracy would only make it available for a few days, and she had to leave me behind. So my temporary residence is here, in western Kentucky, which is dreadfully far from Alabama.

  It’s true. I don’t sound like I’m from Alabama. I spent much of the first of my nine lives studying that excellent Cumberbatch actor’s Sherlock Holmes films, and acquired a bit of an English accent. Of course only other cats, like my brilliant detective father, Familiar, can hear it. But I have no problem motivating the humans around me when I engage in traditional feline vocalizations.

  The woman in the car is staying put. I consider popping across the street or chasing the hapless Jocko her way to get some movement from her—angry-looking people who stare at houses usually mean danger— but the foolish dog would no doubt be run over by a passing tractor or pickup truck. One somehow feels responsible for the Jockos of the world.

  Instead I leap onto the impeccably paved driveway, inches from Jocko’s head, making him jump back a mile. Anyone who says cats can’t smile has never seen me after I’ve played a clever trick.

  The party has been in full swing since my third nap of the day, and most of the guests—employees and their families from Bruce Walsh’s (Erin’s father) car dealership—are swimming or fishing or careening about on noisy Jet Skis on the Cedar Grove Lake cove that meets the Walsh property. They’ve even set up a few picturesque changing cabanas near the property’s strip of manmade beach. The less adventurous guests are in the swimming pool or eating. But I’ve done the rounds back there, and I want to avoid further contact with the youngsters and their sticky hands, so I enter through the carelessly open front door with Jocko panting behind me.

  Hearing angry voices, I continue to the library door, which is open a few inches, and slip neatly inside. Hapless Jocko, who doesn’t seem to understand that he could push the door open a bit further to enter as well, sits down in the hall and whimpers pathetically. But Jocko’s not my concern right now.

  Erin, a sweet co-ed who’s home for the summer from the University of Kentucky, where she’s preparing to study veterinary medicine, leans forward, her hands balled into fists at her side. Her face is pink beneath her freckles, a sign that she’s angry and frustrated. I’ve seen that look on Tammy Lynn’s face a time or two. But when I see the other woman, who wears a canny, unpleasant grin, I understand why Erin is frustrated. The other woman is her stepmother, Shelby Rae Walsh, who’s only a dozen years older than Erin, and is Jocko’s human mate. Shelby Rae thinks it’s her job as a stepmother to meddle in Erin’s business.

  Neither of them glance at me as I stroll to one of the many tall windows overlooking the front garden, and settle on the back of an enormous couch with stripes like a cafe awning. From there, I can find out what’s wron
g between Erin and Shelby Rae, and observe the car out front. What does the woman in the car want? Is she dangerous? I intend to find out.

  Small Town Trouble

  Chapter 2

  “What in the world were you thinking, child? Your daddy’s going to be so upset. You know we think tattoos are trashy on women.”

  If she hadn’t been so angry, Erin would’ve laughed out loud at her stepmother. Shelby Rae, with her bottom-grazing miniskirts and rompers, heavy makeup, and do-less family who had no visible means of support aside from the little helper checks (Shelby Rae’s words) Erin knew Shelby Rae had been writing for years, had the market cornered on trashy. But it was her condescending child that made Erin want to wipe the Corral Me Coral lipstick off Shelby Rae’s collagen-injected lips. She didn’t believe in the stereotype of an Irish temper, but she could swear she felt the anger in her bones.

  “I’m not your child, Shelby Rae,” she said. “I won’t be talked to that way by you or anybody else. Daddy has asked you—and I’ve asked you a thousand times--to please stay out of my business.”

  Years ago she’d actually liked Shelby Rae, but that was back when she was in middle school, and her mother had died a few months earlier, and Shelby Rae—who worked as the receptionist at her father’s car dealership—suggested to Erin’s father that Erin might need a big sister kind of friend. She’d taken Erin to cosmic bowling, and down to Nashville to see a Selena Gomez concert, and to buy a bra that was a little more substantial than the training bra Rita had bought her the year before. It was Shelby Rae who drove her to the drugstore to pick out sanitary pads after Erin called her, whispering, “Shelby Rae, I started.”