The Gift Horse

by Jami Davenport

“No, shit. I’d say he’s about to go under.”

  “How the hell did he get into that kind of debt?” Carson reached for the mouse and scrolled down further.

  “He’s paying for his severely handicapped wife to live in an upscale nursing home on Bainbridge Island.”

  “Hans is married? I would’ve guessed he was gay.”

  “Just because a man is married doesn’t necessarily mean he’s straight.”

  Carson relinquished the mouse to Brad. “What else do you have?”

  “His elderly mother-in-law was caring for her daughter, but she died about a year ago.”

  “Which must be why he left a lucrative job in Florida to return here?”

  “He’d been supporting them both for quite a while. Now he’s paying for the nursing home out of pocket. Those places cost thousands of dollars a month.”

  “Yeah and a desperate man does desperate things.” Carson rubbed his chin. The pieces of the puzzle were falling into place.

  “So the man has the means and the motive.”

  Carson slanted his brother a sideways look. “Have you been reading Juan’s book?”

  Brad shrugged. “Hans has a history of employing underhanded tactics to make money.”

  “Like stealing students. But would he stoop this low?”

  “My money’s on him.” Brad started ticking points off with his fingers. “Here’s what we believe is happening: One: he’s injuring horses so he can sell a better horse for a big commission. Two: He’s convincing middle-aged women to buy unsuitable horses that he then trains for a shitload of money. Three: He’s sabotaging his competition. One thing that doesn’t jive is not all the injured horses belonged to his students.”

  “That’s true, but a clever man spreads the disaster around so no one points fingers at him. Besides, the injured horses from his group were owned by wealthy clients who don’t mind dropping a hundred grand or so for a new horse.”

  “And he was around when the barn burnt down, and Sam was blamed for the fire. Plus, he made a killing on several insured horses.”

  “Bad choice of words.” Carson reminded him.

  “Uh, yeah. Sorry.”

  “Do you think he’s acting alone?”

  “We can’t prove he’s doing this at all, let alone that he has a partner.”

  “So how do we find out?”

  “We take a page out of Juan’s book.”

  * * * *

  Sam pounded on Carson’s door until he opened it. He squinted at her in the blinding porch light and yawned.

  “Do you realize what time it is?”

  “Yes, Two a.m. Can I come in?” She bounced on the balls of her feet, full of pent-up energy not released by her late night run up the hill.

  “For some odd reason I have this feeling of déjà vu. Haven’t we done this before? What is it this time? Another cup of sugar? A loaf of bread? A willing body?” Carson leaned against the doorframe giving her a great view of his muscles. One corner of his sexy and kissable mouth was turned up in a lopsided grin. She shivered involuntarily and cleared her throat.

  “Please, just let me in.” She forced her eyes to meet his.

  “Can’t this wait until morning?” He covered his mouth to stifle another yawn.

  “No, it can’t.”

  A slow smile spread across his face. “Really?”

  “Don’t get excited, pretty boy. It’s not what you’re thinking.”

  “Damn.” He faked a long face.

  “Can I come in?”

  “I guess.”

  Sam brushed past him, trying not to notice the sprinkling of dark hair on his bare chest or his muscled arms. His sweats hung low on his hips revealing that oh so flat stomach and perfect belly button. This was no time to be thinking about sex. They had some serious talking to do. She seated herself on a barstool and propped her feet on the base. He stood opposite her with his arms crossed and face annoyed, and regarded her with a mixture of suspicion and curiosity.

  “I remember something.” There. She’d said it. She expected him to jump for joy or throw his arms around her or react in some way. He did nothing.

  “Good. Now that we’ve settled that, I’m going to bed.” Carson made a move to leave the room.

  “Carson!” She stamped her feet on the rung of the stool in exasperation. “Listen to me.”

  With a long-suffering sigh, Carson dropped onto the nearby couch. “I’m listening, but only with one ear. The other one is asleep.”

  “I remembered something about that night. Something that’s been nagging me all those years.”

  “What night?” He stifled another yawn.

  “The night the barn burned down, and Dr. Matt’s wife died.”

  Carson appeared to be wide-awake now. “What do you remember?”

  “Why I couldn’t have done it.”

  “Okay. How did you come to this revelation?”

  “I had this dream. When I woke up, I knew the little piece that had been eluding me all along.”

  When she didn’t continue, he pushed. “And that piece is?”

  “That night, I’d come back late from the horse show after having pickup trouble.”

  “Why doesn’t that surprise me?”

  Sam ignored that comment. “Anyway, I’m sorta messy...”

  “Sorta?”

  “Well, quite messy, so when I unloaded all the stuff from the trailer, I piled it inside the tack room door.”

  “And this proves what?”

  “I didn’t go inside.”

  “So?”

  “Carson, the door was at the opposite end of the tack room from the heater.”

  “I’m not following you.”

  “That tack room was at least fifteen feet long. The door was at one end, the heater at the other.”

  “And you just remembered this?”

  “Yes, because the heater was by that door, but we had moved it a few days before the fire to the opposite end of the room.”

  “Maybe someone moved it back, and you didn’t notice.”

  “It was across the room, I’m certain of it. At least, when I unloaded the stuff. Even so, if they had moved it, it wouldn’t have been on. The outlet by the door had a short in it. It was turned off at the breaker until we could get an electrician out.”

  “Who knew about the faulty outlet?”

  “Pretty much everyone. I left a note on the board and a note by the breaker. I’d covered the outlets with duct tape.”

  “So who is ‘pretty much everyone’? Especially the ‘everyones’ in your life right now.”

  “Hans, Burke, Matt, your sister, a few of Hans’ current students and some of mine.”

  “That’s it?”

  “Yes, those are the people with horses there.”

  “What about people who were there often but didn’t have horses?”

  Sam frowned. “I’m sure there were plenty that we still do business with now, like the guy that delivers hay, the horseshoers, and the vets.”

  “Oh, man. So many people.”

  “Do you know what this means? I can prove I didn’t kill those horses or Emily Brandland. I was framed. I just have to figure out what to do about it.” Carson didn’t seem as surprised by her revelation as Sam expected.

  “Sam, I’ve been doing my own research. Come over here. Let’s talk.” He patted an empty spot on the old couch. Sighing, Sam sat next to Carson against her better judgment. She had a tendency to check her brain at the door where he was concerned.

  She listened intently as Carson explained what Brad had unearthed and what the two of them had deduced from the evidence they’d gathered. It sounded so outrageous, right down to Hans having an invalid wife in a nursing home.

  “You think Hans is behind this?” The man might be borderline unethical, but it seemed inconceivable that he’d endanger, even kill, horses for his own personal gain. The horses had always come first with him.

  “Yes, I do.”

  “So how do you expla
in the great work he’s done with Gabbie and me?”

  “He wants you to do well with the horse because it makes him look like the master he claims to be.”

  “I’m the one riding the horse.”

  “Yeah, right.” Carson dismissed her with wave of his hand, which sent a twinge of irritation through her. “Hans isn’t going to let you win Regionals because he wants this job and the money.”

  Sam took a deep breath. She couldn’t come clean with him. He’d be pissed as hell if he found out about the deal she’d struck with this particular, pseudo-German devil.

  “No, I can’t believe it.” Yet she wasn’t sure. If he needed not just the job, but also the cash, then how far would he go? Hans had a sick wife? She’d never pictured the man with a family, let alone caring for a handicapped wife. He seemed so self-absorbed. Yet, someone wanted her gone, and he’d made her imminent departure part of his or her secret deal.

  “Sam. Are you okay?”

  She glanced up at him. “Not really.”

  “I’m sorry.” Carson scooted closer and wrapped his arms around her. She didn’t resist. He felt good and right even though she knew how wrong it was. And stupid. But her brain was a no-show where this man was concerned.

  In a month she’d be gone. She didn’t need to get in any deeper and break her heart any more than it’d already been broken.

  She pulled away from Carson’s embrace. He scowled.

  “I need to go now.”

  “That’s it. Just like that? You’re saying good night after you’ve yanked me out of a sound sleep. I’m awake.”

  “I’m leaving now.”

  * * * *

  Bridget saw Hans’ Volvo parked in the driveway. Good, she needed to consult with him on Beau. The big guy seemed a little off, nothing serious, but not right. Hans would know what to do. The man was a virtuoso when it came to horses, not to mention in great shape for someone his age.

  If only he was thirty years younger, she’d take him for a ride, but controlling men her father’s age just didn’t do it for her.

  She walked down the aisle, following the voices. She stopped near the lounge when she heard Sam’s name. There was nothing wrong with eavesdropping, in her opinion, if it served its purpose, which was to drive a wedge between Carson and that woman. Perhaps she could gain some small tidbit to use in her war against her brother’s love interest and ongoing pain in her butt.

  “Burke, I’m not playing this game any longer.”

  “What game?” Came the muffled voice of Burke from behind the door.

  “I’m onto you. You’re jacking up the sales prices on horses you sell to my clients. At other barns your sales price for the same horse is considerably lower.”

  “What do you care? These women can afford it, and you’re getting an obscene commission from the sales.”

  “I have my integrity.” Hans sounded rather pompous.

  “Bullshit. You go where the green is, and I don’t mean grass. I can’t believe you’re coaching the enemy.”

  “I’m not.”

  “What do you call it?”

  “My job. Which Carson pays me well to do.”

  “She can’t become the head trainer.”

  Bridget raised one dark eyebrow. This was good stuff. Burke was in cahoots with Hans to get rid of Sam. She wondered how she could get a piece of that action.

  “You have no faith in me. I’m devastated.”

  “We need to get her out of here.”

  “It’s taken care of.”

  “It is. Why didn’t you say so sooner?”

  “You wouldn’t let me get a word in. She won’t accept the Cedrona job, and she’ll leave here after Regionals.”

  “Are you certain?”

  “Absolutely.”

  Bridget moved closer and bumped a rake leaning up against the wall. It almost fell, but she leaped to save it.

  “Did you hear something?”

  She stiffened and quickly hustled halfway down the aisle. Turning, she almost ran face first into Juan. Taking a deep breath, she calmly sauntered back toward the lounge, calling out, “Dr. Ziegler?”

  Hans came out of the lounge.

  “There you are. I’ve been looking everywhere for you.” Burke followed him out. “Well, well. Burke, if I didn’t know better I’d suspect you two were having an affair. Imagine that. But I do know better, don’t I?”

  “What do you need, Bridget?” Hans smoothly avoided the subject, as slick as oil.

  Bridget smiled like a feline with a big juicy mouse. “I need to consult with you about Beau.” She glanced at Burke. “You don’t mind, do you?”

  “Of course not; we’re finished here.”

  “You certainly are.” Bridget let her cryptic comment float between the two of them. She hadn’t had this much fun since she’d found her ex’s girlfriend sewing designer tags into her Wal-Mart clothes.

  So what to do with this information? Even more importantly, what did it mean? As much as she disliked Sam, Burke was a dishonest snake, pretending to be her loyal friend and stabbing her in the back. So the schemer had enlisted the help of the good doctor to get Sam out of the picture.

  There had to be a way to use this information to her advantage.

  After a brief consultation with Herr Doctor, Bridget headed for her car. She needed to get away from this place and think. Should she tell someone? But tell them what? She hadn’t heard anything concrete or condemning. If Burke was simply protecting his interests, well, hell that wasn’t a crime, or he’d have been locked up long ago.

  Juan waited for her by her car. She tried to maneuver around him, but the crazy Hispanic blocked her car door. “Excuse me.” She used her impervious princess voice, which made most men plead for mercy.

  Juan didn’t beg for leniency, or show any reaction at all. In fact, he seemed almost menacing, as he pointed a stubby finger at her. “You leave surveilling to me. Is not your job.”

  “Is not your job either,” Bridget mocked as he stepped aside.

  She slipped by him and got into her car. What kind of craziness was this? Carson should have fired Juan and Sam months ago. Whatever was going on, she’d get to the bottom of it. Her brothers didn’t call her nosy for nothing.

  Chapter 35—Cliff Diving

  Carson stared at the view outside the wall of windows in his downtown condo. The lights from Seattle’s waterfront twinkled below. The faint outline of the Olympic Mountains was visible in the distance, made possible by a full moon.

  He’d decided to spend the weekend in his condo rather than his brother’s ode-to-the-sixties house. He needed to get away and regain control of his life.

  He was changing, but the changes weren’t necessarily welcome. He didn’t want to change. He didn’t want to enjoy the smell of horses or the taste of cheap beer. He didn’t want to enjoy the quiet and peace of the country. He didn’t want to be entertained by off-key karaoke singers. He didn’t want to play country music in his truck. Oh, Lord. That truck. What the hell was he doing driving that monster of a truck as his only mode of transportation? Last, but no way in hell least, he didn’t want thoughts of an unsuitable chaos queen invading his every waking moment.

  Carson picked up the packet of information that Brad had sent over that afternoon. It included more damning information on Hans and a list of recent horse sales in which he’d collected sizable commissions. He flipped through it, knowing he was missing something. Putting the packet back on the table, he paced the floor. He was beginning to suspect Hans wasn’t working alone. If only Sam were here to bounce ideas off of. He missed Sam. He missed her common-sense insights and country girl ways. She’d hate this condo in the middle of Seattle with its noise and city smells.

  Carson opened the sliding glass door. The traffic noise several stories below bombarded him. He used to enjoy the sounds of the city. Now he craved birds chirping. Hell, even that evil-incarnate woodpecker beat the constant artificial racket of the city. Frowning, he slammed the door shut.


  Carson glanced around his condo. The modern interior had been designed by one of Seattle’s top designers in muted beiges and tans with a splash of tasteful color here and there. The furniture was ultramodern and sleek, chrome and glass with a tasteful touch of wood in places. The original paintings on the wall didn’t resemble anything found in nature, but they’d been trendy. The one above the couch looked like an abstract toilet and had cost a fortune.

  Carson walked over to the grey marble mantle and picked up the worn baseball. He turned it over in his hand. The signatures were faded, but he could still make out the names and the words, “State Champions.” He smiled. It seemed like a long ago dream. Even back then, he’d known that the heir to the Reynolds throne would never be allowed to step down in order to play baseball. He’d lived the dream as long as he’d been able. Then reality and Marcia had burst his bubble and brought him back to earth. He’d given up a pro career for a career at his father’s side and an over-achieving wife—the wife that never came to be.

  Carson snorted. Ten years later, look where it’d gotten him? His life that could have been would now never be.

  He placed the baseball back on the mantle.

  His gaze swung around the living room. Nothing seemed the same, or maybe he was looking at it with different eyes. This cold luxury condo didn’t feel like home. He missed the warm tackiness of the orange and avocado hues in the ranch house.

  He shuddered at the thought.

  Carson stared down at his faded jeans and old t-shirt. His scuffed boots needed polish, but he hadn’t taken the time. He always used to take the time.

  This couldn’t be happening to him. He was turning into someone else. Even worse, perhaps he was letting the real Carson out of his cage. He didn’t want to let Carson out. The old Carson didn’t allow himself to feel. The old Carson kept his emotions under firm control and his business dealings under a tight rein. The new Carson acted on instinct, took risks, and worst of all felt things, things that sometimes really hurt.

  He couldn’t get the picture out of his mind of Sam standing at his door last night. Obviously, that was why he’d escaped to the city. Only the city didn’t feel like an escape. It felt like a concrete prison.