Dark Horse

by J. Carson Black

  If she was allowed to run.

  They drove back to the cabin in silence. When Clay started to undress, Dakota stopped him. “I’m sorry. Clay, but I’m really tired. I’d like to be alone.”

  His forehead knitted into a scowl. “Are you all right?”

  “I’m fine. I just need to be alone.”

  “What’s going on?”

  Don’t tell him. “I just want to get a good night’s sleep, and you know if you stay . . . I need the rest. Honestly.” She smiled wanly. “Big day tomorrow.”

  He left, but she could tell he didn’t believe her.

  When he was gone, she stared at the wall, where a photograph of Coke in the winner’s circle at Los Alamitos hung in all its glory. Tears blurred her eyes. “I’m sorry, Daddy,” she muttered. “I don’t know what to do.”

  It was good she hadn’t involved Clay. This was her decision to make; she couldn’t burden him with it. Besides, if she decided not to tell the stewards—and there was that possibility; she had to think of every possibility to be fair—she couldn’t bring Clay into the deception.

  But of course she would scratch the filly. She had to.

  All that work, all that risk, down the drain . . . It wasn’t as if she was drugging the horse, or pulling in a ringer. The filly was the real thing. So she wasn’t sired by Something Wicked. But she won the Rainbow on her own, didn’t she? She got into the All American fair and square.

  And Dakota was as much a victim in this as everybody else. She hadn’t planned to defraud anyone. This was not her doing. She was innocent—

  Until now. Now she knew.

  Again, the enormity of what Dan had done hit her. How could she ever untangle this mess? There were hundreds of horses out there with fake pedigrees. The lawsuits would bankrupt her. This was the legacy of Black Oak, she thought bitterly. This was how it would end for one of the finest old quarter horse ranches in America. The reek of corruption would follow her father’s name down the years.

  Her father hadn’t bothered with his breeding operation, and this was the result.

  “Why the hell didn’t you pay attention?” she cried, kicking his favorite chair. “It serves you right, you old bastard!”

  Coke’s apathy—that was the cause of all this. He loved racing, so that meant he had to belittle the breeding part of Black Oak. Leave it in someone else’s hands, treat it like an unwanted child. It was typical of the man she knew. Everything in his life had been set into an adversarial context. He’d played Dakota against her mother when she was younger, before they’d both escaped to California. He found it impossible to believe that Dakota could love them both, equally but differently. His intolerance had made her mother’s life unbearable. And now his apathy toward the breeding operation had, to quote the Bible, reaped a whirlwind.

  She found herself crying, sobbing. Crying not for a lost chance at the All American, but for the man who had hurt her and loved her at the same time. She cried out her betrayal, her rage, her loss. The tears had no beginning and no end. She felt as if she would drown in them.

  Grief was its own sedative. Mercifully, she fell asleep, her tears still wetting her pillow.

  She awoke to the sun slanting in through the windows. It was All American Day. On the heels of that thought came the ugly reality. There would be no All American for her.

  She picked up the phone, punched out the first three digits of Clay’s number, then set the phone back down. The thought of reciting the story again, the tangled skein of lies and deceit, was too much to bear. She’d tell him after she talked to the stewards.

  And, the niggling little voice at the back of her mind insisted, if I don’t tell the stewards, he won’t be a party to it.

  She went around and around the issue like a hamster on a treadmill. One minute, she decided to go to the stewards. The next, she was equally determined to run the filly no matter what. Give Shameless her chance. Just do it.

  But in the end, she knew she could not. The taint would follow her for the rest of her life, even if no one else knew. And Clay . . . she couldn’t start her new life with Clay like this. There would be other races. Probably not the All American, but they would have to be enough. Her decision was made.

  Dakota ran cold water, dabbed puffy eyelids with a washcloth. Her eyes felt like grapes that had been dipped in sand. She turned on a morning show, tried to become interested in the chef creating a meal from scratch. There was no point in going on the backside this morning. Shameless was through as a racehorse. She would go later, scratch the filly, and then head for home. The next several days would be ugly, but she had to face them. She’d have to call every one of the owners who had bought horses at the dispersal sale. And what about the mares that had been bred to Something Wicked over the last few years?

  She supposed she should try to buy back as many of them as she could. It wouldn’t take long to run out of money, but she had to do something. No doubt she could get a good price for Shameless after her win in the Rainbow, no matter what her breeding was. Too bad she wasn’t a colt. The money from a promising stallion prospect just might have been enough to pay back all the people Black Oak had . . .

  Swallowing back her panic, Dakota took her suitcases down from the closet and began to pack her things.

  As Derek Blue pulled into the parking lot of the sheriff’s office, he recognized Ken Daltry’s truck. Ken stood beside it, one foot on the rear bumper.

  “Hey, Ken! What can I do you for?”

  Ken, bartender at the Cowpony Bar and Grill, blinked against the early morning sun. He was pale as a cadaver. “I’ve been trying to figure out if it’s important or not,” he said, following Derek into the office. “It’s probably just talk, knowing Jerry, but I thought I oughta pass it on.”

  Derek waited. Ken never got around to anything important right away. He was the second-guessingest man Derek had ever known.

  “If you think about it, a bartender’s kind of like a father confessor, you know? I probably shouldn’t even be here.”

  Derek sat down and folded his hands over his lap.

  Daltry scratched his neck. “I guess it won’t hurt none, since a couple of other guys heard him. He was in my place not too long ago, drinking too much as usual.”

  “Go on.”

  “I wouldn’t say this except it might have something to do with Coke’s death. I heard about how you arrested him, but had to let him go. He was going on and on about how he knew what happened to Coke and how the stupid cops wouldn’t figure it out in a million years—sorry, Derek, but that’s what he said—and when I asked him straight out he clammed up and said he’d already said too much and he was by God gonna keep his mouth shut.”

  “He had to keep his mouth shut about Coke’s death?”

  “That’s what he said. He said a lot to things—boasted about coming into some money soon. Said how he deserved that money because he was . . . how did he put it? . . . Family. That’s what he said. He was family and she damn well wasn’t going to shut him out.”

  “She? Did he say who ‘she’ was?”

  “Nope. But he mentioned her a few times. I can’t remember his exact words, just the general idea he had a real grudge going for this lady.”

  A terrible thought occurred to Derek, one that on the face of it seemed impossible. He leaned forward. “Could ‘she’ be Dakota McAllister?”

  “I guess.”

  “What else did he say?”

  “It was all kind of snarled up. He didn’t make a lot of sense, on account of his drinking. Mostly, he talked about how he was going to be rich. How they’d have to pay him to keep him from telling everything he knew. Sounded like blackmail to me.”

  “Anything else?”

  Daltry frowned. “Something about how it was all coming back. It was like a dream, but now he was remembering more and how he didn’t think it was a dream anymore. Called it a fun ride—no, that wasn’t it. A joy ride.”

  “Did you ask what he meant by that?”


  “Yeah. He thought it was real funny I didn’t know what he was talking about. All he’d say was he was taken for a real ride all right, but it wasn’t going to end there.”

  ‘That’s it?”

  “All’s I can remember. Does it make any sense to you?”

  Derek shook his head. “Sounds like he knows who killed Coke, though, doesn’t it?”

  “That’s why I came.”

  After Ken had gone, Derek pondered what he’d been told. What was Dakota not going to get away with? Could she have killed her own father? Had Jerry witnessed it, maybe in a blackout state, and now remembered?

  That didn’t make any sense at all. Dakota had been in Los Angeles at the time of her father’s death. And he’d had enough dealings with her to know that she didn’t act like a murderer.

  But there was that insurance policy. He supposed he ought to look into it.

  FORTY-SEVEN

  Zipping up her suitcase, Dakota glanced at the clock. Eleven thirty already. She couldn’t put it off any longer. It was time to head for the track.

  She was almost out the door when the phone rang.

  “Dakota! I’m so glad I caught you!” Lucy Tanner sounded agitated.

  “I’m just leaving—”

  “Clay’s had an accident!”

  “What?” Dakota sat down. “Is he hurt?”

  “I don’t know. I think so. Yes, he’s got to be hurt because he can’t get back up the mountain—”

  “Mountain? Where are you? What happened?”

  “I’m up on Sierra Blanca. Near that barbecue place . . .” She paused, as if getting her bearings. “I’m not sure where, it’s on the main road. But he’s not here. He’s down below.”

  Dakota was confused. Confused and scared. She closed her eyes, trying to marshal her thoughts. “Lucy, calm down. You’re not making any sense. What happened?”

  Lucy took a deep breath. “You’ve got to come. He’s asking for you.”

  “Is there anyone there? An ambulance? What’s wrong with him?”

  “I don’t know,” she wailed.

  “Is the ambulance there?” Dakota repeated. “It might be faster if I met him at the hospital. For God’s sake, Lucy, how bad is it?”

  “Look, I’ve got to get back to him. I called the paramedics. They should be here by the time you get here.”

  “Where do I go?”

  “You’ll see Rita’s car by the side of the road. There’s an old mobile home in a field. Just past it, on the right. Hurry!” She hung up.

  Five minutes later, Dakota turned onto Mecham and headed toward Sierra Blanca, her heart in her throat.

  After Daltry left, Derek Blue checked his messages. One was a bombshell—a call from the Lincoln County Sheriff’s Department. They wanted information on one Jerry Tanner, whom they believed had been killed in a trailer fire.

  Derek whistled through his teeth. If Tanner had blackmailed someone, he hadn’t been careful enough.

  As Dakota turned off 48 onto Ski Run Road, she tried to think rationally. It was difficult, considering how scared she was. Her heart pounded so hard she could hear it in her ears. She had no patience for slower cars, passing them as soon as she was able, often on a double yellow line. She drove Coke’s truck as if it were a race car.

  He has to be all right, her frenzied brain repeated over and over. Has to be. She couldn’t lose him now. She loved him; God how she loved him! She wanted to spend the rest of her life with him. The gods couldn’t be that cruel, to let her finally find love again only to take it away.

  Think! she told herself sternly. She tried to sort out the jumble of Lucy’s words. He was alive. Lucy had said that much. If she could just get there and see for herself.

  She accelerated out of a turn, realized too late it was one of those hairpins that went on forever. The truck’s tires screamed as she braked, hit the shoulder, spewing up dust.

  She fought the wheel, accelerated, letting centrifugal force take her out of the turn. Slowed down just a hair, her mind going a thousand miles a minute as she scanned the road, looking for a mobile home in a field, and a dark-green Range Rover parked on the verge.

  He’s alive. Hold on to that.

  What had he been doing up here, anyway, on All American Day? He should be at the stable, not halfway up Sierra Blanca—

  First she saw the barbecue place, and a little farther up, the mobile home. Stripped to the frame, rusting in the field. The Range Rover was up ahead on the right. Sunlight arrowed off the back window, almost blinding her. She pulled over, slamming the truck into park before it had stopped completely.

  Lucy leaned against the Rover’s driver’s door, appearing oddly cozy in a saddle blanket jacket and jeans.

  “Where’s Clay? she demanded. “Is the ambulance here?”

  “He’s just up this road,” Lucy said, pointing at the dirt road just beyond the Range Rover.

  “Where’s the ambulance?”

  “They’re already up there. I thought I’d wait for you. You can ride with me.”

  Just then the Range Rover’s car phone shrilled.

  Ignoring the phone, Lucy opened the door and got in. “It’s unlocked,” she said.

  “Aren’t you going to answer that? It could be more help.”

  “I told you, they’re already there.” Lucy backed the Range Rover up, spun the wheel expertly, and sped up the dirt road.

  The phone kept ringing.

  “I think you should answer it.”

  Lucy sighed. “All right.”

  Rita had a nail appointment at eleven. She didn’t notice the Range Rover was missing until then. The first person she called was Clay. She paged him at Ruidoso Downs, but got no answer. Maybe he was out on the track.

  Damn! She wanted to talk to him so badly. It couldn’t wait until tomorrow, when he’d promised to meet her for lunch. She needed his opinion now. Things were getting out of hand—she’d really painted herself into a comer with this whole foster mother thing.

  It suddenly occurred to her that she could reach the Range Rover by phone. If someone had stolen it, of course, he wouldn’t answer, but it was worth a try.

  The phone rang forever. She was about to hang up, feeling foolish that she’d tried to call a car thief, when someone picked up.

  “Hello? Who is this?” she demanded.

  “Uh…who’s this?”

  Relief drenched her. Lucy had taken her truck without asking. Stealing, the small voice in her mind said. That was one of the signs. “What are you doing with my truck?”

  “I had to see if Clay was all right.”

  “Clay? What happened?”

  “There’s been an accident.”

  Rita clutched the phone cord. “What? Is he all right?”

  “I don’t know.” The disembodied voice sounded dull.

  “What’s going on?”

  “I told you,” Lucy said coldly. “Clay’s been in a car wreck.”

  “Where are you? How bad is he? What’s going on?” Rita could taste the fear in her mouth.

  Faintly, she heard Dakota McAllister’s voice. “Tell her we’re on Ski Run Road.”

  “Ski Run Road? What’s he doing up there? Lucy? Can you hear me?”

  “Uh, I gotta go.” And she hung up.

  Rita looked out the window. What was going on? Why were Lucy and Dakota up on the mountain? What had happened to Clay? God, if anything had happened to him—

  You can’t believe a word she says.

  But Dakota was there.

  Rita sat down, her mind a whirlwind. Had Lucy heard her talking to the counselor? Did the girl know that she was having second thoughts about adopting her?

  Lucy wouldn’t hurt Clay, would she? The counselor she’d talked to had said that she was probably harmless. Probably harmless.

  When Derek pressed line two, he heard Ken Daltry’s apologetic voice on the other end of the line. “I asked Jolyn—she was working tables that night—if she knew who Tanner was talking about.”
/>   Derek pulled a legal pad toward him.

  “The ‘she’ I told you about? According to Jolyn, it was his daughter. Lucy Tanner.”

  FORTY-EIGHT

  Although she’d tried to deny it, Rita had begun to dislike Lucy weeks ago. The little things got to her. The way the girl lied about anything and everything. Lucy was a chronic liar and could do it without turning a hair.

  Rita had deluded herself into thinking that Clay would leave Dakota when he saw what a cold-hearted bitch she was, but that wasn’t how it happened. It was a nice fantasy. Clay marrying her and the two of them taking in Lucy as a foster child, shutting Dakota McAllister out in the cold. But Rita was no fool. The more time she spent with Lucy, the more the girl bothered her.

  Lucy was just plain unpleasant.

  Rita had begun to feel trapped.

  When Jerry died, Lucy naturally assumed that Rita would start adoption proceedings immediately. It would be the three of them, Lucy said. They would be a perfect family.

  If Rita was honest with herself, she couldn’t blame Lucy for talking that way. Hadn’t she filled her head with that fantasy? Of course, that was before she got to know the girl better.

  Rita had decided that if she was going to go through with this—and she wasn’t at all sure that she would—she’d at least talk to a couple of Lucy’s teachers and see if they could get to the bottom of this lying problem.

  Rita did not know what she was in for.

  Last week, a woman had called, identifying herself as a school counselor at Patagonia High. “I understand you’re interested in adopting Lucy Tanner,” the woman said. “I could lose my job for this, but I thought I should warn you . . .”

  What Margaret Whiting told her chilled her blood. There had been problems at school with Lucy’s lying, and that wasn’t all. Hard to believe that a girl who looked like Lucy was promiscuous, but it was true. She’d slept with several boys at school and told more than a few she was pregnant by them, causing all sorts of trouble with their families.