At Risk (23 page)

"Of course I do. That cat has an insatiable
desire for affection." Not unlike my own, I thought.

We spent the afternoon paddling around Wilde
Lake. We checked out every cove, risked getting stuck in the
shallows, and went to dinner when the sun dipped below the
horizon.

The food was delicious, but I couldn't, for
the life of me, remember eating it. Rachel had candlelight in her
eyes, and her hair glowed with a warmth and vibrancy of its own. We
talked about everything and nothing while light seeped from the
sky, the glass turning black with the night.

When the crowd thinned, and one of the
waiters started pushing a sweeper across the carpet in the next
room, I said, "Are you ready to go?"

She nodded.

Outside, it was chillier than expected, and
neither one of us had dressed for it. Ignoring the cold, we
followed the path as it hugged the shoreline. Where the woods
thinned, we paused and looked across the lake. A half moon hung low
in the east and reflected off the water's surface. A sure, straight
path, cutting across the lake.

"How beautiful," Rachel murmured.

I took her in my arms and kissed her, not a
drop-down-and-do-it kiss, but a gentle one that she returned in
kind. When I felt her shiver, I wrapped my jacket around her, and
she rested her head on my chest and slid her arms around my
waist.

Above our heads, a gentle breeze moved
through the trees. It would have been peaceful except for the
primitive feelings brought to life by her body's closeness to mine.
I felt the quiet rhythm of her breathing against me; yet, I was
having a hard time controlling mine. I smoothed my fingers through
her silky hair and breathed deeply. Her scent was barely
perceptible on the shifting air currents. She looked up, and I
kissed her again.

After a while, we headed back to Foxdale.
Ignoring the fact that the roads weren't all the great, I put my
arm around her shoulders, which I probably shouldn't have done. All
I could think about was sliding my hand into her blouse. After
maneuvering the truck out of a particularly sharp curve, I decided
I'd better keep my eyes on the road and my hands on the steering
wheel.

I clamped both hands on the wheel and glanced
down. Shouldn't have done that, either. If I lowered my hand just a
few inches, I would be touching her legs. And with that short
skirt, one thought led to another, and I was right back where I'd
started.

I was almost relieved when I turned into the
lane at Foxdale.

I clenched my teeth. "Damn it."

Rachel shifted in her seat. "What's
wrong?"

"The gates aren't locked." I glanced at my
watch. It was almost midnight.

"Is that a problem?"

"I hope not. I forgot to ask Karen to lock
up, but she should have thought about it. Everything else better be
locked up, or--"

"Maybe she didn't know what to do because my
car was still in the lot."

I glanced at her. Pale light from the dash
shone on her face. "Yeah," I said softly. "You're probably
right."

I pulled in alongside the Camry and scanned
the grounds before I got out. Rachel swiveled around on the seat to
face me. When she slid down to the ground, quite a distance for
her, the skirt hung up on the vinyl bench for a brief second. Damn,
she looked good. I pulled her to me and gave her an open-mouthed
kiss. She felt perfect in my arms, and I thought I had better send
her on her way before I wasn't as controlled.

Rachel unlocked her car. As she slid behind
the wheel, I checked the back seat. We said goodbye, then I watched
her drive away until her taillights disappeared around the
bend.

I walked through every building, checked
every corner, every horse, jiggled every doorknob, and felt bone
tired by the time I climbed into the Chevy. As I slotted the key in
the ignition, light flashed across the windshield. I swiveled
around as a car headed down the lane.

A cop car. The cruiser angled across the
parking lot and pulled in behind my truck. The driver lit up the
interior of my truck with s spotlight and approached the truck with
an interesting blend of confidence and caution. I kept my hands on
the steering wheel.

He shone his flashlight in my face, then
lowered the beam. "What are you doing here this late?"

I recognized him from Monday. Officer
Dorsett, tall, lean, black, with a thin mustache and a gold hoop in
his left ear that didn't quite go with the otherwise military
turnout. "I was on a date," I said. "We met here. I dropped her off
a little while ago, then checked the barns."

His radio crackled. "One-twenty-three,
status?"

Dorsett keyed his mike. "One-twenty-three.
Ten-six. No need to check further."

"Clear."

Dorsett switched off his flashlight. "You
leaving?"

"Yep."

He followed me off the parking lot, waited
for me to lock the gate, then followed me part of the way home. I
stayed within the speed limit.

* * *

By late Friday afternoon, new locks had been
installed wherever possible. I flipped through a ridiculously large
bunch of keys, thanks to Dave's brilliant idea that multiple keys
would confuse the enemy, and tried to remember which color tape
went with the new feed room lock. Pink? No, yellow. I unlocked the
door and pulled the feed cart away from the wall. I had organized
the supplements and medications and was turning the cart around
when I heard Marty yell my name.

I ran outside and found him standing between
the barns, his back toward me. "Marty. What's wrong?"

He spun around. "I'm surprised you didn't
hear."

"Hear what?"

"Whitcombe was riding that gelding of his.
The plain bay . . ."

"Rennie's Luck?"

"Yeah, that's the one. Well, Lucky wasn't so
lucky."

"What do you mean?"

"You know how he's been stoppin' at the jumps
lately?"

I waited for him to get on with it.

"Well, Whitcombe took a whip to him and cut
'im up pretty--"

"Where is he?"

"Whitcombe?"

"No," I said. "The horse."

"In his stall."

I turned and started toward Lucky's
stall.

"You'll be needin' to medicate him," Marty
said. "And guess what?"

"What?"

He jogged up alongside me. "Mrs. Hill fired
him."

I paused. "She fired Whitcombe?"

"Who else?"

"Fucking shit."

"Wait a minute." He cupped his hands behind
his ears. "Did I hear you right, or was I just imaginin' things?"
He crossed his arms over his chest. "You know, you really should
watch your mouth, young man. Foxdale--"

"Geez." I turned and left him there.

"--has an image to uphold," he yelled at my
back.

We stood outside Lucky's stall. The gelding
was standing near the back wall, his eyes wide, muscles tensed.

"Goddamn it."

"You should of seen him, Steve. Whitcombe had
ol' Lucky here so worked up, gallopin' full out, I thought he was
gonna wipe out it in the turn . . . or crash through a fence."

I slid the door back and walked into the
stall. Lucky was drenched with sweat, and the muscles along his
flank trembled in spasms. I examined the cuts and was relieved to
find they weren't as bad as I'd first thought--more gore than
actual damage. I collected the supplies I would need, then we
cross-tied him in the wash-rack.

"Damn Whitcombe," I muttered.

I stepped toward Lucky's shoulder, and he
bobbed his head. The chains rattled hollowly against the wall.

"Marty, hold his head for me." I patted the
gelding's neck and kept my hand on his body as I moved toward his
flank.

"His ears are pinned, Steve."

"I'll be right back."

I grabbed a bag of carrots out of the feed
room and fed him a couple.

"Poor guy." I broke another carrot in two.
"Marty, what happened exactly?"

"Well, when Lucky here refused the Liverpool
for the third time, Whitcombe just laid into him. I can't believe
the shit was stupid enough to do it in front of everybody."

"What a fool."

"One of the boarders ran into the office and
told Mrs. Hill what was goin' on. She saw the end of his little
temper tantrum and fired his ass."

I grinned. "Good for her. It couldn't have
happened to a better person." I glanced down the aisle. "Eh, where
is Mr. Whitcombe, anyway?"

"He had a few words with Mrs. Hill, then
drove off." Marty grinned. "Oh, and the little shit's got a new
ride."

"What?"

"A fucking new Mustang convertible."

"Wonder where he got the money for that? He
sure didn't earn it here."

Marty shrugged.

"Too bad I missed it. I would've liked to
have said goodbye."

"I bet you would of."

"There's justice after all. Whitcombe loses
his job, maybe now he won't be able to make his car payments." I
ran my hand down Lucky's face and cupped my hand around his muzzle.
His old, soft lips searched my palm for another piece of carrot.
"Except ol' Lucky here'll be going with him."

* * *

I was leaving for the day when Mrs. Hill
stopped me on the sidewalk just outside her office door.

"I have a favor to ask," she said. "After
you've had your supper, would you come back and stay here until Mr.
Whitcombe picks up his horses and tack?" She looked at my face and
could see I was less than thrilled. "Please, Stephen . . . here's
some pizza money--"

"No, thank you. You don't need to do
that."

"Take it, dear." She shoved the folded bills
into my palm. "I know I'm asking a huge favor, but he said he'd be
back later tonight, and to be honest, dear, as angry as he was when
he left, I don't trust him." She peered into my face. "I know
everything will be all right if you're here."

I exhaled. "I'll be back in a little while,
then."

"Oh, thank you, dear. Thank you so much. I'll
stay until you get back. I told him you'd be here to lock up when
he was finished, so he knows he won't be able to get away with
anything."

I shoved Mrs. Hill's pizza money into my
pocket and headed for the parking lot. It wasn't until I'd climbed
into my truck that I realized I'd lost my appetite.

Chapter 13

More than one of the crew had overheard
Whitcombe blaming me for what happened, so as soon as I was certain
I'd catch Marty at home, I closed the door between the lounge and
office and used the phone.

"Shit, Steve. I have a date."

"Come on, Marty." I swiveled around in the
chair until my back was to the door and rested my chin on my hand.
"Bring her along. You can hang out in the lounge."

"Not for what I got planned. Not unless you
wanna watch."

I groaned.

"Man, I can't stand it when you whine. . . .
Oh, all right, but I won't be over until ten, maybe eleven."

I didn't say anything.

He sighed. "Okay. Ten o'clock and not a
minute before, and you owe me."

"Thanks."

"Sissy," he said, and I could hear a smile in
his voice.

"Got that right. Whitcombe's PO'ed, and I'm
not on his top ten list."

"Depends what list you're talkin' about."

* * *

Ten o'clock came and went, and no Marty.
Karen and Judy left for the evening, and all the boarders packed up
and drifted home. The place was deserted, yet the newly-installed
gates by the road stood wide open so Whitcombe could drive down to
the barn, and Marty.

Where the hell was he? I could imagine where
he was, damn him.

At eleven thirty, I picked up the phone. No
answer.

I had never thought much about the presence
or absence of courage. Apparently I was lacking in that department,
and I didn't like it. Not one little bit. I was tempted to call
Mrs. Hill, or just go home; instead, I sat on the sofa and switched
the channel to a late night talk show that was only marginally
entertaining.

* * *

Someone gripped my shoulder and shook me.

I scrambled off the sofa and just about fell
on my butt. "Damn, Marty. You almost gave me a heart attack,
sneaking up on me like that."

He laughed. "'Sneakin', my ass. You were
sound asleep."

"God." I shook myself. Every muscle in my
body was strung tight, and my heart was pounding so hard it hurt.
Waking up like that couldn't be healthy.

"Nervous, Steve?"

"A little. . . . So where the hell've you
been?" I looked at my watch. "It's one-fifteen."

"Sorry. Fell asleep."

"In whose bed?"

Marty grinned. "Wouldn't you like to know."
He yawned and rubbed his face. "I take it Whitcombe hasn't
showed?"

"No. Even if he got past me while I was
asleep, he still needs to come in here and pick up his paperwork
before he can get his deposit refunded."

"Think he's gonna show?"

"Who knows," I said. "This is the last thing
I feel like doing right now." I looked at Marty. "Or you, either.
Thanks for coming in."

"Well, I would of felt like shit if Whitcombe
planned some pay-back and you were here all by your lonesome."

"Didn't know you cared."

"I don't." Marty dropped down onto the sofa.
"I just don't like guilt."

"Now, that sounds like the Marty I
know--"

"And love?"

"Not on your life," I said. "Not in this
life. Not in any life." Marty was still chuckling when I walked
over to the soda machine and slotted some coins into the machine.
"I think you're confusing me with Whitcombe. Want a Coke?"

"No, I'd be awake half the night. Speakin' of
sex--"

"I thought we were speakin' of love," I said.
"Or sleep."

"Whatever. Anyhow, that Rachel's sure cute."
He leaned back against the sagging, worn cushions and hooked his
leg over the armrest. "Maybe she'll wake you up."