CHAPTER SIX
“H
EY, COOL MOTORCYCLE!” Albert’s nephew Kenny said as he walked into Vic’s office the following morning. “Who’s it belong to?”
Vic jumped guiltily. Above her head she could hear the scrape of furniture being dragged across the floor. Jamey was safely out of Kenny’s way. What Kenny didn’t see, he didn’t report to Albert, and what Albert didn’t know, he wouldn’t worry about.
In many ways, having a protector the size and shape of Albert was a godsend, but there were times when she wished he had a bit less Doberman in him and a bit more spaniel.
“Hey, Kenny,” Vic said. “The motorcycle belongs to one of the clients. He’s leaving it here while he’s out of town.” She didn’t normally tell bald-faced lies, but this was an emergency. Albert did not need to climb out of a sickbed to check her out. “How’s Albert? Is somebody looking after him and Linette?”
“They’re fine. Well, not fine. Albert’s fussing when he’s not asleep, which is mostly. Linette is getting over it, but she still feels pretty achy. Albert sent me over this morning on my way to school to see if you needed me this afternoon to muck out stalls and stuff.”
“You’ve got your hands full with college, young man. And I’m managing fine.”
“Has that disloyal Benito come back from Juarez yet?”
Vic laughed. “He’s not disloyal. He was just homesick. How would you like to be a thousand miles from your family at Christmas? He’ll probably show up again in March when his money runs out and the weather’s warmer. You have to admit, he works hard when he’s here.”
“Yeah. Well, Albert says y’all have got to have somebody you can count on. This place is too big to run with just y’all.”
“I’m looking, Kenny, but in the meantime having you to help out on the weekends is plenty. I promise you, I am not suffering. Tell Albert to relax and enjoy being poorly, and tell Linette not to brain him if he starts complaining. I’ll call later this afternoon.”
Overhead something crashed. “What’s that?” Kenny asked, looking in the direction of the noise. “You got possums or something up there?”
Vic stood and quickly moved him out into the hall. “Just one of the clients hunting for something. Don’t worry.” She practically shoved him toward the front door. “Go to school before you’re late. And thanks for stopping by.”
He moved, still glancing over his head. “You’re sure you’re okay?”
“Yes, yes, yes. I promise. Now scat.”
She waved as Kenny’s ancient Toyota wound its way down the driveway. Close one. She knew she was borrowing only a small amount of time with Jamey McLachlan until somebody snitched to Albert or, even worse, to Liz or Mike in Florida. She hoped it wouldn’t dawn on Kenny that the only vehicle outside the stable had been her old truck. Any client upstairs would have had to materialize out of thin air.
Vic had sworn Angie to secrecy over lunch, and Angie was usually trustworthy. But people kept doing stuff for Vic’s own good. As though she were some ditzy idiot who needed protecting from her own bad decisions.
Well, hiring Jamey McLachlan had so far proved to be the best decision for ValleyCrest she’d made since she convinced Mike Whitten to set up an after-school riding program for his daughter and her classmates. That had eventually resulted in Liz and Mike’s marriage, and his daughter Pat’s great strides as a junior rider. And muchneeded solvency for ValleyCrest, which had suffered after Vic’s husband, Frank, an internationally ranked trainer, had died suddenly.
She had no intention of using any of Mike’s money to subsidize ValleyCrest, but she took a certain amount of comfort in knowing that he had offered to bail them out if necessary.
As it was, he was paying for the renovation of the old family home and for some repainting and repair to the cottage.
For the first time in her life, Vic found herself with no one looking over her shoulder. She’d always considered herself to be tough-minded and independent, but in reality she’d been under her grandmother’s thumb, then under Frank’s, and then there were Albert and Liz and the clients and Lord knew who else. Sometimes she felt as though the entire world spent its time pulling on her, demanding her attention.
She couldn’t boss Albert or Liz. Actually, they usually did the bossing. She hated confrontations with either of them.
But Jamey worked for her.
Well, sort of.
She’d been in her room with the door shut when he returned from the barn last night, and had heard him mount the stairs to his bedroom. This morning he’d been gone before she got up. The man apparently didn’t require as much sleep as the average raccoon.
So far today she had not seen him—only the evidence of his presence. Morning chores were already complete. Amazing. He must be physically exhausted.
That made them quite a pair, since she felt psychologically exhausted. “Oh, help!” she said softly.
“What with?”
She jumped as Jamey landed beside her from the ladder.
This morning he wore jeans and paddock boots. He’d thrown a pair of leather chaps over the wash-rack rail. He’d hardly be likely to scrub the room upstairs in riding britches and good boots.
“Stop doing that! You’re going to give me a heart attack!” she said.
“Sorry, lass. Now, what do you need help with?”
Her soul? Her spirit? Her libido? She couldn’t tell him about those problems. “Nothing in particular. Just feeling generally overwhelmed. How’s the room upstairs coming?”
“I’ve got that old mattress ready to toss down and throw away, but I may need a hand with the sofa. And then it’s a matter of a new mattress, new bedding and a good paint job on all the flat surfaces.”
“You can’t accomplish that today. I’m not sure you should have to. Seems to be working out, having you upstairs from me. Although you certainly do not have to keep entertaining me at dinner and beyond. I know you have your own life to lead.”
“Do I now?” He laughed. “And what would that be, and with whom? I’m a stranger in a strange land. You and the others here are the only people I know. I don’t spend my time hanging out at bars, whatever the reputation of the Scots may be. And I don’t gamble.”
“From what I saw last night, it wouldn’t be fair to the casinos if you did.”
“One thing I learned is never bet against the house. And never trust to luck. It doesn’t exist.”
This last was said with a bitterness that startled Vic. “Life’s too short not to trust,” she said.
“You’ll get your heart broken that way, Vic. And your spirit. It’s always the people you love who betray you.”
Who betrayed you?
she wondered.
Your wife? Your brother?
She made a mental note to call Marshall Dunn back the first chance she got to see if he’d be willing to tell her more about the mess with Jamey’s wife and brother. She already had an inkling. If the pair of them were off gallivanting in Jamey’s car in the south of France while he lay in a hospital bed with a damaged hand, chances were they were doing more than searching for a miraculous cure. And they’d paid dearly for their indiscretion.
Was Jamey also now paying a price? Had their betrayal sent him off on his around-the-world quest? For what? Peace? Stability? Forgetfulness?
Something drove him. And it wasn’t merely a midlife crisis.
JAMEY WAS AMAZED at how often the telephone rang. Clients and contractors all wanted advice from Vic. She spent a good portion of her time answering questions, relaying information. She never seemed to sit down. Despite all that, she worked beside him pitchfork for pitchfork, grooming tool for grooming tool. And then while he rode, she continued to work. Too hard.
Shortly before noon she came out of the office with the cordless telephone in her hand. “Angie Womack wants me to meet her for lunch. Will you be all right? There’s plenty of food in the fridge up at my house.”
Yes. Jamey had been hoping for such an opportunity. He felt his heart speed up. “Absolutely.”
“Take a break. And don’t ride anybody while I’m not here. It’s loony to ride alone. I don’t want to find you stomped to death or lying on the ground with a broken neck when I come back.”
He nodded and smiled. A nod wasn’t actually a lie, surely.
He watched her drive away and turn the corner before he sprinted back to the office and began to search the file cabinets for any information about the black stallion. He found what little there was in less than a minute. Vic kept neat files—or Albert did.
From what Vic had told them, Albert would be considerably more suspicious than Vic was. She said he was extremely protective, and as a full partner, he had not only ValleyCrest’s reputation, but its financial standing to consider.
Jamey scanned the documents—import papers, health certificates, veterinary statements, the lot. He pulled a piece of paper from the notepad on Vic’s desk and wrote down the name and address not only of the farmer who had sold the horse, but the agent who had acted for Whitten. If he could prove that Roman was actually the horse stolen from him two years earlier, he would have a better shot at getting him back without resorting to theft. He’d get the information to Hamish tonight. Meanwhile, there were other important items on his agenda to deal with before Vic returned.
First he went into the oblong arena and set twelve-foot jump poles on top of the rails at the corners so that he created a lopsided octagon. He would have preferred to work the horse in a regular round pen with high sides and no distractions, but ValleyCrest did not have a round pen.
He zipped up his leather chaps and buckled a heavy training helmet on his head so he wouldn’t have to take the time to get himself ready later.
He groomed Roman and put a lunge cavesson on his head, then danced him into the arena, whistling to quiet the animal. He turned the horse to face him, unhooked the twenty-foot lunge tape and stepped back, his eyes on those of the horse. Roman snorted, wheeled and ran to the rail, where he proceeded to repeat his performance of the previous day. Jamey whistled between his teeth and slapped the coiled lunge tape against the ground and his thigh. The stallion exploded at the sound and began to tear around the ring.
Jamey kept him running for several minutes, holding his body square to the horse’s side and his eyes on the horse’s head. Every time Roman slowed down, Jamey sent him pelting away again. After only a few minutes the horse slowed to a trot, lowered his head almost to the ground as though he were searching for grass to nibble between his feet and began to chew.
“Yes!”
Jamey said. He turned his body sideways and walked away. Only a moment later he heard the thud of the big horse’s hooves as Roman also walked away from the ring and over to Jamey’s right shoulder. Jamey could feel his warm breath on the back of his neck. He grinned. “Gotcha!” He meandered around the ring while Roman followed him, nose to shoulder, blowing against his hair. Finally Jamey stopped, turned around and, when the horse did not move away, began to stroke him from head to tail. The horse sighed.
“Well, old son,” Jamey said, “now for the moment of truth.” The horse stood quietly beside one of the big solid wall jumps. Gently, whistling under his breath the entire time, Jamey climbed onto the jump.
The horse moved a step away. Slowly Jamey wound the fingers of his good hand into Roman’s mane and leaned his body over the horse’s broad back. Roman sidestepped, but did not buck.
After a moment Jamey, keeping his head low, swung his right leg over the horse’s back. He was astride. Roman accepted him with equanimity. He wore no saddle, no bridle. There were no reins or stirrups to keep Jamey aboard. Nothing but his balance. He had no steering mechanism other than his palms, flat on the sides of Roman’s neck, and his seat and legs. He relaxed and simply let Roman wander.
For twenty minutes Roman wandered all over the arena, sniffed the jumps like a bloodhound, shied at the white jump poles in the corners, snorted and skipped a couple of times just to see whether or not the thing on his back would go away. It didn’t of course.
Finally Jamey slid off. He was elated. Tonight he’d ride him, even if he had to sneak out at midnight to do it.
By the end of this week, he’d find some way to get Vic riding something again, even if only a pony. And by the end of next, he swore to himself, she’d be on Roman. Then he could truly see the horse work. After that, depending on whether he could prove Roman was rightfully his, he’d have to decide whether to offer Whitten a price he’d accept or schedule a theft.
He wished he had his cousin, Tony Costello, beside him. Tony could not only ride anything on four legs, he could move like a wraith. Whenever they got into devilment as boys, Jamey either confessed or got caught. Tony always escaped, whether they were smoking behind the bam—which earned Jamey a paddling from Uncle Hamish—or trying to convince two of the village girls to sneak out late to a dance.
Tony’s cavalier attitude toward other people’s rules had not kept him from becoming a respected Edinburgh veterinarian. As a matter of fact, his willingness to break the rules led him to some spectacular cures when others had given up hope. But he still had that ability to flout convention when need be. He’d snatch Roman without a second thought. Where the McLachlans and the Costellos were concerned, Tony believed that family came first, and the rest of the world was
gaja.
He’d be sorry to upset Vic, but that wouldn’t stop him.