Summer Kisses (131 page)

An unfamiliar ceiling stretched above Kurt’s head. Light seeped through the curtains. He raised himself on an elbow. A massive rack of elk antlers and an antique rifle loomed over the fireplace but horse pictures crammed the remainder of the walls, pictures of the same jockey winning, over and over again.

Must be Julie’s mother, he thought, relaxing on the sofa. Clearly she’d been an accomplished rider.

A screen door slammed, and boots thudded against the floor. Blue trotted into the room, tongue lolling, and dropped to the mat to lick his paws. Seconds later Adam poked his head in.

“You and Julie must have had quite a night? It’s six-thirty and she’s still asleep.”

“What time does she usually get up?” Kurt asked.

“Four. In time for the morning feeding. Then she drives to the track.”

Kurt winced. She worked both ends of the clock, making herself available to any trainer for morning gallops and hanging around the track at night, trying to snag a jock ride. No wonder she always fell asleep in his truck.

“Come and have a coffee,” Adam said, “before I run over to the Farmers’ Market.”

Kurt yawned, not feeling too lively, but Blue stared at Adam’s retreating back then looked at Kurt and whined. A command appearance then. Kurt rose to his feet, hauled on his shirt and walked to the kitchen.

“Do you have any sort of chance tonight?” Adam asked as he poured Kurt a cup of coffee.

Kurt dropped into a worn kitchen chair. “My horse can run a little.” He sipped some coffee and ran a hand over his stubbled chin, trying to wake up. This brew was stronger than the stuff Adam made last week. Different smell too. He took in several more gulps, savoring the caffeine, feeling himself recharge. “Yeah, Lazer can run if he wants,” he added.

“But will he want to?” Adam asked. “Here let me top up your coffee.”

A robin flew by the window, its shadow flitting across the table. Looked like it was going to be another nice day. The track would be dry and fast.

“I really don’t know what Lazer will do.” Kurt stretched out his legs. “He had excuses for most of his losses. I do know he’s fit, impeccably bred and gets along well with your daughter.”

Adam dropped a spoon in the sink with a sharp clink. “The handicapper only has him at twelve to one. There are some tough Alberta-breds in the race. They may not have the fancy bloodlines but around here ‘good bred’ only matters in a sandwich. A lot of the eastern runners are wimps.” Adam gave a disdainful snort. “A little bumping, a little dirt. Those pretty horses want to give up and go home.”

“That sounds like Lazer.” Kurt straightened in the chair. Adam seemed uptight, and he sensed it wasn’t about betting strategy.

“I’m just razzing you,” Adam said without a hint of humor. “No one can guess what will happen in a race. Or at a track.” His eyes hardened, boring into Kurt’s. “Nick was a good man, a careful man. What happened to him was tragic. And strange. There was an earlier incident, a cop who’d been at the same barn. Looking for Otto.”

Kurt studied the image on his mug: cattle and three penners. One rider had her arm thrust in the air, and he studiously traced the picture with his index finger. “Julie did mention something about that,” he said slowly.

“I figure the track hired a private investigator to come and look around,” Adam said. “Having two people shot and kicked to death isn’t good for business.”

“No,” Kurt said. “I don’t suppose it is.”

“Now I’m not one to poke my nose where it shouldn’t be,” Adam’s voice hardened, “but I don’t want my daughter hurt. She’s had a tough time getting over her mother’s death. She’s honest with her feelings and expects the same of her…associates. Dishonesty is something we won’t tolerate.”

“I don’t think you need to worry.”

“Good.” Adam set his mug down, but his green eyes were wary. “I have to go. You relax and finish that coffee before driving back. Good luck tonight.”

Kurt waited until the screen door slammed then moved to the kitchen window and watched the dust follow Adam’s truck down the road. He definitely had received his walking orders—it would be much easier if Julie didn’t live at home.

He rinsed his cup, placed it in the sink and glanced under the table. “Okay, Blue, can you find Julie for me?”

The dog scrambled to his feet, and his nails clacked an eager trail down the hall. He shoved his nose against the second door on the right, whining softly. Kurt turned the knob, and Blue barged past and ran to the bed.

His pink tongue slopped over Julie’s cheek, but she only muttered and burrowed under the blanket.

Kurt stepped over the sweatshirt and jeans scattered on the floor. The mattress squeaked as he sat down and tugged back the covers. He lifted her hair and pressed a light kiss against the back of her neck. She grumbled. He tugged the sheet further down and tickled the graceful curve of her bare back.

“Quit it, Blue,” she said.

Kurt stilled, had actually forgotten about the dog. He glanced over his shoulder but Blue wasn’t protesting—not yet—only watched expectantly as though confident she’d rise soon.

“Blue?” She rolled over. Stared at Kurt in dismay then abruptly yanked the sheet over her head. “I thought it was a nightmare.” Her voice was muffled by the pink sheet.

“I’ll see you later.” He pried the covers from her face. “Just make sure you get lots of rest.”

Her eyes widened. “Is Dad out there?” she whispered.

“He left about five minutes ago. Do you have a drive in tonight?”

She nodded.

“Are you angry I dragged you out of the bar?” he asked. “Is that the nightmare part?”

She frowned at him through a tangle of hair. “What do you mean?”

“Never mind.” She was obviously exhausted. He patted her head, rumpling her hair even more. “I’ll lock the door on the way out. Go back to sleep.”

“Okay.” She made no argument, only settled on the pillow, closed her eyes, and did exactly what he asked. Amazing.

Blue cocked his head and whined, looking just as surprised as Kurt.

“Good morning, Kurt,” Sandra said. “Did Julie get home okay?” She lingered outside the stall, watching as he unwrapped Ace’s bandages.

“She did,” he said. “Do you have time to pony this fellow? Easy walk around the track?”

“Sure.” But Sandra wasn’t easily distracted. She edged closer, her voice bubbling with mischief. “Cody dropped by a while ago. He wasn’t very happy when you and Julie disappeared. Did you two go right home?”

Kurt simmered at the mention of Cody but only hunkered down to examine Ace’s legs.

“Guess I’ll have to ask Julie,” Sandra said. “But she’ll just clam up. Even Gary can’t get much out of her, even when they lie awake talking all night.” She winked. “You should know my spare room has double beds.”

Kurt fumbled with the bandage, knowing he’d been too quick to judge, too quick to grab what he wanted. Julie had said she didn’t date but he’d brushed that aside, had considered her fair game because he thought she was sleeping with Bixton.

He walked past Sandra and over to Otto’s new stall, gripping the rolled bandage as he tried to settle the churning in his gut. He was just as big a prick as Cody.

Otto’s gelding had been chewing on the wood but rushed to the door with a hopeful nicker.

“Is this fellow getting fed?” Kurt asked quietly.

“No,” Sandra said. “I think you’re the only one not afraid of him. Honestly, who would want to go in his stall?”

The horse stared over the door, his eyes calm and accepting.

“Damn. Otto should be shot.” Kurt crossed the aisle, grabbed a water bucket and three flakes of hay. “Has he ever packed up and abandoned a horse like this?”

“Nope, but I heard there were so many complaints this week the race office finally suspended him. Doubt he’ll be back. He’s not the type to worry about a horse.” She shrugged. “I’m going to grab a coffee. Be back in about fifteen minutes for Ace.”

Kurt nodded and opened the stall door. The horse stuck his nose in the water bucket, drank deeply then lifted his dripping muzzle and grabbed at the hay. Kurt ran his hand along the gelding’s warm back but felt only a single welt. This fellow wasn’t as scraped up as Otto’s mare—except for the pitchfork injury, Kurt amended, as his fingers touched the scabbed holes.

It might be possible to check his feet. The horse munched happily, unaware he was considered a killer and unfairly blamed for a popular man’s death. Kurt slid his hand around the horse’s fetlock, and the gelding obediently lifted his leg.

When Kurt pressed on his boggy sole, he flinched. Kurt sighed and lowered the leg. Same reaction as the mare. Two horses, both tender-soled, both with an unusual number of nail holes. The smugglers had to be using horseshoes to move the diamonds, yet according to Julie, the shoes had been normal.

He rubbed his forehead and left the stall, jarred by a sense of inadequacy. Connor had always been more stubborn, more observant. Obviously he’d spotted something—but Kurt couldn’t even figure out what had drawn him to Otto’s trailer.

A grim figure burst into the barn. “You asshole. Where’s Julie?” Cody rushed down the aisle and planted himself in front of Kurt, fists clenched in white-knuckled balls. “Where’s Julie? Answer me, asshole!”

“You can’t be talking to me,” Kurt said, turning away.

“Where is she?”

“Let’s just say she’s not having breakfast with either of us and leave it at that.”

Cody shadowed Kurt down the aisle, his voice quivering with rage. “Is that the only way you can get laid? By hijacking someone else’s date. I paid a lot of money for those shooters—”

“So you were trying to get her drunk?” Kurt’s mouth tightened.

“We were just having fun until you came along.”

“She’s not used to drinking like that,” Kurt snapped. “Stay away from her.”

“Is that a threat?”

Kurt stopped. “Yes,” he said.

“You prick!” Cody’s face contorted. He abruptly rammed his booted heel at Kurt’s thigh.

Kurt tried to dodge, but the kick was too quick, the pain agonizing. He reeled back, struggling to keep his feet. Straightened and let his anger override the pain. “Cheap shot, Cody. But all right. Let’s do this.”

Cody didn’t hesitate. He darted forward, feinting high, then jabbed his fist at Kurt’s stomach. Kurt blocked the punch, shooting out with a left hook that snapped the man’s sneering head back. His satisfaction flared, but Cody recovered quickly and slipped under his fists, knocking his legs out with some sneaky footwork.

Kurt hit the concrete. Saw Cody’s boot aimed at his head, rolled and grabbed him by the ankle. Twisted and sent the man sprawling.

Kurt scrambled up, adrenaline surging now, watching as Cody rose with lithe grace. The man must have some kind of martial arts training. He was quick and strong, able to use both fists and feet. It would be a fun fight, Kurt decided, with a rush of eagerness. He’d have to watch the man’s left foot though. Cody had already landed it twice. Best to take him down quickly.

They eyed each other, both wary, both silent. The air was punctuated with their breathing, and the sound of rattled horses circling in the straw.

Cody edged to the left. Kurt snapped a kick at his chest, but Cody just grinned and dodged then danced forward, driving his left boot into Kurt’s stomach. Kurt managed to block the quick fist that followed, countering with an uppercut that tilted Cody on his heels.

He tracked Cody across the aisle and kicked his left knee. When he stumbled, Kurt launched forward. He straddled his back, using his weight to pin the man to the floor.

“Finished?” Kurt growled.

Silence.

He jerked Cody’s arms higher.

“Dammit,” Cody said.

Kurt ruthlessly raised his arms another notch.

“Dammit, yes.”

Kurt stood up and stepped back.

“Guess I ate the most dirt today,” Cody muttered as he brushed the straw off his shirt. “You should drop by the gym some time. Have a little rematch. I want another shot.”

Kurt inclined his head in grudging respect. “You got enough shots in today.”

“Yeah. Entertaining fight,” Sandra called from the doorway. “Bet you weren’t arguing about who had the fastest horse.”

“No horse is worth that.” Cody grimaced, studying his knuckles. “No girl either.”

Kurt said nothing. His leg throbbed, but he felt much better; he’d always loved a good fight.

Sandra tossed her cup in the garbage bin. “Is Ace ready now that you burned off some of that frustration?”

Kurt shot her a scowl. Sandra was too uppity, too mouthy, too perceptive.

Cody saw Kurt’s expression and shook his head. “Dude, you need to lighten up. Glad I’m not stuck in this barn.” He walked by Sandra, shaking his head and inspecting his knuckles.

Kurt hurt too, but waited until Cody was gone before rubbing the top of his thigh. Damn. The guy kicked like a mule. His leg felt like it had been stabbed with a hot poker.

He bridled Ace and led him outside to where Sandra waited on an ever-patient Okie.

“Just jog Ace around and loosen him up,” Kurt said. “I want to see how he moves. His shins might be a bit sore.”

“Yes, boss.” Sandra winked and led Ace to the track.

Kurt headed to the rail at a more sedate pace, trying to hide his aching leg, watching as Ace moved into an even trot. The gelding obviously suffered no ill effects from yesterday’s race. He gestured at Sandra to continue then pulled out his phone and walked slowly toward the privacy of his truck.

Archer sounded relieved. “Been trying to reach you,” he said. “My private line rang last night. Showed your number.”

“I must have sat on my phone,” Kurt said.

“Keep it turned on. Now here’s what we got. Nothing was found in Friedman’s garbage. But we have the lab analysis, and the material on Connor’s shoes matches the fecal samples we picked up behind his store.”

So Connor had been in that alley. Kurt rubbed his neck, recalling the eerie feeling when he walked behind the shop.

“Kurt?”

“Yeah, I’m here,” Kurt said, his voice so low he had to force himself to speak up. “Otto hasn’t been around the track today. What’s he doing?”