At Risk (9 page)

I closed the kitchen door behind me and
dropped my mail on the counter. The loft was oppressively quiet,
the air stale. I dumped everything I'd been wearing onto the floor
in the closet. Nothing smelled worse than burnt horse hoof. Even I
couldn't stand myself. I took a long, hot shower, sloshed some Jack
Daniels' over ice, and downed a Percodan. Between the two of them,
the rib pain didn't stand a chance.

Chapter 5

Wednesday morning, I could have done without.
The combination of whiskey and pain medication that had
successfully obliterated feeling of any sort the night before had
mutated into a sledgehammer of a headache between my temples. And
it didn't help that the first person I ran into was Brian.

"What'n the hell'd you tell that cop?" he
asked before I'd even unlocked the feed room door.

"What cop?"

"That cop that was here, Ran . . ."

"Ralston?"

"Yeah, him."

"What about it?" I said. "He's investigating
the horse theft."

"I know that," he snapped. "He was here again
Monday, day you was off. Questions he was asking, you'd of thought
I was guilty or somethin'."

I shook my head. "Brian, I didn't say
anything about you."

"You must of said something."

"No," I said and knew I was wasting my
breath. "I didn't."

Brian sulked off, and I wondered if he'd ever
see that he created his own reality. And I was impressed with
Ralston. He'd pegged Brian pretty quick, and I wondered how he had
classified me.

The morning dragged on. Boarders came and
went. Horses were shifted from stall to paddock or paddock to
stall. A third of the stalls had been mucked out by lunch time, and
the headache had disappeared without my being aware of it. I walked
into the lounge, got my lunch out of the fridge, and checked the
office. Mrs. Hill had gone home to eat, and everyone else had gone
out. For something to do, I switched on the TV, sank into the sofa
cushions, and flipped through the channels. The news was a repeat
of the day before; only the names had changed. The soaps were a
farce. The talk shows worse. I hit the play button. Someone had
left an instructional video in the machine, and though it didn't
much interest me, it was better than nothing.

I had almost finished my lunch when the door
to the lounge opened. I looked over my shoulder.

Mrs. Elsa Timbrook walked into the room.
Well, she hadn't walked, not really. I doubted she walked anywhere.
More accurately, she strode with long lithe legs, like a cat. Or a
tigress. She stood just inside the doorway and surveyed the room as
the door swung shut behind her. Satisfied that we were alone, she
looked at me and smiled, and I felt my pulse pick up.

She had long blond hair that tended to frizz
when it rained, stunning green eyes, and a body so sensual in
design and proportion, she ought to be illegal. I looked back at
the television and tried to ignore her. She crossed the room and
sat next to me. I glanced at her and managed a weak smile, then
looked at the apple in my hand and couldn't imagine finishing my
lunch.

She wriggled around on the sofa and slid her
leg onto the cushion, like she was going to sit Indian-style, but
she left the other leg where it was so that her knees were spread
apart. She made sure her shin was pressing into my leg. My gaze
drifted downward. Her skin-tight breeches left little to the
imagination, and I felt frozen, sitting there like some damn idiot,
completely under her control.

"Hi, Steve," she said in that husky voice of
hers that always got me wondering what she sounded like when she
wasn't putting on an act. Or maybe she'd played it for so long, the
act was the only thing that was real.

"Hello, Mrs. Timbrook."

"Elsa."

I cleared my throat. "Elsa."

"Oooh, you've hurt your face." She leaned
forward and brushed my cheek with her fingertips. "What
happened?"

I was surprised she hadn't heard, but the
rest of the boarders, the majority being female, left her strictly
alone. "I, eh . . . got hurt."

She leaned closer, and the scent of her
perfume filled my nostrils. "Poor honey."

Elsa put her hand on my knee, and it was then
that I noticed her ring. I'd often wondered what her husband was
like, though she probably never did it with him--the thrill for her
was the chase. The more you resisted, the more determined she
became. The woman liked control as long as she was the one who had
it, and I almost felt sorry for him.

She looked at the TV. "What are you
watching?"

"'Rider Position and Technique,'" I
mumbled.

"You don't need to watch that." She slid her
hand farther up my leg. "I can teach you everything you need to
know about position and technique."

Christ. I bet she could. I felt my face
flush, and it was getting damn uncomfortable sitting there like
that. I needed to adjust myself in the worst sort of way. Maybe
she'd do it for me, and imagining that made it worse.

I shifted on the cushion just as she slid her
hand off my leg in a slow upward movement. Her fingers brushed
across my crotch. I exhaled sharply.

Elsa's eyes were strangely unfocused under
heavy lids, and she was breathing through her mouth. She
straightened and unzipped her coat, then reached up with both hands
and shifted it off her shoulders. It tumbled onto the cushion
behind her and slid to the floor in slow motion. Her sweater was
softly luminescent under the florescent lights, the swell of her
breasts pressing against the fabric.

She reached over and stroked her fingers
across the top of my hand. Her touch sent a jolt through my body,
like electricity was coursing through my veins instead of
blood.

Elsa moved her hand beneath mine and took
hold of the apple I had forgotten was there. My grip was so tight,
I had to force my fingers to relax as she pried it from my grasp.
As she turned it in her hands, I noticed that her nail polish was
the same deep red. She had great hands. Long slender fingers, long
nails, a light touch. I bet she was good with her hands. Practiced
anyway.

When she had the apple just so, she gazed
into my eyes, slid her tongue across the skin, and took a bite
where I'd last taken one. I imagined our saliva mixing together,
and one thought led to another.

I grabbed her wrist. She started, then I
watched transfixed as the expression in her eyes and on her face
shifted from surprise to daring. She parted her lips, and her warm
breath brushed my cheek.

I laced my fingers in her hair and kissed her
roughly on the mouth. She pushed her tongue between my teeth, and I
was vaguely aware of the taste of apple. When I moved my hand over
her breast, she sighed. A quiet sound, barely audible. Beneath the
gauze-like fabric, her nipple hardened under my palm. I smoothed my
hand over her flat stomach and curled my fingers under her
sweater.

She clamped down on my wrist and pushed my
hand away. "Well. It's about time you came around, Stevie. But not
here, Silly. Your Mrs. Hill might--"

The door opened.

I jerked upright. Marty came in along with a
blast of cold air. Elsa didn't bothered to check, and I couldn't
believe her composure. Practice probably had a lot to do with
it.

She licked her lips. "See what I mean."

Marty was stomping his boots on the mat when
he looked up and saw the expression on my face. He paused in
mid-stomp and stared with his mouth open. I looked away from him,
and he burst out laughing.

"Steve . . . a horse in barn B," he choked on
the words, ". . . is colicky."

I jumped to my feet. Elsa stood more slowly,
behaving as if Marty wasn't even there. He had been a previous
conquest, easy by anyone's standards. Elsa lowered her gaze to my
crotch and smiled. When I yanked my jacket off the back of the sofa
and held it at waist height, I thought Marty was going to have a
seizure, he was laughing so hard. And he was making a damn ass of
himself. I glared at him as Elsa reached over and took my hand in
hers. She placed the apple in my palm and closed my fingers around
it. She didn't let go, at least not right away.

I had a sudden vision of Eve in the Garden of
Eden. Poor Adam. He hadn't stood a chance.

I cleared my throat. "I'll be right there," I
said to Marty and was relieved when he spun around and went back
outside.

As I leaned forward and picked Elsa's coat
off the floor, I became intensely aware of her body's proximity to
mine. My hair brushed against her thigh when I straightened, and I
was afforded a slow-motion, close-up tour of her body--legs, crotch
(couldn't help but pause there ) waist, breasts (another pause)
lips, eyes.

I held out her coat.

She squeezed my hand as she took the coat.
"Later, Stevie."

I shrugged. Couldn't think of anything
intelligent to say, and with a conscious effort, I walked slowly to
the door.

Outside, Marty was waiting for me, and he was
still laughing. "Fucking shit. Another couple minutes, and you'd of
done it."

"Marty . . . be quiet."

"Why don't you put your coat on, Steve?"

"Shut up," I said. And amazingly, he did.

We walked past the restrooms, and I dropped
the apple into a trash can. I was no longer hungry, not for food
anyway, and the hunger I felt, I could do nothing about.

Too bad I hadn't brought a banana for
dessert. Now, that would have been . . . interesting. I gritted my
teeth. "Which horse?" I said.

"Horse?"

I looked at him. He was grinning wildly, his
imagination running away with him, too. "Yeah, Marty, you know the
one. Four legs, mane, tail, whinnies. Which horse is colicky?"

"Oh, Sandstone." He walked into the barn
ahead of me. "She'll get you yet. Why you just don't give in and
get it over with, I'll never know."

"She's not my type."

He whirled around. "Looked like she was 'your
type' just a second ago." When I didn't say anything, he said,
"Loosen up, for Christ's sake. Have some fun."

"Marty."

His eyebrows rose. "Yes-s-s?"

"When a boarder's around and there's a
problem, wait until we're out of hearing range before you tell me
what's wrong."

"What're you talkin' about? She don't care
'bout no horses. She only cares about fuckin' your ass. Only reason
she's got a horse in the first place is so she can expand her
territory. Though when I think about it, it was a bad move on her
part, 'cause mostly it's girls 'round here, and the guys, well,
some of 'em are more than a little questionable, if you know what I
mean. My cousin works at that new health club by Wilde Lake, and he
knows Elsa. She's a member, and he told me--"

"Marty. I don't want to hear about it." I
sighed. "It's general operating procedure I'm talking about. And
you need to watch your mouth."

"Yes, sir." He rolled his eyes and pulled the
stall door open with exaggerated subservience.

I stepped into the gelding's stall. "Your mom
never use soap in your mouth, or what?"

"My momma dishes out slop at a truck stop
sixty hours a week. Compared to her," he grinned, "I'm a fucking
angel."

"Then heaven help us."

Sandstone, a washy palomino, stood at the
back of the stall with his head lowered. His eyes were a dead
giveaway. He was so preoccupied with his pain, he hadn't even
bothered to look at us when we entered his stall.

I checked his vitals. Capillary refill time
was normal. Pulse and respiration right on the mark. His gut sounds
were slightly louder on the left. I pinched the skin on his neck,
and it snapped back fast enough. He wasn't dehydrated.

"Who noticed he wasn't feeling well?"

"I did," Marty said.

"Good work. I'm impressed. You were on top of
it to have noticed that anything was wrong at all."

"Yeah." He grinned wickedly. "You oughta get
on top of it."

"Damn. I stepped right into that, didn't I?"
I turned away from him to keep from cracking up. "I'll give him
some Banamine and monitor his vitals. Do me a favor and check on
him whenever you're over here, and let me know if he gets
worse?"

"Sure. You need help with the shot?"

I shook my head.

"I'm gonna go switch the horses, then."

I got what I needed from the feed room,
prepared the syringe, and injected the gelding in the neck. He
began eating his hay almost immediately. I looked at the syringe
and rolled it between my fingertips. He couldn't have felt better
that fast, not from the drug, anyway. Given intramuscularly, it
takes twenty minutes before it kicks in. He knew what the injection
was about. He felt better in his mind, if not his body.

"You junkie, you," I said, softly.

He stopped in mid-chew, with wisps of hay
sticking out the side of his mouth, and looked at me with
inquisitive brown eyes. When I said nothing further, he lost
interest and turned his attention back to lunch.

Satisfied that he was okay for the time
being, I spent the rest of the afternoon dragging and hosing down
the indoor arenas. In truth, what I really wanted to do was take a
nap, but with Mrs. Timbrook on the premises, who knew what would
happen if she found me in a prone position? I smiled to myself and
spent some minutes thinking about that. It did nothing to satisfy
but helped pass the time.

* * *

Thursday morning, I woke around four and
couldn't go back to sleep. Hanging around the loft didn't appeal to
me, and lying awake in bed was worse still. For the past two years,
it had been my routine to go in early and ride one of the school
horses, and it would have been nice to think the only reason I
hadn't done so in the last twelve days was because I was too sore.
I got dressed and headed to Foxdale.

It was pitch black when I turned the corner
and eased the pickup down the lane toward the indoor. I backed into
a spot under one of the security lights, turned off the engine, and
cracked open the window. I sat there unmoving and tried to ignore
the tension in my shoulders. After several minutes, I got out and
shut the door.