Candace Carrabus - Dreamhorse 01 - On the Buckle (11 page)

For cripe’s sake. “Yes. At the river. He drove his truck, I drove mine. I left after fifteen minutes or so. I don’t know if he stayed there, or what.”

“I see. Did you quarrel?”

I’d been leaning forward, my elbows on my knees, my head hanging down. I raised it to look at the deputy. “What does that have to do with anything?”

“I’m asking the questions, here, ma’am.”

“No, I wouldn’t say we quarreled.”

“What would you say?”

I noticed Dex watching me closely. His eyes had turned dark as stout, unreadable.

“I’d say Mr. Jenson and I had a difference of opinion about what was to transpire between us at the river, and I left him there before anything he might have been hoping to transpire between us but that I was not interested in having transpire between us did so transpire. Does that answer your question?”

The deputy blinked several times, then wrote something in his notebook.

Dexter’s shoulders shook. He acted like he was coughing, but he was laughing.

- 9 -

The deputies asked whether I remembered hearing any noises outside after I got home the night before. I didn’t. They went to question everyone else. I went in the bathroom and threw up.

I ventured to look outside after I felt better. The rain had slowed, but spongy looking black clouds hovered out past the house just waiting for a good squeeze. The EMTs had gone, and I could see Frank, the coroner, had moved his sedan next to the manure spreader and popped the trunk. Hank moved a couple of bags of feed to the back seat. Then, the sheriff and Frank put a body bag into the trunk. The sheriff wiped his hands on a rag, and the coroner brushed his against his pants legs. They shook, Frank nodded at Hank and slammed the lid. Heck of a way to transport
the deceased
.

Deputies picked through the manure pile for evidence. They’d shoveled it into miniature pyramids, leaving messy piles of straw and poop all over. For a brief moment, resentment tumbled my gut. More work. Then, I let it go. I can be selfish, but even I could admit this wasn’t about me.

Dex sidled up, peered past my shoulder. As if reading my mind, he said, “We’ll get it cleaned up. Don’t worry. But it will have to stay like this a little while. Till they decide they’ve gotten everything they can out of it.”

“What are they looking for?”

“Hard to say. Norman didn’t bury himself in there.”

“Was he…?”

“Dead before he got put in there? Maybe.”

And maybe not.
 

“I thought he’d cleaned up his act,” Dex said.

“Meaning?”

He shrugged. “He had a little history with drugs. Nothing too serious. But it’s hard to shake no matter what.”

I’d never done drugs but could relate to the difficulty of shaking addiction. Did Dex have personal experience with that too? He put his hands on my shoulders and kneaded the muscles at the base of my neck. It felt great and weird all at once. He didn’t know me well enough to do that, but I didn’t want him to stop, either. So, I just stood there, letting him make me feel better. It was the first time I’d let someone touch me uninvited. Actually, it was the first anyone attempted such a thing.

“Do they know how?” I asked.

“How he died? Coroner wouldn’t speculate. That’s for the medical examiner in St. Louis to determine.”

Clara knocked, and let herself in without waiting for a reply. Dex released me. She glanced from him to me, her face unreadable.

“Let Hank know I’m gonna go get supper ready,” she said to me. “You want to come down now or later?”

The assumption being that I was eating dinner with them. I sighed inwardly. I wanted to be alone, and I didn’t want to be alone. I didn’t know what I wanted. Clara smiled at Dex.
 

“You’re welcome, too, Dex. How ‘bout it? I got pork chops and chess pie.”

“Wouldn’t miss it, Clara, you know that. We’ll be down,” he glanced at his watch, “in about an hour, okay?”

She went out with a wave.
 

“That enough time for you to shower and nap?” Dex asked.

Dex assumed a lot, but right then I needed someone to take over. No doubt, the numbness I felt was written all over my face, and he’d probably dealt with this sort of thing before. His manner would have really, really irked me yesterday, especially since he wasn’t coming on to me.
 

Today, I lived in a whole new world.

- 10 -

As I went upstairs, the tack-room phone rang. “Winterlight’s closed,” Dex said by way of answering. Pause. “Check back after the weekend.” A note of impatience tinged his voice. Then, “We’re doing inventory!” He slammed the receiver down.

I let myself smile. I liked Dex. I called Penny to see how her doctor’s appointment went and told her everything was fine with me. No reason to add to her burden. Her doctor said she should rest more. Fat chance of that happening.

After a long, hot, shower, I found Renee and Sandy feeding too much and letting the horses fight over it. I explained how I was organizing it, and they exchanged one of those looks, like they were thinking, oh, here we go, we’re trying to help, and the bitch from New York is complaining.

I told them if they really wanted to help, they could groom everybody and pick out their feet. Smitty and Fawn had thrush, and they weren’t the only ones. I showed Renee and Sandy the bottle of treatment to use on the soles of the horses’ hooves. If they couldn’t handle that, I asked them not to bother.

Yeah, I was feeling a little bitchy.

Now, it was pouring rain. I turned my face up to it before getting in Dex’s truck to go to Clara and Hank’s, letting moisture pelt my open eyes and my cheeks and run into my mouth. Would have stayed like that, but Dex grabbed my sleeve and yanked me onto the seat next to him.

Finally, Dex dropped me at the farm, everyone had gone home, and I had the place to myself. Well, not entirely. Henrietta had delivered four kittens in the laundry basket in my closet. At least she’d chosen to labor on the clothes that were already dirty. Noire sniffed at the new cat family, looked at me. I said, “Surprise!” and she wagged her tail, then jumped on the bed and went to sleep.
 

The kittens—one black like his mom, two brown tabbies, and one white with orange splotches—mewed and squirmed at Henrietta’s belly, and she had that contented purry look about her, like she was exhausted, but elated.
 

I was exhausted, but not elated.

The worst of the bitchiness had worn off, and having four kittens in my closet made it hard to maintain any level of anger. I’d no one to be angry with, wasn’t even sure if that was my main feeling. Mainly, I needed to sleep.

Dex told me he’d gotten a call from Malcolm. His flight had been delayed, and he wouldn’t be at the farm until after eight p.m. It was close to nine. I didn’t know whether he’d returned, and I really didn’t care. I was out of whipped cream, and all I wanted was to be horizontal, like my dog.

I took another shower, lay down, and the phone rang. I considered not answering, let it ring once more, picked it up. There was a slight pause after my hello.

“Malcolm here.”

Serious and business-like. So much so that I almost laughed. I lowered my voice and tried to match his tone.

“Parker here.”

Another pause on his end, and I could hear his brain whirring and clicking. Then, a soft, relieved chuckle.

“You okay down there? You’ve had quite a day.”

I should not try to hold a conversation when I am that tired. It’s almost as bad as being drunk in terms of what might come out of my mouth. Except that I’m not stupid when I’m tired, just vulnerable and honest. I most definitely should not talk to a man who has a chuckle like velvet, not after the kind of day I’d had.

“Yes,” I said. “But, it couldn’t have been easy for you, either.” I knew from Hank and Clara that Norman had worked at Winterlight only for a few months. Malcolm had hired him on Sandy’s recommendation. Before that, he and Malcolm hadn’t met. Still. He was human. “I’m sorry.”

“Thanks. But I’m the one who should be apologizing. This is a mess. I would understand if you wanted to—”

“I’m fine, really.” Like hell, but if he thought I was so easily gotten rid of, he had another think coming.
 

Another pause, then, “Well, if you need anything…are you sure you’re okay alone? You can stay up here or over at Hank’s.”

Being alone wasn’t something I worried over. But I’d never been alone in a strange place where someone had been murdered and the body disposed of under my nose.
 

“Seems to me I’m not the one who’s alone,” I said in a not-intentionally throaty tone. It’s how I sound when I’m running on empty.

Silence. Poor guy. He was surely questioning the wisdom of checking on me, maybe even wondering what he’d been thinking when he made the job offer via my cousin. Which, now I thought about it, said as much about him as my accepting the job via Pen did about me.

“Beg pardon?”

Ah, the pull back to business-like. As it should be. At least one of us was operating on full. “I have the horses,” I said, “And Noire. And—”

“Good point.”

I wanted him to see Henrietta’s kittens, but in truth, that could wait until morning. I let the silence stretch, then said, “Maybe you should come down here.”

Ten minutes later, he knocked on my door. I’d dozed off, and stumbled down the stairs to answer in bare feet and pajamas—baggy flannel pants, loose tank-top, and no underwear—before I realized what I must look like. My hair straight out of the shower—especially if I lie down while it’s wet—not pretty.

I pushed it away from my face and fumbled with the lock before swinging open the door to the tack room. He stood leaning against the frame with one hand. In the other, he grasped that tempting bottle of scotch he’d offered the day I arrived. He wore dressy khakis and a blue, button-down shirt with the top button undone, like he’d just taken off his tie. On his feet were leather barn clogs. I doubted he’d worn those on the plane, but otherwise, it looked like he’d just gotten home and hadn’t changed. Maybe
he
didn’t like to be alone.

“You’ve tidied up a bit,” he said.

I wasn’t awake yet and glanced down at my disheveled self before realizing he meant the barn. “Not as much as I wanted to,” I said when I returned my gaze to his face.

He looked tired. His clothes were rumpled, and his hair mussed, like he’d been running his hands through it. I remembered how the sun had shot sparks out of it the first time I saw him. That made me picture him in his kilt. And I realized right then I should never have invited him. If he turned out to be a nice guy, I was in deep shit.

“Come in,” I said. “There’s something I want you to see.”

He followed me up the stairs, and I had the sense he was eye-level with my ass, and he knew I didn’t have underwear on. Men are like that. Even when you’re wearing something baggy, they just know. Made me wonder if he wore nothing under his kilt, like a true Scotsman.

Noire slid off the bed and trotted up to him, wagging her whole body hello. I considered the difference between this and how she’d reacted to JJ and vowed to try and see her side of things in the future.
 

Malcolm squatted and ruffled her ears. She licked his chin, then my hand, and went back to bed. Smug little bitch. Of course, she couldn’t know he was married.

“You said you had something you wanted me to see?”

“Yeah,” I said, “in here.”

He followed me toward the bedroom, then hesitated. I stopped halfway across the room. Technically, the place was his and he could go anywhere he wanted. But this was my bedroom for the time being, and that meant a barrier he evidently intended to respect, even if it hadn’t crossed my mind.

“It’s okay,” I said. “They’re in the closet.”
 

That sent such a confusion of emotions flying across his face, I did laugh. I thought my eyebrows were expressive. Nothing like stress and fatigue for making it hard to conceal what you’re feeling. He edged in, keeping distance between his body and my bed, then peered into the closet where I pointed.
 

The relieved and amazed smile that creased his face when he saw Henrietta and her kittens gave my stomach a pleasant roll and brought tears too close to the surface. I turned away, but not before noticing the return of his confusion.

“Who is that?” he asked.

I grabbed a few pieces of laundry off the floor to hide my mix of feelings. Really, what had I been thinking when I suggested he come down here? I was much too raw. I sat on the edge of my bed with my clothes wadded in my lap and pressed my fists into my eyes. “That’s your Henry,” I said. “I’ve been calling her Henrietta.”

Malcolm eased himself cross-legged to the floor, the muscles of his thighs showing through the fabric of his pants. “You knew?”

“The moment I met her.”

He chuckled, like he had on the phone, and tapped his forehead with the palm of one hand. “You must think I’m an idiot.”

I didn’t think he was an idiot, and he wasn’t a prick, either. “No, I don’t think that.” This came out a whisper. I turned and threw my dirty clothes in the corner, but I wasn’t fast enough.