Candace Carrabus - Dreamhorse 01 - On the Buckle (19 page)

We jogged past Malcolm’s house. Almost no energy made it from Honey’s legs to the saddle, which made her easy to sit. I kicked free of the stirrups and let my legs hang, using my rear end and hips to follow the minimal movement. She’d have a rocking-chair canter, I was sure, the kind you could ride all day, and be terrific bareback. She’d never cut it in my world as a show horse, but for a hack, one couldn’t go wrong riding her type. With more-whoa-than-go, Honey suited me perfectly that morning.
 

The white farmhouse receded from view, but I’d no doubt we were being watched, and I couldn’t help a quick glance over my shoulder to see if I would catch him looking out a window. Unfortunately, Dex saw me looking.
 

“He’s not pissed at you.”

I jerked my head to look at him. “Who?”

“Malcolm.”
 

He’d read my mind too easily. I’m sure he could tell by the look on my face that he’d hit the mark.

“More like upset with himself for bringing you here right when all this erupted.”

“What, exactly, is
all this
?”

“Exactly what I’m trying to find out.”

“And?”

“I have some leads. Norman had a history, and some not-so-great associates. You don’t need to worry about that.”

“I’m not worried.” The neon sign on my forehead started flashing.

“Yeah, right.”

“You don’t know anything about me.”

“You’d be surprised.”

I wasn’t sure I’d be surprised at anything. My first week at Winterlight was coming to a close, and I’d already been hit upside the head more times than I could count.
 

Dex smiled. “You’re twenty-nine years old and have had eighteen different jobs since you were fifteen—those are just the ones on the books. You’ve used only two addresses your whole life up until this week, but I suspect you’ve laid your head in more than a few others.”

“Hey,” I groaned in protest.

“I mean that in the nicest way.”

Yeah, right. Why did I keep forgetting he was an ex-cop-sometime-PI?
 

We rode past the wheat field toward the creek. Whatever it was that caused him to limp when walking scarcely registered with him in the saddle. His left foot rested in the stirrup, as if he couldn’t put weight in it.
 
His seat was solid, though, his balance strong. He was an efficient rider, no finesse, but he stayed out of his horse’s way.

“In addition to your training at a British Horse Society school,” he continued, “you’ve completed seventy-two hours toward a bachelor’s degree of nothing in particular, never owned real estate, never been arrested or in drug rehab, never even had a utility bill in your name, let alone a loan. No credit cards.”

I resigned myself to the knowledge he’d done a background check. Whether before or since Malcolm hired me was the question.

“You’re damn close to off the grid for someone who has nothing to hide.”

I took a deep breath, let it out loudly, but I was only mildly annoyed. “I don’t have anything to hide.” Sometimes, I wished I did. Sometimes, I wish I had what others called assets, besides my truck and trailer.

“You have a checking account, that’s something. But you have only four-hundred eighty-three dollars and thirty-five cents to your name.”

There was no point in denial. It was true. That was all the money I had. “Yep. Pitiful.” But I had Noire and Cali. Critter rich, cash poor.

“You don’t feel sorry for yourself.”

“Only sometimes. But you didn’t learn that from looking at my bank account.”

Dex reined in Ciqala. She tossed her head in protest, then made the most of the moment by tearing at the leaves on a branch next to her head. He gave me a clear-eyed look of assessment. “No. I learned that from watching you.” He patted his mare’s neck. “That’s how you get the important stuff.”

I nodded, having no argument or comeback, wishing I had his abilities, and rode on. I’d have better luck choosing jobs if I were a better judge of people. Malcolm was the first boss I’d had in a long time who appeared to be a genuine straight arrow. And Penny had found this position for me. It sucked in every other way, though, so that made us even.

When he trotted Ciqala forward, I asked, “What is the important stuff?”

“You haven’t opened a checking account here. You’re still using the one at a bank on Long Island.”

“That’s the important stuff?”

“You plan on staying, or not?”

It was my turn to pull up. We were in that pretty area under the river birch. Malcolm’s favorite spot on the farm. I looked around me, maybe seeing some of what Malcolm had been picturing in his mind when he stared out the tack-room window the other night.

But what business was it of Dex? My annoyance level ratcheted up a notch. I hadn’t promised not to smart off to the boarders. “Don’t you know?”

“I don’t know everything.”

“What would you guess from watching me? Is that the important stuff you were talking about?”

“Partly.”

“Why do you care?”

He took a moment to study the trees and the creek and Noire bounding through the water, pouncing on some unsuspecting frog or crayfish.

“I love him like a brother.”

Jesus. What was it about this spot that encouraged men to reveal intimate details? Did I need to know this? I’d hoped to get through the week without any more slaps upside the head.
 

A bluebird caught my eye, a flash of azure against a light-skinned tree. It flitted to a twig, then flew out of sight.

Dex booted Ciqala into my line of vision. “He’s been good to me. He’s a good man. Too trusting maybe, and too high a boiling point to suit me, but that’s why I watch his back.”

“When did he ask you to check up on me? Did you warn not to hire me, like with Norman?”

“He didn’t. I did it on my own as soon as I got your name from him. And no. I told him he should hire you, but he’d already decided.”

Hunh. “So, what did you tell him?”

“Nothing to tell he didn’t already know from your cousin.”

I urged Honey forward, across the creek and along the trail on the other side. Dex came up next to me, quiet for the moment, letting me absorb that last piece of information. Noire trotted after us, then spotted a squirrel and rushed into the underbrush. The squirrel scurried up a broad trunk, along a branch, soared to another tree, and kept going.

That Malcolm was a good man was not news to me. I’d already figured that one out for myself. Now, I knew he had devoted friends, too. Loyalty, I understood. And honesty was something I valued.

“You don’t want him to get hurt,” I said.

“Now you’re reading my mind.”

I smiled at him, and he gave me a helpless shrug.
 

“Busted,” I said. “How about a canter?”

He didn’t wait, just kicked Ciqala into gallop. True to her quarter-horse breeding, she sped out like a sports car, zero-to-sixty in two strides. Honey barely reacted. I had to slap her neck with the reins to get a response, and that was the rocking-chair canter I’d expected, nothing more. She slowed to walk long before we caught up with Dex, who was waiting at the next turn, grinning.

“Sorry,” he said. “That wasn’t fair. I forgot who you were riding.”

We fell into step next to each other again. “Do you usually play fair?”

“Depends on who I’m playing with,” he said with a drawl.

“I’ll keep that in mind.”

He turned serious, his coffee-colored eyes soft. “You can count on fairness and honesty from me, Miss Parker. You’ve earned at least that much.”

“Likewise,” I said. “And just for the record, I’m staying.” Crap. Now I’d done it. I’d said it out loud.
 

“Because you have to.”

“Because I want to.”

We talked little more. Yet, half an hour later when we rode into the stable yard, I understood we had tacitly agreed to be honest and trust one another, and to help Malcolm. We untacked, and walked the horses down the drive together to give them a few minutes to cool before putting them in the pasture. If they drank a belly full of water when they were hot, they’d colic.

“What are you doing tonight?” Dex asked. “It’s Friday.”

“Oh, big doings,” I said. “I’m going to dinner and the symphony with your rival in Dexterness.”

“Oh ho! So he beat me to the punch, the little rascal.”

“You were going to invite me to the symphony?”

“Heck no. Baseball game.”

I admit I wasn’t really listening. I wanted to ask him about Dex Two, but when I hesitated, he said, “Don’t you like baseball?”

“Oh, no, I mean, well, I’m not a huge sports fan, but I don’t mind going to a game once in a while.” I considered not pursuing what I wanted to know, but curiosity got the better of me. “Is the other Dex—”

“Gay?”

“How’d you know that’s what I was going to ask?”

“That’s what everyone wants to know.”

We turned the horses at the bottom of the drive and headed back toward the barn. Honey rubbed her itchy head against my shoulder. I had to stop and brace myself so she didn’t knock me over.

“You don’t know?” I asked.

“I don’t think he knows.”

“You mean he’s bisexual.”

Dex unbuckled his helmet, slid it off, and wiped his gloved hand over the top of his head. “I mean he’s asexual—doesn’t know whether he’s interested at all. Building his law firm’s all he thinks about. Becoming a judge.”

“He said his partner was out of town.”

“Smoke screen. Now me, on the other hand—”

“I wasn’t asking about you.”

He put his free hand over his heart. “You cut me to the quick, Miss Parker.”

“I didn’t mean it like that. What I meant was I feel pretty sure…”

“Have no doubt, my dear.”

He waggled his eyebrows and gave my chest a lustful leer that left no doubt whatsoever.

- 19 -

Toward the end of the symphony, right as the chorale reached a crescendo, I fell asleep on Dex Two’s shoulder. My curfew is ten p.m., and that’s pushing it after the kind of week I’d had. The need to get away from the farm had outweighed common sense. As if that were a rare occurrence.
 

Dinner had been delicious and Humphrey J. Dexter the Third, Esquire, the perfect gentleman. Despite his alleged lack of preference, he’d beamed a wide-eyed look of appreciation from my head to my pump-clad toes and back again when I walked into the restaurant. He’d stood and kissed the back of my hand, held my chair for me, told me how beautiful I looked.

He wore an elegantly tailored navy-blue suit and smelled like spicy aftershave. I’d worn my only little black dress, a simple, sleeveless crepe number with flattering princess seams. It felt good to dress up, wear a little makeup, and twist my hair into the only ’do I could do—a simple chignon.
 

My mother had showed me how to pin up my hair during one of their rare visits stateside. She said it was required knowledge for ladies. I’d resisted, preferring ponytails and hats, knowing, even at age eight, that I was not a lady, not like her, anyway. She’d insisted, and made me practice until I got it right. It’s the only thing she ever taught me.

Before we took our seats, I had a bottle of water, and Dex Two had a glass of champagne. We stood in the opulent lobby of the symphony hall while he introduced me to everyone he knew, which seemed to be everyone. Most of the conversation centered on land conservation. He was a member or on the board of several local and national nature, river, or prairie conservancy organizations, trusts, or foundations. The names all ran into each other after the first few.
 

I listened and nodded a lot. I agreed with conserving land, but had never done anything about it. If I helped Malcolm keep the farm, that would be a start. The thought made me feel more grown up than I had in some time.

Now, I faced the drive to Winterlight armed with a Venti black coffee from Starbucks, the symphony’s bass notes still thrumming my blood.

Keeping my eyes open all the way was tough. I stuck my head out the window, turned the radio up, and gulped caffeine. I talked to myself and finally pulled in at nearly midnight, needing to pee like the proverbial racehorse.

I rushed to the nearest unoccupied stall, shimmied my panties and hose to my knees, squatted, and relieved myself. I didn’t know many women in the horse business who hadn’t learned to empty their bladders quickly and efficiently in horse trailers, stalls, or woods. Usually, however, I wasn’t wearing high heels. They sank into the deep bedding. The moment I tried to stand and pull myself together, I toppled over backwards, getting straw up my skirt.

The horse next to me snorted in surprise when I swore quietly and scrambled to my knees. In the moonlight slicing through the stall window, I picked the worst of the straw from the most sensitive areas, hastily pulled up my panties, and my skirt down. Even in the private darkness of a deserted barn, I didn’t like leaving myself exposed for too long.