Candace Carrabus - Dreamhorse 01 - On the Buckle (39 page)

“JJ, no,” Brooke said, and her voice broke. She went limp. “She’s yours. You idiot. Nicky is your daughter.”

All went still. Nicky snuffled a little, but the wind, I noticed, had stopped. A couple of swallows peeked over the edges of their nests, but were quiet. JJ dragged Nicky inside and released her. She ran into my arms.
 

“Let’s go,” I whispered.
 

She ran for the back opening. I started to follow, but JJ caught me, twisted my arm behind my back, and propelled me toward the front window. In the moment we were face-to-face, I read what was there. His eyes had gone flat. His plans were unraveling. If he had any feeling about Brooke’s news, I couldn’t tell, except that he’d released Nicky without a backward glance.
 

His daughter.
 

I was his only other bargaining chip, and he wasn’t sure I was worth enough.
 

Neither was I.
 

I stumbled to my knees and glanced out. Brooke was there, but not Malcolm.

At least Nicky was safe. In that moment, JJ whirled at some sound from the direction she’d gone. He let me go and fired.
 

I dropped flat, covered my head, and heard a man’s anguished curse. JJ started across the loft, the rifle to his shoulder.

I looked up just in time to see a flash of light-colored hair disappear behind the bales. Dex.

“No!” I yelled. I ran at JJ and tackled him from behind.

Running into him was like hitting a wall, but he hadn’t been expecting it, and we fell into the straw. The rifle clattered to the floor. He twisted and tossed me off him. I pulled the knife and jabbed blindly, caught his calf.

“You goddamn bitch,” he said. He sat and looked at the blood seeping through his pant’s leg.

I scurried around the pile of straw to where Dex lay.

“He shot my leg,” he said. “I lost my gun. You still have the Glock?”

“Yes.” I pulled it out.

JJ came over, kicked Dex in the head, and hauled me to my feet, dragging me over the bales. We ended up sitting on the floor, me between his legs, his free arm with a strangle hold around my neck, and the Glock’s barrel rammed against my cheek. Nicky was safe, but had he killed Dex? Fury trounced sense, and I thrashed and kicked, churning the air like a school of piranha on fresh meat. He squeezed my throat. I began to lose air.
 

Malcolm came through the back loft window.

He spared Dex the briefest of glances and kept coming at us like a steamroller. I didn’t like the distant, cold look on his face, and JJ must have understood what it meant even better than I.

He tossed the handgun over the side of the loft, shoved me the other way, and stood, the injured leg barely slowing him.
 

Malcolm didn’t wait. He slammed one fist into JJ’s stomach then brought the other up under his chin. JJ reeled and swung blindly. Malcolm ducked and landed one to the kidneys. JJ back kicked Malcolm in the balls. He bent to protect himself. JJ followed with a roundhouse to Malcolm’s face, and he went down.

JJ dove. Malcolm rolled out of the way, and JJ hit the floor with a grunt. I grabbed the Springfield with two hands, wary of its power, and returned to Dex’s side thinking he could shoot JJ. He was breathing, thank God, but out cold. I couldn’t see any blood; it was the fake leg that had been shot. His still booted fake foot lay by the loft opening, and pieces of the prosthesis littered the floor.
 

Malcolm and JJ looked like they were hugging, but both were landing punches—face, ribs, anywhere they could reach. I didn’t know how to use the Springfield and wouldn’t risk hitting Malcolm even if I could. They staggered to the edge of the loft. He put one foot over, lost his balance. I stopped breathing. He released JJ to catch himself on a post. JJ swung. Malcolm bent, drove his shoulder into JJ’s chest, and flipped him into the shed below.

There was dull thump and a sharp “Oof,” then nothing. Malcolm didn’t try to follow. I ran over. He leaned heavily on the post, looking down.

JJ appeared frozen in midair a few feet above the ground, arched into a backbend, his mouth and eyes open, his arms out to the side.
 

He’d landed on the bale spear.

- 43 -

Malcolm put his hand to my cheek and turned my face toward him. He was breathing hard, trembling a little—or maybe that was me. He leaned back against the stout oak post and rolled away from the scene below, taking me with him, pulling me against him. A primitive sound rumbled out of his chest, a stifled wail of sorrow and relief.

He started kissing and touching me all over and I clung to him and found his lips and need swept through me and I devoured his mouth and his cheeks and his neck and he had his hands in my hair and down my back and he pulled my hips to his and before I realized what I was doing I had his shirt out of his pants and my tongue on his chest and his hands had found my bare skin and they burned and we couldn’t stop and I never wanted to stop.

A moan came to us from the other side of the pile of straw, and Dex clearing his throat, and in a raspy voice saying, “A little help over here?”

We stopped. We looked at each other. We both blinked. He’d been lost in the same haze of desire I had. Then, that slow, knowing smile lifted the corners of his mouth. It didn’t last, though. With a glance over his shoulder, he set me away from him and went to Dex.

“I’ve been worse,” Dex said. “You’d better find Nicky.”
 

Malcolm nodded, shoved the bales away from the loft ladder and climbed down. Gaston wuffled and Malcolm murmured a few words to his horse, patted his neck. The front door screeched open. In the distance, I heard sirens.

I walked to where Dex was still flat on his back and knelt beside him. He squinted up at me.

“My leg’s all busted, isn’t it?”

“Yeah. You want to sit up?”

“In a minute. I think I have a concussion. Did that bastard kick me in the head?”

“Yes,” I said as I leaned over him and felt around his scalp.
 

“Where is he? I—”

“Dead.” I found a big lump where JJ’s steel-toed boot had connected.

“Good.” He winced and removed my hand from his head. “Just because I’m momentarily incapacitated, doesn’t mean you should wave your lovely breasts so close to my face.”

“You’re vision is blurred. That’s common after a blow to the head.”

“My vision is perfect,” he said.

We stared at each other. I stroked his cheek and considered unzipping his pants and straddling him. My body still hummed, yearned for release.
 

“It’s normal, what you’re feeling. That need.”

“Need?”

“Like you could fuck anything with two legs. I’m probably even looking good to you right now. If I didn’t have such a wicked headache, I’d take care of it for you myself.”

Having him conscious and talking sense was such a relief; I kissed him on the lips.
 

“Mercy,” he said.
 

“You do look good to me.” A small amount of blood from the head wound had oozed onto my fingertips. “I appreciate the offer, but I think what you need is an icepack.”

~~~

Two hours later, we’d answered questions from the sheriff, state troopers, and the FBI. Yellow police tape criss-crossed the field and the barn. The coroner was still inside with several others. The EMTs had Dex patched up, but he refused to go to the hospital. He said Renee would be along soon to take him home.

The Mullers surveyed the damage to their corn crop from a tractor. Several neighbors had gathered to commiserate. Hank and Clara had brought the horse trailer and taken Gaston home, then returned with iced tea, meatloaf sandwiches, pie, and whipped cream, and I was feeling as human as I could short of a shower and a long, long nap.
 

Dex Two had pulled in about half an hour before. He and Malcolm walked off to talk while Brooke hovered nearby, clearly trying to hear their conversation. She stood with an older man I’d never seen before, but kept her back to him and didn’t seem interested in having anything to do with him. He’d been talking to the Mullers earlier. Nicky had been playing with Clara, but now headed toward her mother.

I recognized some of the crowd milling about, and most of them knew each other. Fred and Melba, and Melba’s sister, Edna with a spare-looking man who I thought must be her paramour, Herbert. Kevie was in the barn. Norman’s mother stood with two other women, and each held a can of beer.

One woman stood apart with a purse over her shoulder. That seemed strange—like she’d walked here or maybe thought there’d be a concession stand at this event. She was slim, middle-aged, wearing a dress that fluttered around her knees, and her long, light-brown hair was coming loose from its elastic. She watched intently, her gaze either on Malcolm or the barn, her hands clasped in front, except when she jerked one up to smooth her hair away from her face.
 

Dex One and I sat on the tailgate of Hank and Clara’s truck. His empty pants leg flapped in the breeze.

“You got a spare leg?” I asked.

“At home. That was my good one, though. Better for riding.”

Nicky came toward us, hand-in-hand with the man who’d been standing with Brooke. He was tall, square-headed and gray-haired. He didn’t appear to have a neck and walked with a stoop like he had a bad back. Just the same, he carried himself with an air of authority. His face had the worn-out look of a horse that’d been rode hard and put away wet too many times. Dex started to slide off the tailgate to greet him, but the man gestured him back.

“Pop-Pop,” Nicky said, “this is Viola Parker.”

He put out a hand thick with calluses. “Pleased to meet you, Miss Parker. I’m Nicky’s grandfather, Kevin Burns. The Captain here’s told me a lot about you.”

I shook his hand, but I wasn’t sure I was pleased to meet Brooke’s father. “Mr. Burns.”

“The Colonel flew us from Chicago in his jet,” Dex said. “That’s how we got here so fast. We landed at a nearby private strip.”

Colonel? Captain? “Thank you,” I said.

“I’m the one doing the thanking today.” He bent and kissed Nicky’s hand. “Pumpkin, why don’t you go find Clara? I think she has some cake.”

Nicky skipped off. Burns’ eyes followed her until she snuck up behind Clara and startled her. They both laughed. If Nicky was traumatized by the events of the past twenty-four hours, it was hard to tell. But kids can hide their feelings, I should know. Her grandpa was completely entranced with her, that much was obvious. His glance flitted over Brooke, the barn, all the police cars and emergency trucks, and even though I’d never met him before, I recognized the weary look.
 

“You two know each other?” I asked.

“We’ve met a couple of times,” Dex answered. “We were both US Marines at one time.”

“Seems like another life,” Burns said.
 

“Once a Marine always a Marine,” Dex said.

Burns nodded. “I’ve squared up with the Mullers,” he said. “They lost a lot of corn with all this vehicle traffic.”

“They appreciate that, I’m sure,” Dex said.

“I’ll take care of your new leg, Captain,” he said to Dex.

“Not necessary, sir.”

“Yes, it is.” He turned to me. “And you, miss, you’ve suffered from this, too. What do you need?”

Was he serious? Throw money at the problem? Not long ago, I would have given him a list. At the moment, though… “Nothing,” I said.
 

He barked out a laugh, but it wasn’t a happy sound. “Everyone needs something.”

We held each other’s gazes for a long moment. I’d locked wills with his type before. His watery blue eyes had seen a lot. He was used to getting his way, but he was tired. He looked away first and surveyed the surrounding scene again with a shake of his head.

“What a mess,” he said. “Don’t think I can get her out of this scrape.”

Scrape? I’d been swamped by the wake of spoiled brats before. Because someone was willing to get them out of their scrapes, they continued full speed to the next disaster, unaware of what they’d left behind.

“I hardly think kidnapping and murder qualify as a scrape.”

Dex put his hand on my leg. “Easy there, cowgirl.”

“Leave it, Captain Hamill,” Burns said. “She’s right. Miss Parker knows what she’s about.”

Brooke’s shrill voice carried to us. “No,” she said to Malcolm, “give me another chance. I had nothing to do with it. It was JJ…”

“That’s my cue,” Dex said. “Your shoulder, please, Vi.”

I’d told him I wouldn’t answer him any more unless he called me by my first name. I stood and helped him find his balance. With his arm around my shoulders, he hopped to where Malcolm and Brooke stood behind Dex Two’s SUV.
 

Dex Two had the back door open. Inside was a custom-built mini office. It was all dark glossy wood just like I’d expect in his real office, had drawers with latches like on a boat, and a safe. He wore a white shirt and dark suit, as impeccable as he’d been the night we went out. Despite the contrast with everyone else’s disheveled appearance, he looked right at home. I wondered how often he practiced law out of the back of his truck. He acknowledged Dex One and me with a tilt of his head.