Cut Throat (36 page)

‘Ross!' Losing patience, she gripped his arm and pulled him to face her. ‘Talk to me, damn you!'

She caught him off guard. For a moment he gazed down at her upturned, impatient face, glistening with rain, and then his control slipped. With one finger he tilted her chin and when she made no move to resist, bent to kiss her in a fashion far removed from the brotherly embraces of the past.

Lindsay froze for an instant, then her hand stole up into his wet hair and pulled him closer.

For a moment nothing else mattered until, abruptly, Ross pulled away.

‘That was bloody stupid!' he said roughly. ‘I'm sorry. Better forget it.'

Lindsay recoiled, hurt. ‘Consider it forgotten,' she retorted roundly, and turned to open the gate.

Ross put out a hand to stop her. It seemed more important than ever that she should understand about Ginger.

‘I'm not afraid for myself,' he said, trying to find the words to explain. ‘At least, I don't think so. It's just – the nightmares – the children – that child, screaming. I can't let it happen again.'

Lindsay heard the desperation in his voice and turned back, her eyes full of compassion. ‘But it won't, Ross. It was a once-in-a-lifetime fluke. You have to put it behind you. Vixen had a tumour. Ginger's a completely different horse.'

‘Ginger is insane,' he stated bluntly.

‘She doesn't
look
it,' Lindsay said doubtfully, surveying the chestnut mare who stood quietly, tail turned to the driving rain. ‘Are you sure?'

‘Last year at Annie's she was frightened by some idiots with a firecracker and lost her foal. I don't know whether it turned her mind or what, but now any sudden loud noise makes her freak out. She stops thinking and just runs. Won't stop for anything. If anyone got in her way . . .'

‘Is that what happened just now?'

Ross nodded. ‘It would have, if I hadn't caught her in time.'

‘Can't she be accustomed to loud noises? You know, desensitised or something?'

‘I don't know. That's what I was trying but I can't see Fergusson giving me the time. He's just as likely to whisk the horses off to some other yard if I say I don't want to compete on the mare for a bit, and I can't risk that. I'm already in danger of losing the ride on his horses, if not my job.'

Lindsay watched him steadily, rain running off the tip of her nose.

‘It won't come to that, Ross, surely? Won't Uncle John speak to him?'

‘I saw your uncle this morning and he said he'd talk to me tonight. He didn't look like a man about to increase my paycheque,' Ross told her dryly. ‘He wasn't happy yesterday. He stands to lose a lot if Fergusson pulls out.'

Lindsay bit her lip. ‘I don't suppose it'd do any good for me to have a word with him?'

‘Thanks, but no, I think it's beyond that now. If your uncle is going to stick with me, it has to be his decision.'

She glanced at Ginger again, frowning. ‘Are you sure about her, Ross? Is she really dangerous?'

He studied her thoughtful face for a moment, realising that she still wasn't convinced.

He sighed. ‘I don't know, Princess. Perhaps you're right and I
am
biased against chestnut mares. I suppose time will tell. I just have a bad feeling about her and I don't want anyone else to be hurt. Least of all me,' he added with a self-deprecating grin.

Lindsay still looked troubled and Ross felt enough had been said. He smiled brightly at her. ‘Come on. Let's go in and have some coffee. Maggie's been baking. If we stay out here we'll get wet.'

Lindsay surveyed his sodden clothing and laughed. ‘That would be a shame,' she said. ‘Honestly, I shouldn't think you could get much wetter if you went and jumped in the river. Why on earth didn't you put a coat on?'

‘I don't know.' Ross whistled to Ginger, who came willingly towards him. ‘I guess I need someone to mother me.'

‘Like hell!' Lindsay spluttered. ‘Look, I really came to see Gypsy. She cut herself yesterday and I wanted to make sure it hadn't swollen up.'

‘It's a clean wound,' Ross said, leading Ginger to the gate. ‘Couple of days and she'll be fine.'

They wandered down into the yard where Ross took the mare back to her box and rubbed her down.

‘So, where's your dog?' Lindsay asked, following him back to the tackroom. ‘He's not usually far away.'

It still hurt, to think of the dog. Ross gave her the potted version that he had already given the others, about the storm and the swinging door.

‘Oh, I'm sorry, Ross! Oh, the poor lad!' Sympathetic tears shone in her eyes and he longed to take her in his arms again.

‘So how is he now?' Lindsay scanned his face. ‘You haven't rung, have you? Oh, Ross, you must! You can't just leave it like that.'

‘I know. I'll ring later.' Impossible to tell her that even if the dog should recover, he couldn't take the chance of having him back.

Lindsay checked on Gypsy and together they headed for the cottage and Maggie's fresh bread and cakes.

They were back on an even keel, their easy relationship apparently restored, but Ross could not help but feel that it would never be quite the same again.

‘I want you to be straight with me,' the Colonel said by way of opening the inquest. They had both settled into leather armchairs with glasses of sherry to hand.

‘Sure.' Ross nodded.

‘I don't mean to imply that you haven't been in the past,' the Colonel added. ‘It's just that sometimes I find you – shall we say, inscrutable? I find I have no idea what's going on in your head.'

You and me both, Ross thought, ironically. He surveyed his sherry glass, smiled faintly and said nothing.

‘By the way,' the Colonel said, glancing round, ‘where's your dog tonight?'

‘He's at the vet's. Had an accident Friday night,' Ross said shortly.

‘Poor old chap. What happened?' The Colonel, who was very fond of his own small pack of dogs, seemed genuinely concerned.

‘He was hit by something. It happened in the storm.'

‘What? On the road? A car?'

Ross shrugged. ‘I don't know. I found him in the yard. The barn door was swinging – I thought it was probably that.' It was a good start for the policy of
glasnost
, he thought wryly. But how else to explain without a long, involved account that would undoubtedly stray into forbidden territory? Interesting that Roland had apparently said nothing of the matter to his father.

‘Is he going to be all right?'

Ross had spoken to Roger West's partner earlier in the evening and learned that the dog was holding his own but no more than that.

‘He may be paralysed. It's touch and go.'

‘That's a damned shame,' the Colonel said. ‘He's a nice dog.'

‘Mmm.' Ross had no wish to talk about it.

They sat in silence for a moment, the Colonel thoughtfully swilling the sherry round his glass. Ross, for his part, felt strangely detached now that the crunch had come.

‘Robbie Fergusson called this morning,' his boss said finally, holding his glass up to view the contents and then watching Ross over the top.

Ross waited, poker-faced.

The Colonel half-smiled to himself. ‘I told him about Bishop and explained that he was obviously uncomfortable yesterday. Robbie conceded the point but doesn't accept that you were right to withdraw the mare.'

‘Surprise, surprise,' Ross murmured. ‘So what now? Have I lost the ride?'

‘I think that's up to you,' the Colonel said. ‘Fergusson may be a pompous, overbearing bastard but he's not stupid. He's a tactician by profession and even
he
realises that you get a sweet tune out of Bishop. The thing is, we obviously have a problem. He's not happy about the rumours he's been hearing concerning you.'

‘Which one in particular?' Ross asked, flippantly. ‘The one that says I'm practically an alcoholic or the one that says I've lost my nerve? Or do you subscribe to the popular view that I drink to conquer my fear?'

‘I take no notice of hearsay, myself. You should know that by now.' The Colonel wasn't amused. ‘But, quite apart from that, you must admit there's some kind of problem with Ginger?'

‘I do.' Ross had a strong sense of
déjà vu
.

‘And?'

‘And I don't care if I never sit on her again,' he said bluntly.

‘Are you going to tell me why?'

‘I don't believe she's safe. She's mentally unstable.'

‘I see.' The Colonel raised his eyebrows but sounded neither surprised nor incredulous. On the other hand he gave no sign of being precisely convinced, either. ‘Given that, what do you intend to do about her?'

Ross sighed. ‘If it's a choice between riding Ginger and losing them both, I'll ride the mare. But I'd like it to go on record that in my opinion she'd be far better retired to stud. If her instability arises from a trauma, as I believe it does, it wouldn't be hereditary.'

The Colonel shook his head.

‘Fergusson wouldn't hear of it,' he stated with conviction. ‘He doesn't believe the mare's at fault.'

‘And you?'

The Colonel considered his reply. ‘I believe that some horses and riders are incompatible, just as some people find it impossible to get along with one another. But having said that, I respect your judgement.'

‘Thank you.'

‘Well, I've seen nothing so far to persuade me otherwise.'

Ross sipped his drink, wishing it was a beer, and wondered how far the Colonel's trust would stretch. God knows, there were enough people determined to put it to the test.

‘Look, Ross,' he said suddenly. ‘As far as I'm concerned, you don't have to prove a bloody thing. If you don't want to ride the mare – for whatever reason – it's not the end of the world. I'm sure we can withstand the loss of Fergusson's horses. No one here would blame you.'

Ross looked up, surprised and grateful for this gesture of support. ‘It wouldn't do my reputation much good,' he observed. ‘Besides, Bishop is by far the best horse I've ever ridden, maybe the best I'll ever ride, and I've no intention of watching somebody else ride him into the ring if I can possibly prevent it.'

‘Fergusson wants to see the mare jump at the New Forest Show next week,' the Colonel warned softly. ‘She's entered in the Open and he says he'll be there to watch.'

‘Fergusson's a pain,' Ross said, with feeling. Danny had told him just the day before, how much of a tourist event the Brockenhurst show was. Hardly ideal conditions for a nervy horse.

‘Privately, I agree,' the Colonel said. ‘But in this instance I'm afraid he holds the reins.'

‘I'd be happy to let him,' Ross responded dryly.

‘Another sherry?' The Colonel rose and poured two without waiting for an answer. He held one out to Ross.

‘What about my reputation?' Ross asked, lifting one eyebrow ironically as he accepted the glass.

The Colonel collapsed back into his chair, narrowly missing a spaniel which had taken up residence in his absence. ‘Should I be worried?' he asked, his shrewd grey eyes on Ross' face.

‘No.' Ross returned his gaze steadily.

The Colonel pursed his lips and nodded, apparently satisfied.

Not for the first time, Ross felt he was very fortunate in his boss.

‘Were you aware that my son was intending to buy a horse?' the Colonel enquired.

Ross blinked. ‘No. Well, not exactly. I mean, he did say something once but, no offence meant – you know how it is – I didn't pay much heed.'

‘I know exactly how it is,' the Colonel said heavily. ‘But apparently, this time Roland was quite serious. The horse is to arrive on Wednesday but beyond that he will tell me nothing. God knows what sort of animal he'll have turned up.'

Wednesday was progressing in the manner of many Wednesdays past when the sleek blue horsebox pulled into the yard.

It was mid-afternoon and Ross had just finished a satisfying schooling session on Trooper Joe when the new horse arrived. Roland swung his immaculately shod feet off the office table where he'd been lounging, drink in hand, since lunchtime and wandered out into the yard. Sarah and Danny emerged from stable doorways and Bill turned from his discussion with Ross to regard the vehicle with reluctant curiosity.

Ross knew the stable manager considered Roland's unexpected venture into ownership as a frivolous and very likely short-lived affair, dreamt up on a whim. Ross was not so sure. He'd begun to suspect that Roland put a lot more thought into his actions than he would have anyone believe. What those thoughts were, though, was often anyone's guess.

The box driver, a young chap with a piece of straw between his teeth, called a cheerful ‘Afternoon' and strode round to the rear of the lorry.

‘Glad to get shot of this one, we are,' he said with debatable tact, undoing the bolts and clips which secured the ramp. ‘Beats me why you'd want him. Still, I wish you luck!'

Sarah and Danny looked intensely curious, Bill glowered and Roland smiled with unruffled calm.

As the ramp was lowered and the partitions swung to one side, those waiting in the yard were treated to a dim view of a massive chestnut rump at the same time as their ears were assailed by a piercing shriek. The horse was untied and led to the top of the ramp, where he stood with upflung head and eager eyes, surveying his new surroundings.