Getting Sassy (17 page)

“I see,” I said. “He doesn’t believe in a starter stable.”

“Nope. ‘Small’ isn’t in Bull’s dictionary.”

The stable smells—horse, hay, leather and manure—combined with the earthy scent of rain, creating an aroma that was not unpleasant. Rather sensual, in fact.

Blood was next to the tack room. His stall was large, with black steel bars across the top half. The middle bars swung open like a window so he could stick his head out and enjoy the breeze from the overhead fan. The lower half of the stall—the “kickboard” as Mick called it—was oak with a curious little door cut into the lower left corner. Before I could ask about that door, Blood let us know he was home with a loud “harumph.” He thrust his head through the open part of the grill. His eyes widened at the sight of me, as though he remembered me from some past, hideous experience. As promised, he was big and beautiful, and when Mick reached out to stroke his neck, Blood gave us a nice view of his teeth. Mick retracted his arm, but seemed to take it in stride. He began talking to the animal, using a soothing tone and reassuring words. Blood stamped a couple of times, tossing his dark mane so that his forelock fell over one eye. Even in the dim stable light, his powerful chest muscles were evident beneath his mottled gray coat.

“How tall is he?”

Mick held his hand out, without trying to touch the animal. “Almost seventeen hands.”

I did a quick calculation and determined that Blood and I were exactly the same height, if you didn’t count his head. I, too, described myself as “almost five six.”

Finally, Blood consented to be touched, and Mick rubbed the length of the animal’s nose in a way that seemed, after several moments, to hypnotize him. While Blood was succumbing, I noticed that he was not alone in the stall. In the back corner, curled up on the straw and displaying a look that implied that it had seen everything worth seeing and had yet to be impressed, was a goat. It regarded us for several moments before deciding we were worth closer inspection. It rose from the rear first until it was at its full stature, which was maybe a couple of feet (six hands in horse height) at its withers. Bobbing its little head, which was distinguished by formidable horns and a Roman nose, it came toward us.

“What’s with the roomie?”

Now I understood the purpose of the mini-door the kickboard. Mick crouched in front of it and reached out for the goat. Blood retreated to the end farthest away from us and began yanking bits of hay from a trough, swishing his tail. The goat took one of the treats from Mick’s fingers. It was a coal black goat with a white, crescent-shaped mark that ran down one side, under its belly and up the other side.

“If it weren’t for this guy here, Blood would have been gelded a year ago.”

“How come?”

“He keeps Blood from going completely insane.”

“What’s his name?”

“Sassy. Short for Sassafras.”

“Of course.”

“He’s a pygmy.”

As he fed the goat another treat, he added, “This is Blood’s fifth goat. The first had horns that Blood had a habit of chewing, the second and third were scared of him, and the fourth scared Blood.”

“He doesn’t chew on Sassy’s horns?”

“Nope. I think Sassy here’s got just enough gumption so he doesn’t get chewed on and not so much that Blood gets even more nervous.”

I regarded the creature with new respect. “So, Sassy is a goat among goats.”

“I guess.”

I glanced at the pellets in my hand. “Interesting how they form these bonds.”

“Yeah, it is,” Mick said. “But it’s in character. Horses are herd animals. As a rule, they don’t like being alone. Some of them are more uptight about it than others, especially in a stall. Sassy here is an easygoing guy, neutered.” He glanced over his shoulder at me. “But he’s not crazy about women so don’t be offended if he tries to bite you.”

“I’m going to try feeding him,” I said, taking up the challenge. Perhaps the beer had emboldened me.

Sassy looked up at me and that was when I noticed his eyes—set into each amber iris was a large, rectangular pupil. I held my hand out to him. After several rather tense moments, he took a step toward me.

“Hey,” Mick said. “He might even like you.”

I watched as the little goat lips nibbled from my hand. They tickled. “I have a way with goats.”

“Like I said, he doesn’t like women much.” He regarded me with interest. “But you seem to be okay.”

“It’s what I strive for. Being okay. With goats.”

I guess I was really okay, because Sassy decided to pass through his goat door and join us in the aisle. I patted his back and must have hit a tickle trigger, because he craned his neck and used his horn to scratch a spot on his back. I had to laugh. “Now, that’s convenient.” I gave him another treat, and as he chewed, I thought.

I assumed that Blood was going to be moved to the track a day or so before the race next weekend, and so I asked, “Will Sassy here go with Blood to Plymouth?”

“You bet.”

Blood, apparently used to being the center of attention, had returned and thrust his nose in Mick’s direction. Blood was huge compared to Sassy; it would have been easy for him to squash or otherwise take out the smaller creature. But he blew air out his nostrils and gave the goat a gentle nudge. Just standing next to Sassy had a calming effect on the big animal. He wasn’t baring his teeth or showing us the whites of his eyes.

And there it was. The idea didn’t smack me upside the head or anything, but it rose like some leviathan out of the sea—first the snout, then the fangs and finally the reptilian eyes—looked me straight on and said, “Well?”

Outside, the storm raged in earnest. Inside, my mind was also raging—finding flaws and obstacles, but recognizing that it might be a good idea. If I could pull it off.

Across from the stall were two bales of hay, one piled on top of the other. I sat down on the makeshift bench and took another drink of
beer. Surely, this idea was the beer talking. I wasn’t drunk, but I suspected my super ego was passed out somewhere.

Sassy’s hooves clopped against the concrete floor as he approached me and nuzzled the bale of hay. I gave him the last of the goat nuggets.

Mick looked over his shoulder, saw me sitting there, my feet dangling above the ground, and he came over and took a seat next to me.

When thunder growled again, Mick said, “We’ll have to wait it out.”

From where we sat, I could see outside the door, and the rain was coming down in sheets. With the next clap of thunder the stables shuddered. “Yeah. I figured.” I crossed one leg over the other and said, “Blood’s a beautiful animal. I’m thinking this book will have photos. I imagine he’s quite photogenic.”

I felt Mick watching me, but he didn’t say anything and, finally, when I couldn’t stand it any longer, I turned toward him. “What?”

He cocked a smile. “Bullshit.”

“What?”

“I said bullshit.” He drank some beer and looked toward the animals. Sassy had returned to the stall, but kept his eyes on me.

“I heard you. I just don’t know what you’re talking about.” But my mouth had started to go dry, so I must have suspected.

“Horses and their relationships with their owners,” he said, and I didn’t think I imagined the acerbic tone he was taking.

“So?”

“You’re not writing a book.” He laughed—a kind of harsh laugh, maybe a little bitter as well.

“Of course I am. I may not be able to sell it, but I—”

“Robyn,” he sighed as though he regretted what he was about to say, “I’m not sure why you’re here, but it’s not because of a book you’re writing.”

“Oh?” I honestly didn’t know what else to say. All I could come up with was: “What makes you an authority on my motives?”

He turned to me, chin tilted. “You’re not the only one who knows how to do research.”

“I’m not? I thought I was.” I wondered where he was going with this and suspected he was about to zing me.

“Bull Severn ripped off your mother.”

I considered saying “He did?” and acting like I didn’t have any idea what Mick was talking about, but I knew how the exchange would end. So I said, “How do you know?”

“I’m his accountant.”

“So you helped?”

“No, that was before my time.” He shrugged. “Not that I haven’t covered up a few indiscretions for him, but none of them involved your mother.”

I waited.

“If it weren’t for Bull, you wouldn’t be trying to get a loan that would put you in debt for the rest of your life from a guy with a reputation for taking loans seriously.”

“No, I wouldn’t.” Then I added, “The loan money would have bought me some time.”

“That money would have bought you a lot of grief.”

I shrugged. “But it would have postponed it.”

“You wanting to meet Bull really has nothing to do with a book you’re writing—the hug-me horse book—and it’s all about figuring out how you’re going to rip him off. With interest.” This man had my number. And I knew it.

I swallowed. “Yes,” I said, hearing the rasp in my voice and willing the tears away. I hate being found out; it was bringing out an emotional response I needed to squelch. Denying it was pointless. Besides, I hadn’t done anything yet.

“And that’s why you went out with me.”

“Partly. But only partly.”

He nodded as though that were acceptable. “What were you going to do?”

“It doesn’t matter. I’m not going to do it.” I drained the beer and set the plastic cup next to me. Sassy eyed it with interest. “I wouldn’t have done it anyway. I’m lousy on follow through.”

“But you had an idea.”

“It only just came to me, so I haven’t had a chance to find all the flaws, of which I’m sure there are many.” I shrugged. “Also, I’ve had a few beers. Ideas I get when slightly wasted are usually also slightly wasted.”

“What is it?”

I looked at him. “Why do you care?”

He shrugged. “Professional curiosity.”

“You’re going to tell Bull.” I knew he wasn’t, but I wanted to hear him say it.

“No, I’m not.”

“I’m sure it’s got so many holes in it... you’ll laugh.”

“I won’t.”

I looked toward the stall. Blood had his head over the door, but seemed focused on a stray thought. Sassy was now half in and half out of the stall and was lying in an upright position staring toward us—picture the sphinx as a goat. “I was going to kidnap Sassy.”

Mick followed my gaze.

“If Blood can’t perform without his little friend, that would make Sassy as valuable as Blood.” I took a breath and continued, “So I figured I could steal Sassy and hold him for ransom. Figured Severn would pay good money to make sure his horse raced.”

Mick leaned back against the wall, the plastic beer cup resting against his chest. For a minute he just stared straight ahead, but then he started smiling and nodding. “That’s pretty good.”

“But it’s a mean thing to do,” I said. “To Blood. Who may be a pain in the ass but didn’t take my mother’s money.”

“He’d survive,” he said, then, after a few moments, asked, “How were you going to pull it off?”

“Like I said, I’m not sure yet. I just came up with the idea.”

“Just like that?”

“I’d been thinking about Blood. I’m not sure why, but I thought the horse was the way to go.”

After a moment he said, “I know why.”

I waited.

“You don’t want to just take money from Bull. You want to hurt him.”

After giving that some thought I had to concur. “I guess so. A man as rich as Bull shouldn’t be able to steal thousands from a little old lady and get away with it. And just taking some money from him wouldn’t hurt him like I want to.”

“So think about it now. How would you do it?”

I felt as though we were equals on that level—one con artist talking to another, and I was kind of flattered. I gave it a minute’s thought before saying, “I don’t know. I suppose I’d do it at night. But I imagine there’s some kind of security network. I don’t know.”

“You got that right.” He swallowed some beer.

“This place isn’t bugged is it?”

He chuckled. “No.”

Now that it was no longer going to happen, it had become an intellectual exercise. Apparently, when it came to crime, I was an “all talk” kind of gal.

“I’d have to figure out how to get past those front gates.” I paused. “I assume this place is all fenced in.”

“Right.”

“And then once I got Sassy—I guess I’d have to rent a van or something, because he wouldn’t fit into the back seat of my Civic—I’d have to figure out where to put him. There’s no way Sassy would pass for a ‘dog under thirty pounds’ so my apartment is out.”

As I was trying to imagine Bix’s reaction to Sassy, Mick said something that I had to ask him to repeat.

“I think the two of us could pull it off,” he said again.

“You? Why?”

He shrugged. “You’re not the only one who can use a few bucks.”

I remembered old pale blue eyes and wondered if this was what he referred to.

“How?” I asked.

“It’d take two,” he said.

I waited.

“One to create a distraction while the other takes the goat.” As he spoke, Sassy stood and walked toward us.

“I wish Bull didn’t seem like a nice guy—”

“He’s not. Trust me.”

“Right.”

“And Gwen...” Mick snorted. “Gwen makes Bull look like Mr. Rogers.”

“Her name was on the land company Bull set up.”

He nodded. “She knows exactly what her husband is doing.”

“Would this hurt her as much as Bull?”

“Yeah. But in different ways. Gwen doesn’t care about the horse, but she does care about the attention she’ll get if he wins the Million.”

“Hate to deprive her of that,” I said, smiling.

Then I said, “I’m guessing it would be easier to take Sassy here than at Plymouth.”

“That’s for sure.”

“When is Blood going to Plymouth?”

“Not until Saturday morning,” he said, his inflection rising as though he just realized this was a good thing. “With most races, Blood is at the track a couple of weeks ahead of time. But he’s been training at Plymouth for the past month. He likes the track. It’ll be less stressful for him to get there the morning of the race. Less time to fret.” He paused. “Besides, Bull’s throwing a big party on Thursday night. He wants to show off Blood. Can’t do that if he’s not here.”