Saddled With Trouble (6 page)

She saw his eyes water. He turned away. “I’m sorry. The last thing I want to know is that you two had a fight, but you have to tell me. What was going on between you and my uncle? I asked him after you left and he wouldn’t tell me either. When I spoke with him last night, something seemed to be troubling him, and now, knowing you went there, I have to wonder if it was
you
on his mind, and if so, why.”

“
Wait a minute, you think I could have something to do with this? With Lou being killed?”

“
Of . . . course not.”

“
Why the interrogation, then? I didn’t hurt Lou. He treated me like a son and I loved him.” Emotion caught in his throat. “I would’ve never hurt that man, and just because we had differences between us doesn’t mean a damn thing.” His voice rose. “It’s true we’ve been best friends since we were kids, Michaela, but I don’t tell you
everything.
What Lou and I had between us needs to be kept there for now. Leave it alone and trust me. I wouldn’t hurt him
or
you. For God’s sake, don’t you know me better than that?”

Michaela took another step back. She
thought
she knew him, but there was a rage combined now with a pain in his eyes she’d never seen before. Her body ached. She closed her eyes. He pulled her into him again. “Trust me,
please.
I can’t tell you what happened. Not yet. When I can, I will.”

She shrugged him off. “Fine.”

Ethan’s pager beeped. He read the number. “It’s the hospital.” He went to his truck and called in. A minute later he came back. “I’ve gotta head over there. I did emergency surgery on a mare this morning and now there’s a problem. I’ll be back to check on Leo . . . and
you.
”

“
We’ll be fine.”

Michaela went back into Leo’s stall and stayed with him long after she’d heard Ethan drive away. She wondered where he was staying these days.

She finally made it inside the house. Camden wasn’t home. No telling when she’d left or where she’d gone. Probably a spa day or shopping spree. In a way it was good she wasn’t around. Michaela wanted some solitude. When Camden did show up, she knew she’d have to relay the horrific events all over again, and she wasn’t sure if she was up to it. At the moment numbness had set in— thinking or feeling just seemed too damn hard. The energy to retell the events of this morning would be too much to bear right now.

She took a long hot shower, pulled on a sweater, and as the sun began to set she poured herself a glass of wine. She turned on the TV to try and take her mind off of what had happened, but it was all right there on the news. An attractive local newscaster relayed the story of how Lou Bancroft, well-known rancher, had been found murdered at his ranch that morning. A pitchfork stabbed through his back. Oh no. That was the last thing she wanted to hear or see. She turned the TV off and tossed the remote.

Those were not the images she wanted to remember her uncle by. What she wanted was to hold his hand again, like she had so many times when she was a child. He had great hands— tough, strong, dependable. When she’d been little and he’d taken her to horse shows or the county fair he’d held her hand tight, letting her know that he was going to make sure she remained at his side. Aunt Rose would tell him to relax, that no one was gonna steal little Mickey, but Uncle Lou would guffaw at that remark and he’d say, “You’re right, Rose, because I’m hanging onto the kid!”

She wiped her tears away and finished off the wine. Time to head back out and check on Leo. She urged Cocoa to come along with her.

At the barn, Michaela peered in on the horses before going to get another bucket of bran for Leo. She unlocked the tack room door and stopped. Leaning against the frame was the pitchfork she used for changing straw. She gasped when she saw it, her mind flashing back to Lou, the broken-off pitchfork sticking out of his back. It was like a stab in her heart. The tightness in her stomach came back and she felt woozy, her thoughts spinning with the memory.

Her stallion Rocky whinnied and brought her back to reality. Thank God.
Don’t think about that, not now
.
Stay focused. Do what you need to do
. She went inside the tack and feed room. Scents of grain, saddle soap, and leather wafted through the air, and she breathed them in. She opened the can where she kept the bran.
Dammit.
Empty. She’d made a mental note earlier when she and Ethan had given Leo some, to go down to the feed store and get another bag of it. Maybe there was some in the trailer.

“
Come on, Cocoa.” Her dog stood her ground. The hair on Cocoa’s neck rose as she seemed fixated on something at the other end of the breezeway. “You are such a silly old girl,” Michaela told her. At times Cocoa could behave like an old woman who has had too much gin— brave and stupid, as if she needed to pick a fight with someone. “It’s probably a rabbit. Let’s go. C’mon.” Cocoa growled. “For God’s sake, come on.” She patted the side of her leg, and the dog finally fell in line as they walked over to the garage, where she’d parked the horse trailer. She found a half a bag of bran up in the storage area. Good. She’d drag it over to the barn in the morning. For now she scooped out a half a bucket’s worth and walked back to the barn.

She poured it into Leo’s feeder and watched him eat. After he finished she took him for a short walk. She headed back to the tack room to get the blankets out and put them on the horses for the evening.

At the door of the tack room, she stopped. Something was wrong here. She stepped back. Her pulse raced and her heart beat madly against her chest as she realized that the pitchfork, which had been there only an hour earlier, was now gone.

SIX

THE BARN SPUN IN A MIXTURE OF BROWNS AND beiges. Michaela braced herself against the tack room door and tried to regain her composure. Think,
think.
Her hands shaking, she reached for the phone and started to dial 911, but what the hell would she say?
“My pitchfork has been moved?”
Maybe she could tell them someone broke into her place.
No.
That wasn’t necessarily true, but someone
had
moved the pitchfork. She hung up the phone, yelled for Cocoa who dragged herself in, closed and locked the tack room door, then dialed the number to the police station and asked for Detective Davis. When she told him what had happened, he assured her he’d be right over, and to stay put. She hung up the phone and waited, looking at Cocoa, and for a brief moment she wished she had a Doberman instead of a Lab. Especially when she thought she heard something. There it was again.
Shit.
Someone was walking down the breezeway. One of the horses whinnied. Michaela looked around for a weapon. Nothing. Shit, shit, shit. Oh jeez, whoever was there was probably here to, to . . .

“
Mick, are you in here?”

She threw open the tack room door and yelled, “Dammit, Ethan, don’t you ever do that to me again!”

He stopped. “What are you carrying on about?”

“
The pitchfork . . . and then walking down the breezeway. What were you thinking? Are you trying to scare me?” She trembled and her face burned. Here she’d gone and called the cops, and it had only been Ethan all along.

“
The pitch . . . Girl, I have no earthly idea what you’re talking about. What have you been smoking? I just got here. And since when did bumps in the barn ever put the hairs up on the back of your neck?”

She glared at him. “What do you mean you just got here?”

He looked at his watch. “Uh, well, pretty much just that. I pulled up a few minutes ago. I was coming to check on Leo, the next thing I know you’re going psycho chick on me.” He put an arm around her. “You okay? I’m sorry, dumb question. Of course you’re not okay. You’re shaking like a leaf, kid. What is going on?”

She told him what had happened.

“
Are you sure?”

“
Yes I’m sure. I know what I saw.” She backed away and studied him for a second. “You don’t believe me.”

“
No, it’s not that. I think you’ve had a real difficult day and our minds can play all sorts of tricks on us when we’re dealing with stressful events.”

“
Bullshit! It isn’t stress. It wasn’t my mind playing tricks on me.
That pitchfork was moved.
It was right here”— she smacked the wall—“and now it’s not.”

“
Look, I apologize. I believe you, okay? And, because of that, I’m not letting you stay here alone.”

“
I’m not alone. I’ve got Camden.”

He shook his head. “She’ll do you a helluva lot a good now, won’t she? What’s she going to do if some maniac comes through your door? Throw a pair of stilettos at him?”

Michaela couldn’t help but smile. He had a point. “I got Cocoa here.”

“
Uh-huh. You’d have better luck with your margarita-drinking, high-heeled, society-wannabe pal at your side than that old girl.”

“
That’s not nice.”

He shrugged.

“
I don’t need you staying here. You’d drive me crazy and Camden would drive you crazy and the next thing you know we’ll all be snapping at each other. Not a good idea.”

“
Stubborn and foolish. That’s the way you’ve always been.”

“
Look who’s talking.”

“
I’ll stay out here in the tack room, keep an eye on the colt, and if any trouble happens to come your way, I’ll be within screaming distance. Just be sure to do one of those horror film-types, you know, a Fay Wray scream, and that way I’ll know you’re not joking.”

She had to admit that having Ethan close by would be a comfort. No. She wavered for a second. She’d learned the hard way that men were not dependable. But, Ethan was different. They’d known each other since before they could each ride a bike, much less a horse. Was he really different, though? He was the same man— supposedly her closest pal— who’d taken off less than a month ago on a river-rafting trip without telling her or calling her while away. What had he been up to, alone on that trip?

“
You can’t sleep in the tack room. It’s not exactly comfortable.”

“
In case you hadn’t noticed, I don’t need a five-star hotel. I just slept on the ground in a pitched tent for weeks, Mick. I think a cot in the tack room would suffice. Besides, half the time I’m woken up in the middle of the night to take calls.”

She started to reply, but the sound of a car door closing sounded outside the barn. Detective Davis entered the breezeway. “Ms. Bancroft?”

“
Hello, Detective.”

He walked toward them. “Good evening, Mr. Slater.”

Michaela glanced at Ethan. Davis must’ve already spoken with him. Was he a suspect?

Ethan nodded. “Evening.” He turned to Michaela. “I’m going to grab a few things, and I’ll be back.”

“
Don’t worry about it. You needn’t come back. We’ll be fine.”

“
Stubborn.” He shook a finger at her. “I
will
be back. If for nothing other than to make sure Leo is doing okay.”

“
Where is your stuff anyway?” Michaela asked, curious about where Ethan had been staying since he’d returned.

He hesitated. “Summer’s place.”

Before she could respond, Ethan hurried out.
Summer’s
place? His ex-fiancé? The same Summer who stood him up at the altar a few months ago? The one he’d been loyal to and had even gotten her the job at Uncle Lou’s as his accountant? Oh boy, did they have something to discuss when he returned! She’d surely give him a piece of her mind.

“
Ms. Bancroft,” Davis said. “Do you want to tell me what happened here?”

“
It’s okay, you can call me Michaela. Why don’t we go on into the house?” She rubbed her arms. “I’m cold. I can fix us some tea or coffee.”

“
That would be fine. But before we do that, you said something about a pitchfork being in one place and then not being there later?”

“
That’s right. Follow me.” She led him to the tack room. “I needed to go over to the horse trailer and see if I had any more bran for my colt, and when I came back the pitchfork, which had been right here, was gone. I did notice my dog seemed to be bothered by something outside the barn. I figured it was a rabbit.”

“
But the dog didn’t bark?”

“
No.”

Davis nodded. “Okay. Why don’t you show me around and we’ll see if anything else looks out of place. Let’s retrace your path as far as when you first came in to the tack room and spotted the pitchfork.”

“
Sure.” She walked him through everything from the moment she’d entered the barn.

“
You’ve got quite a crew here.” He nodded down the aisle of stalls at the horses. The more curious ones peeked their heads out at the newcomer.

“
They’re my life. Keep me sane. Horses are good for the soul, you know.” She’d remembered Uncle Lou often telling her those exact words from the time she was a child. He’d been right. “They’re constant. There for you. Always.”