The Love of a Lawman, The Callister Trilogy, Book 3 (28 page)

"What if someone does? Isabelle, it's okay for me to take a woman out to dinner."

"But people will talk."

He slapped her bottom. "Let 'em."

"I'm not as fearless as you."

He stopped her at the back door, his eyes catching hers. "You're wrong, Izzy-girl. You're a lot braver than I am."

In the kitchen Isabelle pulled coffee mugs from the kitchen cupboard. She had made a decision she wanted to share. Since the day she and John rode in the mountains, she had been mulling over breeding the mares. "I've been thinking about Trixie and Polly."

He grinned like an imp. No doubt he knew he had planted an irresistible idea in her head. "And?"

"Polly's coming in heat. Trixie will be soon." She filled the coffeepot reservoir. "I'm thinking I should try to breed Polly again. Since I've gone this far and I'll be hauling Dancer to the vet's clinic anyway, it would be convenient."

He came and leaned on his elbows on the counter, his arm touching hers as she measured the coffee. "You don't want to consider hand-breeding or just turning Dancer and Polly into the corral together?"

"No. I don't want to risk either of them getting hurt."

"Poor ol' Dancer. So good-looking. Full of piss and vinegar and he never gets any."

Isabelle laughed and clicked the on switch. "It's his own fault. He shouldn't be so wild and crazy."

"That's the way us super-studs are. Wild and crazy."

She bumped his hip with hers and slid her hand along his belt. "I know. It's more than I can resist."

"What made you change your mind?"

"Reality. I could go broke before I ever get a horse training business going here and if my horses won every show in Idaho it still wouldn't be enough money to keep me afloat."

"But what about the long-term commitment of a foal?"

"Ava was always around the foals we had down in Texas, but she was too young to enjoy them. At the age she is now, I think she would love watching them grow up. And I'm not going anywhere anyway."

He straightened, hooked an arm around her neck and drew her up to him. "That, lady, is the best news I've heard all day. And what about Billy?"

"I'll have to make that call to Oklahoma. My horses can't be producing foals I can't register."

One more thing she had been dreading for days had to be done. She flattened her hand on his stomach. "You're so good at favors. I need another one."

He bent his head and kissed her. She turned in his arms, raised on her tiptoes and savored his soft, sweet-tasting mouth. In time, he lifted his lips from hers and brushed the tip of her nose with his. "You could talk me into just about anything," he said softly. "Name it."

She leaned back and looked into his eyes, wanting to be taken into the magic of his space. A word for how she felt about him had so far eluded her. "The old breeding agreements Billy and I used are up in the attic. I need you to help me find one."

She had already been into the attic bedroom and found the file box in which the agreements were stored, but attempting to sort one from the other and from various other filed documents became such a jumble of undecipherable words, she had given up on the task. A puzzled expression crossed John's face and the obvious question—why did she need help for
that?

"Remember when we were in bed and Paul came into the house?"

"Hmm. I doubt if I'll forget that." He bent and teased her earlobe with his tongue. "You know, we've got an hour before Ava gets home."

"You're distracting me." She closed her eyes and tilted her head for more of his warm mouth on her skin, a sensation that made her jittery. "Remember what he said about reading and writing?"

"Who, Paul?" His mouth moved down her neck and he gave it a gentle bite.

"It's true. I can only do it with a great struggle."

"Do what?" His head moved back up and he placed a kiss at the side of her nose. "All this talk about breeding must have made me horny." He reached for her hand and placed it on his firm fly.

She smiled as she rubbed his erection. "You're always horny."

"Cool, huh?"

"I should tell you something before we get too far into this. My period started this morning."

"Not a problem for me. You?"

"Yes," she said and smiled again.

"Damn, you're tough." On a sigh, he released her. "Okay, why do we need to find the agreements?" He picked up the carafe of hot coffee and poured both cups full.

"I want to copy one of them. I've never read them. I know what Billy said they say, but I haven't
read
them." She paused, shoring herself up for what she wanted to say. "I can't, John.... I'm dyslexic."

She waited for his reaction—a gasp, a facial expression, something.

He set his mug on the counter and placed his hands on her waist, pulled her tightly against his big body. He tipped up her chin with his knuckle and looked into her eyes. "So what? I'm left-handed."

* * *

Hoping he had hidden how Isabelle's revelation had stunned him, John followed her to an attic bedroom lit by bars of sunlight shining through a small octagonal window. There was an antique oak dresser, a tall stand-alone mirror in a frame and an iron bed covered with a homemade quilt.

A dozen stacked cardboard boxes stood in one corner, tucked between the exposed roof joists. Isabelle handed him several file folders and he thumbed through them. The breeding agreements were legibly signed on the top line by William R. Bledsoe, but Isabelle's signature beneath his was childlike and often had missing letters.

"I just need you to tell me what they say so I can pick the one to use," she told him.

A lump formed in John's throat and stayed there through the perusal of the documents. They sat side by side on the edge of the bed and she kept her head lowered while he scanned them, then told her what each said. The agreements were simple, no ten-dollar words, no complicated lawyer jargon. After he read and explained the last one, she made her choice.

He caught her chin with his thumb and finger and lifted her face to his, saw her eyes shiny. "This reading thing doesn't make any difference to me." He kissed her, hoping to prove it. "Why didn't you tell me sooner?"

She sniffed and smiled. "It isn't something I brag about."

"But this is me. You can tell me anything. I'll never criticize you."

"It's hard. I didn't want you to think I'm dumb." She picked up the loose file folders and walked over to return them to the box. "I guess it's okay to go ahead. As far as the breeding fees go, we aren't talking about enough money for me and Billy to fight over. If he gets half of it, I'm sure he won't mind going along."

She raised her head and stared out the octagonal window. "On the other hand, if I breed Trixie and Polly, the money from their foals could be substantial." She sighed. "I hate to bring up my finances, but I could really use that money. I've had to spend more here than I anticipated and the only paying customer I have so far is Mr. Fielder with his palomino. I'd really hate to have to share so much with Billy."

And why should she,
John thought as he sorted through other folders related to Isabelle's career. The sonofabitch deserted her. He felt a small twinge of guilt for pushing her in this direction. Still, maybe breeding the mares would spur her to settle up with Billy once and for all.

John landed on one file folder holding copies of articles that had appeared in various trade magazines and newspapers about the Bledsoe-Rondeau training operation. Each article named Billy as the "trainer" and "handler," with no mention of Izzy. "I don't remember Billy being especially good with horses," he said.

She smiled. "Well, he isn't that great. He's too impatient, especially working with the ones that are hard to handle. He's best at hanging out in the bars and BSing with the high rollers."

"Your name is hardly mentioned in these articles."

"When they were written it wasn't that important. Billy needed the boost to his reputation and that was okay with me." She lifted her shoulders in a shrug, telling him she had willingly accepted the second-place role. "I mean, we were partners and partners should support each other. Most of the owners knew who really did the important work with the horses. Some of them wrote me letters."

She plucked another folder from the box. It held a dozen letters from grateful horse owners praising her skills.

"Here's your leverage with Billy," John said, scanning the letters. "If he thought you might spill what a phony he is, he'd be glad to cooperate on signing the horses over to you."

"Isn't that a little like blackmail?"

"I don't see it that way. He had no conscience about shutting you out of the praise for the work done or about leaving you and his kid high and dry. He already said you could have the horses. And he already proved he didn't want them. All you'd be doing is reminding him of his commitments."

"I don't know, John. I'm not good at being tough."

"You don't have to be. You still know cutting-horse people. I know a few in the AQHA. They all like to gossip. A few well-placed words and Billy's reputation would be history. Under the circumstances, I see no harm in pointing that out to him. A prick shouldn't win every battle."

* * *

Isabelle waited until after Ava left for school the next morning to place the call to Ardmore, Oklahoma. With the time difference, she hoped to catch Billy before he left the house. She sat down at the kitchen table with the phone, her pad and pen and a fresh cup of coffee. To deal with the ten digit telephone number, she wrote only two numbers on each of the lines of the pad. Before keying in the number, she lectured herself on being cordial but businesslike. She no longer cared about him in the way she once had, so there was no reason for melodrama. No quarreling.

A Hispanic woman answered the phone—Isabelle assumed she was a maid—and asked her to wait. Soon Billy came on the line. He sounded surprised, but relaxed, even friendly, which was a relief, since she knew his mood swings.

Before she could say why she called, he launched a long story about how well one of his horses had done in a show somewhere, how successful his breeding program was and how much money his assets were returning.

Isabelle cringed at the terminology. She hadn't heard that kind of talk about horses since she left Texas. Still, hearing him speak of doing so well gave her confidence and she asked if he had gotten her letter.

"Yeah, I got it," he said. "Who helped you write it?"

She ignored the barb. "I need you to sign those papers and get them back to me. I'm stuck without clearing up the registration."

"I don't see why. You can do whatever you want to, sweet thing. If you make any money, just send me my half. I trust you, Izzy-darlin'."

Her jaw tightened. He had always called her that when he talked down to her. "You washed your hands of these horses, Billy. You gave them to me." Drawing a deep breath, she built a mental picture of John standing behind her. "I expect you to keep your word."

A few seconds of silence. "I don't know what you're talking about. Why would I give away my interest in good horses?"

Anger began to grow as she recalled his stubborn stonewalling when she sold the place in Texas. John's image nudged her and she found courage she hadn't had when she dealt with her ex-partner before.

She talked about a few mutual friends, including some who knew his Oklahoma girlfriend and a freelance writer who regularly contributed to
Performance Horse
magazine. She followed up by reminding him he had never paid a penny in child support and in the same breath she mentioned a mad-dog lawyer whose horse she alone had taken to a hefty cash prize. She concluded by telling him she wanted the signed transfer papers back via overnight mail.

Billy argued, accused her of blackmail and hung up in her ear, but she wasn't put off. He wasn't a terribly fearless guy. She believed he would finally sign, would be afraid not to. He would bluster and cuss and call her names, whine to his bar buddies for a day or two, but faced with her threats, which he had never had to face before, he would sign. He knew she could make his life one long embarrassing moment and he had ample respect for the mad-dog lawyer, who had always liked her.

Why she hadn't tried this tactic before she didn't know. "No guts," she mumbled as she sat there staring at the phone, still skeptical that he would actually send the papers. Getting his cooperation had been almost too easy.

Two days later the signed ownership-transfer documents arrived and she wasted no time taking them to the courthouse. Using the fax machine in his office, John sent them to AQHA headquarters in Amarillo. Now the horses were hers. She was free to breed the mares and/or sell Dancer's semen.

Chapter 18