Tumbleweed (8 page)

“What do you suppose he's trying to accomplish with that?” David cocked his head and studied Hobbes, who was coming our direction in a beaten down old truck with the little red roan filly Aaron and I had dubbed Allie in tow. He had her tied to the bumper, and every time the truck would backfire, she'd go into a dead panic and begin trying to pull herself free from the monster. I was a little surprised she didn't pull the bumper right off.

“He's insane,” Cheyenne shook her head.

“What are we going to do?” I looked to Ethan.

“Good question.” His expression darkened. The closer the two came, the more evident it was that the horse was neglected when she wasn't terrified. Her coat was filthy, her mane and tail were matted, and her hip bones jutted out in a tell-tale sign that she wasn't getting enough to eat.

The animal lover in me wanted to beat the tar out of Hobbes for what he was doing to this poor creature. The mother in me was afraid I would bring the wrath of a psychopath down on my son. This guy's house was within walking distance, and we lived in a pretty remote locale.

My brooding was interrupted when Ethan flagged down Hobbes and approached the truck, with David close behind. From my vantage point, I couldn't quite tell what they were saying, but it was obvious that the conversation went from “howdy” to “screw you” in about two seconds flat. When the cretin started gesturing towards me and Aaron, I moved in so I could hear.

“She an' that brat of hers need to stay away from my horse,” he snorted indignantly and I cringed a little inside.

“We haven't stopped by to pet her in weeks, and maybe if you ever took care of your animals we wouldn't feel the need to check on her,” I spat back without thinking.

“That ain't your concern.” His eyes narrowed to slits and a chill ran down the length of my spine. I opened my mouth to speak, but no words came out. Heat seeped through me and I knew – however badly I wanted to protect this horse, I was more terrified of this man.

“You know people in this town don't take to someone hurting a horse, Hobbes,” David jumped in. “If Hailey here noticed it, she's not the only one. That pasture of yours is a wreck, and this horse looks pathetic.”

“There's nothin' wrong with my field!”

“You have old car batteries sitting in it. Every time I see this horse she has a new gash from the barbed wire laying in the fields.” Ethan ran a hand through his hair; I think to keep himself from grabbing Hobbes by the collar and yanking him out of the truck.

“This town ain't nothin' but a bunch of nosey bastards with nothin' better to do. Mind yer own business, all of ya'.” With that, his truck roared to life and he took off down the road, the helpless little filly slipping and sliding as she tried to keep up.

“We gotta call the sheriff over this one,” David shrugged.

“Oh I'll call him, all right,” Cheyenne flushed angrily. “Why Bobby hasn't done something about that jerk before now, I don't know.”

“Mom?” Aaron tugged on my arm, his voice quivering a little. “Is Allie going to be okay?”

“She will, sweetie,” I assured him. “We'll do something. Let's get back and put our heads together to see what we can come up with.”

Our much subdued little group made its way back to the ranch. Once the horses were back in their stalls, we decided that what the day needed was a pizza. It just so happened that the next town over had a pizza parlor on the town square so we all piled into Ethan's truck and headed towards Seymour.

No matter how many times we made it over that way, Aaron and I could never seem to get over the fact that Seymour actually had hitching posts to accommodate the high Amish population. We never tired of watching the fuzzy bay trotters pulling the open buggies at a merry little clip.

Sitting around a few hot pizzas and cheese fries, the world seemed a little less disturbing. I couldn't seem to shake the guilt that poor little Allie couldn't just walk away from the problem.

“Hey Aaron, I've got the cutest little quarter horse mare over at my place,” David attempted to lighten the mood. “Used her in a couple of rodeos this past summer. She did real well. That horse is bomb proof, man; you'd never know she's only three. You should come see her sometime.”

“Bomb proof?” Aaron looked skeptical.

“That means she doesn't startle. She's really well trained,” I leaned over and whispered.

“Maybe when you're ready for your own horse, your mama'll buy you this little mare. I'd give her to ya' real cheap and even throw in the saddle,” he offered.

“She is a darling little mare. Sorrel colored, Doc Bar pedigree. I hate to get rid of her, but we've got to thin our herd a bit,” Cheyenne interjected.

“Maybe we can come look at her soon,” I nodded. Doc Bar was a really well-known quarter horse. There were a few names that showed up in any well-bred quarter horse's pedigree. That was one of them.

While I preferred more unusually colored horses, there was something about a good-old red pony with white socks and a white face that Aaron seemed to be drawn to. And if we were going to stay, Aaron would need a decent horse of his own.

Not having any rent to speak of and miniscule heating bills meant I was finally starting to get a handle on some of the medical bills that had been looming over my head. It's amazing what a tonsillectomy and crappy insurance will do to your credit. Throw in a broken bone and some prescription allergy medicine, and you can kiss any hope of seeing the light of day goodbye.

But things were starting to look up now, so maybe I could swing a horse of our own. Aaron instantly picked up on the “Mom is leaning towards yes” vibe and lit up.

“I know the one you mean. She is a good little horse,” Ethan chimed in, which sealed the deal for me. I trusted him completely. That realization startled me a bit, and I tucked it away to ponder later.

“Maybe sometime next week,” I ventured.

“Sounds good. You know where to find us,” David nodded. The mood had been officially lightened, and conversation flowed freely
from there. After dinner we all went our separate ways, Aaron and I nearly crawling home to shower and put on our PJs. I just about had a decent fire going when there was a sharp knock.

“It's Deputy Carson,” a deep but young voice called from the other side of the door.

“Oh. Okay. Coming,” I frowned. It was just me and Aaron in a cabin that was feeling more remote by the moment, and I was in my pajamas for crying out loud. I looped my fingers around Blue's collar and drug him with me to answer the door, determined to get myself a German Shepherd the very next day.

“Good evening, ma'am.” He tipped his hat at me.

“Good evening,” I eyed the clock on the mantle. Evening, my behind. It was 10:00 at night. That might as well be 1:00 a.m. in these parts, where the days began early.

“I wanted to let you know that there appears to be a bit of a fuss going on over that horse of Hobbes'. He got into an altercation with a member of city hall earlier this evening and no one has heard from him since. The sheriff will be out in the morning to get an official statement, but in the meantime, you might want to stay close to home. We'll let you know if we find out anything else.”

“Oh. Okay. Thank you.” It wasn't a response that would qualify me as a brilliant conversationalist, but I was terrified. I closed the door and just stood there staring at it, trembling a little and wishing the knot in my stomach would unclench. After seeing the way Hobbes treated that animal today, part of me felt guilty for not calling the police sooner. Knowing there was a crazy man out there who was ticked at me for running my mouth made me wish I hadn't gotten as involved as I did.

More than that, I was really wishing that I had some type of phone in the cabin right now. I'd never really bothered with it, figuring not having a phone in the house was a neat way to hide from my siblings and their helpful advice. Heck, on that front, it had worked pretty well. I'd managed to leave Mom a message about not making it up for Thanksgiving and had quite successfully ducked any calls since. Now it was kind of a toss-up whether a tongue lashing would be worse than Hobbes finding me here alone with no
phone. And there was absolutely no way I was crossing the yard in the dark to go to Ethan's.

“Mom?” For the second time today, I heard fear and uncertainty in my son's voice.

“Hey baby,” I stood up tall and turned to face him, a smile plastered to my face.

“Is that man going to hurt us?”

“No baby. He's just trying to scare everyone. He's nothing but a bully. Bullies don't like it when people stand up to them is all. It'll be okay.”

“If you say so.” He eyed me warily, unconvinced.

“I do say so.” I tousled his hair. “Now go to bed.”

“Do you really think we can get that horse David told us about?”

“Yep, I think so.” I nodded. “Now go.”

Aaron scurried off, eager to get away from me before I had a chance to change my mind about the horse. Once he was tucked safely into his bed with Rover at his feet, I made sure his one small window was locked and closed the door to his room. Then I set about looking for some sort of weapon to defend myself with should we get a late night visitor.

We didn't have a gun, so that was out. Aaron wasn't in to sports, so there was no Louisville Slugger around to defend us. I chewed my lip, and my eyes darted about the room before landing on the old broadsword resting on my mantle. It was a monstrosity that an old boyfriend had convinced me to buy back in my pre-Jeff days. It continually reminded me what an idiot I'd been in the name of getting a boy's attention, but Aaron thought it was the coolest thing he had ever seen, so the stupid thing remained proudly displayed on my mantle.

It was that or a butter knife, so I carefully pulled the sword from its sheath. It was heavy. And big. And shiny. I felt better with it in my hands. Try to get past this, Hobbes.

I wanted to pour myself a glass of wine, but thought better of it. Instead I settled in on the couch with a pile of work I'd brought home with me yesterday. I'm not known for my great attention span,
so it didn't take long for me to become bored. Then sleepy. Next thing I knew, I had no idea what time it was as I was jolted awake by a low rumble emanating from Blue.

I knew what that rumble meant, and my heart flew to my throat. I eased myself off the couch and crept towards the front door just as it creaked open. A shadowy figure edged into the room. Instinct took over and I launched myself at the intruder, using momentum to pin him to the wall with my entire left side while holding the tip of the sword to his neck with my right hand.

“Holy….” Ethan swore softly under his breath.

“Oh, it's you,” I allowed the tip of the sword to drop but didn't move away. My breath was coming in great heaves now as the adrenaline flowed out of my body, replaced by the crisp, clean, male scent of Ethan and the heat of his breath.

“What the hell is that thing?”

“Broadsword,” I rested my head against his shoulder, willing my breath to even out.

“Broadsword,” he repeated. Then he kissed me.

There was nothing tentative about his kiss. There was no steady crescendo in his touch. It was instantly full of hunger. Instantly all-encompassing. And oh, how I kissed him back. My body melted against his, my free hand weaving through his hair. The sword clattered to the ground and jolted me back to reality as effectively as being doused with cold water.

“I'll have to remember how you feel about broadswords.” I eased away from him reluctantly.

“Sorry.” He looked instantly contrite.

“No, don't apologize.” I shook my head and took another step back. “I know it can't happen, but don't apologize for that.”

He nodded, then picked up my sword and handed it back to me.

“What are you doing here?” A coherent thought finally made it all the way from formulation to verbalization.

“I was worried about you being here alone with no phone.” He shuffled his feet awkwardly.

“Me too. Thus the broadsword,” I shrugged.

“You know, I've seen it on your mantle but I never realized it was real.”

“Yep.”

“Do I want to know why you own a sword?”

“Nope.”

“Mind if I stick around a little while?”

“Okay,” I hesitated. I wasn't entirely sure I could keep from throwing him down and having my way with him.

“I can sit over here.” He must have sensed my hesitation because he moved over to the recliner.

“Good idea.” I nodded. At least I could rest assured that I still had a libido. It had certainly sparked back to life recently. Who knew they could go dormant? Darn pesky that mine had chosen now to reassert itself.

“So, how's life?” Ethan cocked his head to the side and grinned at me from his chair.

“Peachy.” I smiled back. “I think I have the hots for my boss, I pissed off a crazy man today, I've been ducking my family for weeks because I'm too chicken to even talk to them on the phone, and I have an animal trainer in Southern California dodging my calls. How about you?”

“I didn't know people still said ‘have the hots for’.”

“I'm usually behind the times.”

“Oh. Does Jim know you ‘have the hots’ for him?”

“Shut up.”

“You're cranky late at night, you know that?”

“Please shut up?”

“We all pissed off the crazy man, if it makes you feel any better.” He finally took pity on me and changed the subject.

“Much.”

“So why are you ducking your family?”

“Because I'm happy.”

“Oh, well, that makes perfect sense.”

“Really?” I looked at him hopefully.

“No not really. That's nuts.”

“You don't know my family,” I assured him.

“I know your Dad. He's a good guy.”

“My dad isn't usually the problem. It's my siblings. They think I'm a total flake, and every time I try something new they just love to tell me how ridiculous I'm being. My brothers treat me like I don't have a brain in my skull, and my sisters are the best of friends with each other, so I always feel like the oddball when I'm with them. They want me to fit in with them, I want me to fit in with them, but it never quite works out. I am just so different than they are. And they do everything right. Always have, always will. Lord knows they can't do anything wrong in Mama and Daddy's eyes. It's nauseating. And they don't understand why I wanted to come here. They want me to stay in St. Louis, where I'm close enough for them to properly ignore me.”