Wild Horses (5 page)

Thinking back on it, his stunt had been stupid. No man in his right mind would mount a strange horse, let alone bareback. Yet, Vermillion had wanted to play, and it seemed only reasonable to ride up to the barn and thank his host. Kai rode his bicycle with a preternatural sense of balance—surely a horse would be no different.

Vermillion.

Kai’s broad mouth stretched into a wistful smile as he upturned the wheelbarrow of horse manure onto the pile. Once its surface dried, it smelled almost sweet. Clean. Wholesome. It held potential for growth, unlike the reek of old cigars at Frankie’s or the reek of decaying produce by the loading dock he had called home for over six weeks.

He looked up the hill toward the paddock where the red stallion spent time with an older, more experienced gelding. Sensational Snowfall didn’t tolerate any nonsense from Vermillion—none whatsoever—and the bite marks on the red horse’s neck and bleeding hoof prints on his chest attested to Sen’s stern discipline. Sen would not be bitten, mounted, kicked, or bullied by the rowdy, seven-year-old newcomer. Sen knew what was required of him: his even temper and excellent training, together with his dignified Lipizzaner stature, were well suited to the process of civilizing the newcomer.

It occurred to Kai that he, with his long, rust-colored hair and uncouth street slang, wasn’t all that different from the red horse. He learned to keep his mouth shut for the most part, but that didn’t change the fact that Kai, too, was also in need of civilizing. The influence of his boss was gentler than the bites and kicks of Sen, and for that he was grateful. Kai looked up to Attila and tried to emulate his well-bred bearing and well-read language. He was still hard-pressed to meet Attila’s eyes. The sable-haired man’s mercurial gaze was too penetrating, threatening to strip him of his well-built defenses and leave him bare, naked to inspection. Leaving him vulnerable to rejection once the horse trainer came to his senses and realized he had adopted a street urchin to handle his prized horses, shovel manure in his clean barn, and take up residence in the guest room of his tidy house. Kai swallowed at the thought of being discovered for the unworthy lowlife he really was. He’d be kicked out again, left to make ends meet on the street. It had happened before. He thought of Nelby, and the unwelcome memory of Nelby was hard to banish from his mind.

“Y
ER
two months back on the rent, asshole, and if you can’t find a regular job, then you can run messages for me.”

Kai had recently become aware of the nature of Nelby’s messages: little baggies of white powder went out, brown paper lunch bags of cash came in. “I can’t do that.” He refused to sink that low. He wasn’t running drugs. Not now, not ever.

“Then I’ll hold on to your things until you come up with the cash, Kai.” A wide, unpleasant grin split Nelby’s face, accentuating his high cheekbones and his stringy, sandy hair. “Either you take this back to the corner of Butler and 42nd Street, or you get outta here right this second.”

“Okay.” Kai straightened his shoulders. At six feet tall, he was almost a foot shorter than Nelby. His well-muscled body would have helped, had Nelby not been armed. Kai never lost awareness of the Glock Nelby wore in a holster in the small of his back. “Lemme get my stuff, then, and I’ll be outta your hair.” Kai took a step toward the sofa where he used to sleep. His guitar, backpack, and a small rolling suitcase of books and clothing were in sight.

“No you don’t. You leave your shit right here.”

“Nelby. I need my wallet and stuff. They’ll want an ID when I apply for a job.”

Nelby’s wide grin turned into a sneer. “You’ll manage, pretty boy. And if you don’t, remember I have a nice job lined up for you right here.” Nelby shifted; Kai saw his hand rise to his gun and stroked its butt in a habitual gesture. “Which will it be?”

Kai squared his shoulders. He refused to be intimidated, and he would not run drugs. “As you said, I’ll manage. Don’t worry, I’ll get you the rent money. I don’t have to work for you to do it, though.”

K
AI
shook himself under the onslaught of intruding thoughts. Once again he felt the sweltering sun on his head and shoulders. The manure that had smelled sweet in the shade of the horse stall took on a pungent reek as it decayed in the sun, and Kai wondered whether it really smelled different or whether his mindset had changed to something bitter and negative. He did not like to ponder over his past. Far from being innocent, he had tried almost everything there was to try, yet there still were some things he would never do. He paused at that thought, his eyes searching out Vermillion’s graceful form up by the shady tree line. There were other things he’d never thought he would do, either. Picking pockets was one of them. If a few weeks of sleeping on a loading dock off Smallman Street were enough to reduce him to eating out of the Dumpsters behind restaurants and petty theft, how sure was he, really, that he would not compromise his other principles?

“Hey street rat, move along!” Hal’s jeering voice brought Kai to the present. “Attila doesn’t let you eat his food just so you can stand around in deep contemplation, asshole.”

Kai drew a deep breath and exhaled slowly before turning toward Hal. He was only a bit younger than Kai’s twenty-four years. Kai knew he was home from college and had intended to spend the summer working at his uncle’s stables and training with his horse in preparation for horse shows. But an unfortunate fall, resulting in three cracked vertebrae, landed him in a back brace and out of riding or working for the rest of the summer. Kai appeared on the scene almost immediately after Hal was injured, and Hal thought Attila was all too happy to offer the stranger room, board, and pocket money in exchange for picking up Hal’s chores.

“I said move along, you worthless piece of shit. The stables won’t get mucked by themselves.”

Kai slid a look in Hal’s direction. It was meant to be a challenging look, but Kai didn’t quite have it in him to stand up to the younger, better educated, more privileged man.

“And remember that you owe Attila everything! Your work, your fucking loyalty, every thread on your body. Even the filthy shoes on your feet.” Hal spat in Kai’s direction, then turned on his heel and headed for the barn, apparently eager to inspect Kai’s work
.

“Yeah.” Kai sighed as he backed his wheelbarrow away from the manure pile and moved into the shade of the stables. It was true: the roof over his head, the food on his plate, all of it came from the man he had robbed only a week ago. A few days ago, Attila had taken him to a nearby store and bought him the basics he needed: clothing, including two packages of underwear, jeans, shorts, tees, a flannel shirt, socks, sneakers, and flip-flops. Kai now had his own hairbrush, a shaving kit, and other toiletries that lived in a little basket in the corner of Attila’s bathroom, since it had been discovered that the guest bathtub kept backing up.

Yeah, Kai knew down to his bones that all he had was gained through the courtesy and charity of the man he had wronged. The knowledge twisted in his gut, doubling him over like a wicked stomachache. He couldn’t hold his head high knowing he was beholden quite so much, and Hal’s jeers only renewed his determination to work it all off. He had until Hal healed up, because after that his help would no longer be necessary. Kai pushed his wheelbarrow into the barn. With Chicago’s stall, he was halfway done.

“I
STILL
can’t believe you let a perfect stranger stay,” Tibor spat, ignoring the cold beer in front of him. “Look, Hal has enough friends who’d be happy to pitch in around here. I drafted Brent to help as well, in return for paying for his riding lessons. Brent is suffering enough from being Hal’s younger brother. Honestly, I’d prefer if he would get an ordinary teenage job. Even at an ice cream stand.”

“Brent doesn’t drive yet,” Attila commented, eyeing the slender sixteen-year-old from afar. His black hair was a bit too long, just like Attila’s, and he was once again struck by his younger nephew’s hero worship and the youngster’s effort to do everything just like his famous, prize-winning, competent uncle.

“Don’t remind me,” Tibor groaned. “I’m teaching him. My blood pressure skyrockets every time the kid gets behind the wheel.”

“Is he reckless?”

Tibor pulled on his beer and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. “No, not exactly. Just… confused. I don’t like him being confused when he’s behind the wheel.”

“He’s never confused on horseback,” Attila said. “He’s a natural.”

“Yeah. A natural dentist, or a natural lawyer, or a natural accountant. You know we don’t have the sort of money to have one of the boys take over for you. Your horse-training colleagues are either independently wealthy, or have rich employers, or work their ass off doing a day job on the side.”

Attila nodded at the well-worn argument. “I know I am fortunate, but consider that I am trying to pass all of this to someone who will appreciate it. Brent could be the one, and we won’t know until he has the freedom to find out for himself.” Attila flicked his eyes to his brother-in-law, and sighed. “I better go up the hill and check on the horses, and on the boys. See if Kai’s making any progress.”

A
TTILA
cut across the lawn and up the hill in order to approach the barn’s faraway side. As he climbed the hill and the structure of the new arena came into view, his thoughts turned to money. He knew exactly when it would be paid off at this rate, and the time frame might as well have spanned eternity. Maybe he shouldn’t have added the kitchenette in the visitor’s viewing room—that about doubled the cost of the project. A new bathroom near the riding arena was a necessity, however, and he had found himself swept up in a rare wave of reckless optimism. The new construction made his upscale clientele more comfortable. Then again, maybe he shouldn’t have bought Vermillion, knowing the horse was bound to have problems. The stallion wasn’t too expensive—only two grand—but the upkeep of even a single horse could run upward of fifteen thousand a year.

The path up the hill was a bit shorter than the long, winding driveway, and it also gave him the opportunity to observe his stable hands in their native element. Much like his horses, his humans always behaved a bit differently when he was around. He climbed through the white fence and made his way to the gate on the other side of the stables. Voices carried on the hot summer air, and if he was any judge of character, the tempers involved mirrored the weather with uncanny accuracy.

“I don’t know why you have to be such an asshole,” he heard Brent retort with venomous frustration. “He’s doing fine, so lay off.”

“He’s just a common thief,” Hal snorted in a pompous voice of the young and infallible. Now that was interesting: Attila had never known Brent to stand up to his older and much taller brother.

“Yeah, but he returned it.”

“He shouldn’t have stolen it to begin with. He’s a snake waiting to strike. Guard your wallets, everyone. Uncle ’Tila’s stray is running loose!”

“If you weren’t in your back brace, I’d pop you one, Hal!”

Then there was a sound of a scuffle and a pained exclamation, and just as Attila peeked around the corner and saw Brent fall sprawling into the dirt, Kai’s voice split the air.

“He’s right, Brent—I’m a no-good thief. Now quit fightin’. Here….” Attila saw Kai lean down to the sixteen-year-old boy, give him a hand up, and wipe dirt off his cheek. “You’ll wanna put some ice on that.”

“He shouldn’t call you that,” Brent spat.

“It’s his choice what he calls me.” Kai’s shoulders slumped in defeat and his voice was bitter. “I sure ain’t gonna fight over it, though, and neither should you.”

Brent turned to Hal. “Soon I’ll grow bigger than you and then you’ll find it mighty hard to push me around, Hal!”

“You shouldn’t have threatened, shrimp.” The two started to square off again as Kai disappeared into Dale’s stall.

Attila cleared his throat. The two brothers jerked around, their eyes wide at the sight of their uncle. Only the quiet sounds of Kai mucking the stall stirred the air. “I think I’ve heard enough from you two. Brent, go get some ice down at the house.”

Brent knew dismissal when he heard it and scurried out of the barn.

Attila fixed his older nephew with a stern gaze, his eyes narrowed and his jaw set. “You are how old, now, Hal?”

The young man met his eyes with defiance. “Turned twenty this winter. As you surely know.”

Attila nodded. “Ah. So, it is hardly honorable for a big, twenty-year-old college man to assault his much smaller teenage brother, as
you
surely know, especially when he does not dare hit you back because of your back injury.” Attila paused and waited until Hal began to look at least somewhat contrite. “I will overlook it this time,” Attila continued, “because I need your help with a very important matter.” Attila’s face relaxed just as Hal’s brow furrowed with suspicion. “This situation has really grown out of control, and since you know what to do and can’t do other things right now, it would be very helpful if you’d make some headway on the tack room.”

Hal stiffened. “The tack room?”

“I need you to clean the tack.” He paused, watching his words sink in. “All of the tack. You can set up a chair and a folding table right there, so you’re out of the way of people and horses. All the bits need to be scrubbed and sanitized, and all the leather needs to be cleaned and conditioned.”

“All?” The task would easily take the rest of the week.

“All. Now, when you do the saddles, make sure to polish the stirrups and the rings, and check the stirrup straps for wear. Don’t overlook the elastic in the girth straps. Some may need to be replaced.”

“The saddles.” Hal swallowed as though he had to force his last meal back down. Attila compressed his lips, not allowing even the slightest hint of a smile. It seemed that Hal’s summer plans—if not his whole life—just flashed before his eyes. There were things to do and friends to see, and now he would sit isolated in a stuffy, dusty tack room, his mind going numb over the tedious task.