Especially your feelings. She senses that you're holding out on her as far as your concerns go about what's happening at the farm, so-'
'How come you know so much?'
'We talked. Anyway,' Michael continued, 'I fixed it for you.'
I lowered the glass of orange juice from my lips. 'What, exactly, did you fix?'
'Let's see.' He propped his elbows on the counter and yawned. 'I told her that you're naturally reticent. That you avoid anything that even slightly resembles pity, that you have a major fear of failure despite the fact that you can't resist taking risks. You have an overwhelming desire to prove yourself. Oh, and you're embarrassed by strong emotions.' He looked over the rim of his coffee mug. 'And, your mouth's open.'
I shut it. 'Where the hell'd you come up with that load of crap?'
'Observing you. I took psych before I left school. Ultimately, I found that I prefer horses to most people. They're much nicer to work with.'
'Good thing you gave it up. You're lousy at it.'
'Not true.' He wiped the corners of his mouth with his fingertips. 'Keep that girl, Steve. And let her in more.'
'Yes, sir.'
I jammed my last bite of toast in my mouth and dumped the dishes in the sink. 'Let's hit the road.'
Michael frowned at his half-full cup of coffee. 'Why the rush?'
'I want to check the farm, make sure your horses are okay.'
He jumped up, and I saw that my alarm was infectious. 'I now see why you've pursued an offensive.'
At Foxdale, everything was secure. I fixed myself a cup of coffee and watched Michael run a quick brush over the horse's coat before sliding the saddle into place, seeing firsthand that the perfection evident in his horses' grooming had nothing to do with his efforts but with his groom's. When he led the chestnut down to the outdoor arena, I slumped onto a bench. My eyelids felt like sandpaper, and my head ached.
I closed my eyes and thought of all that had happened since that frigid morning in February. The three men and the fear they had wielded like a weapon. The horses on a fast trip to death. Sanders and his questionable remorse over a horse he'd thought of as an object and had been careful to insure. Harrison's driver and his drunken anger. Blood dripping from my nose. The bulldozers' throaty rumble as they cut into the brown earth and the realization that Foxdale would never be the same. Boris hanging from the rafters, his life blood draining from a slash in his throat.
I remembered the deafening sound of the cold rain hammering on the barn roof as I stared at the pile of charred wood that had once been an artful jump. The words 'Your dead motherfucker' painted in red on ribbed metal siding and later, 'Cats have nine lives. You don't' scrawled over my name. Tax write-offs and staring at newspaper clippings until my vision blurred.
I thought about James S. Peters in the cold hard ground and Mrs. Peters losing herself to senility, the mind's reflex to unbearable pain. Whitcombe's irritability building to the point of instability. Brian's probation hanging over his head like a scythe. Elsa and Rachel, lust and love. Flip sides of the need for intimacy.
I thought about the trailer search and how it had been thwarted by the Pennsylvania registration. And Randor L. Drake who appeared innocent but couldn't be. And where was he? Had he crouched over a pile of feed bags in Greg's barn and struck his match, or was he stalking rainbow trout in West Virginia?
Had he been in Pennsylvania last week? In a barn set back off the road?
I was thinking that I should call Ralston for an update when Rachel walked down the lane. She had arrived early, presumably to watch Michael ride his Olympic-caliber horse. I stood as she approached.
She flattened her hand on my chest. 'Hey there, cutie.'
I enveloped her in my arms and gave her a kiss that she encouraged and allowed to linger. All the possibilities were there.
Her hair was still damp from her shower and smelled of apples. I slid my hands over the swell of her buttocks. When I pulled her tight against me, I felt her grin and realized she had noticed the intense, physical reaction her closeness had generated.
Behind us, Michael and his wonder horse executed a ten meter circle at the trot, just the other side of the fence. After their third revolution, I looked up as they came close to the fence on yet another pass. Michael grinned and cued his horse into a canter.
On their next circuit, I mouthed, 'Go get some of your own.'
Apparently, he wasn't finished.
'He needed that,' he yelled to Rachel, and then to me, 'Tell her about last night.'
Rachel tilted her head back and peered up at me. 'What?'
'Umm.' I kissed her face somewhere in the vicinity of her left eyebrow. 'Someone started a fire in Greg's feed room.'
'Oh, no.' She leaned back so she could see my face better.
'Luckily there wasn't much damage,' I said. 'Michael and I were able to put it out quickly.'
'Were any of the horses in the barn?'
'No, it was empty,' I said.
'Not entirely.'
'What do you mean?'
'You were in the barn. A little later, and you might have been asleep.' She shivered. 'And I see you've already thought of that.'
'Uh-huh.'
'Oh, Steve.'
She tightened her arms around my waist. I felt comforted by her embrace and, best of all, wanted.
Maybe the fire had been a random act, some pyromaniac doing his thing. But they typically chose empty structures to torch.
They didn't check to make sure you were home first.
During my lunch break, I called Detective Ralston and was told he was still in Pennsylvania. I drove into town and purchased a heavy-duty dead bolt for the kitchen door. The second item took more effort to locate, but with the help of a knowledgeable salesclerk at an electronics store, I found a smoke/heat detector with a remote alarm. I installed the lock, but left the rest for later.
What I really needed was a gun. But I hated them. Always had. My father had one, and I still remembered the afternoon when I'd discovered it in his dresser, hidden beneath a stack of undershirts. I couldn't have been much older than seven. I had been surprised by its weight and the coldness of the black steel against my palm. It made me cold just thinking about it.
I made it back to work a little after two. Michael was slouched in a lawn chair with his cowboy hat pulled low on his forehead, and I wondered how he was holding up. I stopped in the office on my way to the barns. Mrs. Hill was on the phone, so I checked my bin. It was empty. The door behind me opened. Elsa Timbrook had her manicured hand on the doorknob. Her blond hair was gathered high on the back of her head and hung in curls down her neck. She glanced at me as she stepped into the room.
My initial impulse was to hightail it out of there, but I intercepted her instead. 'Mrs. Timbrook?'
She ran the tip of her tongue across her lips. 'Elsa,' she said.
'You never answered me the other night,' I said. 'How do you know the guy I got into a fight with at the party-Mr. Harrison's driver?' When she didn't respond, I checked that Mrs. Hill was still on the phone, then said, 'Please. It may be important.'
She shifted a bulky canvas tote from one hand to the other and studied me with her smoky green eyes.
I waited.
She smoothed a finger down the side of her nose.
After a pause, in which I was certain she wasn't going to tell me, she said, 'Robby's my brother.'
'Your brother?'
