“I’m not moving back into the house,” Tristan had said.
Part of me agreed and welcomed the change. Yet, it seemed like such a rushed decision. Maybe he could do some remodeling instead? From the bench, I watched Dior wandering around the empty stalls, sniffing and pawing. Then he barked, loudly. Doggie wasn’t happy. If he could talk just about now, he’d be asking me where his buddy Tache was.
Hands stroked my shoulders. I jumped.
Tristan bent to kiss the top of my head. “Sorry, Fiat, didn’t mean to scare you.”
Before I could answer, Dior came running. I guessed he assumed that if the owner showed up, the mare couldn’t be far behind.
Tristan sat next to me. His hand found mine resting on the bench, and he intertwined our fingers. There was something in that silent gesture that felt solemn, like a promise, an oath.
I scooted closer to him, my shoulder brushing against his. If only we could bottle this perfect moment and revisit it when we needed comfort, hope, and above all, love.
An involuntary sigh escaped my lips. He squeezed my hand.
“Such a peaceful place,” I whispered.
“It’s an illusion,” Tristan said. “Only lasts until you leave.”
Never had I experienced such a complete sense of warmth, love, and trust toward a man I hadn’t shared a bed with. For the first time in my adult life romantic clichés like, “I would die for you,” made perfect sense.
A loud thump came from the stalls.
“Dior.” I jumped to my feet.
A bark. And I took off running, Tristan at my side. He headed straight for Tache’s empty stall. The bottom part of the Dutch door was ajar. Dior must have entered the stall attracted by Tache’s scent.
Tristan unlatched the top part and pushed it open. The Great Dane stood in the middle of the small room, tail and ears at attention. What had him stirred up? The floor on half the room seemed swept and free of hay or anything else, but the corner farthest away from the small window not only had mounds of hay but a pile of something that looked like rags and some empty cans?
“What happened?” Tristan said.
“What do you mean?” I asked. Dior backed away from the pile and tiptoed toward the open door.
“When I was last here to take Tache to the ranch, the only thing left in the stall was a stack of blankets we used for her bedding. Where did all this hay come from? And what’s under it? Something that made that loud sound. You think someone slept in the stall? Who?”
All I could do was shake my head. “Maybe we should tell the detectives about it. Are they still in the house?”
“I think so.” I felt his intense concentration and had the feeling he noticed more out of place stuff than he was letting me know.
“Let’s not touch anything. Maybe you should put the leash on Dior, and I would rather you go back to the house with me.” He put his arm around my shoulders, and with Dior in tow, we walked back inside the home.
The duo of detectives asked me to please stay put and keep my dog close. Tristan went to the barn with them, and I began to feel like a fifth wheel, of what I had no idea. Dior wasn’t happy either. Perhaps we had both worn out our welcome. The silence in the big rooms grew spookier.
This romancing adventure was quickly becoming a he-loves-me-he-loves-me-not kind of game. Then again, with all the stuff going on this wasn’t the best time to visit. And only twenty minutes ago I was contemplating dying for him. Ah, the ephemeral power of love. Made for great movies. Except, this wasn’t a movie.
I waited for what seemed like forever. Even Dior looked bored as he sat on the floor, staring at me with his Please, let’s go look. By the time I had decided to follow Dior’s suggestion and got up to leave, voices sounded from the patio, and Tristan was back along with Detective Ross.
“Oh, sweetie, you must be so bored. I need to stay put and wait for the forensic investigator to get here so I can point out what I recognize and what’s been placed in the stall that I’ve never seen before. And Dior deserves a super special treat. I’ll make sure and get it for him.”
I suppose he noticed the lack of enthusiasm in our reaction because poor Tristan began to apologize.
“Perhaps I should go. Dior is ready, and I would only get in the way,” I said in the sweetest way I could manage.
Tristan hesitated a moment then glanced toward the detective who had been talking business on his cell. “Do you mind if I walk Monica to her car?” he said.
“Uh, I—we—walked.” My cheeks were on fire.
“Oh, from your house? I could give you a ride back,” he offered.
“No, no. Actually I drove to the parking lot at the 40th Street trailhead, and then we walked over. We both needed the exercise.” I had to say something.
“Okay then,” he turned to the detective again. “I’ll walk her to the preserve parking lot. If you need me in a hurry call me, I’ll jog back.”
Detective Ross nodded his head, still involved in a deep conversation.
A few minutes later, we walked out the open gate and headed toward the mountain.
“Fiat, you have no idea what Dior here discovered. The crash was from a small, sealed garbage can that Dior must have tried to open. Instead it tipped over. That was the noise we heard. It was hidden under blankets and covered with hay.”
“Please don’t tell me you found a dead body. And if you did, I don’t want to know.” I meant every word. Dior picked up the pace, and I tried to keep up with him.
“No, no dead body, but a large, empty can of gasoline the detectives think was used to set the Kia on fire and then as to not waste what was left
