my pace. I refused to be concerned about Paul's supposed opinion of me. That was simply finding distraction in the inconsequential. I swept it all under my rug of composure, forgave myself for my lapse, opened the back door and walked confidently into the kitchen.
And smack into Aunt Vi's narration of the latest news to the inconsequential Paul.
He leaned against the counter, looking way too much at home, as Aunt Vi chopped carrots and chatted. I stopped dead in the doorway, and she glanced up from her prep work. He took advantage of her diverted attention and reached for a carrot. She slapped his hand.
'If you don't stop eating those, there'll be no vegetables to go with the roast.'
He grinned. Her head cocked a warning at him before she smiled at me.
'That didn't take you long, love. I was just telling Paul what happened earlier.'
'Tough day,' he said. The look he flicked my way lasted long enough to make me simultaneously uncomfortable and peeved.
'You could say. It's not every day you get your horse stolen, and find him in the same pasture with a body.' I flushed and looked away. So much for censoring my mouth. What was it about this guy that made me spew out whatever was on my mind?
'I understand the police think Blackie delivered the fatal blow.'
My attention snapped back to him, but he was watching Aunt Vi's progress with the carrots again. She had a choke hold on the knife handle and cut each carrot with surgical precision. This conversation needed to end. He needed to leave.
'So they informed me, but I don't believe it.'
Aunt Vi's lips pursed.
Yes, I knew he knew Valerie, and I was using that knowledge. My memory was jarred last night. He wore the same blue plaid shirt when he picked me up as he had on earlier in the week. Although I hadn't known who he was at the time, I recalled clearly how Valerie cozied up to him in front of the Copper Creek office. She'd walked her fingers up his bicep to his shoulder and back down in that way of hers that should have made him smile or blush. He'd done neither.
Last night at McMurphy's he and Greg acted like they knew each other, too. But, they didn't appear to be on friendly terms – addressing each other by last name in tones that could have been mistaken for warning growls if they were dogs. And the body language! Each man had made such an obvious effort to take up as much space as possible while simultaneously appearing casual that I'd almost laughed. Had Paul come between Greg and Valerie? That could account for the animosity. But if Valerie's death disturbed Paul he hid it well.
'I expect the autopsy will shed some light on it,' Paul said, and deftly snatched another carrot before my aunt could react. She scowled at him and he chuckled.
'What a pretty jumper you have on,' Aunt Vi said, changing the subject faster than a horse can get dirty after a bath. 'That shade of green brings out the color of your eyes.'
I dropped my gaze to my modest chest. Aunt Vi had given the sweater to me for Christmas three years ago. She was well acquainted with it. I looked up and caught Paul's ice blue gaze. A corner of his mouth turned up slightly.
'Yeah, it does. I didn't notice last night how green your eyes are.' The other corner of his mouth curved, completing the grin. My cheeks burned.
'Uh, thanks,' I said, and fled to the guest room.
Why did she do that? I felt I'd been trotted out for inspection. And he was having dinner with us? Maybe I could tell them I had a dinner appointment with a client and get out of here.
I fussed around in the guest room for a long while. As I hoped, Paul wasn't in the kitchen when I came back through, but neither was Aunt Vi. I grumbled, debating whether I should track her down for a little chat. Instead, I put on my jacket and went outdoors. I wanted to see Blackie. I needed my friend.
He was still in the field with Duke. I could borrow Uncle Henry's saddle if I wanted to ride, but I was drained. Blackie saw me climb through the fence and whinnied. He walked over, ears up and neck low, then butted me gently with his head when he reached me. I laughed and rubbed his forehead. He blinked, long and slow, then blew forcefully through his nostrils, spraying me with little droplets of moisture.
'Thanks a lot.' I wiped my sleeve across my face, then took his muzzle in my hands and kissed his velvet nose.
He rested his chin on my shoulder for a moment. Sighing deeply, he curved his neck around and pulled me against his chest. The gesture was touchingly human. I murmured little endearments to him, gave him a hug, and scratched his withers, which is what he really wanted. His silky neck was warm against my cheek, and I inhaled the unique, comforting smell of horse. What would I do without my dear friend? I leaned against his solid shoulder as my throat tightened. A tear stung, and I dabbed at a corner of my eye with the back of my hand, trying to think of something else. But non-emotional subjects seemed hard to find. I settled on mentally reviewing the clients I needed to get in touch with in the morning.
When Blackie was satisfied with his back scratch he meandered away and resumed grazing. Chill seeped in where the warmth of his body had been. I went back to the pasture fence, parked my butt against the middle rail and watched him do what horses do best – eat.
The crunch of gravel announced someone's approach. I turned my head expecting to see Uncle Henry. It was Paul. He was on the other side of the fence a few feet away, feet planted in a wide stance, hands slid into his pockets. Irritation at the disruption of my solitude turned my mood sullen. I folded my arms and returned to watching the horses.
'Vi asked me to tell you dinner will be ready in about ten minutes,' he said.
'Oh. Thanks.' Great. I'm trying to avoid the guy who made me upset Aunt Vi again and she sends him looking for me.
After a silence lasting the same amount of time it took for Blackie to investigate and eat five different clumps of grass, Paul said, 'He's not black.'
'No,' I said, without looking away from the munching horses. 'He's bay.'
Two more patches of grass disappeared into Blackie's mouth. Paul didn't leave.
'Why do you call him Blackie?'
'His registered name is 'The Black Queen's Bishop.'' I offered no further explanation. Out of the corner of my eye I saw Paul nod.
''The eternal problem child of chess,'' he said.
His knowledge of this obscure reference surprised me, but I said nothing.
He continued after a slight pause. 'Reuben Fine coined that phrase, if I'm not mistaken.'
Blackie inspected and rejected a patch of grass that looked good to me. I don't know why horses get so picky some times and not others. The fence jiggled slightly. Paul leaned against both forearms, now resting casually on the top rail. One foot braced on the bottom rail.
'So is he? Is Blackie a 'problem child'?'
'He was.' I held down a sigh. He wasn't leaving anytime soon.
I took a breath. 'There were complications at birth and numerous health issues before he was even a year old. I spent many long hours here taking care of him when I should have been studying.' Memories played before my mind's eye. 'Uncle Henry named him. He's an avid chess player and thought the name appropriate. It just got shortened to Blackie. Nothing else seemed quite right.'
A smile took control as I remembered how silly we thought it was to call a mostly brown horse Blackie. We enjoyed the absurdity of it. I made no comment to Paul, though. I would not share my personal memories with an outsider, despite having unloaded on him last night. That was different. Completely different.
I glanced at Paul, about to cross my arms again, but the small gold hoop that glinted in his earlobe distracted me. I hadn't noticed that before.
'You don't seem the type to wear an earring.' I felt myself blush. I hadn't intended to say that aloud, not that it
