Читать книгу Lost Christmas Memories - Dana Mentink - Страница 17

Tracy hopped out of the truck before Keegan could come around to open the door for her. Her brain screamed that she was crazy to go back into the Mother Lode Equestrian Center. Her father’s favorite saying rang in her ears. There’s no way around the trouble but through it.

Chin up, she pushed through the door into the lobby, both anticipating and dreading what her memory would dredge up. She wiped sweaty palms on her jeans as two men walked up to greet her. An older man with salt-and-pepper hair, his handsomeness undimmed by his sixty-some years, looked up from his conversation. He wore khakis and a long-sleeved sweater, which evidently meant he wasn’t too hands-on with the horses. He glanced from her to Keegan and his smile flickered for a moment.

Keegan said, “This is Tracy Wilson.”

The older man’s eyes widened and his mouth opened in surprise. She caught it then, the resemblance between the two in the unguarded expression. Father and son? “I...well, I’m not sure what to say other than I’m glad you are all right, Miss Wilson.”

Tracy’s pulse pounded as she searched her brain for any flash of recognition. “Thank you,” she said faintly. “We exchanged emails. I was... I...I intended to come and see Flight of Fancy, the horse my client is interested in.” How could she possibly remember that fact and forget so many other details? She hoped the exasperation didn’t show.

The other man with Bryce Larraby stepped closer. He had dark, neatly trimmed hair and a close-cut beard, and wore jeans and a long-sleeved work shirt in a soft material. “Mitch Arnold,” he said, extending his hand. He gripped her fingers, one palm covering their joined hands. “Pleased to meet you.”

Bryce recovered. “He’s the bull breeder, supplying the animals for our rodeo event.”

“Best bucking bulls in the country,” Mitch said with a grin.

After another moment he released his grip as a young woman entered from the back room. A mop of curly brown hair framed her full cheeks, gold drop-pearl earrings glinting in the nest of curls. She stopped short when she saw Tracy. “Oh...hi.”

“This is Regina Parker,” Mitch said. “My fiancée. She works in the stables. Regina, this is Tracy Wilson. She’s evaluating Flight of Fancy.”

Regina raised an eyebrow. “Oh, the bloodstock agent.”

“Yes.” Tracy detected something disapproving in Regina’s tone. “I’m sorry. Have we met?”

“No. It’s just...well, my brother got ripped off by a bloodstock agent before. Got him a horse with ligament damage and earned a fat fee from it. Disappeared after, of course.”

Tracy kept her smile even. “I’m not that kind of agent. You can check my references if you like. I’m here to see Flight of Fancy.”

Bryce took a step forward. “Of course she’s a quality bloodstock agent, Regina. I love Flight of Fancy. He’s got such personality.” Bryce nodded at Regina. “Bring him to the arena for Miss Wilson now, okay?”

“Yes, sir,” Regina said and exited the same way she’d entered.

“This is awkward.” Bryce offered an apologetic smile. “I would rather not bring it up but...” He stuck his hands in his pockets. “The police have been here since Wednesday night and, well, I’m afraid there’s just no sign of any violence.”

Tracy’s face went hot as she caught the look from both men, a look that said she was some sort of nutcase. “I know I saw a murder.” Even if I can’t remember the killer’s face.

“And someone shot at both of us,” Keegan added. “Kinda lends credibility to her report.”

Mitch quirked an eyebrow. “Problem is, we got no body. So who was murdered, exactly?”

With all eyes locked on her, Tracy wished she could sink into the floor. It brought back her miserable high school year when her father had been released from jail, where he’d served time for assaulting his former business partner. The whispers, the looks, the comments like “her dad’s a criminal,” all came rushing back in a wave of shame that made her legs go wobbly.

But she’d forgiven her father, even if her mother couldn’t, and he’d accepted his forgiveness from the Lord. That was the past.

She steeled her spine. “I saw a woman murdered. I can’t remember her face or the killer’s, but I will, and when I do, someone is going to jail.”

Bryce jerked as his phone buzzed. “That’s Regina. The horse is ready for you to look at.” He glanced at Keegan. “I know you’d be pleased as punch if something shady happened here, anything that would tarnish my reputation and the Mother Lode’s, but nothing did. A lot of folks are counting on this horse show for their livelihoods, for the excitement of it and what it brings to our town.”

Keegan shook his head. “Spoken like a true politician with plenty of skin in this game, Mr. Mayor.”

Bryce frowned. “And you, Keegan? Entered into the cutting competition, I noticed.”

“That a problem?”

“No.”

Mitch chuckled. “Family drama. Better than television.”

Keegan stared at him and Mitch held his gaze.

“Just joking, man,” Mitch said. “Don’t take it personally. I got a chip on my shoulder about my old man, too. Comes a point you gotta let it go.”

“This doesn’t concern you.”

“I’m only concerned about what impacts my paycheck. Just don’t go looking for trouble where there isn’t any, and we’ll all get along fine.”

Bryce and Mitch left together.

Trouble where there wasn’t any? Tracy took in the angry pinch to Keegan’s mouth as he stared after his father and Mitch.

Oh, there’s plenty of trouble here already, she thought—trouble she wanted nothing to do with.

Tracy strode away a few paces to gather her emotions, Keegan figured. He needed a moment to collect his, as well. Even just being near his father brought it all back: his abandonment of Keegan’s mother, his flat-out accusations that she was a liar until the paternity test proved him to be the father. Keegan had been ten at the time she’d forced the test, the beginning of his mother’s battle against breast cancer. She’d gotten a pittance of child support out of Bryce Larraby by the time she’d lost her life to cancer when Keegan was sixteen. Father Dearest hadn’t even had the decency to attend Keegan’s mother’s funeral.

He forced his fisted hands to relax and went after Tracy.

Standing next to a decorated Christmas tree, she looked even smaller. As he came up next to her, she gasped, arms rigid as if she’d received an electric shock. He wondered for a moment if she was about to have a seizure, so he reached out for her, but she grabbed him first, hands clutching his forearms, face stark white.

“I remember this tree. Keegan, I remember it.”

He could feel the cold from her fingers seeping through his shirtsleeve. “What exactly? Tell me.”

“I remember running by it. I was scared. Terrified.” Her mouth was tight with the memory. “He was after me—the killer. I brushed by this tree and an ornament fell off and broke. It was a silver ball with gold beads glued onto it. It shattered on the floor.”

“Can you remember his face? The guy who was after you?”

She closed her eyes, breathing hard. After several seconds she opened them, deflated. “No,” she said. “I can’t.”

He let her breathe a few times to expel some of the fear before he gently pushed her aside and started hunting around the bottom of the tree. “Maybe there are shards. It won’t be proof enough for the cops, but let me see if I can find a piece to corroborate your details.”

Underneath the tree was a flannel tree skirt in a bright holiday plaid, which concealed a water reservoir. Other than a pile of needles and an ornament hook, he found nothing, no sign that anything had broken.

She studied the branches. The ornaments were laid out at precise intervals, all silver orbs with gold beading, except for one. It was a subtle difference, but the one nearest the bottom was a plain silver ball.

“Someone replaced it,” Tracy said.

Keegan grabbed a tissue from the box on the reception counter and reached for the ornament. “I’ll put it in a bag and have it checked for prints. I have a friend who can do it.”

“No, you won’t.”

They whirled to find John Larraby glowering down at them. “That’s my job. I’ll do it, if you give me a reasonable explanation of why I should bother.”

“I broke it as I ran, and someone hung a new one in its place,” Tracy told the chief.

“You remember that detail now?”

She nodded.

Regina called to them from the doorway. “Are you coming, Miss Wilson? The horse is ready.”

Keegan put an arm around Tracy’s trembling shoulders. “You don’t have to do this.”

She swallowed hard. “I’m okay.” Gently she detached herself from his grasp. “I’m ready,” she called to Regina, following her out the front doors.

John grabbed another tissue and retrieved the ornament from the tree.

“Be sure it doesn’t get lost,” Keegan said.

John’s expression hardened to cement. “Don’t mess with me, Keegan.”

“I wouldn’t dream of it, brother, not unless you give me reason to.”

Keegan thumbed back his hat and walked away.

Tracy tried hard not to show that her knees were still wobbly as she followed Regina to the arena. She took a stab at being friendly. “Have you worked here long?”

“Since they broke ground. I tend to my stable duties and Bryce put me in charge of the front office part-time.” Pride crept into her tone. “I love it, love my work. Even met my fiancé here, plan to stay forever, if they’ll have me.”

“Congratulations on your engagement. Do you have a date picked out?”

“Not yet. Things keep getting in the way.” Her tone was dark. “Why do you care anyway?”

“Just being friendly.”

The woman rounded on her. “Let’s cut through the garbage, shall we? You’re an outsider. You have no reason to be friendly to some stable hand you just met. So what are you after, exactly?”

“After?”

“With this murder story. What are you angling for? Money? From Bryce Larraby?”

“I’m not after anybody’s money. I’m telling the truth.”

Regina hooked her thumbs in her belt loops. She was tall, arms wiry and muscled, dark eyes brimming with anger. “Just so you know, Bryce Larraby is a great man. He’s done awesome things for this town and me personally. Busted my wrist in the summer doing some rock climbing, and he kept me on and even paid me while I was on leave. Every single person who works here would do anything to protect him, especially me.”

Anything? Including lying about a murder? She stood straighter. “I want nothing from Bryce Larraby.”

“Yeah? Coming here with a story that could tarnish our event? With Keegan, who’s got a massive chip on his shoulder?”

“Like I said, I told the truth and I have no ulterior motive.”

“Well, Keegan does—he’d love to destroy Bryce, so keep that in mind. Mitch told me all about how his mother tried to weasel money out of him after she seduced him while he was married to John’s mother. He’ll use you and anyone else to get back at his dad.”

Use you. She looked at Regina full on. “Thank you for your advice. Now I’d like to get to work, if that’s okay with you.”

Regina shook her head, which sent her earrings flashing gold against her curls. “I have some chores to do. See your own way out when you’re done.”

Tracy tried to get her rapid breathing under control. How had she earned herself another enemy already? That had to be some kind of a record.

She knew part of Regina’s comments were true. Keegan did have an enormous chip on his shoulder. He’ll use you...to get back at his dad. If that was true, it was a top-notch reason to get her business done at the Mother Lode and get out.

The arena was clean and well lit, the electric lights on the vaulted ceiling overhead illuminating the soft dirt floor, which was newly raked, from the looks of it. On one side of the arena was a towering stack of baled hay that lent a fresh smell to the space. She breathed in deeply to calm herself. She was in her element here with the horses and hay. She approached the beautiful stallion standing next to the bales, craning his neck over the fence in search of a snack. Flight of Fancy was as gorgeous as the photos she’d seen when she’d researched his bloodline. His conformation at first glance was excellent, as well. Flight had already fathered two offspring that had proved themselves worthy dressage horses.

“Hey there, pretty boy.” She gave the horse a moment to get used to her proximity before she reached out to stroke his neck.

Keegan joined her and she was pleased that her fingers did not shake as she caressed the animal. Keegan was close, very close, and her pulse would not behave for some reason. He’s probably using you, remember? But his smile was so genuine, his presence so comforting. A few stable hands milled about, but the arena was empty except for the two of them and the horse.

“He’s a looker,” Keegan said.

“Yes, he is. My client is interested in a stallion to breed with her mare. She wants a dressage horse. It’s her passion.” She caught his snort. “Dressage not your cup of tea?”

“No, ma’am. I’m a cutting-horse man. Horses were meant to help on ranches, not jump over little white fences.”

She laughed. “That’s very snooty, Mr. Thorn. Dressage dates back to classic Greece when they trained horses to do evasive maneuvers for battle. Don’t knock it until you’ve tried it.”

“I’ll pass. I’d look pretty silly in those tight white pants and the shiny boots.”

She looked down at his well-worn cowboy boots and long legs covered by faded denim and decided he was probably right. Keegan Thorn was a horse of a different color for sure. Turning her attention back to Flight of Fancy, she took his lead rope. “Let’s see about your gait, boy. Are you as good as you look on your YouTube videos?”

“Let me,” Keegan said. He took the rope from her and led the horse away.

The horse’s natural walk was perfect, and so, she noticed, was Keegan’s. He had a brisk, easy way next to the horse that was somehow masculine and graceful at the same time. A natural athlete, she supposed. She leaned back on the fence and admired the power in both of them. Something trembled against her back. For a moment, she thought it must be an earthquake.

Keegan’s mouth dropped open. “Look out!” he shouted.

Still uncertain what was happening, she glanced up in time to see the tower of half-ton bales begin to topple.

Her scream froze in her throat as the bundles hurtled down toward her.