Читать книгу Body of Evidence - Lenora Worth - Страница 11

Jennifer always got up early since most of her animals needed a good breakfast. Apparently, Anderson Michaels rose early, too. She saw him out the window, walking the property fully dressed in the work clothes she’d given him last night, and sipping a cup of steaming coffee. She, on the other hand, had stumbled into the kitchen and looked out the window at the rising sun, her eyes bleary from lack of sleep, only to see him blocking the sun’s warm rays.

Kind of nice to see a good-looking man standing there outside her window, the fall sunshine haloing around him like an aura. Nice to watch, but working with him would be a whole different thing. Thus, her lack of sleep. She’d worried and fretted most of the night about drug runners overtaking her property and a tall Texas Ranger hanging around for the next few days. Now the source of those dark thoughts stood out in her yard, ready to get down to business. And that meant she had to get in gear herself.

Gulping down her first cup of coffee, she hurried to get dressed. She had two volunteers coming to work the front counter and clean the supply closet and several more scheduled to help with the morning feedings and other maintenance work. Anderson wanted to brief all of them on the happenings and his presence here. They’d decided it made sense to alert everyone since Jennifer didn’t want her volunteers or workers to unknowingly walk into something dangerous. And this way, Anderson could get a fix on any regulars who seemed suspicious or jittery around him.

After washing her face and brushing her teeth, she tossed on some sunscreen and some medicated lip tint, then came back into the kitchen to make a quick breakfast.

Should she invite him inside?

“Oh, why not. After all, the man ‘works’ for me now, right?” she told Roscoe.

Roscoe nibbled at his own breakfast, then lapped at his water before he headed back to his bed.

Jennifer went over to pet him. “You won’t be here much longer, will you, boy?” She’d have to give him his arthritis medication a little later.

She didn’t want to think about losing Roscoe. It had been hard enough to lose her father so suddenly. How could she survive her best friend, her dog, dying, too?

She wouldn’t think about that. Dr. Jenkins was doing everything he could for Roscoe, but old age was catching up with her companion on a daily basis.

A knock at the back door caused her to spin around. Roscoe let out a feeble half bark then laid his head on his paws.

“Good morning,” she said as she opened the door to Anderson. “Want some eggs and toast?”

“I don’t want to be a bother but I don’t have many supplies in the bunkhouse yet, except some aged coffee I found in one of the cabinets, so I’d like breakfast.” He took off his hat. “I forgot and wore this. Habit.”

Jennifer took the hat, the warmth of it causing little sparkles of awareness to shoot up her arm. “I’ll hang it on the hall tree over here by the fireplace. You can wear one of our baseball caps.” She grabbed an old one off the hall tree. “It has our logo on it.” And why did his cowboy hat look right at home amidst her array of scarves, coats and her own hats?

He immediately went to Roscoe and bent down to talk to the dog in soothing tones. “He must have been a contender when he was younger.”

“He’s a purebred golden retriever,” she said, smiling at Roscoe. “So yes, he was awesome and spoiled rotten.”

“Well, the old fellow needs to be spoiled. He’s obviously had a good life with you here.”

She motioned to the kitchen. “We weren’t always here. We traveled a lot. After my parents divorced, my dad gave me Roscoe for my fourteenth birthday, I guess as a peace offering. That poor dog has been all over Texas and Louisiana. My mother never could find the right spot to settle. So we came back here a few years ago but…after Daddy died, she took off again. She’s in Arkansas now.”

“Sorry about the divorce,” he said. “That’s got to be hard on a child.”

“It was. My mother never quite got over my father. Since he traveled so much, she stayed home for a long time. She’s had a hard time since his death. We both have.”

“Sounds like you’ve been through a lot.”

She turned away from the sympathy in his eyes. How could she explain to this man that her father had been an adventurer first and a family man second? She imagined Anderson fell into that category, too, since his job was demanding and never-ending. “Well, I don’t have time to dwell on that this morning.”

“Can I help with breakfast?”

“Sit down,” Jennifer replied. “I can manage a couple of eggs and toast. The toast might be burnt, however.”

“Won’t hurt me. I have an iron stomach.”

She couldn’t argue with that. At least, he looked lean and mean and made of steel. “How about you, Ranger-man? Tell me about your family.”

Jennifer loved family stories. Her friends always teased her about that. But she loved listening to their parents talk about how they fell in love and why they’d managed to stay married through thick and thin. And always wondered why her parents hadn’t done the same. Now she lived vicariously through her friends because she didn’t expect her own happy ending.

Anderson settled in his chair and stared up at her. “I have two younger brothers in their twenties and a baby sister, who’s sixteen. Talk about spoiled. We’re close, I reckon. I mean, we have our spats like anybody but when push comes to shove—”

“You stick together,” she said, tossing the words over her shoulder at him.

“Yes. Isn’t that what families do?”

“I don’t know,” she replied, pouring eggs into the frying pan to scramble. “Mine didn’t.”

“My mama makes sure we do,” he said, his tone softening. “Church every Sunday and hard work on Monday. That’s her favorite saying.”

Jennifer turned to look at him. “You know, I believe in God, but church was never high on my parents’ agenda. My dad believed the whole world was a cathedral and he loved to explore it. He believed God was right there in the waterfalls and the mountains, the rivers, the oceans. I guess that’s how I learned about religion.”

“And your mother?”

“The original free-spirited, new-wave hippie, fifty-five now but going on twenty-two.”

“I see. And what about you now? Do you go to church?”

“Is that part of your job, Ranger? To show me the way?”

He looked sheepish, hung his head. “Sorry. I just thought—”

“Your eggs are ready,” she said, without rancor. She should be rankled at his question but it didn’t bother her. He was right. She should get back into church. “I’ve been so busy lately,” she said with an inadequate shrug. “That’s the only excuse I have.”

“I had no place asking you that,” he retorted, waiting for her to sit down. “Never mind me.”

That would be hard to do, Jennifer decided as they ate their breakfast in silence. The man filled the room with a demanding presence, like a giant tiger staking a claim.

Finally, he said, “So what’s your typical day like?”

“Now there’s a subject I can handle,” she replied. “Tell you what, rather than explain it, how about you give me time to instruct and update the two volunteers due in a few minutes. Then I’ll take you on rounds with me and you can watch and learn. And I expect you to pull your weight, too, Ranger-man.”

“Yes, ma’am,” he said, getting up to help her clear the dishes. “Hard work on Monday.”

“It’s Wednesday,” she quipped. “And still, it’s hard work, every day, all day.”

“I don’t mind hard work. But I do have a problem with hardened criminals. By the way, I took a walk back to the new gator pond last night. Spent the night out there.”

“You did? I guess you were serious about staking the place out. Anything happen?”

“Not a thing. Not yet. But we’ll catch ’em.” He winked at Roscoe.

Jennifer thought she saw the old dog wink back.

Two hours later, Anderson wondered how Jennifer managed to do it all. The woman was a bundle of energy, whirling from task to task with obsessive determination, her love for her animals as evident as her need to keep this place going. But even with a few volunteers, how long could she keep up this pace?

“So you do this every morning?” So far, they’d fed the alligators and the horses, washed down several small animal pens, spoon-fed a passel of hungry turtles—both land tortoises and more water-inclined sea and snapping turtles—mushy bits of dog food and handfuls of worms, cleaned out some of the box turtles’ aquariums and checked on a wounded hawk in the aviary.

She let out a chuckle. “Tired, cowboy? Listen, this is just the beginning of my day. But, yes, I have to feed the animals every day either in the morning or at dusk, and with some of them, both. The horses like to be fed about three times per day. I get relieved about twice a month, thanks to the other animal lovers who support this place. Everyone has a job and we all stick to our jobs. I keep a tight schedule with the volunteers and the paid workers.”

“You have a lot of animals,” he replied, ticking them off on his hand. “Two pigs, three cows, four horses, two alligators, a whole slew of turtles, goats, a llama, ducks, geese, a hawk, several rabbits, two doves and Roscoe. It’s like the twelve days of Christmas around here. Do you have a partridge in a pear tree, too?”

She laughed again then tossed back that shimmering mane of dark hair. “I just might. It’s crazy, that’s for sure. I never have enough time or money. And people bring me all kinds of animals—dogs, cats, raccoons, you name it. I can’t keep some of them so I have to call the state wildlife department to come and get them. Breaks my heart, but I just don’t have the funding and I have to adhere to state regulations.”

He followed her toward the stables as she headed back by the various cages and pens toward the main house. “How do you make money?”

“I don’t. I have a board of directors that oversees operations and decides my annual salary—which isn’t much, let me tell you. I charge for tours but until I get everything up to state code with the gator pen, I can’t conduct any tours for a while. I speak at schools and civic organizations, and that brings in some funding, and I have a few corporate sponsors. But my income is at a minimum at best.”

“How do you get by, then?”

She stopped and pushed at her hair. “I have a trust fund. It’s small, though. My parents set it up for me a long time ago and it grew over the years. After I got out of college, they turned it over to me.”

“And now you use that to live? No wonder you gave up meat.”

She gave him a stare that told him he was being too personal. “I get by, Anderson. And giving up meat was my choice when I was young. Don’t worry.”

He did worry, though. Getting by was one thing. Living like a miser was another. “You’re gonna need a lot of funding to do everything you told me about. From what I could tell, digging that alligator pond is a big deal.”

“Yes, that’s true. And I’m working on funding for that. But if word gets out that a drug cartel uses my land for little get-togethers, I guess I can kiss that and my few sponsors goodbye, right along with the plans I’ve drawn up to overhaul this place.”

“Let me worry about that, then,” he replied, resolve coloring his tone. Since he’d already observed the two women who were in the office today as well as several of the other volunteers, he asked, “When does your part-time person come in?”

“After school, around three-thirty.”

He noted that. “And the construction workers?”

“They show up when they’re good and ready. They’ve got several jobs so like I told you last night, I have to wait my turn. Of course, now they’ll have to repair the fence, too.”

Anderson wondered if she let people walk all over her, but remembered she could get in your face when she wanted to. Was she stalling on the work because of lack of funds?

Not your concern right now, he reminded himself. “So when can we take a ride out and look around? I might get a better angle in the daylight.”

She tossed that hair again. “Well, I have to clean out the stables—the empty stalls are used for everything from isolating animals to storing supplies—and we’ll need to eat a bite. We could take the horses and check the work on the new pen after Jacob gets here. We’ll be able to ride the entire back part of the property, too.”

“Sounds like a plan,” Anderson said, glancing around. “I could either help with the stable or I can try and secure this place a little more. Add a few brighter lights here and there, make sure all the door locks are up to snuff.”

“I can’t pay for that.”

“Don’t worry about the pay right now.”

“I don’t take charity.”

“But you take donations, right?”

She frowned. “Is that some kind of Ranger trick question?”

Anderson let out a grunt of irritation. “It’s a simple question. You have sponsors and people who support this place, right?”

“Right.”

“Well, then, add my name to the list. Besides, I have to look the part of a security expert.”

She stopped next to a storage building and turned to the spigot and big industrial sink, then started dumping buckets off the wheeled wagon she’d used to feed the penned animals. “So you’re an animal lover?”

“I am. I’m as fond of animals as the next man, I reckon. Although my tendency runs toward mutts in stead of alligators. We have several interesting adopted dogs on our property.”

“Well, in that case, thank you, Mr. Ranger-man, for your kind donations and…I’m sure Boudreaux and Bobby Wayne will appreciate it, too.”

“And how about you? Will you appreciate it?”

“Of course I will,” she said, her actions telling him she was chafing underneath his intense questions. Water splashed and gurgled as she moved the spray hose over her feeding buckets with a tad too much zest.

Anderson didn’t know why he was pushing the issue. It was just a few light bulbs and some door locks. What did it matter whether she liked it or not? It was for her protection, not to win points with her. Besides, his main focus was that pond. If the cartel had already messed with her new fence, what would they do next? He had to be there to find out.

Wanting to prolong being around her in spite of her sensitivity to accepting help and in spite of his need to stay professional, he said, “I’ll help you finish up with the horses and the stables so I can get used to things, then I’ll make a list of what I need to fix this place up.” He shrugged. “I do know my way around a stable and from first glance, this one looks to be really well-organized.”

She finished spraying the buckets then motioned toward the big building. “But it could use some sprucing up. A group of horse lovers took it on when I started renovating a couple of years ago. They made the grooming buckets for each horse, organized the shelves and cabinets in the tack room and they donated galvanized trash cans for feed—to keep the other critters out. And I have a leaf blower to get rid of dust and cobwebs.” Shaking her hands to dry them, she said, “Of course, I stay so busy I don’t have time to tidy things up every day so it tends to get messy. I missed checking the tack room yesterday, but my volunteers gave me an update on the horses. I keep the tack room locked since I have medicine for the animals in there.”

“I’m impressed. I’ll check everything out and see if anything needs tweaking. That is, if you don’t mind.”

“I don’t mind and I’m sorry if I got testy before,” she retorted, pulling out a set of keys. “I’m learning to accept help whether I like it or not.” Motioning to him, she walked around the side of the old barn. “If you’ll put up the equipment, I’ll unlock the tack room door.”

Anderson watched her take off, then he gathered the clean buckets and put them back on the wagon and followed her.

Jennifer’s high-pitched shout caused him to let go of the wagon and hurry into the big barn. He found her at the door of the tack room, her hands covering her mouth.

The room had been ransacked. Cabinet doors were swung open to reveal ointments, medications and various insect repellants, all knocked over or rearranged. The floor was covered with blankets and saddle pads, bridles and halters. And all the books and papers that had probably been on the desk were tossed aside.

“Somebody’s already tried to spruce things up in here,” he said, taking in the scattered equipment and strewn papers. “Or does it always look like this?”

“It wasn’t like this yesterday before closing or my volunteers would have reported it,” she said, turning to him with her hands on her hips. “Did you do this, Anderson? Is that why you kept asking me about where I get my funding? You still think I might be involved with these criminals? Were you in here looking for evidence or something?”

Anderson would never understand the female logic or how a woman could ask so many questions at one time and expect a man to remember each one. Putting his hands on his hips, he said, “First, I asked about your funding because I was impressed with how you handle all of this and I wanted to help. And as far as trashing your place—now why would I do that and leave it like this? That would be pretty dumb on my part, wouldn’t it?”

Jennifer frowned at him, then nodded. “Yeah, I guess it would.” Letting out a huff of breath, she shook her head, then leaned back against the door. “I’m sorry. I’m just not used to being under scrutiny all the time. I keep jumping to the wrong conclusions about all of this and…about you.”

Anderson heard the sincerity in her words and re minded himself he was a Christian after all. He couldn’t lash out at her even if she did tend to read him the wrong way. “Understood.”

She gave him an apologetic glance. “So I wonder who decided to reshuffle my already disorganized stuff.”

Anderson studied the mess for a minute then said, “Someone who’s looking for more than evidence against your operation, Jennifer. I think we’ve been hit again by one of the drug runners. Cutting the fence and now this. They’ve seen your work crew back there near their drop site and they’re not happy about it.”

“But why mess up the tack room?”

“They were probably trying to scare you, or maybe they think you have something of theirs. Something they left behind.” He glanced around again. “Or, this could just be a deterrent, a way of keeping you occupied. Which means I need to get back out to the site as soon as possible.”

She looked frightened for the first time since he’d arrived here. “And that makes me a target, right?”

He nodded. “You became a target the minute you bought that land and started building that pen. But this just upped the ante.”