Candace Carrabus - Dreamhorse 01 - On the Buckle (20 page)

Noire wiggled through the nearly-closed stall door, sniffed me, and wagged her tail. She didn’t bark when I pulled up; she knew the sound of our truck, and I could tell she’d been asleep. She yawned but followed me to retrieve my purse, then perked up when she saw I had a doggie bag.

“It’s not for you, sweetie. You don’t like chicken curry, remember?”

She looked like she’d reconsider if I would just give her the to-go box. I flipped on a couple of lights and looked in on each horse. A few needed water, so I began to top off buckets, pulling down my hair as I went. I held the hairpins between my teeth and shook my head.
 

When I moved from one stall to the next, Noire growled the low menacing sound reserved for whatever she considered a true threat. We were not alone in the barn. I froze and listened, but someone was already behind me.

He grabbed me, one arm pinning my arms at my sides, the other over my mouth. The hose spun free, spraying us both with water, and I think I swallowed a hairpin.
 

He dragged me across the aisle and smashed me against the opposite wall. It knocked the wind out of me. I flailed with my hands, but couldn’t get a grip on anything.

“Nice show back there, Slick,” JJ hissed in my ear. “I want more of that.”

Noire barked and snarled at his shin, and I tried to stomp one of my sharp heels onto his instep, but he kept moving, pulling me toward an empty stall. Freaking pumps. Why couldn’t I be in jeans and boots? He kicked Noire in the ribs. She yelped and backed off for a second, then started in again.

“Call her off or I’ll kill her, you hear me?”

I tried to jab him with my elbows, but he held me tight as a vise.
 

He kicked Noire again. “Now.” He released my mouth.

“It’s okay baby,” I sputtered, spitting hairpins.

She latched onto JJ’s pants leg. He punted her away. She came back. She was a dumb and persistent Lab, and although I’d never seen her tested, I knew she wouldn’t give up while I was in danger. Unless she was dead.

“Let me put her in the tack room.” That wouldn’t shut her up, but it would keep her from tearing his leg off.

He lifted me off the floor, carried me to the tack-room door and opened it without loosening his grip.

“Come on, girl. Good girl.” My voice was tight with fear, and she looked from me to JJ, unsure. “Just let me grab her collar.”

He bent me over, let loose one of my arms. She started to snap at me, stopped herself. I forced her through the opening. JJ slammed the door, pinned my arm again and kept me in the awkward pose.
 

“Alone at last,” he said slowly. “Speaking of dogs, I like this position.” He humped his hips against.

Noire dug at the inside of the door, whimpered, barked. I tried to see where the nearest pitchfork was. Right where it as supposed to be—hanging with the rest of the utensils a few feet away. Might as well have been a mile.

JJ’s hot breath fanned my neck. He reeked of cigarettes and alcohol. “Hope you like this position. When I saw you on your knees with your panties around your ankles, I knew this was the first way we would do it.”

He thrust his fingers into my hair, grabbed a fistful. “Nice outfit. I liked watching you take your hair down.”

He carried me to a stall, slid the door open. My heart pounded in my chest, in my throat. I couldn’t move, except for my legs, could barely breathe.
 

“No!” I forced out. I lifted from the waist and twisted, got one arm free, and bashed the back of my fist into his face.
 

“Bitch!” He dropped me, but only for a moment. Like a python, he struck out and caught the front of my dress, hauling me to my feet. Blood trickled from his nose.
 

“I warned you,” he said. “You should’ve taken me up on my offer of a change of scene.” His open palm sent me reeling to the back of the stall. I landed face down, ears wringing, out of breath again.

“That’s where you belong.”

I got my hands under me, then my legs up, started to turn over, but he pounced, braced his forearm across my neck, and forced me down with his chest. He shoved my dress up. His dirty fingers found my waistband, jerked. I thrashed, but he was bigger and stronger.
 

“Knock it off, Slick, or this will hurt even more.”

He leaned into the arm across my neck, mashing my face almost to the cold floor. I tried to yell, for all the good it would do me. Maybe Malcolm would hear. I flung straw, rocked back and forth, tried to dislodge him.
 

“No,” I said again. “No, no, no.”

With his weight on my back, and my mouth crunched into the ground, I couldn’t breathe, let alone scream. He laughed, the bastard, shifting into position. The bitter realization he’d done this before thumped through me. I was not going to escape. There was a roaring in my ears I was grateful for. I wouldn’t hear the satisfied grunts he was sure to make.

Then he lifted off me, slammed into the wall, and slid to the floor, limp as a dust rag. I scrambled around and swung blindly, hitting only air. Someone else’s hands banged JJ’s head against the wall, yanked him to his feet, punched him in the gut, and threw him on the floor. I pushed to my feet and collided with Malcolm. He stood over JJ in a half crouch, hands balled into tight fists, but JJ wasn’t moving. He was breathing, but he was out.

- 20 -

I slumped to the floor and pushed a shaking hand against my lips. Then, I was in Malcolm’s arms, and he carried me into the tack room. Noire frantically checked me over, sniffed at him, and ran to JJ’s prone form.

Malcolm hesitated at the love seat, as if he might set me down, but I clung to him with all I had, so he took me to the phone, keeping a protective arm around me
 

He dialed 911, explained what he needed, and gave the address. Noire barked. He pushed me behind him, tucking my fingertips into his back pocket, but I was frozen, couldn’t force my legs to do more, and I couldn’t make myself go anywhere near JJ. Malcolm circled my waist with one arm and picked up a shotgun with the other. We moved across the floor without a sound.

JJ was up on all fours, his head hanging down, with Noire barking at him like he was a loose cow.

“Don’t even think about it,” Malcolm said in a voice that reminded me of that low growl Noire made when she noticed JJ sneaking up on me.

Malcolm racked a shell into the chamber one-handed and shouldered the weapon. I snapped my fingers near my thigh, and for once, the dog heeled.
 

JJ collapsed into the straw, holding his head, groaning. Malcolm kept the gun on him; I closed my eyes, tried to control the shaking, and stayed glued to his side. Noire sat next to me.

The roar I’d heard, the one I thought came from inside me, had been Malcolm. He’d reached that boiling point Dex One mentioned.

Two sheriff’s cars rolled in—no flashing lights or sirens—just as Malcolm requested. No need to rouse the entire county. That was good. I didn’t need anyone’s prying eyes or well-meant sympathy, not for this. I’d have to face them soon enough.

As soon as a deputy had JJ cuffed, Malcolm phoned Dex One. He asked him to come down and run interference in case any of the curious souls who heard dispatch on their scanners decided to see for themselves what was going on.

I remained in the protective corral of Malcolm’s arm, unwilling to leave his warmth. But I couldn’t stop shaking. “He lives that close?” I asked. This felt like safe conversation. The other deputy would be in soon to question me. I wanted to put that off as long as possible. And I wanted it over with.

“Close enough. He was already on his way.”

He was still on high alert, the tang of testosterone and adrenaline lifting off his skin like mist off a pond. The fury that brought with it a certain tunnel vision hadn’t left his eyes, nor had his muscles began to uncoil. I knew exactly what he felt, except I’d already bypassed that stage for jelly-kneed weakness.

A few moments later, I knew he’d begun to come down, because he took a shuddering breath, turned me into him, and grasped my shoulders.

“Jesus effing Christ, Vi. Are you all right?”

His voice had a tremor in it. The reality of what had almost happened surfaced, bringing a redoubled bout of shivering that seized my whole body. Malcolm snatched the wool throw from the chair and put it around my shoulders. My legs gave out. I dropped to the loveseat and gave a small nod.

“What in God’s name are you doing in the barn in the middle of the night dressed like that?”

I narrowed my eyes at him. There was just enough anger and accusation in his tone to get the adrenaline pumping in my system again.

“I didn’t…” He scrubbed his hands through his hair. “I don’t mean that the way it sounds.” He sat next to me and drew his hand down his face. By the look of him, he hadn’t shaved in a couple days. “Are you all right?” he asked again, his voice steadier. “Did he…hurt you?”

His real concern went unsaid.
 

“He shoved me around,” I said, “you got here before he could do what he intended.” Guess neither of us could voice it. “What are you doing down here at this time of night?”

The deputies came in, so neither of us got our question answered.

- 21 -

When the door closed behind the deputy, I rested my elbows on my knees and put my face in my hands. I thought I would cry, but my mind had closed in on itself, shut down to the essentials. The rest of me followed suit. I felt compressed, as if I’d managed to shrink. As if that would help.

“I was checking the horses before going to bed. There’s no law against wearing a dress in a barn. I went to the symphony with Dex Two.”
 

He touched my back. I flinched. Couldn’t help it.

“I know,” he said.
 

I lifted my head to look at him, rustling up a thimbleful of indignation out of long habit. “You said what I do in my off time is none of your business.”

“I did say that. Dex Two called me. He wanted me to know you would be with him, so I wouldn’t worry. He let me know you were on your way home, too.” He scrubbed his face again. “I was waiting up for you.”

I felt a subtle stirring inside me.
 

He would have worried
? I tried to see what loitered beneath his cool exterior. All traces of the avenging angel from an hour before had vanished, but layers of concern still smoldered behind his eyes.
 

The release of tears washed near then drifted out of reach, like waves going out with the tide. For once, I wished for them, knew my body and soul needed them. But I wasn’t an actress. I couldn’t cry on demand.

“Do you want to get some things from upstairs and come to the house for the rest of the night? I have a guest room. Or I can call Hank and Clara.”

I wanted to be alone, knew I shouldn’t. And I couldn’t stay upstairs, either. “If you really don’t mind,” I said. “We shouldn’t bother them.”

A very slight nod. “Want me to go with you?”

The stiffness of his movements and tone of voice told me he’d scarcely bottled his anger and was concentrating on handling me with care. The effort had him stretched taut.
 

“I can manage.”

I got to my stocking feet—my shoes were tangled in that stall somewhere, and I didn’t know when I would retrieve them. Noire trailed me to the landing where we both stopped.
 

“Malcolm?” No sound came past my throat. I cleared it, tried again. “I think you should come up here.”

My apartment had been trashed, and in that instant, it registered that things were out of place downstairs as well. If it were possible, I closed in on myself a little more. The space I’d begun to think of as my own had been invaded. I didn’t like to think by whom. But at my core, I knew.

Malcolm joined me, took in the mess with a sweeping gaze, and swore with depth and richness. Noire went in, started sniffing things.

“Was he looking for something, you think?” I asked.

“Could be. He used to stay here once in a while, but it’s been years.”

“You let…” I couldn’t even say his name. “He used to…” The thought that I’d been sleeping in the same bed he had…made me want to puke.
 

“Oh, God, the kittens.”
 

I rushed to the bedroom. Every drawer had been dumped, the bed stripped, and one closet door hung off its hinge. I was pretty sure I was coming unhinged myself. Henrietta and her kittens were nowhere to be seen. I could only hope she’d taken them somewhere safe.

I sat on the edge of the bed. Malcolm came in.

“Can you tell if anything is missing?”
 

I shook my head. “Most of the stuff here is yours, anyway. I just brought my clothes and some books.”

“Did you take down that photo by the bookcase?”

I knew the one he meant. It was an aerial shot of Winterlight, though why that should matter at this moment was beyond me. “No. Why, is it gone?”

He nodded. “Here,” he handed me a plastic grocery bag. “Get what you need, but try not to disturb too much. I’ll call the sheriff in the morning.”