Candace Carrabus - Dreamhorse 01 - On the Buckle (24 page)

He looked at me then, and didn’t smile, exactly, but there was a sparkle of challenge in his eyes. “Define
normal
.”

“Anything other than what I have with my parents would qualify.”

He closed his menu. “Don’t be so sure.”

The waitress swung by and took our order. I decided to drop the subject. Maybe I could get something useful out of Hank and Clara.

“Are we going to see Grandpa today?” Nicky asked.

Malcolm took her hand and kissed it. “Not today, Pumpkin. Your mom will be by later so you can go back to Chicago.”

“I want to stay here.”

“I want you to stay too, but summer vacation starts in a few weeks. Then, we’ll be together so much, you’ll be sick of me.”

“Oh, Daddy, I could never be sick of you.” She circled his neck with her arms, pulled him toward her, and kissed him.

I looked away, thinking a trip to the restroom was in order, and that’s when I spotted JJ.

- 25 -

I know the color fled my face, because I’m sure all the blood drained from my body at that point. It hadn’t occurred to me I might see him again, let alone so soon, but I should have prepared myself. As it was, I felt something I’d never felt before. Frozen. Not angry or scared, just witlessly rooted to the spot. Malcolm took one look at me, extricated himself from Nicky’s embrace, and followed my stare over his shoulder.

Either JJ didn’t see us or he was ignoring us. He went to the register, paid, and didn’t look our way. I darted a glance at Nicky. She’d gone back to her drawing. My wits began to return, and with them, an overwhelming urge to hide.

“I’ll take Nicky to wash up,” I said.
 

I thought I was dealing with it, but I’d only been ignoring it. I’d been attacked. The man who did it was in the same room with me. I was afraid. Malcolm’s hand came down on mine before I could get out of my chair.

“Stay,” he said. “No matter what happens.”
 

He held my gaze with his, willing me to feel protected. I’d never depended on someone else and wasn’t sure I could start now. Running away was a much better solution. But I left my hand in his grip, kept my eyes on his, and took a deep breath. I’d rather be galloping downhill toward a bottomless ditch on a scared horse, but I remained still. I thought of how I would steady that animal, what I would do to convince her she was brave and powerful, that she could handle it. I pretended to be her. I let Malcolm’s strength pervade my senses, and tried to believe that whatever happened, it would be okay.

He drank his coffee. I drank my coffee. Nicky colored. JJ saw us just before he slipped out the door. He paused to allow a couple to enter, and appeared to consider his next move. The background hubbub of people talking and dishes clattering receded to a fizz of white noise. He had a band-aid over the bridge of his nose and a black eye. I hoped it was from my punch. I hoped it hurt like hell. He looked me right in the face, then locked his gaze on the back of Malcolm’s head. If JJ had a gun, Malcolm would be in the crosshairs. An easy shot. No more than twenty feet separated us.

Malcolm studied my face, and I’m sure he could tell exactly what was going on. I’ve never been a good poker player.

“Look at me,” he whispered in that warm tone that usually made me go all soft and moist. When I didn’t respond, he squeezed my forearm. “Vi.”

I blinked and looked at him. The waitress brought our food. He kept hold of me, his thumb lightly rubbing the underside of my wrist, looking for all the world like a man with no more on his mind than enjoying breakfast.
 

JJ started toward us.
 

“He’s coming over,” I whispered. I took a long drink of water.

“He’s not important,” Malcolm said for my ears alone. “He’s a scum-sucking pig who doesn’t deserve to live.”

I gagged on my water and almost spit it across at him.

A feral smile touched the corners of Malcolm’s mouth. JJ stopped at the edge of our table. Neither of us looked up, but Nicky did, and I wished she wasn’t there. I tried to draw her attention by rattling the ice in my water glass.

“Ain’t this a pretty picture,” JJ said.

“It was, until you showed up,” Malcolm said.
 

“Yeah, well, I’m gonna get what’s mine, Mac, and soon.”

“You have what’s yours, JJ, and then some.” Malcolm ran the index finger of his free hand down the handle of his fork, then along the knife’s edge. His eyes had hardened to the same shade of cold silver as the utensils. “If you know what’s good for you, you will go far away, and you will stay there.”

My eyes strayed to JJ’s belt buckle, then wandered up to his face. It had turned an unflattering shade of dark red.
 

“Or, what?” he asked on a derisive snort.

“You’ve gotten off easy so far. That’ll change.”

JJ leaned close. He smelled of engine oil.

“Don’t get in my way, Mac. I’ve had everything that’s yours already, one way or another.” He raised his hand toward me. “This one—”

Malcolm rocketed out of his seat. I flinched and clamped my hand on his arm before a piece of cutlery became embedded in JJ’s chest.

Nicky yelped, “Daddy!”

People at nearby tables stopped eating to stare.

Malcolm stood nose-to-nose with JJ. “Your time is coming,” he hissed, “but lucky for you, this isn’t it. Get out.”

I tugged on Malcolm, and he eased back into his seat. A war of words was one thing, but they were close to blows. And I’m pretty sure my hair was literally standing on end.

“This ain’t over,” JJ said, and he walked away.

“No,” Malcolm said to JJ’s receding form, “no it isn’t.”

He kept his eyes on JJ until his dilapidated truck pulled onto the highway. In the set of Malcolm’s jaw and coldness of his gaze, I could see that long-buried antipathy had risen to churn just below the surface. And I could almost read his mind. JJ was a dead man walking. A feeling like icy fingers walking up my spine gave me a shiver. What the hell had I gotten myself into?

Malcolm turned his attention to us, composed and unruffled. I felt like I’d been through the spin cycle a couple of times.
 

“Daddy, why are you having an argument with JJ?”

“We’re not having an argument, sweetie.”

She gave him a look. She knew an argument when she heard one.

“Maybe a little disagreement,” he said. “Grownups have them.”

She mulled that over, and then asked, “Like you and Mommy?”

Holy shit. Maybe now I could hit the bathroom?

He took a deep breath before answering. “Yes. Like me and Mommy.” He laid his arm on the table. “You poked me,” he said to me. A row of four crescents showed where I’d dug my nails into his flesh. “Look at that.” He showed his arm to Nicky.
 

Nicky giggled. “Vi, why did you poke Daddy?”

“He needed a good poke.” I forced myself to smile at her. “Everyone does once in a while.”

“I’ll give you a poke,” Malcolm said to me with a wink.

I widened my eyes in mock horror and took a bite of salad thinking I should have ordered waffles with extra whipped cream. Surely I could get a side order.
 

How did he set the anger away? Where could I get a side order of that level of emotional restraint?

“By the way,” I said, “you should have said hog.”

“I beg your pardon?”

“When you called him a scum-sucking pig. Technically, he’s a hog.”

He leaned back from the table. “By God, you’re right.”

“Yes,” Nicky said in a very good impersonation of her father, “and they’re all swine.”

- 26 -

Back at the ranch, Malcolm removed and cleaned my truck’s battery, and hooked it to a charger. He said he didn’t have a great deal of hope for it.

“You think I need a new one?”
 

I hated to spend the money, but he’d paid me the day before, so I could afford it. He’d overpaid me, actually. Said to consider it a signing bonus. The problem was, as Dex One had pointed out, I hadn’t opened a local checking account yet. I could do that after the morning chores, but I didn’t have anything to drive.

“Tomorrow, I have to go to a client site in the city. I’ll be there most of the day, but I can pick one up for you on my way home.”

“That’ll work.” It would have to. But I didn’t like the idea of being alone at the farm without a vehicle.

“Just in case, take these.” He gave me the keys to the SUV. “I can use the Jag.” He dusted off his hands. “I’m going to help Nicky with Mike.”

We walked into the barn together.

“You know how to use a shotgun?” he asked.

I stopped. I hated guns. I’d never held one and had no interest in learning how to shoot one.

“No.”

“There’s nothing to it—”

“No.” I walked away.

He caught up with me. “Vi, this is no time to be stubborn.”

My stomach began to knot. “It’s not open for discussion. I said no. I mean
no
.”

“Why not?”

Hadn’t I just said it wasn’t open for discussion? The funny thing was, I didn’t have a reason. I didn’t know anyone who had been killed with a gun. I’d never been shot. Maybe it was irrational. I didn’t like them.
 

“They’re…loud.” I went into the tack room and shut the door. He didn’t pursue it.

A few minutes later, Nicky came in. She’d changed from her church clothes into the jods and boots from the day before. I assumed she wanted Mike’s tack, but she didn’t go to the bridles or saddles. She didn’t appear to have any purpose.

“Going riding?” I asked.

She shrugged.

“Don’t forget your helmet,” I said.

She frowned. I looked into the barn. Mike was on crossties, but Malcolm wasn’t there.

“Did you already brush him?”

“A little.”

“Pick out his feet?”

“I forgot that.”

“Do you need help?”

She hesitated, then flopped into the chair. I sighed. After the scene at The Brick, I didn’t have the energy to play a guessing game with an eight-year-old.
 

“Mommy says I have to.”

Crap. Here we go. I gritted my teeth. “Have to what?”

“Ride.”

“Don’t you like to ride?”

Another shrug.
 

I’d dealt with kids before who had been “gifted” with the expensive pony and thousands of dollars worth of tack, riding clothes, and all the other paraphernalia that goes with competing in horse shows. As often as not, it was the parents’ show, and their approach usually ran along the lines of ‘I spent all this money on you, now you damn well better ride, and you damn well better win.’
 

Then they’d traipse down to the country club to brag about their kids’ blue ribbons. The kids had little or no interest, or they just wanted to bang around the trails, not practice posting without stirrups for hours on end.

I couldn’t be sure where Malcolm weighed in on this subject, and I didn’t mean to be subversive, but I couldn’t help myself.

“How will your mother know whether or not you’ve ridden?”

She looked at me. Clearly, this possibility had never occurred to her. I decided not to encourage her one way or the other. But if she took matters into her own hands, well…

“Have you ever ridden bareback?”

She shook her head and did not appear intrigued.

“Do you want to see some kittens?”

“Yes!”

Bingo. I led her upstairs.
 

After half an hour of playing with the kittens, during which time she named them Snowball, Night, Tiger, and Tigress, I asked, “What do you say we put Mike away, and you help me change Cali’s bandages?”

“Okay.”

I made a quick stop in the kitchen. “First, a little snack,” I said. “You like whipped cream?”

“Sure.”

She followed me. I brandished two cans. “Plain or chocolate?”

“Chocolate? Okay. No, plain. No, chocolate. No, wait.”

“You must make up your mind,” I sang and waved the cans in circles, then made a show of squirting some plain into my mouth.
 

“Oh, me, me, me!” She opened her mouth.

I gave her a squirt. She started to laugh.

“No laughing. You’ll choke.”

Malcolm’s voice reached us from downstairs. “Nicky?”

Nicky snorted whipped cream out her nose. I was laughing so hard, I had to sit on the floor.

Malcolm bellowed, “Nicky!” This time, with a note of worry.

“We’re up here,” I yelled.

A few moments of silence followed, punctuated by our coughing attempts to stop laughing.

“Can I come up?”

Nicky and I looked at each other. We each took another hit, but she couldn’t control herself. She giggled most of it down her chin.