Dark Paradise (20 page)

Marilee blushed a little. She had almost gotten used to the idea of Mr.

Peanut, but when she thought about it, it seemed too bizarre to share.

"You don't want to know. Trust me."

J.D. let it go as unimportant. "You know how to ride?"

He led the way into the dim interior of the barn. The thin scent of dust

and the sweet aroma of hay filled her head. Beneath it lay the earthy

undertone of animals and their droppings, not exactly perfume, but real

and natural. J.D. lifted a lid on a grain bin and scooped mixed feed

into a coffee can. Marilee dug a hand into the grain and sifted it

through her fingers, fascinated by the strange shapes and textures. She

could identify the kernels of corn and the slivers of oats, but the rest

were a mystery. "Yes, I can ride," she answered absently. "My mother

thought it sounded impressive to tell people I was taking riding

lessons. Until I expressed an interest in learning to ride circus horses

standing up on their backs. Really, I mainly wanted to wear a glittery

leotard, but she wouldn't go for that either."

"Gee, you poor kid," J.D. drawled sarcastically.

Marilee gave him a sharp look. "Dreams don't have to be practical. It

still hurts when they get broken."

Brushing the grain from her palm, she took the coffee can as he handed

it to her. He moved to the next bin, lifted the lid, and started dumping

brown pellets into several mismatched buckets that stood on the concrete

floor.

When the buckets were full, he scooped them up and led the way out a

side door.

"Here's your ride, if you're of a mind to," J.D. said, feeling small for

sneering at her childhood fantasy. "Get yourself a sparkle suit and

knock yourself out."

Marilee stopped dead and stared at the creature in the grassy paddock.

"A mule?"

She wouldn't have been surprised at a sleek Thoroughbred or a handsome

quarter horse. Lucy loved anything beautiful and expensive. But a mule?

The animal pricked his long ears and ambled out of the shade of a

lean-to as Rafferty took the grain can and dumped it in a big black

rubber tub. Sturdy and slick with a glossy seal-brown coat, he was

handsome enough as mules went, she supposed. But the big head and long

ears were a lot to get past aesthetically.

"Some actress up Livingston-way bought one last summer. Now they're all

the rage," J.D. said dryly, rolling his eyes. He had been raised to see

animals as useful and necessary, not trendy. He looked the mule over

quickly and expertly, automatically checking for any signs of illness or

injury. "Tack is in the barn."

Marilee slipped between the bars of the fence and circled the mule

slowly. The creature kept his nose buried in his grain, but followed her

with his eyes. When she squatted down beside his dish, he raised his

head a few inches and stopped chewing, giving her a vaguely peeved look

out of the corner of his eye.

"Hey there, Clyde. How you doing?"

The mule gave a little snort, chewed some more, watched her. Marilee

smiled and held a hand out for him to sniff. Clyde reached over and

pretended to nip at her, then stuck his nose back in his feed.

"Clyde?" J.D. said skeptically. "Why Clyde?"

"Why not?
 
He strikes me as a Clyde. How does he strike you?"

"As a mule."

"What an imagination you have. Must be a real struggle to keep it from

running away with you."

They left Clyde to his grain and continued on through the small pasture

to another gate. Gathered in the feeding area were about twenty llamas.

The colors of their shaggy coats ranged from black to white, solid to

spotted. They stood expectantly around the feed tubs, their magnificent,

long-lashed brown eyes fixed on J.D. and Marilee.

"Here's your stock," J.D. said with no small amount of sarcasm.

"Llamas!
 
Cool!" She stood still and watched as a fuzzy white baby came

to nibble at her shirttail, her eyes wide with wonder. "Lucy never said

anything about llamas!"

"Yeah, well," J.D. grumbled. "She was just full of surprises, wasn't

she?"

He watched her as she got acquainted with the peculiar creatures, trying

not to be swayed by her obvious delight creatures. It would have been

better for him if she had run screaming in fright. He never liked a

person who didn't like animals. They almost always proved untrustworthy.

He didn't want to like Marilee. He couldn't associate it from Lucy's world

with any trust.

Marilee ignored him, her attention absorbed by the curious animals that

came to inspect her. They craned their long necks, sniffed and nibbled

and hummed softly.

Their gazes were sometimes direct, sometimes shy, always with a quality

of secret wisdom in their limpid brown depths.

She had never met a llama up close before. Now she wanted to know

everything about them at once - how soft their woolly coats were, what

they were saying when they hummed at one another, what they ate, what

they thought about. The peanut tin curled protectively in one arm, she

touched them and stroked them and let one rub his soft upper lip against

her palm. She chatted with them as if they were people, introducing

herself, explaining her connection to Lucy.

One poked at the peanut tin with its small nose, and she laughed and

backed away, a little apprehensive as they followed her enmasse.

"Bring me up to speed, here, Rafferty," she said, making a face as a

black one tried to lick her cheek. The smell of them filled her nose

like the scent of damp wool sweaters left on a radiator to dry. "What

exactly do llamas do? I mean, they're not dangerous or anything, are they?"

J.D. snorted. They were next to worthless by his scale, a curiosity. Not

that that was their fault, he admitted as he absently scratched the back

of a black and white male.

"If they don't like you, they spit on you."

"Ah. Big, hairy, smelly things that spit. It's like junior high

revisited," Marilee said dryly, narrowing her gaze on the one that had

gotten a firm hold on her shirt cuff. "In fact, this one looks exactly

like the guy who sat behind me in science class. I'd recognize those

ears anywhere."

She leaned toward the llama as she gently extricated her sleeve from its

teeth. "You didn't happen to be called Butt Breath in a past life, did

you?"

The llama drew its head back and regarded her with what looked like

offense. Marilee arched a brow.

"What did Lucy do with them?" she asked as she watched J.D. pour their

feed pellets into various tubs.

The llamas abandoned her for their supper. They took dainty mouthfuls

and chewed delicately, following her and J.D. with their eyes.

"Made money, I expect," J.D. said, his mouth twisting as if at a sour

taste. "I can grow a steer that'll feed a family of four for a year and

get next to nothing for it. Grow a llama - which is good for exactly

nothing - and the whole damn world beats a path to your door."

Marilee gave him a look as they slipped back out the gate. "Not

everything has to be edible to be worthwhile."

He just grunted and headed back toward the barn, his long, powerful legs

absorbing the distance so that she had to almost jog to keep up to him.

"This is all a little overwhelming," she said, scooping her hair back

behind her ear. "I just can't picture the Lucy I knew toting feed and

shoveling shit."

"She didn't. She had a hired hand."

That news stopped Marilee in her tracks. The ranch, the llamas, a hired

hand, the Lifestyles of the Rich and Famous friends. Christ, just how

much had Lucy inherited in the windfall that let her move here? This all

had to have cost a fortune. Check the bank balance, heiress.

"Who?
 
Where is he now?"

Rafferty's broad shoulders rose and fell. "Just some hand. They drift

around, pick up work here and there. I imagine he took off after the

accident. Guess he figured a dead woman wouldn't pay him."

The news he delivered so matter-of-factly rested uneasily on Marilee.

Lucy had been shot. Her hired hand took off immediately afterward. She

caught hold of J.D.'s arm as he reached for the barn door. "Did the

sheriff ever question this guy?"

"There wasn't any call for it. The dentist or whatever the hell he was

fessed up."

"But he claimed he never saw Lucy."

"Idiot shoots a woman instead of an elk. Doesn't surprise me he claims

he didn't see her."

He opened the door for her and closed it behind him.

Feed buckets rattled as he set them down.

"What about your uncle?" Marilee asked, following him as he dumped dry

cat food into half a dozen dishes and felines of all descriptions came

running from every nook and cranny of the barn. "The one who found her

body. Did he see anything?"

He turned around abruptly, suddenly much too close and much too large.

He loomed over her, his features set in angry, uncompromising lines that

were exaggerated by the shadows of the gloomy barn. "I told you last

night to steer clear of him," he said, his voice a low growl. He poked

her sharply in the sternum with a forefinger, making her blink. "I meant

it."

"Why?" Marilee asked, amazed she'd found the nerve."What has he got to

hide?
 
If he didn't do it-"

"He didn't do it," J.D. snarled through his teeth. Leave him alone.

He's been through enough."

Marilee swallowed hard as he stepped around her and stalked out of the

barn. She rubbed at the sore spot on her breasthone, dimly aware that

her heart was knocking hard behind it. A dozen questions rushed through

her mind about the mysterious Del Rafferty, about the hired man who had

conveniently slipped away. She bit them all back. Rafferty's temper was

at the end of its leash, straining for an excuse to rip into her. She

really didn't feel up to giving him one.

The sun was disappearing behind the mountains to the west, casting the

ranch yard into long shadows and tall silhouettes. J.D. stood beside his

horse, snugging up the cinch, preparing to leave. Thoughts of drifters

and faceless men with guns slid into Marilee's mind like dark, oily

serpents. The eerie sense of abandonment the place had given her that

first night began creeping in with the shadows.

"Rafferty, wait!" she called, trotting away from the barn.

He swung into the saddle and settled himself, resting his hands on the

saddle horn, waiting.

"Look," she said, laying her free hand against the sorrel's warm neck.

"I don't know anything about llamas except that they seem very . . .

spiritual. I don't know what I'm going to do with this place or with

them. This has all happened so fast, I'm not so sure it's even real."

He didn't say a word, just sat up there, staring down at her from

beneath the brim of his hat.

"What I'm saying is, I need some help."

What she wasn't saying was that she wanted him to answer her questions.

She needed answers. She needed to achieve some kind of closure

concerning Lucy's sudden departure from the present tense. What she

wasn't saying even to herself was that the idea of seeing him again held

a certain attraction. Ornery, obstinate jerk that he was, he wasn't hard

to look at. And those small chinks in his armor intrigued her - his

affection for animals and his reluctance to let her see it, the gentle

way he had held her while she cried. Besides that, he was a link to

Lucy, she reminded herself.

"If you wouldn't mind," she stumbled on, uncertain of the local

etiquette, wishing he would simply pick up the ragged threads of the

conversation and finish the thought himself, as anyone in her past life