Dead of Night (8 page)

“They're yours.” When I stared at him, he added, “As you're so fond of reminding us, you're the only girl in the family.”

I didn't know what to say. “Why are you giving them to me now?”

“They'll look pretty on the blouses you wear to work.” He came over and kissed the top of my head. “Go to bed now and get some sleep.”

I carried the jewelry case upstairs, and then sat looking through the pins for a few minutes. I always wore the only jewelry I owned, a silver St. Christopher's medal that had belonged to my dad. I'd been forced to give back to Jesse the ring he'd given me on Halloween night, although he'd told me he would only keep it until I turned eighteen, when Trick would no longer be my legal guardian.

Sometimes I thought about the future, hazy as it was. Someday I would leave Lost Lake with Jesse, and find another place for us, far way from our families. In some of those dreams we got married and had children, just as my parents had. In others I convinced Jesse to change me to be like him and his parents, so we could be together forever.

Now, looking at Mom's pretty pins, I realized how difficult it was going to be when that day came. Despite all they'd done to me, I loved my brothers. Jesse felt the same about his parents.

I knew our families had their reasons for their mutual hatred—while trying to protect Trick, my mother had once tried to kill Sarah Raven—but Jesse and I had never been a part of that. We might have been born to be enemies, but when we met all we had known about each other was that we both loved to ride at night. We'd fallen in love just like any normal boy and girl. If anything, our natural feelings proved that the Youngbloods and the Ravens didn't have to be enemies.

Mom and Dad would understand
, I thought as I put my mother's pins back in the jewelry case.
But they're gone, and no one cares what Jesse and I want.

I took off my St. Christopher's medal and added it to the case before I took it over to my dresser. When I opened the bottom drawer, I saw the shorts I kept there were no longer as neatly folded as I'd left them. I straightened and looked around my room, and realized everything was a little out of place. My brothers had searched my room again while I was at work.

We can't make any more mistakes, Gray.

The sound the drawer made as I slammed it shut echoed in my heart.

Eight

M
y new job did have one positive effect on me; as angry and disgusted as I'd been after discovering my brothers had again searched my room, as soon as I got into bed and my head hit my pillow I fell asleep.

I knew I was dreaming when I opened my eyes and found myself alone in the tunnel under the bookstore. Water dripped in slow motion as I followed the passage to Jesse's room, but when I stepped inside everything was gone.

“Jesse?”

I heard a rattling sound, and saw the knob on the padlocked door turning, first one way and then the other. As I started walking toward it, the room began to stretch as if it were made of rubber. The knob began to shake, and something banged on the other side of the door, first slow and then faster and harder, until the sound made me cover my ears, and then something soft hit me in the face.

I grabbed the pillow, yelping as I pulled it away from my head and sat up.

“About time.” Gray was standing next to my bed. “Come on, you've had eight hours. Get up.”

I glanced at my clock radio, which read 8:14 a.m. “Good morning to you, too,” I said as I rolled over and showed him my back. “Now go away.”

“Having a job doesn't mean you can sleep through your morning chores,” Gray informed me.

“No, God forbid I not get the laundry done before noon.” I dragged myself out of bed and pulled on my robe.

“Use some bleach this time; my socks are starting to look dingy.” He then ducked to avoid the pillow I threw at his head. “Girls can't throw worth a—
ow
.
” He rubbed the spot on his shoulder where the boot I threw after the pillow thumped him.

“What was that about girls?” I asked as I went around him and headed for the bathroom.

After I showered and dressed I went downstairs to find Gray setting the table for two. “Where's Trick?”

“He had to go pick up some stuff at the hardware store.” He thumped a bowl down in front of me. “Hot or cold cereal?”

Trick must have told him to make breakfast for me, I thought, and grinned as I deliberately lounged in my chair. “Oh, I don't know.” I knew how much Gray hated to cook. “I'm more in the mood for French toast, bacon and some fresh-squeezed orange juice.”

“How about I make you toasted raisin bread, maple-raisin oatmeal, and a big glass of prune juice?” he countered.

I shuddered. There was nothing on earth I despised as much as raisins—except maybe prunes. “Cold cereal. Hold the mummified grapes.”

Gray might have been allergic to the stove, but he sliced up a banana for my cornflakes and didn't hog all the milk. I did my part by clearing and washing up after we finished. I expected Gray to tromp out to the barn, but he sat and pretended to read the paper. He did the same thing whenever he needed to talk but didn't know how to dive into the conversation.

“Those stalls aren't going to muck out themselves,” I told him as I put the last glass in the rack to dry and came over to take the paper from him. “So what's on your mind?”

“Nothing.” He hunched his shoulders. “Okay, there's a guy who has a strawberry farm a few miles down the road. He's looking for some hands to help get the fields ready for planting.”

“I already have a job.” Then I got it. “But you don't, and now you want one. Is this a sibling rivalry thing?”

“Trick has spent a lot of money buying new stock and getting the farm back in shape,” he said. “With the vet bills, the extra feed, all the stuff we've done to the barn, there can't be much left.”

I hadn't thought things were that bad, but our big brother never talked about our financial situation. “He's going to sell Rika after she foals.”

He shook his head. “Not as wild as she is. You know Trick. He doesn't want to pass the problem on to someone else. He won't touch our college accounts, either.”

“If we run out of money, then he'll have to. Or he'll just go get a full-time job,” I said, and then saw Gray's expression. “You think he's already looking for one.”

“I know he is. This is the fourth time he's gone to the hardware store this week, and he's been taking the paper with him.” He opened the paper to the classified section. “This morning he forgot it.”

I saw several listings circled with a pencil; all of the ads were for different office positions. “Okay, so we should talk to him about this when he gets back.”

“You know how he is,” Gray said. “He won't admit we're going broke, but he's worrying himself sick. His insomnia has gotten so bad he went to the doctor and got sleeping pills.”

“No way,” I said. “Trick hates taking pills.”

“Go look in his bathroom,” Gray said. “The bottle is on the top shelf of his medicine cabinet.” He heaved a sigh. “I thought if I got a job first, he'd feel better about letting us help. Or maybe we could just pay some bills and stuff.”

“We don't have the checking account, he does,” I reminded him. “I think if we start buying groceries out of the blue, he'll figure out that we know he's having money trouble.”

“Then what do we do?” he asked. “Nothing?”

“No.” I didn't have any immediate answers, though. “Let me think about it.” I glanced at the wall clock. “It's getting late. I'll come out and help you with the horses.”

Between the two of us we got the horses fed and turned out half of them so we could clean their stalls. I went outside to fetch the barrow we used to haul the soiled bedding and saw a rider coming up the road toward our property.

Some of the local trainers would take their students out on trails around our farm, but this girl was riding alone. Her mount, a pretty golden buckskin mare with black stockings and a glossy dark mane and tail, wore an English saddle, and trotted like they were circling an arena.

She looked so small atop the mare that I thought at first she might be a lost kid, but when she dismounted and led her mount through our gate she showed no hesitancy.

“Where's the barrow?” Gray asked as he came out, and then noticed our visitor, who had led her horse up the drive and was coming across the lawn toward us. “Who's that?”

“I don't know.” I walked out to meet the girl, who was barely five feet tall, and had short curly black hair and pretty brown eyes. “Hi. Can I help you?”

“That's my line,” she said, her crisp voice adding a little snap to the words. “I'm Mena. My dad sent me over.” When I frowned, she added, “Dr. Marks is your equine vet, right?”

“Yes, he is.” She definitely wasn't twelve, but she couldn't be much older than me. “Do you work at the clinic?”

“When he drags me in on Saturdays, or any other day one of the techs calls in sick.” She led the buckskin over to a post. “Mostly I'm too busy training.”

I still wasn't clear on why Dr. Marks had sent her to the farm. “Did he give you something to deliver?”

“He didn't call, did he?” She shook her head. “He's so busy in the spring that he forgets. I show horses, and I've worked with some Arabians, so he wanted me to take a look at your mare.” She glanced over my shoulder. “Who's the professional wrestler?”

“That's my brother Grayson.” I took her over to introduce them, and watched them size up each other.

“I don't know,” Gray said. “You're pretty tiny to be handling Rika.”

I stared at him. “Gray.”

Mena seemed amused. “I'm stronger than I look, big guy.” She cuffed his shoulder before she headed into the barn. “So where's her stall?”

My brother and I went in and took her down to the end stall, where Rika immediately stuck her head out and laid her ears back as she whinnied a warning.

“Talkative little brat, aren't you?” Mena circled around her, keeping out of nipping range. “Have you got her to tie quiet?”

“Not all the time,” I admitted. “She's going to foal soon, and we didn't want to stress her out by working her too hard.”

The girl nodded, still studying the mare. “So you're a
pregnant
talkative little brat.” She reached for the door latch.

Gray beat her to it. “Not a good idea, kid.”

“Really. How many Arabians have you trained?” Mena asked sweetly. “Any at all?”

Gray scowled. “She kicks.”

“I can dodge.” She pulled open the stall door and went inside.

Rika backed up until her hindquarters hit the wall, and then she tossed her head and reared.

“Hey, now, none of that.” Mena grabbed her halter and brought her head down so they were eye-to-eye. “You may be bigger, but I'm a brat, and I know all your tricks.” My brother and I watched as the girl ran her hands over the mare, feeling the muscles in her shoulders, legs and neck. Rika only shied a little when Mena checked her ears, but the girl ignored her.

“She's in decent condition.” She pulled on a pair of thin leather gloves before she pushed back Rika's lips and nudged her teeth apart.

Seeing that small gloved hand reach into Rika's mouth made me cringe. “Mena, maybe you shouldn't … “ I stopped as Rika responded by licking the girl's fingers. “Holy cow. She likes you.”

“It's my size. They think I'm a snotty little filly.” She patted Rika's shoulder before she came out of the stall. “I also have a secret weapon that no horse can resist.”

“Sure you do.” Gray smirked. “What is it? Horse hypnosis?”

“Molasses.” She tossed him a small plastic packet, which he caught reflexively. “I put a little on the fingertips of my glove.”

Mena went into the tack room, where she looked at everything, and then asked me to show her how we were mixing Rika's feed.

“That reminds me, Dad said you should increase her concentrate now.” She took out a little notepad and scribbled down some ratio numbers. “Have you checked where she's foraging?”

As I told Mena about our weeding routine, we walked out to the back pasture. She inspected one partially eaten hay bale before she studied the graze around it, and then climbed up on the fence and sat on the top railing to look at the side of the barn, where Gray was washing Flash.

I joined her. “So what do you think?”

“He needs some manners, and a haircut, but he's kind of cute.” She saw my expression. “Oh, you mean the mare, not your brother. Her sire and dam were probably show horses, and there may have been others in her herd, but my guess is she was never trained. Or she could have just been starting when the VBE happened.”

That was something I'd never heard of. “The VBE?”

“Very bad experience,” Mena said. “I think someone scared the crap out of your mare, and not just once. They did it so often that she may never stop trying to run away.”

Of course I'd heard of horses being ruined for life, but the thought of someone doing that to a mare as young and beautiful as Rika made my heart clench. “Maybe we can still gentle it out of her.”

“I thought the same thing about my first show horse,” Mena told me. Her expression turned wistful. “He was a dream to ride. Quick, smart, loved the arena. A real gentleman. Every time he took a fence I felt like we were floating over it.”

“He sounds like a great first horse.”

“He was.” Her smile slipped. “There was just one problem. Whenever my trainer led him to a gate, he'd freeze, dig in or try to rush it, like it was his first turn out after six months in the barn.”

“Gray's horse didn't like gates when we first got him,” I said. “And he still hates trailers.”

“My horse didn't just balk at gates. He seriously freaked out every single time he came within ten feet of one,” she told me. “Once he even bucked me off, and came close to trampling my trainer.”

I caught my breath. “That must have been awful.”

“My dad bought him from a breeder, so I thought it was me. My trainer drove herself nuts trying to work it out, too.” Mena sighed. “Finally my dad called the breeder, who told him how to handle it. He said to punish the horse every time he balked at a gate, and that would keep him in line. Then we knew. To that horse, gate equaled punishment. We worked with him for another year, but the behavior was too ingrained. I never showed him again.”

I understood what she was trying to tell me. “Do you think Rika's that far gone?”

Mena shrugged. “It's hard to say. Foaling might settle her down. Not even the best vet—or his darling perfect daughter—can fix everything, but we can try. Tell me what happened the last time she bolted.”

I described how Gray had put Flash in with Rika that morning, and how Rika had reacted by breaking down the pen and taking off. “When Sali and I found her, she was lathered and exhausted, but she still tried to get away from us.”

She nodded. “With frightened horses it's always run back to the herd first. Safety in numbers. She's so young she's probably still looking for her mother, too. Which
is good, because she might make your lead mare her
surrogate.”

I didn't know if I agreed. “She seems to hate all the other horses.”

“She doesn't know them,” Mena corrected. “I know you're worried about her temper, but the only way she can form bonds within the herd is to socialize with them. Start by turning her out with Sali and a couple of the other mares for an hour or two. Use one of your bigger pastures so they have room to run her around.”

I chuckled. “I don't think Rika needs any help with that.”

“The mares will keep her trotting. It's how they enforce the ranks. It's also good exercise for her, but don't leave her out too long. Once she accepts the females, then introduce the males one at a time, starting with the gentlest.” Mena jumped down from the fence.