Night Mares in the Hamptons (22 page)

He wasn't convinced, or finished. “What if we kill him trying to free him? Say we break the door down. Maybe he is some rare albino and we blind him or burn him with the sunlight. Worst case, what if he goes up in flames or a puff of smoke?”

I hadn't thought about that. “We'll bring blankets to wrap him in, and cover his eyes. We'll hold umbrellas over him. Or we could go in the dark.” Visions of my long ago experience at Bayview at night made me shudder. “And avoid the snakes.”

“The snakes are the least of our worries.”

That was easy for him to say. “They are less active in the nighttime, aren't they, especially when the nights are so cool?”

“Forget about the frigging snakes already. We can't go invade someone's property in the middle of the night. Even if it was legal—and I'm not saying I wouldn't take on that Snake person on principles alone—we could get shot. A moke like Sinese is bound to have a shotgun, and he'd be within his rights. Besides, we'd never have enough light to search everywhere on all those acres. I bet there are supply shacks and hay silos and a cabin for the stable master. We'll go in the daylight tomorrow. With a real estate agent and a lawyer if we need to, and we'll bring in some more help, to cover every inch of the place. Tomorrow, I promise.”

“Very well. You try to get more information from the mares tonight. I'll try to find more about the colt my own way, without your help. And I don't care if I miss seeing the sight of the century. I've seen a troll and that was enough.”

We'd arrived at my house before I could rant about how we were supposed to be partners, how he thought it took both of us working together. I got out of the car and slammed the door. “Be quiet when you come back. I'll be asleep.”

“I'll come kiss you good night.”

“Not if you don't want your nose broken again.”

My exit would have been more dignified and more impressive if I hadn't stepped in dog poop I forgot to pick up.

 

I understood what Ty was saying. I could see his logic. But I still felt the way I had when Grant was too busy to come help: deserted and betrayed.

I was on my own again. I never counted on Ty. I barely knew him, hardly knew what he was capable of, and distrusted half of that. Yet I'd felt the connection, the same as he had. I thought he wanted to have a relationship, not just a quick tumble. I know it was on short acquaintance and too soon after splitting with Grant. But I thought—I felt—there was something special between us.

I wasn't planning any long-term line dancing with the cowboy. Hell, he was like a gypsy, traveling from show to show in a horse van. He was worse than Grant as a permanent fixture. He'd never settle in Paumanok Harbor. Or New York City, away from his beloved horses. Me in Texas? Now that was laughable.

But there was definitely something between us. Maybe it was just sex that I'd been missing, but I didn't think so. Whatever it was, I'd lost it.

I didn't need a man in my bed, although I thought Ty just might be another once-in-a-lifetime lover.

I didn't need a man to support me. I did fine on my own. Maybe not enough to purchase Bayview Ranch or million-dollar ponies, but I had everything I needed.

I didn't need a man to agree with me all the time. Where was the fun in that?

What I needed, what I'd wanted, was for Ty to be my friend. I guess I was just disappointed. I'd expected too much, like finding a pretty feather and expecting the bluebird of happiness to sit on your shoulder. I wanted Ty to be there for me. He wasn't.

Doc wasn't. Uncle Henry wasn't. Even Susan wasn't. Grandma Eve never was. So I called my father.

And wished I'd eaten the whole profiterole.

According to Dad, my mother and a friend were off driving a truckload of greyhounds to a foster facility in Georgia. He was celebrating having his condo back to himself by having some of the “boys” in for pinochle. He couldn't talk long.

“Okay, Dad, but I need to know if you've been feeling anything new. I've got the alligator thing covered, and I won't be getting swallowed up anytime soon. I haven't figured out the cave or the banker yet.”

“You will, baby girl. I know you will. Should I serve beer or hard stuff?”

“Ask the company what they want. And don't let them drive home.”

“They all live in the complex. No need to move the cars.”

“Good. But Dad, are you sure you can't give me any tips on finding the missing horse?”

“I wish I could, Willy, but you know that's not how it works. I only sense what can hurt you or people I care about.”

“I'm not the one in danger.”

“No, but now that you mention it, maybe you ought to worry about the snow man.”

“A snowman in July?”

“You know I can't be more specific. I go with what I've got, vague as it is. Snow man.”

“Maybe you mean show man. Ty does trick riding exhibits. I already mistrust him. I know he's trying to snow me, if that's what you mean.”

“No, it's definitely a snow man, baby. Gotta go.”

Oh, God; it was the yeti! Dad's premonition was not for me, it was for Grant, climbing mountains to find the Abominable Snowman. I bet there were caves there, too. I couldn't figure where the banker came in, but Grant was definitely in danger.

Then again, the man thrived on danger. Any agent worth his badge knew Things lurked in caves: bears, bats, and dragons. So what was I going to warn him about? My father's foggy precognitions?

I called anyway and left a message. And sent a text message and an email. Maybe they had satellite service for the net. They would if a banker was along.

All I said in all of my messages was that my father saw danger in snow men and caves. Grant should be careful.

I didn't know how to sign off.

Love, Willy
? But not enough.

Yours?
Until this week.

TTYL? That was cold and uncaring. And impossible if he didn't have a cell connection.

Wish you were here?
No, I was going to do this myself. Grant would be like Ty, wanting to see the mares and trying to see if he could mindspeak with them.

Wish I was there?
Hell, no.

I left no sig line. He'd know who I was.

W
HILE I WAS ON-LINE, I checked my email. And my website, and my Amazon ratings. I thought about a new blog, but I couldn't talk about anything that was going on. I was too amped up for sleep. The sugar, the caffeine, the lust, the adrenaline, the fear, the lust. Life was complicated. I couldn't write about that either.

So I walked the dogs. I checked that Grandma Eve's house and fields as far as I could see were lit brightly enough for Monday night football. Susan's parents' house was a berserker's Christmas, with every color of the rainbow blinking, twinkling, and fluttering in the slight evening breeze. Only a faint glow reached my place, and the backyard was in near total darkness except for the lights I'd left on in the kitchen and my bedroom.

I decided I could get some of my real work done before Ty returned and made me shut off even my bedside reading lamp.

On paper, I reassured my book's heroine that someone was paying the ransom and she'd be free soon. The kidnapper said so. Suddenly the markers in my hand had the villain wearing dirty overalls. He needed a name, but I couldn't call him what I wanted to—that could be slander—so I paused to check the translator site on the Internet and looked up snow, for my father's presentiment.
Schnee
in German,
Neige
in French,
Nieve
in Spanish. Scheve sounded right, even if I was the only one to get the reference. Okay, Scheve, you bastard, here's a yellowish complexion and small, beady, slitted eyes.

While I was there, I blacked out a tooth, no, two teeth.

Uh-oh, that was a bad sign. Hetty could identify him. Now he'd have to kill her.

Quickly sketching, I told her help was coming. The silver horseshoe charm she wore around her neck held wizard magic. The flying horse she'd been wishing for was on the way. He'd trample the snake—oops, the kidnapper—before Scheve could throw poor Hetty off a cliff when he retrieved the ransom money. The horse was going to pick her up and fly away in the next chapter. She'd walk through fields of flowers and learn how to cure nerve damage.

I wasn't finished, but the story was coming along. I'd ask Letty if she minded my using her healing horse. On second thought, flying was enough magic without adding miracle cures. And my handicapped kid didn't need to walk through flowers. She and her white horse could fly around solving mysteries, fighting crime, punishing evildoers. I liked that better. Hetty was strong in herself, rising above adversity. A role model had to have more steel in her backbone—her damaged spine—than a charm and a charmed horse could lend her. She'll eventually find out her stepfather'd put counterfeit money in the ransom bag. I never liked him anyway. I did like a sequel. Justice for all.

Finally, I thought I could sleep. I performed my evening rituals. Brushed my hair, brushed Little Red. Washed, put on the one sexy nightie I owned, from when Grant was in town. That was just in case Ty did come in to kiss me good night and wish me sweet dreams.

Unfearful for once about leaving the house unlocked—who was going to break in with Ty sitting in the yard?—I left the back kitchen door open. That way Ty could help himself to coffee or tea if he got cold, or soda or ice water if he got hot. But no, I was not going to think about him getting hot.

I put the Pomeranian on the bed, on the pillow next to mine. I put my drawings of the white colt on the nightstand, where I could see them, concentrate on them, force myself to dream about them. This time, I told myself, I would not be afraid. I would not become the horse and absorb his fears, but I would be me, lending my strength to him. First I had to apologize. I felt I owed the colt that much for not calling out to him myself while we were at Bayview, if he was there. If he'd answered in any way, a whicker, a whinny, a picture in my mind, we could have forced Snake to release him.

I still thought he was at the ranch with Snake, simply because the man exuded evil along with his body odor. Poor little horse. Before I turned out the lamp by the bed I whispered aloud: “I'll find you, little one, I promise. But in my dreams first.”

I touched the bracelet Margaret had knotted at my wrist and made a wish. It couldn't hurt.

 

My head did. I couldn't sleep with the pounding in my ears. Too much concentration, I thought. I was trying too hard. Then I realized the sound wasn't in my brain at all. It was in my bedroom. Or right outside the window. Damn.

I opened the shade without switching on the lamp. A few stars shone through the clouds, and a little moonlight. I could barely make out the shape of the wicker sofa from my porch, and that only because it had a recent coat of fresh white paint. As my eyes adjusted, I spotted the cowboy hat and the seated figure who wore it. What I didn't recognize was the sound I heard, above the chant.

Hadn't some native tribes put dried beans in a gourd to use in ceremonial dances? That's what the sound reminded me of. Damn if Ty Farraday wasn't praying for rain or something.

My bedroom window was open because the night was warm. I raised the screen and leaned out. “Do you have to make so much noise?”

“It's not me. We wired up a sound system so the chant will carry.”

Since he was speaking and the chant was still going on, I realized he was playing a tape tonight. It made sense, unless the horses needed to hear him calling, in their heads from his head. “What about the maracas, or whatever you call that rattling sound?”

“It's oats in a coffee can. My horses recognize the sound and come running for a treat.”

I took a deep breath. “These are not your horses. Most likely they have never been fed oats. Certainly not from a coffee can. What the devil are you thinking?”

“That if you couldn't sleep, sweet pea, you'd come down and keep me company.”

“Besides being arrogant, you are rude, selfish, manipulative and—”

“Does that mean you won't share the cookies I brought?”

“What kind?”

“Oreos.”

That was playing dirty. I could have resisted Fig Newtons. “Got milk?”

“I was hoping you'd be a sweetheart and bring some.”

So I put on my sweats. No way was I going outside in a scrap of ribbon and lace. I filled two plastic glasses with milk, then picked up a couple of napkins to prove I knew how to entertain. I gave the big dogs biscuits so they would go back to sleep, and left Little Red inside. If the mares did come, I didn't want him barking at them or nipping at their heels.