Shadow Horse (8 page)

Leaving her book by the tree, Jas hurried after the man and the horse. They disappeared through the entrance to the auction.
“Eighty percent of the horses at this auction will be
bought by the killers.”
Miss Hahn’s statement echoed in Jas’s head. When she reached the building, she looked inside.

People and horses were everywhere. She could hear the singsong voice of the auctioneer, and when she glanced to the left, she saw bleachers half hidden by a high wall. Beyond the wall was a small arena. She could just see the head of a horse as someone led it in front of the bidders.

To her left and right were temporary stalls. At the end of the aisle, a ceiling-tall door opened to the outside, where she spotted corrals filled with horses, burros, and ponies.

The cowboy and the horse were nowhere in sight. Jas walked down the aisle, peering into the stalls. Several held two or more horses packed together like sardines. They all had numbers stuck to their rumps.

Crossing the aisle, she started up the other side. Since the place was spilling over with animals, she had no idea why she was so interested in this one horse. Maybe it was because she knew what was wrong with him. She knew he could be treated. She knew she could help. It had taken Pocomo Pete only two weeks to change from a depressed, sore-legged, orange-coated
horse to his glossy, feisty old self. Pocomo was given a second chance. Unless she did something, this horse wouldn’t have one.

As Jas passed the third stall, she saw him. He was standing in the darkest corner, facing away from her, his head in the shadows.

Hiding
, Jas thought.
Just like me
.

Opening the door, she stepped inside. The horse turned his head to look at her. His ears drooped. His expression was listless. Like Pocomo Pete, he had given up.

“Hey.” Jas approached him with her hand outstretched. He didn’t move. She scratched his forehead and under his mane. On his face, he had a strip of white ending in a dot on his nose, as if someone had painted an exclamation point. She thought he was chestnut, though his coat was so dull it was hard to tell.

But his front legs were straight and strong with good bone, and his hooves were solid, even though he wasn’t shod. Bending, Jas saw old nail holes in both the front and hind hooves. It hadn’t been that long since he’d worn shoes.

Stepping back, she stared at him. What was his story? Had he once been someone’s treasured pet, like Goldie?

Stretching out his neck, the horse snuffled the front of Jas’s T-shirt. For just an instant, his eyes brightened, and Jas saw a trace of the elegant horse he had once been.

“Hey! What are you doing in that stall?” a voice barked.

Startled, Jas spun around. The cowboy stood in the doorway, his hands on his hips.

“I—I like your horse,” she stammered.

“Good.” Striding over, he slapped a number on the horse’s rump. “Then you can bid on him. ’Cause he’s going in next.”

“
NEXT
?”
JAS YELLED. REACHING UP, SHE LACED
her fingers into the horse’s coarse mane. “You can’t let him go to the killers.”

“Why not?” the cowboy said as he spat in the dirt. “At a dollar a pound, this big guy will bring me some real good money.”

“But I know what’s wrong with him,” Jas protested. “He can be cured.”

The cowboy snorted. “Cured? That’s a hoot. Like I’m going to pay some doctor big bucks to fix an old nag who’ll never amount to anything.”

Jas caught her breath when she heard his words. She couldn’t believe she had said the same thing to Chase.

“Besides, who cares what’s wrong with him? All I’m interested in is the quick money,”
the cowboy said as he leaned forward. He wasn’t that old, Jas realized, probably in his early twenties. But his teeth were stained and his breath stunk. “So, little honey, I suggest if you want him, you better rustle up the money.”

She shrank away from him. “I don’t have any money.”

Throwing his head back, he let out a guffaw. “I get it, you’re one of them bleeding heart animal fanatics.” He eyed her up and down. “If you weren’t so cute, I’d kick you out pronto. But, maybe, if you
really
like this horse …” His voice trailed off and he winked.

Jas narrowed her eyes. She’d met a dozen jerks like him at the center. “I like your
horse
, not
you
. So, if you’ll excuse me.”

She started to push around him, but he stepped in her path and blocked her. Usually, when she confronted the big mouths at the center, they backed off. But this guy wasn’t a kid, and it scared her.

“Jas? What are you doing in there?” Jas had never been so relieved to hear a familiar voice—even if it was Chase’s.

“Excuse me,” she repeated through clenched teeth. “I have to leave.”

Grinning, the cowboy shrugged, then
stepped aside. “Okay. But you don’t know what you’re missing.”

Eyes downcast, Jas rushed out the door, brushed past Chase, and headed down the aisle.

“Hey.” Chase fell into step beside her. “What were you doing in a stall with Reaves?”

“You know that creep? He’s one of your friends?” Jas demanded.

“Not even close.” He caught her arm and stopped her from walking away. “Reaves is a crook. You scared the pants off me when I saw you in there.”

Jas’s eyes brimmed with tears. “I’m sorry. He scared the pants off me, too,” she admitted as her tears spilled over. For a second, they stood in the middle of the aisle, Jas silently crying, Chase standing close with his hand on her arm as horses and people filed past.

“Oh, this is so stupid,” Jas finally mumbled, wiping her cheeks with her fingers. “It’s not like I haven’t met jerks before.”

Chase dropped his hand. “I hope you don’t mean me. Though I guess the way I’ve been acting lately, I probably qualify.” He sounded so glum that Jas choked out a laugh.

Chase frowned. “What’s so funny?”

“Nothing. Thanks for coming to my rescue,” she said lightly, as if she was joking. When she glanced at him, he was smiling at her. Embarrassed, she looked down at her tennis shoes.
You can’t let yourself like this guy
, she told herself.
It’s too risky
.

“So what
were
you doing in the stall with Reaves?” he asked.

“I wasn’t in the stall with
him
. I was with his horse.” Straightening, she looked back at the stall. The door was shut, as if the cowboy had left. Did he take the horse into the arena? “Oh, no, I hope he’s not being auctioned off already.” Without a second’s thought, Jas ran back to the stall. The big horse stood in the corner, his head still hidden in the shadows.

Jas hooked her fingers through the wire. Beside her, Chase tipped back his cap and squinted into the stall. “Okay, it’s a horse,” he acknowledged.

“A sick horse,” Jas corrected.

Chase looked down at her. “Lots of horses at the auction are sick.”

“But this horse can be fixed!”

Shaking his head in disbelief, Chase leaned one shoulder against the stall wall. “Most of them can be fixed, unless they’re really old or so
far gone that the only humane thing is to put them to sleep. That one in there’s no different.”

“But he
is
different!” Jas protested. “He’s probably a Warmblood or Thoroughbred, and he’s got great bone and conformation. With some TLC, he’d make somebody a hunter or dressage—”

Jerking upright, Chase smacked the wooden wall with his palm. “There you go again, talking about stuff that doesn’t mean a thing. Every horse at this auction is worth saving even if it will never win a ribbon.”

Jas propped her hands on her hips. “That’s so narrow-minded! You could save that horse in there, fix him up, resell him for big bucks, and then use the money to save ten Goldies.”

“We don’t sell the horses for profit!” he argued right back. “We adopt them out and make sure they go to homes where the people love them for what they are and not because they can jump a fence or run around a barrel.”

He jerked his thumb toward the horse in the stall. “That horse is in there because someone decided that since he couldn’t perform some award-winning feat, he wasn’t valuable anymore. He’s being sold for meat because some stuck-up horse snob like
you
owned him!”

Blue eyes flashing, Chase yanked his cap brim low, then spun around and stormed down the aisle.

Openmouthed, Jas stared after him.
You’re wrong!
she wanted to shout. Only suddenly, horribly, she realized he wasn’t. Even though every inch of her loved horses, after living at High Meadows Farm for five years, where only the perfect horses were raised and kept, she had turned into another Hugh Robicheaux.

With a groan, Jas sank back against the stall wall. Chase was right. She
was
a horse snob.

“Jas? What’s going on?” Miss Hahn came up, a concerned look on her face. “Chase just barreled past me without saying a word.”

Jas exhaled loudly. “Nothing.”

Miss Hahn cocked one brow. “I thought you were waiting outside for us?”

“I was. But I followed this horse inside.” Turning slowly, Jas looked back into the stall. The big horse hadn’t moved. Not a switch of his tail, not a flicker of his ear.

Miss Hahn turned and looked in, too. “Nice,” she commented.

Jas twisted to face her. “You think so?”

She nodded. “I watched Reaves bring him in. Long stride, balanced. Handsome despite
his condition. I often see horses like this when I come here. Lots of perfectly healthy Thoroughbreds off the track are sold to the killers simply because they weren’t fast enough.”

“But why don’t their owners sell them to someone who will turn them into a hunter or pleasure horse?” Jas asked.

“Too much trouble. And with prices for horse meat so high, they can get just as much money here, and faster.”

“That doesn’t make sense.”

“It does if all you’re interested in is money.” Suddenly, Jas remembered conversations she’d overheard between Hugh and other horse owners.

“The mare’s a producer of quality foals. She’s a daughter of a Grand Prix winner whose offspring is selling for $250,000. Buy her, and you’re making an investment for life.”

He was exactly the kind of owner Miss Hahn was talking about. And maybe that’s why he’d killed Whirlwind. Because she was no longer valuable for some reason.

Frowning, Jas studied Miss Hahn out of the corner of her eye. The woman didn’t make sense to her. If Miss Hahn was telling the truth, she was the total opposite of horse owners like
Hugh. But how could someone so different from Hugh be working with him?

“I’d love to buy every one of them,” Miss Hahn continued wistfully. “With a couple of months’ retraining, most of them could turn into a great mount for some kid who can’t afford the sky-high prices that decent horses are going for these days. Only the farm doesn’t have the facilities or someone who’s a good enough rider.”

“Why can’t you work with them? You’re a good rider,” Jas said, quickly adding, “Uh, I sort of saw those pictures on your dresser.”

“That was a long time and several injuries ago,” Miss Hahn explained, with a wry glance at her leg.

Jas bit a fingernail, the spark of an idea forming in her brain. Miss Hahn definitely had a different perspective than the high and mighty Chase. Just maybe Jas could convince her to buy …

Jas caught herself. What was she doing? She didn’t want to have anything to do with a woman who was a friend of Hugh’s. But if she didn’t do something right now, the horse in the shadows would be sold for meat.

“Well, that’s too bad you don’t have the
facilities,” Jas said with an exaggerated sigh. “That big guy in there would be perfect for retraining. Especially since I know what’s wrong with him.”

“You do?”

“Yeah, I used to know this horse called Pocomo Pete. His condition was caused by a problem in the thyroid gland. The vet that treated him explained to me that the thyroid controls the cells in the body. I didn’t understand exactly, but in horses, when it doesn’t work right, it causes weight loss, depression, an orange-colored coat, and stiffness—just like that horse in there’s got.”

Miss Hahn was studying her thoughtfully. “You really do know a lot about horses, don’t you?”

“And the thing is, the condition can easily be cured,” Jas rushed on. “With a special supplement, there’s no reason that horse can’t be perfectly healthy again in a few weeks!”

For a second, Miss Hahn didn’t say anything. Jas crossed her fingers as the woman turned and examined the horse.

“Reaves will expect about nine hundred dollars for this one,” Miss Hahn said. “And we don’t have that much. But, the number on
the horse’s rump shows he won’t be auctioned off until the end of the day, which gives us an advantage.”

“How?”

“By the end of the sale, the killers’ tractor-trailers are pretty full. And this horse is a big one. He’ll be hard to cram into a packed trailer.”

Miss Hahn tapped her lip as if thinking hard. “And Reaves knows that, which means if someone offered him cash
now
…”

“You mean you’re going to try and buy the horse?” Jas asked excitedly.