High impact, p.4
High Impact, page 4
“Not sure I can do much more than pull him in for a stern warning, this is the first reported breach of the order,” Reggie says when I walk him to his cruiser after he takes everyone’s statements. “Maybe the judge can increase the range of the protective order, although I doubt that’ll make much of a difference. I’ll see what I can do, talk to my chief, maybe we can lean on him for a bit with a heavy presence. Frequent drive-bys at his house and place of employment. See if we can’t scare him off.”
He opens the door and leans an arm on the top as he glances over at the older sedan. Samantha is already behind the wheel and Lucy is bending down, talking to her through the window.
“Nice girl. She attached?”
“Back off,” I snap, a little more forcefully than necessary.
“So that’s her?” he asks, looking at me with one eyebrow up.
“What do you mean, her?”
He flashes a grin. “Gimme a break, you know what I mean; you’re lookin’ at her like you could have her for breakfast, lunch, and dinner. I’ve never seen you look at any of the chicks who sidle up to you at the Pastime like that, and to top it off, you bite off my head at an innocent question.”
“That wasn’t innocent and those women at the lounge are only interested in one thing.”
“Right,” he confirms. “And I seem to recall you weren’t too averse to indulging one or two of them.”
“That was a long time ago and don’t remind me,” I mumble before adding firmly. “Don’t you have somewhere to be? Reports to fill out? Criminals to catch?”
“Relax…”
He chuckles as he gets behind the wheel. He shuts the door and sticks his head out the window.
“Your secret’s safe with me. I won’t tell your momma.”
Then he pulls away and I can hear him laughing as he heads down the driveway.
Five
Lucy
“I can’t, I’m busy.”
I turn and head up the porch steps, hoping Bo will take my refusal and leave, but somehow, I sincerely doubt that.
“Everyone’s gotta eat,” he persists, clomping his big boots up the steps behind me.
“Right, but I can’t leave here.”
I push open the front door and barely manage to squeeze to the side as the dogs come barreling outside. Poor things have been cooped up since Samantha got here around three. It’s almost seven now. They don’t even stop to greet Bo and find their respective spots to relieve themselves.
“Why not?”
I ignore his question when I hear a faint bleating coming from inside the house. Oh my God, I forgot all about the goats. The poor kids must be starving by now. I rush inside and head toward the hallway to the left where I left them barricaded in my bathroom.
The babies are now two weeks old. Midnight—the stronger, black one—seems to be thriving, and I’ve been seeing a bit of improvement in Mocha, the runt I’m still feeding through a tube. But when I open the bathroom door, I immediately catch sight of the little guy, curled up in a tight ball in the corner by the tub, while his brother is screaming his hungry head off.
“Hang on, buddy. Let me check your brother first,” I mumble as I go down on my knees and reach for Mocha’s small, dark-brown body.
“Where do you think you’re going?” I hear Bo’s deep voice rumble behind me.
Great. He followed me inside, taking away the option to shut the door on him. I presume he’s talking to Midnight, who is a bit of an escape artist.
A soft whimper coming from Mocha has me breathe out a sigh of relief and I quickly pick him up and grab one of the pre-filled syringes from the cooler in the bathtub. Sitting with my back against the side of the tub, I cradle the little goat in my lap while I quickly connect the syringe to the tube and slowly squeeze the plunger.
Only then do I look up to find Bo’s almost black eyes fixed on me. He’s holding Midnight in one of his shovel-sized hands and is absently stroking the goat with the other.
Dammit.
For some women it’s men with babies, but my kryptonite are men with puppies, kittens, and apparently, we can add baby goats to that list.
“You’re nursing baby goats,” he comments.
“Very observant of you.”
I wince at the snide words flying out of my mouth unchecked. My shield of bristles has become second nature over the years, and I’m afraid I’ve become irrevocably bitter and unpleasant. The upside, of course, is that no one bothers or dares to look any closer. Except a select few who don’t really buy into the persona I put out there.
Bo, who is currently staring right through me, is one of them.
“I assume this little guy needs feeding too?” he finally asks.
“There’s a bottle in the cooler,” I reluctantly share.
When he moves into the bathroom, his bulk instantly fills the small room. He bends down, his body hovering over me as he reaches into the tub behind me. Then—to my surprise—he slides down beside me, his shoulder pressing against mine in the narrow space, and deftly plops the bottle in Midnight’s impatient mouth.
For a few minutes all we hear is the sound of Midnight’s eager drinking.
“How often do they eat?”
“This one every two hours, still. Mocha has some catching up to do.” Then I jerk my chin at the goat he’s holding. “That’s Midnight. He feeds every three hours.”
A soft whistle escapes Bo’s lips.
“Sounds like a lot of work.”
I shrug my shoulders, trying to brush it off. “It’s just temporary.”
“When do you sleep?” He wants to know.
That’s the million-dollar question. The truth is, not much, but that’s nothing new. Not that I’m about to share that.
“When I can. It’s not that bad and like I said; it’s temporary.”
He hums low in his throat and raises an eyebrow, but doesn’t push.
“All right, pizza it is,” he announces.
I open my mouth to object but snap it shut again. It’s been a long day and it’ll be an even longer night. The man’s just offering pizza for crying out loud, surely, I can handle that.
“Roasted red pepper, hot Italian sausage, spinach, prosciutto, pesto, and hot pepper flakes. Mama Gina’s, they deliver.”
I sneak a peek at Bo when I hear his soft, responding chuckle.
“Yes, ma’am. I’ll put in the order soon’s I have my hands free,” he mumbles, the corner of his mouth drawn up in a grin.
“Of course you do.”
Bo drops the slice of pizza back on his plate, pretending to be shocked at my comment.
We’ve been discussing favorite TV series over dinner. Turns out we both like Ozark, Bloodline, or Breaking Bad, but while I get a kick out of Olifant’s quirky character in Justified, Bo is more drawn to shows like Jack Ryan.
We’re onto reality shows now which has spawned this last disagreement as we defend the merits of Alone versus Life Below Zero
“Only because it is better,” he insists.
“How do you figure? Both are wilderness survival shows. What makes Alone so superior?” I want to know.
“They’re stranded out there with a handful of items with the clothes on their back and have to rely completely on themselves. In your show they have tools, can get supplies in, and aren’t even alone half the time.”
“Yeah, but Alone is a game and lasts a couple of months at most. Besides, the participants can tap out at any time. Life Below Zero is exactly that: Life. There’s no tapping out, there’s no big money on the other end of it, there is just survival.”
He slowly shakes his head but his eyes are crinkling as he looks at me. Knowing I scored a point, I grin and shove almost my entire slice in my mouth at once.
Bo is about to say something when he’s interrupted by a muted ringtone and picks up his phone instead.
“Yeah.”
His eyes drift out the window as he listens to whomever is speaking on the other side, until he suddenly surges to his feet, shoving his chair back.
“She okay?”
The pained look on his face has my throat constrict and I drop my pizza on my plate, standing as well.
“When?”
Bo is already moving to the door, grabbing his hat from the coatrack. I’m following close behind. It’s obvious something has happened, but I don’t know what or to who. I just know it’s not good.
“On my way.”
He shoves the phone in his pocket and is already out on the porch when I manage to grab him by the arm. His head whips around and his eyes look angry when they land on mine.
“What’s happening?” I ask carefully.
Instantly his eyes soften as they scan my face.
“My mother. They think she may have had a stroke. They’re moving her to Cabinet Peaks Medical Center. I’m sorry, I’ve gotta go.”
“Yeah. No, yeah, of course. Go.”
I give him a little shove down the porch steps and watch as he gets behind the wheel of his truck, folding my arms around myself. He backs away from the house, looks up at me for a brief moment and tips his hat, and then tears down the driveway toward the road.
When I don’t see him anymore, I go inside, close the door, and lean my back against it.
Bo has a mother and, apparently, she lives in town. Who knew?
Bo
“I’m fine.”
I close my eyes to keep her from seeing me roll them. It’s just gonna piss her off more and she’s riled up enough as it is.
“Did we not just spend the better part of the night in the hospital?”
“The doctor said nothing was broken,” she persists stubbornly.
“This time,” I remind her.
The ER doctor also mentioned that he suspected her bouts of imbalance may be the result of something call a TIA—or transient ischemic attack, which is basically a mini-stroke—and that at her age it was quite common, but Momma waved him off when he’d wanted to refer her to a neurologist in Kalispell.
“Damn Tonya for hitting the alarm. All she had to do was help me up.”
She had been watching Jeopardy with Mrs. Williams from next door when she got up too fast to grab a snack, got dizzy, and went down.
“Momma, the woman’s got about ten years on you, can barely walk, and depends on a tank for oxygen,” I scold her. “And do I have to point out you were lucky she was there or you might’ve still been lying there? That’s my point, Momma. You have an alarm around your neck, but you don’t want to use it. If you want to refuse treatment or a referral to a specialist, that’s up to you, but don’t ask me to sit by while your stubbornness could cause your unnecessarily slow and torturous death. Either promise you’ll use the damn button or let me arrange for regular checkups from the main house.”
As much as I want to shake my mother from time to time, she is of sound mind—albeit headstrong as a mule—and I have no choice but to respect her wishes. However, she’d better respect mine too, and I don’t mind a little emotional blackmail to get my point across.
“And one last thing; I am spending what little is left of this night on your couch. For my own peace of mind,” I add when she treats me to a mutinous glare.
With a last harrumph, she turns on her heel and hobbles into her bedroom, slamming the door shut behind her.
God, give me strength.
“Burns?”
Sully looks up from his computer where he has his browser open on the DMV website.
“Yes, Dwight Burns,” I confirm.
I picked up the guy’s last name when Reggie was interviewing the asshole’s ex-wife at the rescue yesterday. The call about Momma derailed me for the past thirty-six hours or so, but I had every intention to look into him. Doesn’t sit well with me he showed up and threatened Lucy on her own turf.
I’m sure Reggie is doing what he can, but he’s got to go by the book. I don’t have that problem, especially when it involves someone I care about, but I wasn’t going to compromise his job by asking him for information on Burns.
“Got him,” Sully confirms. “Pipe Creek Road. Looks like he’s right across from the church.”
I lean down and peek over his shoulder. The address is just outside town limits on the other side of the river. Not much out there except for the church, which is a fairly new addition. Shouldn’t be too many people around on a weekday after work hours. I may drive by tonight after I check on my mother.
“Want me to poke around a bit?” Sully asks when I straighten up.
“Yeah.”
Wouldn’t hurt to know who I’m dealing with.
“How deep?”
“If you hit something, dig it up.”
Who knows when a bit of leverage might come in handy.
I clap him on the shoulder and head back out to the corral where a small group consisting of Jonas, James, Doc Evans, and Darrin Ludwig are checking out the two colts Fletch and I rounded up a couple of days ago.
“Asshole.”
I whip my head to the side to find Alex leaning against the back of Doc Evans’s pickup, her arms crossed over her chest and a scowl on her face. I quickly recognize the death stare is aimed at Jonas and I assume so was the comment.
“For a sec there I thought you meant me,” I admit, leaning my rump against the bumper beside her, matching her pose.
“I might still, if you’re only gonna tell me it’s what’s best for the ranch.”
I know she has an attachment to the colt she named High Meadow, just like she has a soft spot for Missy—the mare who foaled him—and his sire, Phantom. The stallion actually brought Alex here to the ranch…and to Jonas.
“Then I won’t,” I’m quick to respond, before adding. “I’ll stick to pointing out it might be better for the colt. He’s not even two and already he’s bored easily. He escapes because he needs to be challenged and there isn’t much we can offer here to stimulate him, and you know it. He’d be happier than a pig in shit enrolled in this guy’s training program.”
She makes a disgruntled sound before turning her angry eyes on me.
“I don’t like you very much.”
I bite my lip to keep from chuckling at her petulant tone.
“Only because you know I’m right.”
That invites a snort as she glances back at the corral.
“You really think he’d be happier?”
“You’re the expert here, what do you think?”
Her mumbled, “Dammit,” is enough of an admission.
I nudge her with my elbow.
“Think of it this way; if Ludwig takes him and this collaboration takes off, we should be getting regular updates on how he’s doing.”
She pokes me back with hers.
“All right, that’s more common sense than I can handle in a day.”
I look up at the sound of an engine and catch sight of Lucy’s pickup pulling up to the main house.
“Oh shit, I forgot,” Alex mumbles without explanation, as she pushes herself off the truck gate and jogs over.
Lucy has her hands full at the rescue and doesn’t show her face that often, so I’m curious to know what brought her here. I also want a chance to apologize for blowing out of there two nights ago with only a short text explaining the situation after I got Momma home.
Alex is already dropping the gate on Lucy’s truck and hauling out a large bag of dog food.
“Here…” I bump her out of the way. “Let me get that for you.” I toss the bag over my shoulder. “You know I coulda picked you up some dog food in town,” I mutter, a bit annoyed. “No need to bother Lucy with that.”
Seems a bit crazy to me to have Lucy—who has enough work on her hands—run errands when there are plenty of available bodies here on the ranch.
“No need to get all growly on her,” Lucy jumps in as she appears around the side of the truck. “My boys don’t like that brand, but Max does so I offered to drop it off.”
Max belongs to Jonas, a Bernese mountain dog who never ventures far from his owner.
“Besides,” she continues, waving a pair of familiar sunglasses. “I was coming here anyway to return these to you. You left them the other day.”
I take them with my free hand and tuck them in the front of my shirt, feeling a bit put in my place.
“Thanks, I hadn’t even missed them yet,” I admit. “I was going to drop—”
“Anyway,” Lucy interrupts as she turns to Alex, dismissing me. “I should be heading back. I have a client coming at two.”
I take two steps to the edge of the porch to unload the bag of kibble but when I turn back to finish my lame excuse for an apology, she’s already behind the wheel of the truck. I resist the temptation to intercept her when she backs up, deciding I’d rather make a stop at the rescue and do my groveling in private instead of with an audience.
“Gotta do better than that, my friend,” Alex comments with a grin before she turns toward the barn.
I start back to the corral, where I find Darrin Ludwig staring after Lucy’s disappearing taillights.
“Weird,” he says when he notices me. “I could’ve sworn…”
“You know Lucy?”
My question comes out a little sharper than I intended. Something that does not go unnoticed by the trainer, who briefly narrows his eyes on me. Then he shakes his head and grins.
“Nah, don’t know any Lucy. I was just reminded of someone who’s been gone for a long time now.”
Six
Lucy
Scout alerts on something up ahead. A ridge of hair stands up, running from the base of his skull to halfway to his tail. One front paw is raised and his whole body is leaning forward. Chief stops right behind him.
“Stay. Good boys,” I mumble, easing my horse, Ellie, a few steps ahead.
