“Actually,” she said, “I was hoping you might bring Rosebud to my house. Luke is more at ease there. I think he might be more receptive if he’s in a familiar setting.”
Zach had no problem taking Rosebud to the lady’s house. The mini needed to experience different environments. “That works. What day and what time?”
“Tomorrow? Seven would be perfect. I usually have supper done by then.”
“Sounds good,” Zach agreed.
She flashed another brilliant smile and then startled him by suddenly going up on her tiptoes to hug his neck. Her lips pressed briefly against his jaw. “Thank you, Mr. Harrigan! Thank you. This is so good of you.”
She drew away and began backing toward the door.
“Tomorrow night, seven,” she said. “We’ll be expecting you.”
Zach hoped he wasn’t turning lobster red, and barely caught himself from pressing a hand to the place her lips had touched. To his dismay, he also realized that the brief physical contact had given him a hard-on. Not a good thing when a guy was wearing chaps. He swept off his hat and held it in front of his groin, making a show of finger-combing his hair. “Don’t take off just yet. Aren’t you forgetting something?” When she looked bewildered, his smile widened. “Your address.”
“Oh! Of course. You need to know where we live.” She patted her pockets, then held up a forefinger. “One second. I need a pen and paper. My purse is in the car.”
“I don’t need it written down.” When she looked dubious, Zach gestured at all the horse stalls. “When you work with this many animals, there’s a lot to remember, and it takes too much time to check charts constantly. I’ve got a mind like a steel trap.”
She gave him the address. Zach recognized the street as being in an older section of town, which reminded him of a concern that he couldn’t recall having mentioned to her yet. “I may be getting the cart before the horse, pun intended, but just in case I change my mind about Luke, horses aren’t allowed to be kept inside the city limits.”
“I already called the city. I can get a special permit for a service animal.”
Zach was surprised she was already thinking that far ahead. “She’ll also need a fenced outdoor exercise area and a shed for shelter,” he told her.
“I figured as much. Luckily, where I live, the lots are really large, and I have a huge fenced-in backyard. Rosebud will have lots of room to exercise, and I’ll get a shelter constructed for her. A really nice one, guaranteed.”
Zach finally felt it was safe to return the hat to his head. “No worries, then.”
“Nope.” She retreated another step. Then she turned to head for the door. As she slipped out into the night, she waved good-bye and called, “Thanks again, Mr. Harrigan.”
“Zach,” he reminded her, but she was gone before he got the word out.
Tornado let loose with a pathetic whinny. Then the stallion shrieked and began kicking the walls of his stall, making such a racket Zach could barely hear himself think. No matter. There wasn’t a thought in his head that made much sense, anyway.
Miranda’s departure made him feel as forlorn as the horse did.
Cookie reappeared on the landing. Hooking his elbows over the railing, he smiled down at Zach. “I can see why you didn’t want to let her slip through your fingers.”
Zach glared at the old foreman. “Oh, stuff it, Cookie. You were a great help. Telling her I kick buckets and get into fistfights. Thanks a bunch.”
“Ah, now, I got her to laughin’, didn’t I? Way you were handlin’ her, she was about to bring the law down on your head.”
Zach grinned at the memory. “She was riled up, wasn’t she?”
Cookie studied the stallion. “You gonna work with him some more tonight?”
Zach shook his head. “I’ve got some research to do on Pat Jones, the breeder. If that horse has been abused, clicker training may help, but it’ll take a whole lot more than that to turn him around. I’ll have to change my tactics.”
“First thing is to gain his trust,” Cookie mused. “That’ll take some doin’. You gonna rescue your other bonnet, or leave it in there for him to stomp on some more?”
“Nah.” Zach glanced at the stall as he began taking off his chaps. “I have a feeling it’s a goner, and maybe it’ll get him used to my smell. It’s lucky I’ve got more than one hat. Need to buy another brown one, though. Okay, lights out. I’m going to collect Rosebud and head for the house.”
Cookie lifted a hand in farewell and disappeared back into his apartment.
Thirty minutes later, Zach dumped the remains of a TV dinner in the trash and glanced toward his office. He planned to spend the rest of the evening deep in the bowels of the Internet to find any dirt he could on Tornado’s former owner. Before leaving the kitchen, he poured himself a cup of coffee so he wouldn’t get drowsy, then headed up the hall.
Rosebud followed him, the taps of her hooves on slate becoming muffled as they stepped onto the thick office carpeting. After Zach turned on the lamp, golden light spilled across the ash surface of his cluttered desk, piles of papers casting square-edged shadows onto the leather blotter. He sank onto the leather chair, set his mug off to one side, and reached for his landline phone to check his business messages.
The first two were from people with horse problems; another few were from people in the quarter horse industry shopping for a quality stallion or brood mare. Zach listened with bored distraction, taking notes so he could get back to each person later. Then a voice came over the line that swept the cobwebs of routine from his mind.
“Hello, Mr. Harrigan, this is Jarrod Black calling from the Malheur County district attorney’s office. It’s imperative that I speak with you about a horse you purchased a couple of months ago from Patrick Jones in Ontario, Oregon. Please get in touch with me as quickly as you can, regardless of the hour.”
The attorney left his cell number and bade Zach a hasty, taut-with-tension farewell.
The next messages alarmed Zach even more. The Malheur County sheriff wanted to talk to him. The final recording was from Zach’s attorney, Carlo Bergetti. “Damn it, Zach, where the hell are you? Tried to reach you on your cell around six. You must have it turned off. All hell broke loose in Ontario. The county sheriff and the district attorney need to talk to you about Morpheus, that stallion you bought a while back. Call me. Doesn’t matter how late. The shit has hit the fan.”
Zach sat there a moment, dreading what Carlo might tell him. He had a bad feeling, a very bad feeling. The only sounds in the room were the soft huffs of Rosebud’s breathing, the tick of the grandfather clock, and an occasional squeak of the chair when Zach shifted his weight.
His hands felt oddly numb as he punched in the attorney’s phone number. The man answered on the second ring, barking, “Hello.”
Carlo had been Zach’s lawyer for years, and they’d fallen into a relaxed relationship with no pretense. “Carlo, Zach here. What the hell’s going on? Had my phone off while I worked with a horse and didn’t know you were trying to get in touch with me.”
Zach heard Carlo chew and swallow. “Finally you call. Took the wife to Diamond Lake for a two-day get-away, and we no sooner got home this evening than both my phones started ringing off the hook. The sheriff and D.A. are frantic to get in touch with you.”
Zach pinched the bridge of his nose. “How did they get your number?”
“One of Jones’s employees must have gotten it off the stable phone, I guess, from that time when I called there to rattle cages about the horse being crazy.” Carlo expelled a tight breath. “Brace yourself, buddy. I’ve got bad news. Pat Jones is dead, and that’s only the tip of the iceberg.”
Zach was stunned. “I knew the guy was ill, but I had no idea he was that ill.”
“Lung cancer. Heavy smoker, I guess. Kicked the bucket two days ago. Did you ever even meet the man?”
“Actually, no. He was so sick when I bought Tornado that his stable foreman had been assigned temporary p
ower of attorney for all the ranch business, and I dealt with him, a fellow named Steve Ristol.”
Zach heard the sharp rap of Carlo’s footsteps and envisioned the lawyer walking across the large expanse of living-area terra-cotta tile to his elegant home office. “They told me the horse is called Morpheus.”
“I got the name changed,” Zach explained. “Can you get to the point, Carlo?”
“Ristol was arrested this afternoon. Apparently Jones was out of commission for months, trusted Ristol implicitly, gave him total control of the ranch operations, and the man turned into a cowboy version of Hitler, mistreating the horses and terminating any employee who bucked him. All his subordinates were afraid of losing their jobs, so they didn’t report him, but after Jones died, they must have figured their jobs were history anyway and started talking.”
A cold chill washed over Zach. He remembered the fiery anger in Miranda’s eyes as she bellied up to him. Someone has abused this horse. Zach couldn’t believe this. He just couldn’t believe it. A choking sensation filled his throat. He leaned back in the chair and closed his eyes. “So Tornado has been abused.”
“The term ‘abused’ fails to describe it,” Carlo retorted, and then began giving Zach details that made him feel sick to his stomach.
A female stable hand had been the first employee to call the authorities that afternoon to blow the whistle on Ristol. She’d even volunteered to testify in court. According to her, Morpheus, aka Tornado, had been haltered and snubbed to a post, then hobbled to receive his punishment. Ristol had allegedly used an electric prod on the stallion, sometimes holding the ignited tip against the horse’s underbelly so long that it burned the animal. He’d whipped the stallion with a pronged dog collar until he brought up blood. It feels as if he’s been repeatedly stabbed with an ice pick, Miranda had cried angrily. Ristol had even denied Morpheus meals, not often enough to make the horse gaunt, but occasionally as a punitive measure. He’d also put him in small enclosures and tossed lighted firecrackers at his feet. The list went on, and Morpheus hadn’t been the only horse to endure such horrible treatment.
Battling waves of nausea, Zach leaned forward on the chair to brace an elbow on his desk. “Oh, dear God,” he whispered. “No wonder the horse acts so crazy.”
Carlo fell quiet for a moment. “I’m sorry, Zach. I hate to hit you with this all at once, but you need to get Tucker over there right away to examine that horse from head to toe for signs of abusive treatment. Apparently when Ristol realized a few months back that Jones might die, he started selling off the horses that bore physical signs of his abuse. The authorities are trying to track down the other buyers, but it’ll take time. The ranch employees remembered you because you’re something of a celebrity, but they’re hazy on the names of the other folks who bought mistreated horses.”
Carlo sighed before he continued. “The cops are scrambling to get a search warrant to look at the ranch files. Jones’s wife refuses to cooperate. She’s probably afraid charges will be filed against her and is conferring with a lawyer who has advised her to protect the records. Or, hell, who knows? Maybe she and Ristol had something going while her husband was sick, and she’s trying to buy him some time. Anyhow, in the meantime, the county sheriff is holding Ristol without any hard evidence, and in Malheur County, arraignment hearings take place every afternoon at one, Monday through Friday. The Malheur County D.A. wants Ristol’s head on a platter. When I spoke to him this evening, he told me he thinks Ristol will run if he’s released from jail. They need some irrefutable physical evidence before that hearing tomorrow.”
“The testimony of all the employees isn’t enough to hold the bastard?”
“The testimony of that many people constitutes probable cause for arrest, but for the hearing, they need hard proof to back up the allegations. Without it, Ristol’s attorney can argue that the employees dislike Ristol and the allegations are all a pack of lies. If you can’t get some evidence to them before one tomorrow, Ristol will be released and will probably skip out.”
“Why can’t they just postpone the hearing until Monday?” Zach asked.
“No way. When a person is arrested, they’re entitled to go before a judge at the next scheduled arraignment hearing. It’s the law. If the arrest had been postponed until tomorrow, Ristol could have been held until Monday, but the sheriff may have been afraid the guy would skip out.”
“I’ll get Tucker on the horn, ASAP,” Zach said wearily. Remembering Miranda’s avowal that Tornado’s head was covered with scars, he added, “I’m confident we’ll find plenty of evidence to keep the bastard in jail. Will digital photos sent as e-mail attachments and a faxed statement signed by the vet be sufficient for now?”
“Can you get your hands on a camera that shows the date and time at the edge of the photo?”
“No worries,” Zach assured him. “Tucker is often asked to document equine abuse for the local Humane Society. I’m sure he has his camera set for that.”
“You’ll also need to sign a statement verifying that the photos are of the stallion you bought from Pat Jones.”
“Done,” Zach said. “I have a message from the D.A. of Malheur County. He wants me to call him.”
“I’ll take care of it,” Carlo assured him. “You concentrate on getting the evidence they need for that hearing tomorrow.”
After ending the call, Zach phoned Tucker and Cookie. Ten minutes later, they met in the arena. Samantha had come with her husband. When she met Zach’s gaze, the expression in her dark eyes told him she understood, possibly better than anyone, how bad he felt. In Zach’s mind, it wasn’t only about the abuse Tornado had endured, but also that he’d failed to recognize that the stallion’s behavioral issues stemmed from it.
In order to get close enough to sedate the horse, they had to haze him into the hydraulic box chute. As expected, Tornado went nuts. After the third unsuccessful and undeniably dangerous attempt to get the stallion into the enclosure, Cookie said, “You should call that girl, Zach. I’d bet next month’s paycheck that she could keep him calm while Tucker gives him the shot. Easier on the horse, and a hell of a lot safer for us.”
Zach considered the suggestion and ran back to the house to get Miranda’s number off the main line. After checking on Rosebud, he hurried back to the arena, calling Miranda on his cell as he went.
Mandy had just flipped on the computer for another session of medical transcription when the phone rang. She grabbed the receiver out of its base.
“Hello.”
“Hey, Miranda, it’s Zach Harrigan.”
Mandy’s heart sank. She feared that he’d changed his mind about giving Luke a second chance. “Hi, Mr. Harrigan. What a nice surprise.”
“Not really. I’ve got a problem over here, and I’d really appreciate it if you could help me out.”
Relieved that he wasn’t calling to cancel their meeting tomorrow night, Mandy said, “Certainly. What do you need?”
She listened as Zach briefed her on the developments that had unfolded earlier. Her stomach lurched when she heard about the terrible things Tornado had endured.
“Anyway, the Malheur County sheriff has the jerk in jail, but without some solid evidence for that hearing tomorrow, they won’t be able to hold him. I’ve been asked to take photographs of Tornado to document that he’s been abused. In order to do that, we need to sedate him, and Tucker can’t get close enough to give him the shot unless we put him in a box chute. That is damned near impossible, and Cookie came up with the idea of calling you. Tornado trusts you. Why, I don’t know, but he does. If you were here, maybe he’d remain calm enough to let Tucker stick him.”
Mandy was already on her feet. “I’ll need to get a sitter to stay with Luke. If I can’t, I’ll have to bring him along. I suppose he could sit in the car if he wears a heavy coat.”
“That, or he could stay in the stable office. It’s warm in there.”
Mandy glanced at her watch. “I’ll be there as fast as I can.”
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“I owe you one,” he said, his voice growing husky. “Drive safe. It’s important that we get this done ASAP, but it’s not so urgent you need to break the speed limit.”
After disconnecting, Mandy called her usual sitter but the woman didn’t answer. She was either out for the evening or had already gone to bed. As a second resort, Mandy phoned another lady who occasionally stayed with Luke. She was less pleasant and Luke didn’t like her, but given that he had already gone to bed, he wouldn’t have to interact with her. Luckily the woman answered and agreed to come over.
“My nighttime rate is more,” she said.
“I don’t care,” Mandy informed her. “Just get here as fast as you can.”
After ending the call, Mandy dashed to her bedroom to jerk off her pajamas and throw on jeans and a sweater. She was dressed and ready to leave when the sitter showed up.
When Mandy pulled up in front of the ranch gate, Zach was waiting on the opposite side to let her in. Once she was on the property, she stopped the Honda and rolled down her window. “You want to ride back with me?”
“Sure.” He loped around the vehicle, opened the passenger door, jerked off his hat, and swung in beside her. “I really appreciate this, Miranda. Tornado is beside himself. Each time we tried to get him into the box chute, he got more and more upset.”
The scent of Zach filled Mandy’s nostrils—a pleasant blend of leather, hay, grain, aftershave, and male musk. As she eased the Honda forward, her hands tightened on the wheel. She was unaccustomed to being in such close quarters with any man other than Luke.
“I’m so sorry about Tornado,” she told him.
His voice ached with regret as he replied, “I feel awful for not recognizing the signs. You nailed it right on the head. Tornado isn’t crazy, only terrified. I’ve been working with him all wrong. The first things an abused horse needs are unconditional love and unfailing patience. All this time, I should have been trying to gain his trust, and I—”
Mandy heard his voice catch as she parked outside the arena. She cut the engine and turned to peer at him through the darkness that suddenly enveloped them. Though his face was lost in the gloom, she suspected he was battling tears. “It isn’t your fault, Mr. Harrigan. You had no way of knowing. Tornado couldn’t tell you what had happened to him.”