#1 Blazing Courage (5 page)

“Imperial justice,” he says.

“Exactly,” she agrees. “You take care of Jinx, and my father will take care of the lowlife.”

“That's a plan,” Jack says as her car drives away.

“Not a good one,” I say.

“No worries,” he says. “I've got plans of my own.”

“Isn't Lex Stockton your boss?” I ask.

“He is on the board of directors,” Jack replies, “but he is not my boss. I have to listen to his suggestions, but I never have to do what he says.”

“So what's your plan?” I ask.

“We know it happened between noon and 3:00 p.m., right?” he says.

“Check,” I say.

“And we know it has to be an inside job.”

“Wait a minute,” I say. “How do we know that?”

“Someone walked in, pounded off the latch, and left without a single person noticing. Wouldn't you have noticed a stranger with a strange car?”

I hadn't thought of that, but now that he mentions it, it makes sense. “So let's say someone we know did let Jinx out. Who might have it in for a horse?”

“Maybe they didn't have it in for Jinx. Maybe they had it in for Peggy,” he says. “Maybe you did it.”

“Very funny,” I say. Then it hits me. “Maybe someone had it in for Peggy's dad!”

“Now you're thinking,” he says. “Here's another question for you. Did you know I installed security cameras inside the barn?”

“You sneaky old cowboy,” I say. “When?”

“Couple of days ago. Remember those classy little owls?”

“Those eyesores are cameras?” I say.

Jack nods. “Someone has been dipping into our grain supplies. I want to find out who. They were set to record from 7:00 a.m. to 7:00 p.m., every single day.”

“Including yesterday?” I ask.

“Including yesterday,” he says. “Whoever perpetrated this crime probably did it in clear view of our feathered friends. All we have to do is find it on the tape and turn it in to the media and the cops. They'll do the rest.”

“I don't know any police,” I say, “but I do know a reporter we can trust.”

“You read my mind,” he says. “And you wonder why I keep you around.”

“What about Lex Stockton?” I ask.

“He can read about it in the paper,” Jack says. “Now go get some sleep. We'll look over the tape tonight. Bring Jeff, but keep this to yourselves. We want to keep this caper a secret.” Since we don't know yet who the person is, that seems like a good idea.

I feel bad that someone tried to hurt Jinx, and I'll be glad when the stable is safe again. But it's strange. All this trouble has made me feel connected to something bigger than myself, like I'm a part of a bigger “we.” And that feels pretty great.

CHAPTER EIGHT

Flaming Disaster

“Run that past me again,” Jeff says. He can't quite wrap his head around a crime against a horse. Neither can I when it comes to sorting out
why
. But
what,
is crystal clear—at least to me.

“Someone broke the latch on Jinx's stall and probably turned him out to die,” I say. “They probably did something to make him run away, and we probably caught it on tape.”

“That's not much to go on,” he says. “
Probably
isn't a crime, and
probably
isn't proof. But, sure. I'll help you go over the tape tonight. If you got a shot of the guy's face, I'll pull in my experts to help you make an ID. Fair enough?”

“More than fair,” I say. “Let's head over there now.”

“Let's eat some dinner first,” Jeff says. “Your mom made vegan lasagna, and I can
probably
pretend it's got cheese.” Jeff misses real food, too.

By 8:30 p.m., the dishes are washed and we're on our way to Top Tier. Jack says to meet him at his place so we can go over the tape in private. It's an old farmhouse behind the barn, so we take the same dirt road that leads to the stable.

Just before we get to the final turn, we smell smoke. A thick, dark cloud of it floats across the road. We disappear inside the haze and make our way toward the house. “I wonder what's burning,” I say. In seconds, I find out.

“Oh my gosh…” Jeff says as we pull into the stable's parking lot. A tiny orange flame is dancing across the back of the barn, but a tower of smoke billows behind it. The fire looks small, but fire has a way of growing up fast.

“JACK!” I scream into my cell phone, “the barn is on fire. You better get here fast.”

Jeff is standing by the car, dumbstruck. His mouth falls open, but nothing escapes. “I've got to save them,” I say, tossing him my cell phone. “Dial 9-1-1.” If he was thinking clearly, he'd tell me not to go. But I wouldn't listen, even if he did.

In seconds, I'm at the barn doors. A warning pops into my head, an old memory from a kindergarten field trip. “Check the door for heat,” the fireman told us. “If it's cool, it's safe to open. If it's hot, flames are on the other side. Find another way out.”

Or in
, I think. I lay the palm of my hand against the wood, and it's still cool. So I throw the doors open wide. Smoke has filled the stable, but the motion sensor is still working. It reads my movement, and the emergency light snaps on inside. One spotlight at the front of a massive building isn't much help, but it beats utter darkness, especially darkness enveloped in smoke.

I pull the neck of my sweatshirt over my mouth to help me breathe and move cautiously inside. How can I save them all? There are twenty-five horses, and this is all happening so fast. But I block the fear and head for the back of the barn where I first saw the smoke was rising. That end will be the first to go up in flames.

It sounds like a stampede inside, just like my nightmare. It's hot and all the horses are kicking the walls and bugling. I run to Poco's stall first. She's still wearing her halter, and the lead rope is hanging on the door. I throw it open and hook the lead in place. One down, and twenty-four to go. I reach to open the door for Jinx, but a padlock has been added to Jack's temporary chain.

“Who did this?” I scream. But I'm not the only one screaming.

“Get out of the way,” Jack says, holding his baseball bat like an all-star. “Help the others. I'll free Jinx and meet you outside.” He takes his first swing as I lead Poco to the next stall, and the next, and the next.

I lead Poco and another horse outside where Jeff is standing in awe. “Take them to the exercise ring,” I scream, tossing him the ropes. I have no idea if he knows where the exercise ring is, and I know he's never walked a horse, much less two. But I don't have time to explain. I run back into the burning barn to start again.

From back to front, I free them—everything from a million dollar yearling to aging family pets—and pass them off to Jeff, two by two. By the third trip, we're no longer alone. The vet and two other boarders have spotted the smoke and rushed down to give us a hand.

In the end, the heat is overwhelming and embers fall like rain. We can hardly breathe, in or out of the barn, but we can't stop. How can we let a single horse burn?

When we hear the fire trucks coming, twenty-four soot-covered horses are safely corralled in open rings and paddocks. The screams of sirens says a fleet of fire engines will soon handle the fire. People clap as the fire fighters unpack their gear, but there's still no sign of Jack or Jinx. My hope is fading.

As I breathe oxygen from a mask while adults murmur about smoke inhalation, water explodes from the powerful hoses. It vanquishes the flames, but it is a little too late. The barn roof collapses into a heap of blackened splinters, and I feel like I've fallen with it.

“Where are you, Jack?” I say between sobs.

CHAPTER NINE

The Smoke Clears

“Come on,” Jeff says, extending his hand to help me up. “It's nearly dawn. All the horses are safe, and it's time to go home.”

“Not all the horses,” I say, “and not all the cowboys.”

“He'll turn up,” Jeff says. “He's got nine lives like a cat.”

“What if he doesn't?” I say.

“If he doesn't, he went the way he would have wanted to go,” Jeff says. “He went fighting for a horse.”

I know that should make me feel better, but it doesn't. Jack was just standing beside me. Jinx was standing beside my horse. I don't think I can go home because leaving will make it real. And when I come back, Jack really will be gone.

“Five more minutes,” I say. “I need to center my thoughts.”

I walk to the large paddock where Poco is corralled. At first she ignores me, distracted by the smoke, the noise, the commotion of other horses. I feel the cool wind against my face. It has started to rain.

“Perfect,” I say. “Things couldn't be worse.” I start to cry, and Poco's ears turn toward me. She nickers and trots to the rail, as if to comfort me, and I am amazed.

“Of course things could be worse,” a falsetto voice says behind me. “A girl and a Buckskin could be ash in that fiery mess.” I gasp when I realize that Poco didn't trot over to see
me
.

“Jack!” I scream as I throw my arms around his neck.

“Easy,” he says. “Watch the bum arm.”

The sleeve is singed on his sweatshirt and the skin underneath is bloody and raw. “You're hurt,” I say, “but you're alive. How did you, where did you, Jinx?” I'm afraid of how he'll respond.

“Over there,” he nods to the paddock near his house, the pen Poco used her first days here. “I couldn't budge the lock on the chain, so I ran outside to Jinx's private paddock. Ten or twelve bashes with a Louisville slugger and metal bars gave way. I walked him out of the stall, but a section of wood fell from the barn and caught Jinx on the hip. It left a nasty wound, and he'll never grow hair there again, but the Doc says he'll be fine.”

“Where were you all this time?” I ask.

“The vet took the back road to the stable,” Jack says. “When she saw Jinx and me limping out, she called us over and treated Jinx up at my place. Took a while to patch us up, but here we are, pretty as ever.”

“The fire,” I ask, “how did it happen?” Jack's eyes go dark.

“I don't know for sure,” he says. “But the fire started by the office where the hay bales were stacked—right next to Jinx's stall. To me, it looks like another hit.”

Then I remember. I came down to go over the security tapes. Did our evidence go up in flames? I ask Jack, but he just smiles.

“This is the new millennium,” he says. “Surveillance tapes aren't stored in dirty old barns these days. They float right up to the cloud. The stable cameras and laptop are toast. But I've got the footage queued up on the laptop at home.”

“Everything is safe?” I say.

“As safe as a movie star's selfies,” he laughs, “well, not counting the barn.”

“Safer,” I say. “Can we search the tapes now?”

“Old guys need their beauty sleep,” he says. “And you've earned a rest after saving twenty-five horses.”

“Twenty-four,” I say.

“Twenty-five,” he repeats. “Last night, we were a team.”

“Some team,” I say. “Twenty-four to one? You should pay me more.”

“I should pay you, period,” he replies.

“You're on,” I say. “Jeff will bring me back later on.”

Falling asleep is nearly impossible, but Mom lays down the law. “No sleep,” she says, “no horses.” So I lie in my bed until my exhaustion trumps my adrenaline. When I wake up six hours later, Mom is satisfied. So Jeff and I head to Jack's.

We're at it for hours, searching every frame of the video, but finally we hit pay dirt. A man in a black ball cap walks right up to Jinx's stall, crowbars the latch, and drops it in the dust.

“That's one strike,” Jeff says, “malicious mischief. Can we can add more charges to his arrest warrant?”

Once the door is open, Jinx wanders casually out of the stall and heads for the grain bin, but the stranger grabs his halter and stops him. His other hand slips into the pocket of his khaki pants and pulls out something shiny. “It's a knife,” Jack says.

In one, swift motion, the stranger cuts a three-inch wound in Jinx's chest. “It wasn't barbed wire,” I gasp.

“Cruelty to animals,” Jeff says. Another charge for the rap sheet. Jack swears under his breath.

Confused and in pain, Jinx runs from the barn. Then we catch a break. The man bends to pick up the crowbar, and we get a clear shot of his face. “Bingo,” Jeff says. “That will work for the facial recognition software.” But I see something familiar.

“I've seen him!” I shout. “I remember! He was at the auction sitting next to the Butcher. They were laughing.”

Jack's head snaps from the computer screen to my face. “Rebecca?” he says. “This guy was sitting with Rebecca?”

I'm a little shocked Jack knows the Butcher's first name, but I shake my head, yes. “I'm sure,” I say. “He is wearing the same hat.”

“Let's get a closer look at that cap,” Jeff says. The logo comes into focus. “Imperial Enterprises? Could this guy work for Peggy's dad?”

Jack excuses himself to make a phone call while Jeff and I save the picture of his face. “I'll email this to my crew at the newspaper,” Jeff says. “If he's in the system, we'll have his name by morning.”

“We have it now,” Jack says. “Rebecca says it's Louis Blackwater. She says he's Lex Stockton's bodyguard and chauffeur.”

“Shut up!” I say. “The guy that drives Peggy around?”

“The same,” Jack says. “Now let's see if he also started the fire.”

CHAPTER TEN

The Swift Arm of Justice

I fall into bed when we get home from Jack's after midnight, but Jeff doesn't. He's too busy gathering facts for his article on the fire. He's just wrapping it up as I come down for breakfast. When he hits send, the email goes to his editor at the
Denver Post
, Jack Manley, and the chief of police for our county.