Counterfeit Cowboy (3 page)

Stumbling out into a patch of mud, Shelby collided with the tall, broad-shouldered man she’d struck with the door. He staggered but managed to catch her by the shoulders and keep both of them on their feet.

“Sorry.” She righted herself, boots slogging in a puddle left from the storm in the night.

“No problem.” His hands still on her shoulders, he looked down at her from behind mirror sunglasses, a baseball cap pulled low on his forehead.

“The door was stuck.” Shelby squinted up at him in the growing sunlight.
One of the stable hands, from his outfit of baggy sweatshirt and faded jeans.

“I guessed.” A grin quirked a corner of his mouth.

“Yes, well.” Shelby shrugged free of his supporting hands. “Again, sorry.”

“Again, no problem.” He touched the peak of his cap and continued on his way. “Beautiful morning after last night’s storm,” he called back over his shoulder.

“Yes.” Shelby watched him as he headed around a corner of the building. Where had she heard that voice before?

“Damn, Shel, do you know who that was?” Travis grabbed her by an arm, his eyes wide, his words a hiss of incredulity.

“Some stable hand.” She struggled out of the sense of déjà vu the sound of his words had given her.

“Hell, no! That was Jordan Brooks!”

“Jordan Brooks behind a horse barn at seven a.m. dressed like a stable tramp? Travis, your hero worship has definitely run wild and crazy.”

“Okay, then you tell me. When and where else could a celeb like him go for a stroll without being mobbed?”

“Fine. Point conceded. Maybe it was Mr. Counterfeit Cowboy. Now can we get on with our investigation?” She looked down at the churned-up mud around her boots. “A trailer’s definitely been here, but last night’s storm erased any possibility of getting identifiable prints. Damn!” She grasped the door handle and pulled. “We’ll have to call the RCMP.”

“Latches from the inside like most fire exits, I’ll bet,” Travis said when her efforts failed.

“Damn, damn, damn.” She plodded around the corner of the building. “Nothing’s going right.” She paused to scrape her boots on the grass.

“Oh, I wouldn’t say that.” Travis’s words held a teasing tone. “You had those magic moments with the stranger in the mud. The look on your face… Hell, even if he wasn’t Jordan Brooks, he sure had something that got your interest.”

“Don’t talk nonsense, Travis.” She pulled out her cell. “We’ve got a lot more to think about than some clumsy stable hand. I’ll call the police while you take a look in Michelle’s trailer.” She jerked her head in the direction of the fancy vehicle. “I’ll meet you back at our truck.”

“Shel?” He stopped her. “How’d anyone manage to get Black into a trailer? I’m the only one who can handle him. He must have put up one hell of a fight against a stranger.”

“I’m guessing a mild tranquilizer. Anyone who knows horses would be able to administer just enough to keep him manageable until they loaded him. That kind of drugging can be dangerous and not something I’d recommend, but then, whoever took our boy had already thrown caution to the winds.”

****

“Face it, Shel, Black’s not here.” Travis joined his sister at their pickup ten minutes later. “And we have no proof Michelle or any of her crowd took him. A refusal to sell doesn’t add up to a reason to rustle, you know.”

“No, but who else wanted him and is ruthless enough to take him?” She leaned against the dirt-streaked truck and shoved a stray chestnut curl back into her ponytail. “Damn!” She gave the front tire a kick. “Why did this have to happen just when things were looking up financially? Now we’re back where we were last week.”

“Not exactly.” Travis put a work-calloused hand on the edge of the cargo space and shoved his baseball cap back from his forehead with the other. “We still have a bunch of horses to train.”

“Training won’t bring in a quarter of what Midnight Black’s stud fees would have netted.” She drew a deep breath. “Even if we wouldn’t have collected them until next spring, the contracts would have given us viability with our creditors. After the way you made him perform these last two days, every horse person in the Maritimes will be interested. You’re pure magic with him, Travis.”

“Ah, come on, Shel.” He looked down at his boots and shuffled them on the still-wet ground. “Black just likes me, is all. I’m no special talent. Not like Uncle Jack.”

Shelby felt a stab at her heart at the mention of their uncle, who together with his wife Jane had raised her and her brother after their parents’ deaths. Jane had died when Shelby was in her first year at university; Jack had passed only days after her graduation from veterinary college. Keeping the farm he and Jane had cherished from falling into foreclosure had become an all-consuming crusade for Shelby.

“Uncle Jack was an extraordinary horseman,” she agreed softly. “More than that, he was a truly amazing human being. We can’t lose the farm he loved. We’re in close quarters financially right now, Travis, and you know it. We have to get Black back.”

“Yeah.” He pulled his hat down on his forehead, the word full of resignation. “So we’d better talk to the police.”

****

Sergeant Ben MacKenzie checked Midnight Black’s stall, took a statement from Shelby and Travis, and sent his constable off to do interviews around the stables.

“We’ll do our best, Dr. Masters,” he said tucking his notebook away. “But whoever took your horse probably has several hours’ head start. They might be in the States by now.”

“Have you questioned the security guard?” she asked. “I couldn’t get anything out of him, but maybe you…”

“I did.” The sergeant drew a deep breath. “But he’s got a monumental hangover and can’t focus. I’m convinced he slept through the whole thing. I’m making a recommendation to the show committee that he be terminated. He botched the job royally.”

“He certainly did.” Shelby rubbed her left forearm. “Much as I dislike seeing anyone lose a job, that man has proven he can’t be trusted.”

“Have you any ideas as to who might want your stallion badly enough to rustle him?”

Shelby paused. “Well…”

“Come on, Doctor. If you have suspicions, please speak up. We need all the help we can get.”

“Tom Hadly made an offer for Black last night. He and his client Michelle Latton are staying at her father’s place near my farm on Chaleur Bay. She’s an equestrian enthusiast.”

“Michelle Latton, the star of
The Wild and the Beautiful
?”

“Sergeant, you aren’t sufficiently naïve to believe a celebrity can’t be dishonest?” Her lips drawn tight, she looked up at him.

“Definitely not, but people like that aren’t about to risk their reputation by stealing a horse.”

“You don’t know Michelle Latton. Whatever Michelle wants, Michelle gets. And she wanted my horse.”

“We’ll take that into consideration, but I have to tell you, investigating a celebrity can be tricky. They lawyer-up really fast. The legal support they can afford generally produces so much red tape it takes months for us to get around it.”

“I understand,” Shelby sighed. “Anyhow, they’re my only suspects.”

“I’ll be going. I hope we find your horse, Doctor. I know he means a great deal to you and your business. I must warn you, however, chances aren’t that good.”

As Shelby watched him walk away, the truth sent a wave of defeat washing over her. The police had murders and other acts of violence to handle. A missing quarter horse would fall a long way down on their list of priorities.

****

Two hours later when Shelby drove out of the exhibition park, Travis in the passenger seat, their remaining three horses in their trailer, her mind was on figures, figures, and more figures. She’d been paying their bills with smoke and mirrors this past month, her hopes pinned on this show and its outcome. Now all that had changed. As she struggled to eliminate every non-essential expense from the balance sheet in her head, she knew she had little wiggle room.

“How many horses can you work each day, Travis?” she asked her brother. “What’s the maximum you can train?”

“Giving each an hour, six maybe seven.” He glanced over at her. “I have to allow time for feeding, cleaning, grooming, and the like.”

“I know. I also know I’m working you way too hard, but hopefully it will only be for a couple more months. Not even that long if we find Black.” She tried to sound optimistic.

“Sure.” The word reeked of defeat.

“Hey, look, I’m really sorry.” Shelby stopped the old truck before pulling out onto the highway. “I know this schedule leaves hardly any time for your music. But I promise I’ll make it up to you.”

“Don’t sweat it, Shel.” He threw one of his heart-melting, crooked grins her way. “We’re not about to let Uncle Jack’s dream die. A little extra work will just harden up the muscles that drive the ladies crazy, right?” He flexed an arm.

“Have I told you lately you’re terrific?” She grinned back. Returning her attention to her driving, she shifted gears and got truck and trailer on the road home.

****

As they lumbered down the Trans Canada, Travis slipped a CD into the stereo. A few seconds later, Jordan Brooks’ sexy tenor voice filled the cab.

“Do you have to play that guy?” Shelby snapped, then as quickly softened her tone. “Sorry, Travis. Play whatever you like.”

“I can’t understand what you have against Jordan Brooks.” He turned down the volume. “What’s he done to get you so cranked against him?”

“He’s a counterfeit cowboy. He gyrates around a stage in skin-tight jeans, professionally faded shirt, and fancy boots that have never once stepped in manure. He’s pretending he’s a cowboy when he can’t ride a carousel.”
Damn, now I’m taking expressions from that Wise woman’s vocabulary.
“Real cowboys lead tough, hard lives. They fight the weather and big, strong, uncooperative animals every day of their lives and don’t get paid a tenth of what that phony does. They’re real men doing real jobs, not some actor with painted-on pants and a salon coiffure.”

“But what Jordan does is a real job, Shel.” Travis tapped his boots and fingertips in time to the tune. “He gives people a good time. We all need that once in a while…even you, if you’d admit it. And—” He looked over at her, eyes narrowing. “How do you know he can’t ride? Maybe he’s as good as us or better.”

“Just a guess.” Telling her brother about Ann Wise’s offer and that she’d given it a pass would be tantamount to kicking him in the teeth.

“Yeah, well, don’t go making assumptions. Like I said, you don’t know the man.”

“All right, all right. Why don’t you lie back and try to get some sleep. It’s a five-hour drive home, and I’ll be expecting you to take over half of it.”

“Sure.” Travis stretched his long legs out in front of him as best he could, leaned back against the seat, and tilted his baseball cap over his eyes.

Chapter Two

Shelby leaned forward and turned off the Jordan Brooks CD. Her brother was asleep, looking like an exhausted child with his handsome, young face at rest. She smiled as she returned her attention to the road. It was well past his time to take over the driving, but she couldn’t find it in her heart to wake him. He worked so hard for so little reward. He at least deserved his rest. And even that counterfeit cowboy’s music when he was awake to enjoy it. Right now he wasn’t, and she had no intention of listening to it on her own.

She was drifting back into doing mental finances when the truck suddenly jolted, bumped, and ricocheted. Grappling with the steering wheel, her heart leaped into panic mode.
Dear God, what’s wrong, what’s
happening?

“What’s wrong, Shel?” Travis bolted upright. His hand shot out to clutch the dashboard.

“Blown tire or broken axle.” She grated the guess between clenched teeth.

“Ah, man!”

Battling the big rig, her heart hammering against her ribs, Shelby fought the wheel and prayed. The sheer weight of truck and trailer could be enough to send them flipping off the highway and into the ditch if she lost control.

Easy, take it easy. You can do it. Slow, slow, slow
…

She headed for the breakdown lane, the truck and trailer slowly decelerating. Shelby let out a hiccupping breath.
We’re going to make it, thank you, God, we’re going to make it.

When she got the vehicle fully out of traffic and eased to a stop, she gulped, closed her eyes, and dropped her forehead onto the top of the steering wheel.

“It’s okay, Shel.” Travis put a hand on her shoulder. “You did just fine. I’ll take a look and see what happened.” He opened his door and jumped to the ground.

As he disappeared toward the rear of the rig, she remained behind the wheel, struggling to regain her nerve and suppress the trembling that threatened to overcome her hands and body.

“It’s only a flat, Shel.” Travis was back, his hands on her door. “But it’s on the trailer. We’ll have to unload the horses to fix it. Lucky we’re in a wooded area. We can tie them in the trees.”

“Yes, lucky.” The two words reeked of weariness and defeat.

“Ah, come on, Sis. No one was hurt, and the horses are fine. It’s just a little delay.”

He was looking in at her, his expression full of optimism she felt sure he was far from feeling.
Bless the kid.

“Okay, okay.” She opened her door and climbed out. “Let’s get to it.”

****

Travis was lowering the tailgate when they saw a bus approaching.

“Damn, it’s Jordan Brooks and his crowd!” Travis waved his cap as the vehicle roared past them. “Hey, Jordan,” he yelled.

The bus’s tail lights turned red, its signals flashing a right-hand pullover. It eased onto the side of the road twenty yards beyond Travis and Shelby. The door opened and Jordan Brooks, wearing baggy shorts, a faded T-shirt, and scuffed running shoes, swung to the ground.

“Oh, man!” Travis breathed. “I wasn’t flagging them down. I didn’t mean…”

“Need some help, folks?” The singer strode toward them, a grin plastered across his handsome face.

“No, thanks, we’re okay.” Shelby heard herself replying. “It’s just a flat.”

“Ah-ha.” He paused beside her to frown down at the blown tire. He was taller than she’d thought, his shoulders broader and his face even better-looking close up, undisguised by sunglasses and cap. “One of my guys has a mechanic’s license. He’ll be happy to help. By the way, I’m Jordan Brooks.”