Hard Silence (2 page)

He nodded. “It gave me a chance to see places I normally fly over. I made a few notes about spots to visit later.”

“Where?” she asked.

“There’s this great little lake in northern Arkansas for fishing, and the prettiest resort overlooks it. The Colorado foothills would be a great place to hike in the summer, and I’d love to spend more time in Utah.” He’d been talking to the horizon, but now he swiveled to face her with those sparkling eyes. “I never thought parks without grass and trees could be appealing. Have you been there?”

I have three books on the Arches National Park at home. I’ve always wanted to photograph there and watch the angle of the sun change the colors.
She shook her head. “What are you wr-writing?”

His smile made her glad she’d put her effort into the question. “I’m rewriting a training manual for the basic profiling class I taught last summer,” he explained, “and creating a new class on indicative behaviors and past trauma. If I have enough time, I’m going to revise the material I use for teaching evidence techniques.” He toyed with the handle of his mug. “It’s what I do in Chicago. I lead a group of evidence techs, and I train agents on evidence discovery and recovery.”

She knew that. She’d listened to his conversations every time he’d visited Gray and Maggie. And like then, questions she shouldn’t ask clamored in her brain. Fingerprints, DNA, Luminol, excavation, tool marks...

Abby stood. “Have to go. Thanks for. Coffee.”

He set his empty cup next to her half-full one. “Do you need help?”

Yes, please. Can I tell you a story?
The words bubbled on her tongue, but Abby swallowed them as she shook her head and backed toward the steps, grabbing the halter from the porch railing. Rather than climbing the fence, she hurried toward the gate at the far end of the yard.

He caught up with her and held the gate. “I’ll walk with you. I’m still stiff from the drive yesterday.”

She walked in front of him and onto the well-worn path, forcing herself not to flee.

“The trail’s easy to follow. You visit with the Simons a lot?”

“No,” she lied. Hank and Deb had taught her almost everything about running a farm, and she’d repaid them with as much kindness as she could risk, but Jeff didn’t need to get used to seeing her all the time. “I don’t. Visit.”

The sun and breeze had evaporated the dew, and now the long grass tickled her fingers. They caught up with Toby and Hemingway at the river. Hem submitted to the harness and trailed behind Jeff across the river and up the bank to her paddock.

“Why don’t I help with your chores?”

Abby arched an eyebrow. Didn’t he have work to do?

“Don’t look at me like that. I used to help on my grandparents’ farm all the time.” He stood still, waiting.

He shouldn’t be here.
She slid her hand under Hemingway’s mane. “You have work. Of your own.”

“I’ll catch up later. I need the exercise, Abby.”

She looked down his lean, fit frame. He didn’t need the exercise.

“Fine,” he sighed. “I like to procrastinate.”

Send him away.

He grinned. “And maybe I’ll fall flat on my ass and you’ll get a laugh. Either way, one of us will have a great Saturday morning.”

“Feed or milk?” she asked.

“Feed.” He winked. “I hate cows.”

* * *

After setting Jeff to work feeding the horses, Abby trekked through the yard to the smaller barn.

“Good morning, Jane,” she said before she blew on her hands and pulled the short stool next to the patient dairy cow. “Sorry I’m late. What story would you like to hear this morning? How about
Jack and the Beanstalk
? No, probably not a good idea since he trades the cow.
The Princess and the Pea
, then.” She wasn’t sure why the cow liked fairy tales, but telling one always meant milking went faster.

“Finished with the horses. Now what?” Jeff asked from the doorway as she was filling a saucer for Eddie, the barn cat.

“Chickens or garden?” she asked.

He looked over his shoulder, as if expecting the vegetables to attack from behind.

“Chickens,” he said as he reached for the bag of corn, seed and pellets.

Abby carried the milk pail to the back porch and then walked through the garden, picking what had ripened. She did the same for the greenhouse before turning on the sprinklers and soaker hoses.

Her gaze went to the chicken coop. Jeff stood in the center of the yard, scattering feed and grinning at the birds clucking around him, all while dancing away from her territorial rooster. When he turned his attention toward collecting eggs, she went to the porch and found a clean jar and a basket. Then she scurried into the house. Rummaging through her cupboards and fridge, she gathered supplies before pouring cold milk into the jar.

She walked back to the porch as he came through the door. He’d made his shirttail into a bowl for eggs.

“I always forget to grab a basket,” Jeff said, grinning as he placed them on the table one at a time.

“You’re dirty,” Abby scolded.

“It’ll wash.”

She rinsed the eggs in the outdoor sink, trying not to think about having someone new here, this close to the back pasture, to the hallway, to the attic.

“Thank you,” he said. “Some of my favorite childhood memories involve summers with my grandparents. They’ve moved to town now, and it’s not the same.”

Nodding, Abby searched for something with which to dry her hands. If he wasn’t here, she’d just wipe them on her jeans, but her jeans were dirty and that wasn’t how a hostess was supposed to behave.

Jeff offered his handkerchief. She blinked at the bright white square and shook her head.

“I blow my nose on it, Abby. It can handle a little dirt.”

Her fingers hovered over his. “Did you use it today?”

His laughter filled the tiny space. “No.”

She plucked it from his hand without touching him. “Thank you.” Drying her hands, she folded it and put it in the basket with bread, butter, jam, milk, berries, and a few of the clean eggs. She thrust it between them. “For you. For helping.”

“This is too much.”

“I didn’t make the jam.”

“Well then,” he snorted. “That makes it even.”

She pushed harder. “You haven’t. Shopped. Yet.”

“You know—”

Toby’s bark drowned out his sentence and Abby froze. Without thinking, she looked over his shoulder into the woods, half expecting to see Wallis spring from the shadows like the grim reaper she was.

A honking horn joined the dog’s yipping. Recognizing Lex’s traditional greeting, Abby jogged to the front yard, Jeff close behind.

The veterinarian leapt from his truck and sprinted to the back of the trailer he was pulling. The trailer he only brought for... Abby broke into a run, reaching him as he slung the door wide, muttering, “Sorry. I know I should’ve texted, but I couldn’t stop with him.”

She peered around the door and sucked in a breath. The iron gray horse inside was skin and bones, and
skin
was the proper term. Most of his coat was missing, and his mane and tail were ragged and dull. He groaned as Lex walked him backward.

Abby’s chest tightened as the horse emerged into the daylight. Scabbed-over wounds split and oozed across his back and down his sides, and now she realized his mane wasn’t ragged—it was singed. Someone had burned him.

The horse stared at her, its dark eyes dull and ancient, until even the weight of his head was too much. He swayed on his feet as he shivered in the breeze.

“Jesus,” Jeff muttered. “Why not put him down?”

Anger rose in her throat. All he saw was the mistreatment—the bony angles and scars, the dirt and weariness. Where would she be if people had thought that about her?
Just throw her away. She’s not able to care for herself. She’ll be a drain on every resource we have.
The emotion must have shown on her face.

“Whoa.” He held up his hands. “He’s safe. I left my gun at home.”

“He needs to be off his feet,” Lex ordered.

Abby ran to the stable and into the last vacant stall. Swinging the support from the wall, she hooked the sling into place and tugged the pulley from the ceiling while making sure the floor was clean and dry.

“As if your stable would be dirty,” Lex said with a grim smile as he led the horse around the corner. “Grab your medical supplies and get back here, I’m going to need—”

“She’s one-armed this morning. I can help,” Jeff said as he stepped into the stall.

Abby looked at his flimsy shoes and his T-shirt covered in chicken shit. He’d done enough. “No.”

“I need him, Ab,” Lex snapped before he faced Jeff. “Lex Waters. Vet.”

Jeff reached under the horse, straightening the sling. “Jeff Crandall. Neighbor.”

Abby stood there, blinking at Jeff’s words. He’d noticed she was hurt. No one but Maggie and Faye ever noticed. She didn’t need more people helping her. He had to leave. She didn’t
ask
for him to be here. “Jeff, he’ll step—”

“He’s not moving an awful lot right now,” he replied. “I’m fine.”

At the sight of a large needle and a thick IV line, Abby backed out of the stall and retreated to the storeroom at the back of the stable. Needles, skin, punctures... She knotted her fingers into a fist to stop their shaking before she gathered every medical supply she could find. Keeping her eyes averted from the men bustling around the horse, she arranged everything within easy reach on the shelf inside the stall, thumping and banging bottles as her anger built. “Who would—”

“I’m filing charges, so don’t get your dander up,” Lex said.

As they worked to make the poor beast comfortable, he gave her the rundown on injuries and treatment. He ended with his customary warning. “Don’t get attached to him, Ab. He’s going to have a hard road.”

She touched the coarse forelock and imagined what it would feel like healthy, saw the horse grazing in the field next to the others. It was too late, she was already attached. She nodded anyway.

“Yeah, right,” Lex said as he checked his watch. “I’ve got appointments this morning. I’ll come back this evening and check on him.” He looked past her and smiled. “Nice to meet you, Jeff. Thanks for your help.”

“Glad to do it.”

Both men walked toward the paddock, leaving Abby inside the stall, finally alone with the horse in her care. She stroked his nose and let him grow accustomed to her. His eyes were clouded by pain and fatigue, but she imagined she saw relief in their depths—as though he realized she would take care of him.

To earn that faith, she checked the dressing around the port and the large-bore IV pumping nutrients, fluid and antibiotics into his system. Her assessment moved to the wounds seeping through ointment. Right now, he was covered in more medication than hair.

Kneeling, she went to work on his hooves. The chains around the sling creaked. “I won’t hurt you.” She kept her movements slow and steady as she dressed one, slipped a cover over it, and moved to the next. “Good boy. You’ll feel better soon.”

She was working on the last leg when soft footfalls echoed through the stable. Lifting her eyes to the doorway, she watched the shadow approach—long and straight. Why was Jeff still here? He shouldn’t be here.

She returned to work. Behind her, Toby sighed and curled up in the sunshine.

“Hey, Toby.” Despite Jeff’s warm greeting, the dog didn’t move. “Still on the job, huh?”

Proud of her partner, Abby was nonetheless embarrassed the dog was virtually shackled to her all the time. He hadn’t signed on for that when he’d whined at her from his cage at the Humane Society.

“Okay, Toby,” she whispered.

His tags rattled, and she smiled at the sawdust-covered floor. She could at least let him enjoy a belly rub.

She stood, trying to relax as she stroked the ragged mane and felt the horse’s breath rattle through his chest. The big stallion wasn’t going to go easily; he’d had plenty of opportunities already.

Jeff explored her small stable, stopping to stare at the nameplate on the gate across the other stall. “George? Which author?” he asked.

“Elizabeth,” Abby said, surprised he’d caught on. Of course, he’d met Hemingway first, so it wasn’t that hard.

“And your new guy?”

She stared at the scarred and filthy, but still proud, horse. “Butcher.”

“Perfect,” Jeff said as he peeked into the stall. “And Toby? Who’s he named for?”

My dog. My Toby. I’ve had five of them, counting him. My first one was just a puppy. He was black with a white collar. That’s all I remember. I had to leave him with Papa because Wallis didn’t like dogs. I hope someone found him and loved him. My second Toby was a birthday gift from Buck. He’s buried under his favorite tree not far from my garden. I carried him...
She gulped. “Toby.”

He frowned again, but this time she wasn’t giving in. Cleaning her hands on her jeans, she walked toward the door.

Jeff retrieved his basket from the top of a hay bale, and they emerged into the quiet paddock, blinking in the sunshine. Toby huffed a sigh and trotted after them, his collar jangling. Their shadows stretched across the ground.

Now what did she say? “Thanks.”

“It was fun.” Jeff lifted a finger to his brow. “See you later, neighbor Abby.”

He walked over the hill, disappearing from view and ending the break in her day, taking his smile and smooth voice with him. Rather than being relieved, she was...disappointed.

She’d battled that feeling since he’d waited with them in the emergency room while Maggie Harper had been in surgery. Abby had sat on the edge of the crowd, watching her friends and fighting her fears that her nightmare had come true. Jeff had taken the seat next to her and answered her questions, assuring her that Maggie’s attacker was in jail.

But the maniac who’d come after Maggie hadn’t been the attacker Abby was expecting. The whole incident had just been a reminder of what
could
happen if Wallis ever came back to Fiddler.

It had also been the first time she hadn’t felt alone. Jeff had stayed on the edge of the crowd too. She’d chalked it up to being in an unfamiliar setting until she’d watched him watch
them
.