Relentless (Fallon Sisters Trilogy: Book #1) (11 page)

Bren scrunched up her face. "Ha. Ha."

"Maybe Aiden needs a new dog. His dog. His responsibility. Keep him out of trouble."

"I'll take it under advisement. But right now I need to get a handle on my life before I can begin to tackle the puppy stage."

Rafe snatched a piece of hay for himself and began to chew on the end. "So tell me. What's between you and Wes Connelly?"

"The Fallons—my maiden name, and the Ryans—that would be Tom and his dad, have always been enemies with the Connellys. We're like oil and water. But Wes is the greasy bastard. He's a kill buyer."

Rafe put up a hand. "Say no more. They're in Texas, too."

She swept her arm up and looked around them. "As the name suggests, Grace Equine Sanctuary is in direct contrast to Wes's outfit. And don't let the name fool you. Sweet Creek Stables should have been named Bitter Creek."

"He sounds like a real ass."

"Yep. Not just an ass. He killed Tom."

Rafe leaned in. "Come again?"

"Wes killed Tom. I'd stake my life on it. He had motive. We've been enemies since forever."

"So you don't get along. Is that a reason to kill someone?"

She tensed and averted her eyes for a moment—definitely more to the story. He'd asked the question. Now he hoped the answer, if she gave one, was the truth and not a watered-down version.

After all, he couldn't help if he didn't have all the facts.

The taillights of Rafe's black pickup blurred in the distance, the small cloud of dust settling. Another set of headlights snaked up the driveway in the opposite direction, flashing intermittently as they passed the wide, sturdy trunks of oaks leading up to the house. It was time to get into mom mode. As usual, Bren was more concerned with proving Wes guilty of murder than fixing dinner. Confiding in a stranger about the days prior to Tom's death, the implication—if there was any—of the recent horse deaths, Finn's colt, and the missing stock horses at Sweet Creek took precedence.

The old white pickup came to a stop next to her, and her father popped open his door. "There's my girl."

Aiden hopped out from the passenger side, and Finn slipped out behind him.

"Who was that?" Aiden shot his mother a curious look, his brown eyes unsmiling.

"Our new neighbor."

Her father jerked around. "We heard in town you let your Irish temper get the best of you."

Bren smiled. "He gave me a reason, and I jumped on it."

"More like swung and missed." His blue eyes twinkled against the glow of the porch lights. "Who's this Langston fellow? Are we going to get along?"

Bren nodded. "Time will tell. But he's interested in my theory." She avoided mentioning Tom's name because of her boys.

Her father picked up on her meaning. His eyes turned to flint. "Let it go, girl. No good will come of it." He leaned in against her cheek. "Think of your boys."

Bren pulled back, ready to argue her point. Finn's sad eyes and Aiden's angry words almost a month ago invaded her thoughts. She bit down on her lower lip and swallowed, the comeback moving down her throat.

"I don't suppose you thought of dinner?" His eyebrows rose.

Maybe she needed to rethink living under the same roof as her father.

Finn grabbed Bren's hand. "I'm starving, Mom. I haven't eaten since lunch."

She frowned at her father, and then gave Finn a hopeful smile. "How about blueberry pancakes? It's your favorite."

"Yay! Can you make the smiley faces with the blueberries?"

Aiden moaned. "You're such a baby."

Finn stuck out his tongue at Aiden. "Shut up."

"Make me, squirt."

"That's enough," Daniel said. "You two get inside and set the table. I want to talk to your mother about her day."

Aiden pulled Finn's knit cap off and ran toward the steps, and Finn followed, bellowing after him.

The sturdy hand of her father squeezed her shoulder. "Tell me about this Langston fellow and how he stole one hundred prime acres and my house, then."

Bren laughed. "Looks like the gossip mill didn't give you all the facts. Rafe Langston paid five hundred thousand."

Her father's mouth dropped open. "You can't be serious! Then we're almost paid up?"

"Yep."

He scratched his head under his wool cap. "Why would this Langston fellow pay more than it's worth?"

"I certainly didn't ask." She held up her thumb and pointer finger, leaving just a little space between the two. "We were this close to rubbing fannies with Wes."

"Oh, grand. Wes Connelly on Grace land? I guess I should thank this Langston after all."

Bren laced her arm around her father's. "Let's just take it on faith things are turning around for the better."

She walked with her father to the house, all the while planning her next move where Wes was concerned. Opening up to a stranger had been a huge gamble. But other than Rafe Langston, who else did she have? Even her father was not an avid supporter of her need to know the truth.

But Bren wasn't foolish enough to tell Rafe everything. Tom's phone would remain her secret for now. Maybe she was reaching. But she knew nothing about the self-proclaimed cowboy, except she liked looking at him. The dark, moody expression that lined his face and his striking green eyes did weird things to her insides she hadn't felt in a long while.

Rafe Langston, tall and lean and broad, invaded her mind. There was a story riding beneath that tough-guy sex appeal. But those thoughts made her uncomfortable. She had only lusted after one man, and she'd married him
—till death do us part.

She'd get close to Rafe—close, as in learn all there was to know about the Texas rancher. Somehow she didn't think the only reason he'd moved to Maryland was because he and his daddy didn't agree on the type of cows they raised.

Bren winced—milk cows on Grace land. If Tom were alive, he'd be giving her holy hell.

H
ey, Miss Bren."

Bren turned. Johnny Grayson smiled that crooked smile of his and sauntered up the aisle of the barn with two chestnut horses in tow. A volunteer at Grace since Bren had been a child, he was moving up in years but refused to give into his age.

"How do their hooves look?" she asked him.

"I'd say they're in need of trimming."

She'd already picked up on the gelding's gait. It was off. But the mare seemed to be sound.

"I'll take a look." Bren bent down, her hand gentle, gliding down the mare's knee. She didn't have to examine the entire front right hoof. It was long in the outside toe.

Bren came to her feet and smiled. "You're right." She patted him on his shoulder. "The farrier's working outside this morning since it's mild."

"We're on our way, Miss Bren." He gave her a wink and clucked his tongue, moving past.

"Johnny."

"Yes, ma'am?"

"If you see Jenny out front, can you have her meet me in the office in ten minutes? I need her help inventorying the vaccinations and dewormer."

"Sure thing, Miss Bren."

The three plodded by, brushed by Jo, several stalls up, who was unpacking medicine she'd brought from the clinic.

Bren went back to measuring out the feed for stalls eight and eleven when something wet and warm nudged her shoulder.

Love for the culprit spread through her, and she laughed at his tactics to gain her attention. She scratched behind the ear of the old Appaloosa she'd named Smiley. He'd stolen her heart at the age of twelve, and she had spoiled him ever since.

"You know I love you, boy, but you're not the only one who needs attention. You're going to have to wait for that apple until I'm done."

Grace teetered at the limit of rescues they could accommodate. At capacity they could house, feed, and rehabilitate fifteen horses. They were already at twelve.

"Jo, did Jeremy give you the antibiotic for Whisper?" Bren hollered down the row of stalls in the barn as she mixed the feed with what she had left of the antibiotic on hand.

Something clattered against a stall, and Bren swung around.

"Jo?"

Bren moved down the aisle, her work boots silent against the compact, sweet-smelling earth of the barn floor. She stopped and picked up Jo's cane in front of Daisy's stall.

The chestnut draft horse, all three thousand pounds of her, was positioned in the back of the stall with Jo pushing up against her, attempting to stay upright while she filled the draft's grain bucket. Of all the breeds Jo could be manhandling, she'd picked one that stood and weighed twice as much as an average horse.

Bren shook her head. "If you fall, she's liable to trample you."

Jo stopped, her shapely black brows creasing with consternation. "Don't treat me like a gimp, Bren." The usual airy voice of Jo Breakstone hardened, and Bren was reminded that Jo, before the shooting that had ended her career with the DEA, could run like a gazelle, scale fences with the agility of a track star, and kick the ass of any drug dealer she brought down.

Bren frowned and took one step inside the stall. "Excuse me, Daisy." She patted the mare's side and reached for Jo. "You need to pick on someone your own size." She pulled Jo out into the aisle and handed back her cane. Then she gave a tug on Jo's dark, single braid of hair resting on her chest. "I'm sorry. You know I don't think of you that way. I just don't want to see you get hurt."

"Sorry, too. I'm just grouchy."

"With me?"

"Jeremy."

Bren leaned back and put her hand on her hip. "What'd he do?"

"He left this morning without saying good-bye."

Right. How could she forget? Jeremy trusted Bren to handle the clinic in his absence while he brushed up on his skills in Leesburg, Virginia. "The beast," Bren teased.

Jo's pout cracked into a smile. "Silly, huh?"

"Kind of. Did you call him on it?" Bren grabbed her cell phone, perpetually linked with the office phones until Jeremy's return, and dangled it in front of Jo. "Literally."

"He didn't want to wake me."

Why was she not surprised? "You've got a good man, Jo. He worships you."

"I know. It's not like I don't have the expertise to catch him if he were cheating."

Bren's face went taut. "That's a joke, right?" Jo laughed. "You're so gullible."

"Real funny." Bren shook her head in a know-it-all sort of way and scrunched up her face. If there was anyone who loved his wife more than Jeremy, other than Tom, she'd be surprised.

"Stop looking at me like that!" Bren dug her boots into the gravel drive leading away from the barn and shaded her face from the afternoon sun. If anything, she should be giving Kevin the third degree. "What about the dead horse? Or Tom's cell phone? Find that probable cause you need to search Wes's house!"

"When was the last time you received a call?"

"Right before they auctioned half my land. Almost two weeks."

"Then it's not a priority. This is. Are you guilty?" Kevin whipped off his Stetson and slapped it down on the hood of his cruiser. He ran agitated fingers through his short-cropped hair. "Answer the question."

"When would I have time to shoot down to the eastern shore to steal horses?"

"You tell me."

Bren crossed her arms. "Looking to run for sheriff of the whole damn state? What do you care what happens in Dorchester County?"

"I don't. Smartass. I care about you. I care about Wes's big mouth spreading rumors. Eventually, law enforcement with more get-up-and-go than the Washington County Sheriff's Department might think there's more to it."

Bren's face softened. "I didn't do it."

Kevin took a long breath and blew it out. "Okay, Bren. I'm trusting you. You just better hope there's not another 'kill barn' horse stealing. Wes is already bending the state police's ear about the coincidence."

"You can tell Wes—"

The rumble of the school bus brought her around, the high-pitched squeal of the brakes piercing the air. Nancy McAllister, the bus driver, had a soft spot for Aiden and Finn, especially after Tom's death. Usually, the two would make the quarter-mile trek up the driveway, but Nancy had decided, if it was okay with Bren and there was enough radius to turn around, she'd just as soon drop them off at their door.

Bren gave Kevin the evil eye. "Not a word, Mr. Lawman."

The doors folded open, and Finn popped off the last step.

Kevin stepped forward and gave Finn a high-five. "Hey, partner. How's school?"

"Hey, Kev." Finn slapped his hand and squinted up against the sun's glare. "I'm a Patrol. See my badge? It's shaped like yours."

"You want to be a lawman someday?"

"Maybe." He gave Kevin a wide smile and then turned his attention to Bren. "Can I get a snack?"

"Give me just a minute to say hi to Aiden and bye to Kevin."

Finn nodded and went to sit on the front steps of the porch. Aiden wrestled with a few more of his buddies in the back of the bus and then sauntered down the steps.

He gave Kevin a sideways glance, his eyes sobering. "Mom behaving herself?" Aiden was intuitive, she'd give him that.

Kevin smiled at that. "Today? Yes."

"See ya, folks." Nancy waved from her perch in the bus.

"Thanks, Nance." Bren waved back.

The doors closed, and the bus began to beep as it backed up. It slowly pulled away, headed back down the driveway, and then cut over to the side to let the black pickup pass—Rafe's pickup.

Kevin hooked his chin toward the truck and glanced back. "You ever apologize for being an ass the other day?"

Bren ignored his comment and concentrated on the truck, hoping Rafe kept going. Rafe had picked up on Bren's and Kevin's friendship at the courthouse. She'd never stipulated that their sleuthing wasn't up for discussion, especially with her friend the sheriff. If Kevin was aware she'd involved the rancher, he might think she opened her mouth about Tom's missing phone. She hadn't. Not to Jo and not Wes. Even though she'd wanted to confront Wes that night in the sale barn, it would only work against her. He'd have lied, and she'd have tipped him off. She'd never find the phone then.

She nodded toward Kevin. "See ya." She hitched her chin behind her at her boys sitting on the step. Finn leaned against the rails, and Aiden slumped against his backpack, texting. "They're starved."