at the top, Abby saw the pickup and rushed out onto the road for a closer look. That was a mistake. The driver spun the truck around and accelerated, coming straight at her.
Abby stared at the darkened windshield, frozen in terror. The driver’s face was lost to her, but his intent to kill her was clear.
Just then a dark SUV with flashing lights came racing over the hill—a response to Bobby’s 911.
The SUV swerved left, cut around her, then slid to a stop between her and the oncoming truck.
The pickup quickly returned to its lane, then sped past the SUV and continued over the hill.
An officer wearing a dark Hartley police jacket stepped out of the SUV. As Abby went to thank him, her knees buckled.
He was there in an instant, his arms secure around her waist and holding her gently against him. “Hang on, ma’am. I’ll call an ambulance. Your head’s injured.”
“No, I’m fine,” she said quickly, stepping back to stand on her own. She touched the emerging bump on her forehead. At least she wasn’t bleeding.
Abby looked up at him, straight into the darkest eyes she’d ever seen. His steady gaze was like the man himself—strong and hard—a rock to lean on. “You just saved my life.”
“I’m Detective Preston Bowman of the Hartley P.D. You’re safe now,” he said, his voice calm and reassuring.
For a moment she felt tempted to step right back into his arms and rest against his hard chest. To forget…
She drew in a sharp breath. “I’m Abby Langdon. You need to come down to the ranch right away. Something’s happened to Carl Woods, my head trainer,” she said, telling him everything in a short burst.
“Let’s go,” he said, hurrying back to his SUV with her. “Hop in.”
“This whole thing…it feels like a nightmare…but it’s real,” she whispered, closing the passenger-side door.
“All I caught was glare off the glass. Did you see the driver’s face or his license plate?” he asked, easing down the hill, then making the turn into the long driveway.
“No, but it wasn’t for lack of trying,” she said.
“All right then. I called it in as soon as he took off. We’ll see what happens now. I’ve heard of what you do here, Abby. Now tell me more about your animal handler.”
“He’s… ” Her voice broke and she brushed away a tear. If she started crying now, would she ever stop? She took a deep breath and held it together.
He pulled up in front of the logs anchored in place to serve as a parking barrier. “Just point me in the right direction. This is a police matter and I’ll handle it.”
His steady voice and calm confidence made it easier for her to trust him. He’d stepped into an unpredictable situation and had taken charge effortlessly, as if it was second nature to him. Something assured her that Detective Bowman was very good at his job.
They climbed out of the SUV, and she led him quickly to the turnout area alongside the barn. As they approached, she saw that Bobby had left her office and was now standing just outside the welded pipe enclosure where Carl lay.
“I need to get Bobby away from there,” she said quickly. “He’s too young to deal with things like this and he’s seen too much already.”
“Bobby’s your son?” he asked, noting that the boy was Navajo.
“No, he’s always my first guest of the day. He’s also one of my regular helpers,” she said. “He found Carl and made the 911 call. Is it okay if I go take care of him?”
“Yeah. This is no place for a kid. Find a place where he can stay, just make sure he doesn’t leave the property. He may have seen or heard something that could help us.”
As Abby hurried to the boy, she could see Carl’s body in her periphery. A silent scream rose inside her, filling her mind and nearly obliterating her ability to think.
“He’s…dead, isn’t he?” Bobby whispered.
He seemed remarkably controlled considering the circumstances. But she’d seen that same look on other faces before and recognized it for what it was. Many would mistake it for indifference, but fear, the kind that clung with razor-sharp tentacles to your soul, often mimicked bravery. She remembered seeing it in her twin sister’s eyes as treatment after treatment had failed to cure her.
Taking a deep breath and forcing herself to focus on the present, Abby turned her head and saw Detective Bowman had ducked through the gap in the welded pipe fence. He had latex gloves on and was now crouched next to Carl’s body. After checking for Carl’s pulse, he looked up and shook his head, affirming what she already knew.
Abby focused on Bobby. “We need to leave. Other officers and medical people will be here soon and will need us to point the way back here.”
Bobby didn’t move, his gaze still locked on Carl. “Do you think Missy or Tracker kicked him?” he asked in a thin voice.
She hadn’t even considered that possibility until now. “I can’t imagine either of those horses hurting anyone. They’re the calmest animals I’ve ever known. I’ve never seen either of them spook, not under any circumstances,” she said, taking an unsteady breath. Somehow her voice had remained steady but her hands were shaking badly. Not wanting Bobby to see that, she jammed them into her pockets. “Carl was their trainer and the animals knew and liked him. They never even flinched or pulled away when he cleaned their hooves. There’s no way they hurt him.”
“Then who did this?”
Abby drew in another unsteady breath. “I don’t know, Bobby. That’s what Detective Bowman is here to find out.” She tried to urge Bobby along, but he refused to move.
“I’m going to miss Carl, Abby. He was my friend and I don’t have that many. The kids at the foster home play a lot of football and baseball, but I can’t. Carl liked the same kind of games I do. We’d pretend we were spies and do a lot of cool stuff.” A tear trickled down one cheek, but he brushed it away instantly.
She wanted to give him a hug, but she knew Bobby would think she was babying him and would hate that. “It’s okay to be sad. I am, too, Bobby.”
He nodded but didn’t answer her directly, avoiding the subject altogether. “The detective’s Navajo, like me. Did you notice? He has to work around the body and that’s dangerous, but he knows how to protect himself so he’ll stay safe,” he said. “See that leather bag on the cord around his neck? That’s not jewelry, and he’s not just trying to look Indian. That bag protects him.”
“From what? I don’t understand,” Abby said.
“Spirits stick around and like making trouble for people. Mrs. Nez—she cooks for us back at the foster home—told me that,” he said.
Abby hesitated, unsure what to say. “Carl would never hurt either one of us, not when he was alive or now that he’s passed on,” she said. “Bobby, you may not need a hug, but I do.” She bent down and held him. As she did,
