Another Chance (11 page)

It was then
that she thought of Bhrandii and glanced around to locate her dog.  He was
standing next to the man, his tail making circles of welcome as he looked up at
this stranger.  She gasped in surprise.

“He has that
effect on most animals,” Feather explained as she stopped beside her brother
and noted the look of surprise on Jordan’s face.

“He never
welcomes people until I let him know it’s okay.  He’s usually hesitant
then.”  Jordan was totally astonished at her dog’s immediate acceptance of
this man.  It was as strange as her attraction to him.

Daniel Chetan
looked down at the dog and smiled.  “They have a way of knowin’ who likes
them and who doesn’t.  I’ve never met a dog that wasn’t friendly toward me. 
It’s just part of bein’ who I am.”

“I hope you
don’t take this personally, but I’m not sure I like his reaction to you,” or
mine, she thought silently.  “He’s my watchdog.  He really shouldn’t
make anyone welcome.”  Jordan frowned at her former protector.  “I’m
not sure how trust worthy he is now.”

Again the man
flashed those straight white teeth in a smile directed at her.  “If I
came, with meanness in my heart, he’d know and, I’m sure he’d not hesitate to
give you plenty of warnin’.”  He looked at the dog and as he looked into
the amber depths of the dog’s eyes, his dark brows arched.  “In fact, he’d
probably tear me to bits, if he felt I was any danger to you.”

Jordan snapped
her fingers and the dog obediently stepped over and sat down beside her. 
“Really?”
 
She said.  “You must
really understand animals.”

Feather
stepped forward and began to unfasten the back gate of the trailer.  She
knew Wolf was not likely to lie about his connection with animals and that
usually made most people uncomfortable.  She wanted to avoid that if it
was possible, at least for now.  As the gate swung open, she stepped in
and snapped a lead rope to the halter of the leggy buckskin paint
gelding.  “Wolf, please tie Music to the trailer for me.  I know
Jordan is anxious to get her hands on Pride.”

The gelding
stepped back carefully to the end of the trailer and felt around with one hind
foot for the edge.  Finding it, he lowered that hoof to the dirt and
followed it with the other hind hoof.  Then he casually backed out until he
was standing next to the man holding the lead rope.  The horse raised his
head and looked around curiously.  When the man led the animal it followed
trustingly around to the side where it was able to turn and look all around
while the man secured the lead rope to the trailer.

The next horse
Jordan saw almost took her breath away.  She knew this would be
Pride.  She watched as powerful hind legs backed slowly toward the end of
the trailer.  As the hind feet neared the edge, Feather spoke
softly.  “Step down.”  As the horse before her had done, the filly
felt about with one hind foot until she located the edge, then stepped down
carefully to the ground.  In just another second she was unloaded and
Feather was handing the lead rope to Jordan.  “Here she is.”

Jordan’s
knowledgeable eyes were already sweeping over the animal with admiration. 
She didn’t say anything, but led the filly a few steps away so Feather could
unload the last horse in the trailer.

Jordan’s hands
were almost shaking as she tentatively stroked the filly’s gray-brown
neck.  Feeling the firm warmth of muscle under her hands, Jordan’s touch
became more confident and she rubbed down the strong shoulders and across the
length of the animal’s smooth gray/brown barrel.  She lost track of time
as she examined the creature carefully wondering if she was going to find any
blemishes anywhere.  Her heart was racing with excitement and admiration
as she assessed her new horse.

The filly was
accustomed to being handled on a daily basis and stood still while the woman
felt her over.  Gradually Jordan came back to the present and realized
that Feather and her brother were watching her careful evaluation of the
filly.  “She wonderful,” she breathed softly.  “I’m almost
speechless.”

Daniel Chetan
pulled the baseball cap off his head and combed his fingers through his black
hair.  “She’s put together as near perfect as any horse I’ve ever
seen.”  He was holding the lead rope of the last horse that had unloaded
from the trailer.  He wanted to add that Jordan could have been included
in that statement if he changed horse to woman, but wisely left that unspoken.

Suddenly
Jordan’s manners returned.  She smiled at them.  “I’m sorry. 
You can release your horses into this field.”  She indicated the small
field between the barn and the brick house further up the hill.  “There’s
clean water in the tub up in front of the house.”  She moved to open the
gate for them.

As soon as
they were released, the two geldings trotted over to a big sandy spot and
dropped down to roll.  The filly at her side pulled on the lead rope and
shook her head.  Jordan smiled and nodded.  “Alright, I guess you
want to romp for a while too.”  She led the filly over to a smaller
paddock and turned her loose inside.  Like the geldings the filly found a
good sandy spot and quickly rolled, but unlike the geldings, when she got up,
the green grass didn’t interest her.  She jumped high in the air, kicked
her hind feet up over her head and took off around the small field as fast as
she could go.  She ran with her head stretched out and her tail flying out
behind her, alive with freedom.  She made about four laps, throwing in an
occasional buck or two accompanied by loud explosions of expelled gas, then
slowed to a long springy trot, her head high, her tail high, blowing loudly
through her nose.

Tempest and
several other horses watching from their respective paddocks began to romp and
race, now, including the two geldings from Idaho.  Jordan watched
anxiously, hoping none of them hit a fence or hurt themselves, but thrilled to
see them all healthy and playful.  Gradually they settled down and even
the filly started to graze on the lush green grass.

Even after the
brother and sister had dropped their trailer and left to go to the motel,
Jordan couldn’t tear herself away from the barn.  She looked for things to
keep her busy there, close to her new horse.  Finally she just gave it up
for a lost cause and leaned against the barn, watching the filly graze,
admiring the fine, sleek roll of hard muscles under the smooth gray-brown coat.

Frankie sat
quietly on the ground under the tree waiting for the lights to go out in the
Swartz home, outside Poplar Bluff.  From where he was, he could see the house
where Jordan had lived with her school teacher husband.  There were other
people living there now, but they held no interest for him.  He knew he
couldn’t risk going into town to ask about her and he knew the Swartz couple
wouldn’t give up information easily.  But, he smiled confidently, they
would
give up the information he wanted.
 
He
knew how to make people tell him what he wanted to know.

He knew the
Swartz couple were well into their seventies, but he also remembered the night
he had tried to rescue Jordan from her husband.  When she ran to the house
next door, old man Swartz had appeared on the porch with a shotgun. 
Lambert felt he was at an advantage knowing that the old man had a gun. 
He could get rid of him first, then take his time getting the information he
needed from the old lady.  She would be easier to break anyway. 
Women just weren’t as strong willed as men.
 
They didn’t deal with pain very well.

He rested
quietly under the tree and about 9:30, the last light went out.  He gave
them another forty-five minutes to make sure they were sleeping soundly. 
Not having seen or heard a dog on either of the two previous nights he had
spent checking out the house, Frankie felt safe easing up to the back door in
the dark.  He knew the bedroom they slept in was at the front of the house
and they weren’t likely to hear him as he worked at the door.  A knife
made quick work of the screen.  Once he had the screen door open, he began
to work at the lock on the solid door.  It was an older lock but he had
spent some time in his youth figuring ways to open locked doors.  His thin
bladed knife slipped into the crack and skillfully, he began to work the latch
back into the handle.  It only took him a few minutes before he cautiously
eased the door open, hoping it didn’t have a loud squeak.  It didn’t and
he closed it quietly.  He was in!

He made his
way silently through the house, admiring some of antiques that the couple had
collected over the years.
 
Night lights
placed strategically throughout the house by the elderly couple provided
sufficient light for him to negotiate from room to room  He could smell
the odor of fresh flowers and remembered having seen the old woman working in
her yard, all those years ago.  He spotted the vase containing several
gardenias on the dining table.  It was a good smell.

There might be
some money to be made if he had time to stick around and convince the old man
to go to the bank to spare the old lady.  Some of the antiques he had
spotted would have sell for a good bit.  Then Frankie shook his head
negatively.  He was here to find out where Jordan was.  He couldn’t
let anything get in the way of that.

The door to
the bedroom was open and he could see a dim light coming from what was probably
a bathroom.  Another night light, brought a smile to his face.  He
watched them for a few minutes, trying to determine which shape was the old
man.  Slowly he stepped into the room, then to one side, away from the
door.  He pulled the gun from his pocket and pointed it at one of the
figures.  The click as he cocked the hammer sounded extremely loud to him
and the old man stirred, rolling onto his back, then pushed himself into a
sitting position.  Frankie pulled the trigger and heard the pffutt of the
silencer as the gun fired.  The impact of the bullet slammed the old man
back into a prone position, bloody gore splattering all over the bed and wall
behind him as it tore through his head.

The old lady
screamed as she sat up.  Her mind couldn’t accept what her eyes were
showing her.  She screamed again, and then Frankie was fastening his hand
around her throat.  Her scream was choked off as he spoke roughly. 
“Shut up!”

Even in her
state of terror, she thought that was a stupid demand.  No one could
scream when their throat was squeezed shut.  Slowly Frankie eased his hold
on her throat so she could breathe.  When he finally released her, she
turned her head toward her husband.  She knew he was dead.  My God,
she prayed silently, help me!  In answer to her silent request, her heart
seized up and stopped beating.  Her soul slipped out of her body and
escaped the torture that Frankie had planned for her.

When she
slumped toward him lifelessly, Frankie swore loudly.  She couldn’t die
yet!  He didn’t know where Jordan was.  He pinched her nose and began
to give her mouth to mouth, followed quickly by CPR, hoping to start her heart
again.  When that failed, he pounded on her chest with massive
strength.  Finally he realized the futility of his efforts.  Mrs.
Swartz was dead and there was nothing he could do about it.  He vented his
anger by attacking the room with uncontrolled fury.  He knocked the lamp
off the nightstand, slung the phone across the room, kicked the nightstand into
the open bathroom, kicked in the folding door of the closet, snatched clothes
off hangers and flung them around the room mindlessly, punched the storage
shelves in the top of the closet until they broke and spilled down, sending the
neatly stacked boxes flying about in wild array.  Next he attacked the
chest of drawers, pulling it over then kicking it into pieces.  Finally he
melted down into a sitting position on the floor, his strength and fury spent
his breathing heavy.  He looked around the room admiring the result of his
temper, and then he looked at the two corpses on the bed.  They had
won.  He didn’t get any information from them.  Furiously he wished
he could kill them again.

Then his eyes
noticed a box lying on the floor.  It looked like it had been one of the
boxes in the top of the closet.  The lid was off and beside it on the
floor was a stack of envelopes, tied together with a ribbon.  Love
letters? Frankie wondered.  Keep sakes?  From who?  Maybe the
old woman was one of those people like his mother that just couldn’t throw away
sentimental cards.  Cards from friends.  Maybe Jordan?

Lambert
snatched the ribbon off the cards and began to look through them.  It was
Christmas cards!  He began to tear the cards out of the envelopes, opening
them long enough to see who they were from.  The first twenty were from
people he didn’t know but when he opened the next one, his heart leaped with
joy.  It was signed, Love, Jordan.  He stuffed it and the envelope it
came in into his pocket.  He had it!  Now he could find her!

He went
through the house slowly, wreaking havoc throughout, taking small treasures,
the Swartz’s jewelry, all the cash he could find, a pistol, the old shotgun,
things he thought a burglar would take, and then he exited the back door and
pulled it shut behind him.  With any luck, the bodies wouldn’t be found for
a couple of days and he would be long gone.

Jordan and the
Chetans were seated at the table on the porch, enjoying their steaks when
Bhrandii jumped to his feet and growled softly.  Jordan looked toward the
barn and saw a four wheel drive SUV bearing the emblem of the Sheriff’s
Department on the front door, passing the barn and easing up toward the
house.  Her fork dropped into her plate and her heart felt as if a cruel
hand was locked around it, beginning a slow squeeze.
 
Maybe it was good news, she hoped, but knew
Sheriff John would have called if that had been the case.