Bluegrass Peril (19 page)

Detective Foster spoke. “You don’t want to do this, Garrett. Give us the gun.”

Becky felt his muscles go tense again. “Cops don’t tell me what to do. I’m in control here, not you. Get out, all of you!”

A movement of his arm behind her. A flash of gray beside her head. The gun moved away from her head to point over her shoulder toward Detective Foster.

A blur to her left.

In the next instant, Becky was thrown to the floor, pain shooting simultaneously through the palm of her right hand where she landed and through her scalp as a handful of hair was ripped out. Scott landed on top of her and Zach. The gun clanged to the tiles and skittered away.

As one of the police officers dashed for the gun, Jeff and Foster ran toward her. They grabbed Zach and flipped him over on his stomach, Jeff reaching for his handcuffs.

Scott rolled away, and pulled her with him.

She was free. Relief melted her muscles as sobs clogged her throat. She was free.

Becky felt hands on her shoulders, pulling her upward. Scott, kneeling before her, lifted her up and into his arms.

She buried her face in his neck and surrendered to shuddering sobs. His arms tightened around her, hugging her close.

“You’re okay now,” he whispered, his breath warm on her ear. “It’s over. You’re safe.”

After a blissful moment, Becky gave an embarrassed laugh and pulled away. “I’m sorry. I’m all right.”

They got to their feet and she turned in time to see Leslie, hands cuffed behind her back, being led through the door. Zach cast one unreadable look in their direction before he, too, disappeared from sight.

Jeff and Detective Foster approached them.

The detective shook his head. “You two almost blew everything. We had Garrett under surveillance, waiting for him to lead us to his partner.”

“You knew he killed Haldeman?” Scott directed his question to the detective, but kept a firm arm around Becky’s waist.

Jeff answered. “We suspected, but we didn’t have proof. Not until tonight, when we recovered the hoof pick from the desk drawer.” He nodded at Becky. “At least one of you was smart enough to let us know what was going on.”

“You took your time getting here,” Becky scolded. She put a cool hand to her hot forehead. “I thought my boys were going to grow up motherless for sure.”

Scott whirled on her. “You called the police. And after you promised not to!”

“I did not. I called my friend, Amber.”

Her side felt warm where his hand lingered. Maybe she was giddy from her close brush with death, but she wanted to tell him right now, at this moment, how she felt. Heedless of Jeff and Detective Foster, she placed her fingers gently over Scott’s heart and forced him to lock eyes with her. “I wasn’t about to let the man I love walk into danger without backup.”

Gulp!
Did she just say the
L
-word? That wasn’t what she’d planned to say. Blushing to the roots of her hair, she turned her head and started to stammer an explanation.

“The man you…” Scott turned her face toward him with a gentle finger beneath her chin. His gaze pierced her soul, and in the next moment Becky felt herself swept up into his strong arms once again. This time she hoped he’d never let go.

C
ars lined both sides of the two-lane country road in front of Out to Pasture. All kinds of cars, Becky noted as she walked arm in arm with Scott past a brand-new Mercedes parked behind a beat-up old farm truck. Seems everyone in that part of the state had turned out for Neal Haldeman’s memorial service.

The weather could be iffy in early May, but today the sun shone in a deep-blue sky, and the coats of the Pasture’s stallions gleamed in the radiance of a truly beautiful Kentucky spring day. Most of them had taken up positions as far as possible from the unusual activity going on in the grass behind the office, but Becky bit back a grin when she noticed Alidor keeping a watchful eye turned their way. She pitied the poor unsuspecting soul who dared to get too close to the testy stallion. Thank goodness the boys were home with Daddy today.

A cluster of mourners had gathered around Neal’s nephew up at the front of the rows of folding chairs, most of which were already filled. Just beyond them, she glimpsed the big poster of Neal’s smiling face on its easel beside the urn containing his ashes. Mr. Courtney stood off to one side, his hands gesturing widely as he spoke with a man Becky didn’t know.

When they neared the chairs, a tall figure approached. Becky’s hand tightened on Scott’s arm. Kaci Buchanan had certainly dressed for the occasion. Her wide-brimmed hat with a thick red ribbon looked more appropriate for boxed seats at the Derby than a memorial service.

The smile she turned on Becky could have frozen hot coals. But when her gaze slid over to Scott, her cherry-colored lips widened.

“My, my, my, you would certainly dress up a Winner’s Circle in that suit.” Becky’s teeth ground together as the heiress’s gaze traveled from Scott’s head to his polished black shoes. Then a shiny lip protruded. “But I hear you declined Mother’s offer.”

“I did.” Scott’s smile might have ignited a flare of jealousy in Becky, but at the same time he covered her hand on his arm and squeezed. “Lee Courtney needs me to do double duty for a while here, until he can find someone to take over at Shady Acres.”

Scott’s gesture did not go unnoticed. Kaci’s eyes narrowed. “Then you won’t be taking the head position for Lee?”

“No, I won’t. I’ve had enough of the breeding business for a while.” Scott inclined his head toward Alidor’s paddock. “I’m going to stay at the Pasture and make sure these old guys enjoy their retirement.”

“Well.” She leaned forward and tapped his chest with a polished fingernail. “Our loss is their gain.”

Her chin lifted as she caught sight of someone behind them and moved on. Becky refrained from voicing any of the less-than-polite comments that itched the tip of her tongue.

“Becky, there you are.”

Fingers plucked at her sleeve, and she turned to see Isabelle Keller. Becky searched the woman’s face. Grief had etched lines around her eyes, but at least she no longer exhibited signs of uncontrollable weeping.

Becky released Scott’s arm to take both of Isabelle’s hands in hers. “How are you holding up?”

“Okay.” She squeezed Becky’s fingers. “I miss him terribly, but I know I have to be strong for the baby.”

Becky glanced at the people in their immediate vicinity. “Is your father here?”

She shook her head. “He had another commitment.” She tilted her head toward Becky and went on in a lowered voice. “He’s in a bit of trouble with the police and is doing community service. I think it’s to keep him out of jail.”

Becky’s gaze slid to Scott’s. That confirmed an elusive comment by Detective Foster when they’d asked him directly why Mr. Keller hadn’t been arrested for burglary, even though he had apparently turned over the tally sheets that led them to suspect Zach Garrett of killing Neal.

At that moment, a trumpeter near the front stepped up beside the urn. It was time to begin the service. The man raised a shiny instrument to his lips and sounded the tune familiar to everyone who had anything at all to do with horse racing—the Call to Post.

As the clear notes echoed over the softly rolling hills of Kentucky bluegrass, the sound of hoofbeats thundered and the ground seemed to pulse with the pounding of powerful hooves on the turf. Every stallion at the Pasture, ears erect, began to run around their paddocks.

“Look at that.” Scott turned a wide grin on Becky. “They remember.”

“They’re paying tribute to the man who brought them here.” She smiled up at him. “And the one who will keep them here.”

He slipped an arm around her waist and pulled her close. “Both of us will keep them here. We’re going to do it together, for years and years.”

Her heart swelling with deep contentment, Becky allowed Scott to guide her toward a chair. There wasn’t another person in the entire world with whom she’d rather spend her Out to Pasture years.