Dead of Night (2 page)

“You'll be next,” I promised my mare, giving her an apple cookie and kissing the white blaze on her nose before I went to the supply cabinet.

It was too expensive to call the vet for every little thing, so we did a lot of simple doctoring ourselves. First I checked the rope burn on my wrist, which wasn't bad, and then grabbed the horse kit. After bathing the Arabian with a lukewarm spray, I rubbed her down and smeared some salve over her scratches. Once I finished I put a little of the special pregnancy formula feed in the fence bucket as a treat. Rika shuffled over, giving me one last suspicious look before dipping in her nose.

“You're welcome,” I said, and turned to see my oldest brother leaning against the fence. “Not interested in helping?”

“You had everything under control.” Trick came and examined my handiwork. “Looks like she tangled with some wire. I'll check her records and see when she had her last tetanus shot.” He took the dirty towels and jar of salve from me. “Now
you
need a bath.”

“Now I need to take of Sali,” I corrected him.

“I did that while you were washing Rika.” He smiled a little. “Thanks for catching her.”

“Anytime. And I don't mean that.” I glanced over my shoulder at the Arabian before I added, “Trick, there is something wrong with that horse. She's not just bad-tempered or wild. Something is setting her off.”

“Arabians are usually wound pretty tight,” he reminded me.

“No horse is that tight all the time.” I followed him into the barn. “And I don't think it's personal. I think she'd be this way with anyone, anywhere. It's like she hates the world.”

He thought about it for a minute. “I haven't found any scars on her that would indicate she was abused in the past.”

“Maybe her old owner didn't beat her.” I knew how stupid that sounded, but my brother knew a lot more about horses than I did. “Could he have locked her up, or starved her?”

“She's not underweight, she doesn't have any significant scars, and her muscle tone is fine.” He rubbed the back of his neck. “I'll call Dr. Marks and see if he still has her old records. He may have treated her for a fall or a bad injury.”

Severe stress could cause horses to misbehave, and getting hurt was extremely stressful. While the injury could heal in a few weeks or months, the memory of what caused it stayed with most horses. Some could never again be ridden or worked.

Rika had challenged me and Sali, but only after we had cornered her. She should have responded well to Sali's presence, as horses had herd mentality and for them two were always better than one. Something else had made Rika run, something that made me wonder just what had happened with Gray and Flash.

“You should ask the vet if he knows who trained her,” I said. Some owners hired professionals who were harder on the horses than was necessary; the type who always referred to training as “breaking in.” If Rika had been bullied during training, she might always associate it with fear.

My brother nodded. “I'll give him a call later.”

The slant of the sunlight through the barn windows made me glance at my watch. “It's almost noon. I'll take a shower before I fix lunch. You can still drive me into town for my interview, right?”

“I said I would.” Trick closed the supply cabinet door. “I don't like the idea of you working through the holidays, though, especially in town by yourself. If you need money for clothes or Christmas gifts, just ask.”

“What I need is something to do besides clean the house, bake cookies and sing ‘Frosty the Snowman' until winter break is over.” Those weren't the reasons I was applying for a job in town, but they sounded convincing enough. “It's just part-time anyway, and whatever I earn will go right into my college account. Minus whatever I spend on you and Grim for Christmas,” I tagged on.

No one would ever call my oldest brother clueless or stupid, so I endured another of his silent, measuring stares. I kept my expression normal.

Just when I thought I might not have pulled it off, he patted my shoulder. “All right, little sister. We'll see how it goes.” He went to look at Rika.

I smiled at his back.
Oh no, you won't.

Two

A
fter fixing lunch for me and Trick (Gray didn't come in from the barn when I called him), I went upstairs to pick out what I was going to wear to my interview.

I didn't have a lot of choices; I was the only girl in the family, and living in the country all my life had never turned me into a fashionista. Most of the time I wore jeans, T-shirts and flannel shirts. Sometimes when it got hot in the summer I wore shorts and a tank top, but that was about it.

I'd have to break out my Justin case.

I took out the old garment bag and draped it across my bed to unzip it. Inside were seven outfits: three dresses, two blouse-and-skirt sets, one pants suit and Old Reliable. Girl clothes made me nervous. When I wore jeans and T-shirts, no one noticed how skinny my legs were. The stuff in the bag was just in case I needed a nice outfit (which is why I called it the Justin case).

I wanted to wear my dark purple pants suit, but it was made of silky material that didn't seem right for a job interview. I looked at the dresses, which were pretty but kind of young, and the blouses and skirts almost shrieked schoolgirl. I wanted to look mature; someone who could be depended on to work by herself.

Finally I took out Old Reliable. The black dress didn't have any frills or lace or girly stuff, and the fit and knee-length hem made me seem a little older. It wasn't like I had anything better, so I carried it into the bathroom.

Ever since applying for the job I'd been experimenting with my hair to come up with a better style than how I always wore it (loose, ponytail or braid). I hated using pins and barrettes, which hurt my scalp, but sometimes while I was reading I would twist up my hair and use a pair of black and mother-of-pearl chopsticks to hold it off my neck. I tried that and liked the way it looked.

I went to get my flat-soled black shoes, and nearly walked into Grayson.

“Hey.” He shuffled backward and stuck his hands in his back pockets. “You look nice.”

This from Gray, who barely spared me a grunt when he was in a good mood, and had been mostly mute around me since Halloween. I decided he should get a taste of the silent treatment, and walked around him.

Gray followed me to my bedroom, where he caught the door before I could close it in his face. “Can I talk to you for a minute?”

I looked at him while I began silently counting to sixty.

“Trick said I should … ” He stopped and braced an arm on the door frame. “I mean, I apologize. For this morning.”

So it wasn't his idea. That made the apology so much more sincere. I shook my head and tried to close the door again.

He stopped it with one huge hand. “I'm also sorry I've been kind of a jerk lately.”

Kind of? Understatement of the millennium. I started tapping my foot.

“It's not your fault. It's me. So I'm sorry. Okay?”

He still wouldn't look me in the eye, and I was tired of standing there. I turned my back on him and went to find my shoes.

“Cat, you don't have to go work in town,” Gray said. “I'll move out to the barn.”

Laughter bubbled up inside me, and I let it loose. I couldn't help it; the thought of Gray spending all of winter break sleeping in the hayloft was just too funny.

“I'm serious.”

So he sounded. I slipped on my shoes and came out to see him standing by the window. Sometimes I stood there to look out and admire the birds that sometimes perched in the pine tree next to the house. Sometimes I did other things which I didn't think about when I was around my brothers. “You're not moving out of the house.”

He glanced at me, his expression wary but hopeful. “I'm not?”

“You'll freeze out there, or our new problem child will bust out of her stall and trample you to death.” I pointed at the wound on his temple. “I know it was Rika who kicked you in the head.”

“How?”

“The dent in your skull is too narrow; Flash has a wider hoof. Besides, the only thing that palomino loves more than sulking is you.” I picked up my purse to make sure I had my wallet and some lip balm. “I'm not getting a job so I can avoid you. You're off the hook.”

He walked over to me. “Then why are you doing it?”

Trick must have put him up to this, I realized, to see if I'd tell Gray something different. When it came to interfering in my life, my brothers were like a championship tag team.

“You can't tell Trick,” I warned. When he nodded, I sat down on the edge of my bed and put on my best woeful face. “There's this guy I want to see.”

“Yeah?” He reached back and shut the door. “Who is he?”

“He's really amazing,” I confessed. “Tall, dark, kind of big but not fat. He's a bit older than me, but I think once he gets to know me the age difference won't matter.”

Gray's throat moved as he gulped. “How much older?”

“I don't know.” I pretended to think. “It's really hard to tell exactly how old he is. But that doesn't matter to me. He's dreamy. A real strong, silent type.”

“Cat, listen,” Gray said quickly. “Whoever this guy is, he sounds like bad news. You can't—”

“But he's not. Bad, I mean. I mean, yeah, he might come across that way, but he's not.” I produced a heartfelt sigh. “He can't be bad. He'd get fired.”

“Fired?” my brother echoed.

“From his job, silly. I mean, he is the guy in charge around here.” I fluttered my eyelashes. “I love that about James.”

“James?”

I nodded. “James Yamah.”

“You have a crush on Yamah.” He eyed me. “
Sheriff
Yamah.”

“I know, he's married and an adult, but that's no big deal.” I waved my hand to emphasize this. “By the time his divorce is final, I'll be old enough to get hitched. Then I'll finally have the life I always wanted. Taking care of Jim, vacuuming out his patrol car, dusting off his gun belt, polishing his mirrored sunglasses—”

His shoulders slumped. “Okay, I get the joke now.”

Knowing he didn't, I smiled. “Good. When you tell Patrick that you apologized, you be sure and mention that I'm getting a job so I can have something to do over winter break. Something that does not include two nosy, overprotective brothers who never want to let me out of their sight.”

He shuffled his feet. “We care about you.”

I heard the anger and guilt behind the nice words, and had to bite my own tongue to keep from exploding with rage. I couldn't even think about why I was so angry; I didn't dare.

It had only been a month, and already this situation was driving me crazy. How was I going to live this normal life for two and a half more years, until I was an adult and could move out?

“I've got to go now or I'll be late for my interview.” I tucked my purse under my arm and walked around Gray to the stairs. I could feel him watching me, but he didn't follow me down. He was probably waiting for me and Trick to leave so he could search my room for love notes that weren't there.

I found Trick sitting at the kitchen table and reading a pamphlet the vet had given him on immunizing breeding stock. He had also changed into clean clothes which were, like everything in his closet, black.

“Hey, we match.” I pretended to pat my hair. “Almost.”

“I could shave your head, too, if you'd like.” He inspected me. “That dress makes you look very grown-up.”

“Good, then maybe she'll be fooled and pay me adult wages.” I glanced at the clock. “You ready to go?”

“Sure.” Trick stuck the pamphlet in his back pocket and took down from the wall rack the keys to Gray's truck.

We made it all the way out to the driveway before he asked, “Did you and Gray bury the hatchet?”

“He volunteered to spend the winter in the barn.” I shrugged. “I'm still considering the offer.”

“You're tough.” He opened the truck door for me.

The tight feeling in my chest didn't start until fifteen minutes later, as we left behind the farmland and crossed over into town. Downtown Lost Lake wasn't very big—a pitcher with a good arm could probably throw a curve ball from one end to the other—but the townspeople had packed plenty of shops along the two main roads. I'd be spending thirty hours a week here, working alone inventorying books while Mrs. Frost was up north visiting her grandkids.

If I get this job.

As we passed the town's cemetery, Trick had to veer around two men unloading an angel from the back of a delivery truck. I looked across the headstones at some other men who were digging around the biggest of the family tombs. “Did someone important die?”

“I don't think it's a funeral,” he said. “I read in the paper that some vandals damaged one of the tombs. They're probably fixing it up.”

“That's gruesome.” My voice cracked on the last word. “Sorry, I'm a little nervous. When you were working for that computer company, did you ever hire anyone? I mean, do interviews with them?”

He nodded. “A few times. Why?”

“I think I need a practice run.” I sat up a little straighter. “Okay, ask me some interview questions.”

He thought for a moment. “How many programming languages do you know?”

I glared at him. “First pretend you're the little old lady owner of a bookstore café.”

In a deliberate falsetto, he asked, “Who wrote
War and Peace
?”

“Tolstoy. That's too easy. And quit it with the silly voice.”

He nodded. “Who was the author of
I Know Why the Caged Bird Sings
?”

“Dr. Maya Angelou.” I crossed my arms over the butterflies filling my stomach. “Ask me something about me.”

He pulled the truck into one of the slanted parking spaces along main street. “Have you lied about anything on your application?”

I felt bewildered. “Why would I lie?”

“You'd be surprised.” He put the truck in park and shut off the engine. “What do you consider your greatest personal strength?”

I'm a great liar.
Not that I could say that to Mrs. Frost or Trick. “I'm a hard worker, and I don't need to be supervised.” Which made two strengths, not one. “Which is the better answer?”

“Either one.” He turned toward me. “Now what's your greatest personal weakness?”

“I don't have any job experience.” That didn't sound so great, and then I knew what to add. “Yet.”

“I think you're ready.”

I looked down the block at the powder-blue and white front façade of Mrs. Frost's shop. The hand-painted sign hanging from a bracket by the door made me want to giggle—or maybe it was hysteria setting in. I got out and joined my brother on the sidewalk, and fought back the impulse to call the whole thing off so he could take me back home.

I felt so jumpy I could have hopped all the way home. “I'm glad the shop will be closed for the holidays. If it were staying open, she'd probably make me say, ‘Welcome to Nibbles and Books' to everyone who came in the door.”

“She still might have you answer the phone that way, if anyone calls.” He looked past me. “Whenever I went for a job interview, I always pretended like I was meeting a good friend, and just hanging out and talking with them.”

I couldn't imagine Trick hanging out with anyone, but then his life had been very different before he'd gotten custody of me and Gray. “Does that work?”

“Did for me.” He gave me a one-armed hug. “I've got to go run an errand at the town hall. Meet me there when you're through.”

I squared my shoulders and walked down to the bookstore café. From outside I could see most of the little tables in the front were occupied, and more customers were browsing the shelves in the back. I took a deep breath, opened the door and went inside.

The inside of the shop smelled of gingerbread, coffee and books, an odd but nice combination that made me feel a little more cheerful. Although there were at least twenty people in the shop, it was fairly quiet, and those who were talking kept their voices low, as if they were in a library or church.

Behind the long counter two ladies were busy making sandwiches and pouring drinks, which a third woman loaded onto a tray to carry to the tables. As the waitress saw me, she unloaded her tray and came over. “Table for one, Miss?”

“Ah, no, thank you. I have an appointment with Mrs. Frost.” I'd picked up and dropped off my job application at the café counter, so I hadn't yet met the shop's owner.

She waved toward the back. “Her office is behind Women's Fiction. Just knock first in case she's on the phone.”

I thanked her again before I headed back to the office. After I knocked, an impatient voice responded with, “Come in, come in.”

The bookstore's office had to be the most untidy, cluttered space I'd ever seen. Stacks of boxes and books lined the walls and occupied every flat surface; dozens of posters about bestsellers and photographs of authors papered the walls.

A lady I assumed was Mrs. Frost sat behind the desk, a ledger open in front of her. As neat as her office was untidy, she wore her silver hair pulled back with combs. The navy-blue dress she wore was even plainer than mine, but her understated makeup and dainty pearl earrings added an aura of elegance.

“You're my three o'clock, which means I'm running later than I expected,” she said without looking up from the check form she was filling out. “I'm Martha Frost, and you're Catherine?”

“It's Catlyn, ma'am. Catlyn Youngblood.” I watched her shift two boxes from the chair next to her desk. “If you're busy I can come back later.”

“That's kind of you to offer, but if I don't make a decision today, I'm going to miss my plane to Baltimore.” She gestured at the chair, and as I sat down she skimmed through a stack of applications.