Forged (Gail McCarthy Mystery) (5 page)

"You've got a deal," Blue said.

FIVE

I climbed into the truck at one-fifteen. As promised, Blue had organized everything; dogs, horses, and gear were all loaded in the truck and trailer when I walked down to the barnyard carrying saddlebags packed with a lunch on one side and a jacket and clean underwear and socks on the other. It was a relief to turn my back on the crime scene tape and drive away.

"What are we going to eat for dinner?" I asked Blue.

"Don't worry, I took care of it."

"And breakfast?"

"Took care of that, too."

"Great," I said, and concentrated on watching the landscape slip by outside the windows.

Rolling hills were vivid with the sharp chartreuse green of spring grass, splashed with yellow-orange California poppies and pools of deep blue wild lupine. Even the live oaks, so stately and somber, were warmed with the gold and rose tints of their buds and new leaves. Life burst from every twig.

The truck topped a rise and I could see the blue curve of the Monterey Bay ahead of us, looking impossibly clear and dreamlike on this sunny April day. Blue followed Highway 1 down the coastline, giving us glimpses of scrub-covered dunes, sandy beaches, and twisted cypress trees. When he turned onto a familiar side road, I looked at him accusingly.

"You're taking us out to your work?"

Blue pulled the rig into the driveway of Brewer's Rose Farm without a blink. "We're starting here, yes." He drove through the maze of warehouses and greenhouses and parked the truck and trailer out back, next to a new greenhouse range.

"This is where you used to live, isn't it?" I asked.

"That's right. My house trailer sat just where that greenhouse is sitting now. When I kept my horses out here, I took lots of rides down on the beach. I thought I'd take you on my favorite little trip."

"Okay."

Brewer's Rose Farm was less than a mile from the ocean. We could see the deep turquoise-blue of the water and hear the distant rumble of the surf as we saddled the horses and ate our lunch on the tailgate of the pickup. When we were done, Blue adjusted the pack rig on Plumber's back and I slipped the plastic EZ Boot over Gunner's barefoot right hind. Then we pulled the cinches tight and climbed aboard.

Gunner grunted slightly as he felt my weight in the saddle. Danny stiffened as Blue settled himself; I saw the colt's head go down and his back hump up.

"Look out," I said.

Blue just smiled. Clucking to Danny, he urged the young horse forward. Danny took two stiff-legged steps, as if he were walking on tiptoe, dropped his head another notch, and launched into a buck. Blue sat on top of him as peacefully as if the horse were strolling rather than crow-hopping.

It didn't last long. Blue let Danny buck for half a dozen hops, while the dogs ran around him, yapping with excitement, then tugged on the reins and said, "That's enough."

When Danny didn't respond, Blue used the end of the reins to spank the colt lightly, which brought his head up right away. Blue walked him in a circle for a moment and then untied the packhorse and rode off. The dogs and I followed.

"My goodness," I said as we trooped down a dirt road between fields of artichokes and strawberries, headed towards the bay. "Why do you think he did that?"

Blue shrugged. "He's young; he feels good; I haven't ridden him in a week; he's a little bit cinchy. All of those things. It's not a big deal. He's fine now."

It was true. The bay colt walked along as quietly as if he were twenty-five instead of five, his acrobatics temporarily forgotten. "Better you than me," I said. "I just don't have the experience to cope with that. I'm sure glad you do."

Blue just smiled.

I remembered how easy Danny had been to train when I'd purchased him a year and a half ago as an unbroken three-year-old. Blue had helped me with him every step of the way and had taken over as trainer at my request when I felt that I'd gone as far with the colt as I was capable of going. Danny had begun bucking when he was fresh-something that I was entirely unequal to.

"Why does he do that?" I asked Blue again. "He never used to."

"It's not uncommon," Blue said. "He's just starting to wake up, feel his oats. Sort of like an eighteen-year-old kid who's always been docile and obedient and suddenly gets himself arrested for drunk driving. The parents are aghast, but it's more or less a normal stage. Danny's just being rebellious."

I looked at my bright-eyed bay horse and was deeply grateful for Blue's long years of experience breaking and training horses. Without Blue, I might have felt like giving up on Danny, seen his bucking as incurably "bad." At the very least, I would have been afraid to ride him, which was bad enough in itself.

Instead, I sat comfortably on my old and trusted buddy, Gunner, while Blue quite happily took the kinks out of Danny. What a deal.

Warmed up now, the three horses plodded quietly down the road, the dogs trailing in their wake. I could smell the briny, seaweed smell of the ocean mixing with the earthy scent of freshly turned agricultural fields. Seagulls screeched; my heart sang.

We passed an abandoned farmhouse, faded and weathered to a silver gray. Some rusting tractors crumbled silently in the sagging shed alongside. The road rose up into the dunes.

Up one hill and down the other side. Up again and there it was-a great, shining, restless bulk-the ocean. Sleek and aquamarine far out, heaving translucent green in the nearby breakers, frothy white at the shoreline. Gunner snorted.

Then we were moving out onto the sand of the beach while the dogs ran ahead to frisk in the waves. The tide was out and the wet sand along the water's edge was dark and smooth, shiny and firm. We made our way in that direction, the horses sinking deeply into the dry sand with every stride.

All three geldings had been ridden on the beach before; still they approached the surf with trepidation-eyes wide, plenty of long, rolling snorts. Gunner jumped as a little wave rolled towards us and I clutched the saddle horn tightly. Gunner had always been a spook, and even now, at a mature ten years, he still had that tendency to leap sideways. Since he was in every other way an entirely calm and reliable horse, I forgave him his one fault and cultivated a good grip on the saddle horn.

I glanced over at Blue and saw that Danny was marching along calmly, which was also typical. Bucking aberrations aside, Danny was an amazingly quiet, easygoing young horse. Plumber trooped in his wake, patiently carrying the loaded pack bags-again, a gesture that was indicative of this willing, kind, and always helpful horse.

So we rode, our dogs beside us; it came to me that we were the perfect family. I felt a sudden joy in the moment, all of us together at the beach, just so. Dogs running through the waves, horses moving reliably and happily along; this was the life I wanted.

I looked over at my partner, aware that he was an integral part of this picture. Blue sat peacefully on Danny with a slight smile that I thought reflected the same content I was feeling. The ocean breeze ruffled the red curls that stuck out from under his gray fedora; his long, slender, slightly freckled hands held Danny's reins and Plumber's leadrope with a touch that was both firm and relaxed.

I knew that touch; I'd experienced it myself many times. Blue met my eyes and I smiled.

"This is fun," I said.

Blue smiled back. "We live in paradise," he said simply.

I followed his eyes as they took in the long, blue sweep of the bay, the empty white sand of the beach, the soaring, screeching gulls and churning waves.

"It's true," I said. "People come from all over the world to vacation in a place like this and we live here. I sometimes forget how lucky I am; I get wrapped up in my work and feel so busy and frantic I don't even notice how beautiful this area is. And then we come here and," I waved my hand at the scene, "I realize it all over again. Thanks for bringing me."

"My pleasure," Blue said.

"And it's low tide, too. That's lucky. It's so much easier for the horses to walk on the firm sand."

Blue smiled. "I checked my tide chart."

"You thought of everything, didn't you?"

"I tried." Blue smiled again.

"Look," I pointed. A sleek humped back with a dorsal fin rose out of the surf in a curling leap.

"There's another one." As Blue gestured, I saw the shadow shape again, outlined in the shining wall of a breaker.

"Porpoises, right?"

"Yeah," Blue said with a grin. "They're surfing. Watch."

Sure enough, the animals were riding the breaking waves, exactly like human body surfers. Periodically, they would leap entirely out of the water in exuberant, frisky arches, apparently playing.

We watched, entranced. The horses marched on, unaware or uninterested in the dolphins surfing beside them. The dogs trotted behind us, tongues hanging out, tired of chasing the shorebirds.

"Hey," I said, "there's a seal."

The round, whiskery head bobbed up not far from the porpoises.

"Look at the gulls." Blue pointed. "There must be a school of fish just offshore."

Seagulls swooped low over the stretch of water where we had seen the seal; in another moment a dozen brown pelicans flew into view, aiming for the same spot. As we watched, each pelican flapped steadily into position, hovered a split second, and then plunged headfirst with a splash into the water, disappearing completely beneath the surface. When they emerged, the seagulls dive-bombed them, trying to steal fish out of the pelican's beaks.

"Wow," I said.

"It's amazing, isn't it?"

Blue and I stared at the teeming stretch of seawater, awash with darting, swooping bird and animal life.

Beyond the turbulent blue-green bay the distant hills rose behind the town of Monterey. Gunner's black-tipped red ears flicked back and forth in front of me as he walked; I reached down and smoothed a long strand of his mane back in place. Then I smiled at Blue.

"We live in paradise," I repeated quietly.

We rode in silence for a while. Eventually Blue indicated the flat sheen of standing water ahead of us.

"Elkhorn Slough," he said. "We go inland here."

Reining Danny to the left, he led our little troop back through the soft sand and up and over the dunes. Once again I found myself on a dirt road rolling through fields of artichokes and strawberries. The roar of the ocean receded behind me. To my right I caught glimpses of a large body of quiet water reflecting the long slant of late afternoon light.

"So," I asked Blue, "where are we going?"

"Not too far," he said.

"Good," I said. I was getting tired. No two ways about it, I was out of shape. A three-hour ride wore me out. Too many long days at work; too few hours in the saddle. The dogs were tired, too. They padded along, tongues hanging low, no more racing about. Gunner's neck was wet with sweat.

The road ran endlessly between hilly cropland, or so it seemed. Eventually, I saw a tree-filled rift ahead of us. Blue guided Danny to a narrow trail that led down into the trees.

A minute later and I gasped.

"We're here," Blue said.

SIX

The old barn in front of me was about as picturesque a thing as could be imagined. Hidden from the road by its screen of trees, it was weathered and gray and appropriately frayed on the edges, but still standing sturdy, straight, and well-shingled. The large central doorway was wide open, as was the matching opening on the far side. Through the window thus created, I could see the glow of sunlight on water. The barn looked right out on Elkhorn Slough.

"This is great," I said to Blue as I climbed somewhat stiffly down from Gunner.

"Just wait," he said.

We tied the horses to the hitching rail out front. Blue put a hand under my elbow and led me inside.

The interior of the barn was dim and cool. A huge, old-fashioned wooden hayrack and manger ran along one wall, looking in good repair. A couple of bales of clean alfalfa hay sat in the comer nearby. The dirt floor was tidy and neat, no piles of boards or rusting equipment anywhere to be seen.

Gentle pressure from Blue's hand led me on, through the doorway on the far side of the barn.