Golden Filly Collection Two (67 page)

“Me either, but they have to have some sort of guidelines. Would be pretty confusing otherwise.” She gave the mares their treats and requisite pats. Dan’l nickered again and pawed the grass. “I’m coming. Hold on to your shorts.” The gray only tossed his head and nickered louder.

“I think he likes you.” Amy stuck her hands in her back pockets. “Talk about a peaceful scene.”

“I know. My dad used to come out here in the evenings just to enjoy the horses and the quiet. Said it was his special time. Mornings were always too hectic what with works at the track and all.”

“From what everyone tells me, he was a pretty special guy.”

“Yep.” Trish buried her face in Dan’l’s mane. Would she ever be able to talk about her father without the tears burning her eyes? She gave the old gray another carrot and stroked his face from forelock to quivering nostrils. His munching filled the silence. A crow cawed from the top of a fir tree, joining the chorus of the peeper frogs from the creek.

Trish watched Amy scan the area, checking out the sounds and the silences, before returning her gaze to Trish with a smile.

Trish sighed. Amy was ever the police officer, keeping on top of her job. The thought of being the focus of that job made her stomach knot. Someone wouldn’t invade her life here, would they? She snagged her thoughts back from the black well and concentrated on the warm, gray body beside her. “Well, old fellow, how would you like a turn or two around the track?” She snapped the lead onto his halter. “I’m sure Brad has those two ready to run…probably wondering what happened to us.”

A shiver ran up her back. What if there really was someone out there watching them?

Trish couldn’t shake the unease all through the gallops with the two horses in training. She forced herself to pay attention, working the colt through his paces, forcing herself not to look over her shoulder. Keeping her eyes on his ears rather than the trees across the track. Listening for changes in breathing that told of his fitness rather than listening for strange noises.

Bang! You’re dead!
The words of the note flew up before her eyes when she blinked. It would be so easy for someone to take a shot at them.

What if he hurt one of the horses? The thought clamped off her air.

By the time they finished, she couldn’t keep her hands from shaking.

“What’s wrong?” Brad took the brush from her hands. He turned her square to him so he could look right in her face.

Amy ducked under the colt’s neck, leaving her brushing job. “You okay?”

Trish shook her head. “I can’t get that note out of my mind. All of a sudden I realized how open we are here.” She glanced over her shoulder. “Those trees and all. I’ve never been afraid in my own home before.” She clenched and unclenched her fists. “I hate him. What kind of rotten person would do such a thing?”

Brad gathered her in his arms and, after taking off her helmet, stroked her hair. “Easy, Tee. Amy’s here to watch for that. It’ll be okay.”

“No it won’t.” Trish clamped the front of his shirt in her fists. “Nothing’ll ever be the same again.”

That night in bed, she flipped from side to side trying to get comfortable. Knowing Caesar lay by the back door didn’t really help. Up until now she hadn’t realized how much she depended on him to warn them of people coming on the farm.
Of course, you idiot. You didn’t worry about anything before. You always thought you were safe.
She called herself a few other names as she flipped over again. No dad, no dog—well, not quite, but out of commission for a time at least.

A knock sounded on her door. “Trish, are you all right?” Her mother poked her head in. “I could hear you tossing around.”

“I’m just fine.”

“Right. And I’m Mother Teresa.” Marge sat down on the edge of the bed. “What’s happening?”

Trish slammed her pillows in place behind her head and propped herself up. “I hate that man—person—whoever is doing this to us.”

“I’m not surprised.”

“Well, don’t you?”

“I’m trying not to.”

“I hate being scared. I’ve never been afraid like this in my entire life.” Trish crossed her arms over her chest. “People shouldn’t have to be scared in their own homes.”

“Or anywhere else, for that matter.” Marge brought one knee up on the bedspread, turning to face her daughter. “You know God has promised to watch over us. What’s that song, ‘His eye is on the sparrow…’?”

“Yeah, well, all I’ve felt this afternoon is eyes on me. Don’t think I want anymore.”

“You don’t mean that.” Marge reached over and smoothed back a lock of wavy black hair from her daughter’s forehead.

“Maybe if I felt God’s eyes, I’d feel better.”

“Have you been praying for this person?”

Trish gave a snort that more than answered her mother’s question.

“You want me to pray with you?”

This snort was even more descriptive.

Marge leaned forward and dropped a kiss on Trish’s cheek. “I’ll pray, but keep in mind that praying for those who hate us makes us feel better. Good night, Tee.”

Pray for him. Right!
“Okay, God, here’s the deal—you get him before I do.”

The nightmares struck with a vengeance.

Chapter
09

T
rish sat straight up in bed, her heart pounding as if she’d run a mile. She stared into the corners of her room, half expecting the man who’d been chasing her to jump out of the darkness. Hand to her thundering heart, she sucked in air, sometimes catching on a sob. Who was he? Why was anyone chasing her? And even in her dreams!

She swung her feet to the floor and padded down the hall to the bathroom. When she heard Caesar whine, she continued on and sank down on the floor beside him. “What do you need, fella?”

His tongue flicked the tip of her nose. When he struggled to stand, she helped him with an arm around his back and rib cage, rising to her knees as he stood. “You need to go outside?” He whined and took a tottering step. The cold night air sent goose bumps racing up her arms when she opened the door. “Let me get a jacket.”

Caesar whined again and wobbled toward the door opening. Trish grabbed a coat off the rack and shoved her feet into an old pair of boots her mother used. The dog was half out the door and falling before she caught him. “Silly, I said I’d help you if you could just hang on a minute.”

“Everything okay?” Amy appeared at the doorway, belting her robe as she spoke.

Trish nearly dropped the dog. “Good grief, you scared me to bits.”

“Sorry.” Amy wrapped her arms around Caesar’s hindquarters. “Okay, old man, Trish, let’s get this potty break over with. My feet are freezing.”

Back in the house with Caesar settled on his pad again, Trish led the way down the hall. “And to think a nightmare woke me up. I was just going to the bathroom.” She shivered and rubbed her arms. “How come having Caesar helpless like that makes me feel so…”

“Helpless yourself?”

“I guess. Hey—don’t you ever sleep?”

“Sure. Guess I’m like the scouts in the Old West—learned to sleep with one ear wide awake. Opening doors are a sure-fire signal to set me straight up and out before I even think.”

“Sure glad I don’t ever have to sneak up on you.” Trish shut the bathroom door behind herself. Sometimes Amy helped her feel safer, but other times, like tonight, just brought the idea of danger even closer. “Couldn’t have anything to do with my dream, could it?” The face in the mirror made the right moves but never responded. The sound of the flushing toilet seemed unnaturally loud in the nighttime stillness.

Or was it that anything sounded loud tonight?

“Trish, you’re going to be late.” Marge’s voice sounded as if from a long distance.

At the same moment, Trish became aware of the buzzing from her alarm. No wonder she’d been dreaming about bees and being chased—again.

Her feet hit the floor at the same moment her eyes checked the clock. Seven-fifteen! “Why’d you let me sleep so long?” Barreling past her mother, she headed for the bathroom. “Now I’m going to be late.” She scrubbed her teeth as if they’d never meet a toothbrush again. No time for a shower, no time for hair—her stomach growled—and no time for breakfast either.

“How’s Caesar?” Her question floated behind her on her way back to her room. She grumbled her way through her closet, dressing and finding her tennies. So, she’d slept through her alarm. Wasn’t that what mothers were for? Back in the bathroom, she jerked the brush through her hair, wincing at the pain.

Some day
this
was going to be—a bad hair day for sure. Ouch, she couldn’t even braid it without snagging.

“Thanks, Mom.” The tone said “thanks for nothing,” and from the frown on her mother’s face, Trish knew she’d read the tone. By the time she’d started the car, her nagger settled himself firmly on her shoulder.
Letting things get to you, aren’t you?
Maybe he was half cat; he certainly purred like one.
Thought you were going to copy your dad and give God the glory for everything?

Trish clamped her bottom lip between her teeth. Maybe if she clamped hard enough, she could drown out that infernal, internal voice. Were consciences supposed to snicker?

Even Amy shot her a raised-eyebrow look when Trish made a dig at Rhonda and her boyfriend. Rhonda’s hurt look cut through Trish’s bad mood like a chainsaw through cheese.

“Sorry.” Trish reached out and caught her friend’s arm before she leaped out of the van. “Guess all this is really getting to me.”

“Yeah, it is. And your bad attitude is really getting to
me.
Don’t bother to wait for me after school. Jason will take me home.”

Now you’ve really blown it. Tsking
away, her nagger only made her feel worse. It was all that jerk’s fault, whoever he was. Hate was far too mild a word.

Rhonda didn’t take her usual place at the lunch table, and when Trish tried to find her, she and Jason were sitting at a table clear across the room. For all their years in school, they’d always shared a table. Trish felt as if half herself was missing. All the football players, including Doug, flirted with Amy, leaving Trish to drown in her puddle of self-pity.

She finished what she could of her salad—a lump in her throat made swallowing difficult—and shoved herself to her feet. Needing to pick up the TBA letter from Mrs. Olson gave her a good excuse to bug out early.

Nothing had ever come between her and Rhonda before. The thought of “The Jerk,” as she now called the person harassing her, made her want to slam her locker. And kick it! Guy trouble, that’s what it was. Guys messing up her life. First Highstreet, now The Jerk, and Jason, Rhonda’s boyfriend, coming between them. She smothered the thought of her father being a guy.

She also buried her nagger’s next reminder:
It isn’t guys, it’s you—your temper.
Who needed to hear something like that anyway? She could feel him shaking his head, just as she was shaking her own. Why did life have to be so complicated?

Complications fled when she read the letter to the government class. Cheers, whistles, stomping feet, clapping hands—the response made her wish Bob Diego was there to enjoy it also.

“Now class.” Ms. Wainwright let the excitement build and explode before stepping forward with hands raised for attention. “Okay, that’s enough. They’re going to send someone out from the office to find out what happened to the teacher here.” The room settled down but the grins on student faces could have lit the school.