Pitch Black: A Romantic Thriller (Blackwood Security Book 1) (10 page)

“I’d love a coffee. Shall I come with you?”

“Up to you. I can bring it out here if you like?”

I headed back to my trailer, and he followed. Thankfully we didn’t have to pass the barn on the way. I could only imagine the uproar if any of the girls saw him disappear into my tumbledown palace.

I made the coffee, managing to find two mugs that had only minor chips out of them. Portia’s brother took his black like me, which was just as well seeing as I didn’t have any milk.

He looked round with obvious disdain, taking in the delights of my tiny lounge and kitchen, with its shabby sofa and tiny dining table complemented by two mismatched chairs.

“You live here?” he asked.

“No, I have a mansion to go home to.”

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to sound condescending.”

“Don’t worry about it.” My feelings about the place were the same as his. “Yes, I live here. If you want to sit down, I’d suggest the left hand side of the sofa or the chair with the orange seat. The brown one’s wobbly and the other end of the sofa has a broken spring.” In fact, the only thing the sofa was good for was blocking the door so I couldn’t get out and wreak havoc at night.

He lowered himself gingerly onto the unbroken end, leaving the chair for me. “You haven’t been here long, have you?”

“About two weeks now. Just getting used to the joys of the British winter.”

“You’re not from round here, then?” His eyes widened “Wait, you’re not that girl who torched her boyfriend’s house are you? No, no you can’t be. She’s from America. Forget I said that.”

“Gossip sure travels fast round here. I came from America, so it’s probably me they’re talking about but I sure as hell didn’t torch anyone’s house. Did you hear that from Carol?”

“No, my mother heard from someone at her bridge club.”

“Wonderful. You probably know a warped version of my life history, and I don’t even know your name.”

He stuck his hand out, a little reluctantly it seemed. “Luke Halston-Cain.”

“Ashlyn Hale.” I shook his hand, hoping mine wasn’t too grubby. “Ash’ll do, though.”

“If it’s any consolation, I don’t think it’s your entire life history. Just that you split up with your fiancé, who cheated on you with a team of high school cheerleaders the week before your wedding. You got revenge by running his car into one of the cheerleaders, then driving it into a lake and setting fire to his house before you did a runner to England.” He eyed up the door, and I knew what he was thinking—can I escape from this madwoman?

“Bloody Nora. Almost none of that happened, I swear. If it had I’d be in jail, not working here, although this place probably isn’t much better than a prison cell.” Certainly the prisons I’d seen had fewer cockroaches.

“Too bad,” Luke said, finally breaking into a grin. “I always wondered if a cheerleader would bounce.”

“Half the village must think I’m a raving lunatic. I thought the guy in the grocery store kept giving me funny looks.”

“Don’t worry. The gossip-mongers do this to everybody. When I split up with my girlfriend a few weeks ago, my mother heard at the country club I’d dumped her by text message after finding out she was pregnant with my child, then started dating a lingerie model. She had a meltdown. I nearly lost my hearing when she yelled at me down the phone about how rude it was to communicate by text message. It took me three days to convince her she wasn’t going to be a grandmother.”

“So just to clarify, no dumping by text message then?” I asked, returning his smile.

“No. If you must know, I got sick of being treated like a walking wallet, and I told her that over dinner at my house. I take it you’re not a closet arsonist then?”

“The only part that’s true is that I caught my fiancé cheating and I left. I keyed his car, but that was all. He bloody deserved it.”

“Sounds like a fair trade to me. Now we’ve established you’re not a psychopath, and I’m not a heartless bastard, we can have a normal conversation.”

“Okay.” What did he count as a normal conversation? I stuck to a safe topic. “Weather’s not looking good today.”

“This is England—when does it ever?” Luke leaned back on the sofa and took a sip of coffee. “So, I’m curious. If you’re not on the run from the law, why did you choose to work here?”

I could hardly tell him the truth, could I? “I don’t know many people in England any more, and this job gave me somewhere to live while I work out what to do next.”

“What about your parents? Couldn’t you stay with them?”

“I haven’t spoken to them since I emigrated. They weren’t keen on Jamie, and they didn’t agree with my decision to drop out of university.” I shrugged. “I guess I don’t want to hear ‘I told you so.’”

“They might have mellowed over the years.”

Maybe, if they existed. I didn’t want to talk about myself any more. “So what about your family? How come you ended up human while Tia’s a contender for brat of the year?”

Okay, so that was a little rude, but if he took offence he could leave. At least then I wouldn’t have to deal with more questions.

“There’s not much left of my family. Just me, my mother and Tia.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be. My dad died over a decade ago. It’s common knowledge.”

But he still didn’t like talking about it. I could tell by the way his nails dug into the arm of the sofa.

“Still, that must have been hard.”

He gave a hollow laugh. “I survived. Now it’s Tia who’s the problem. I know she’s a brat, but I don’t know what to do about it. I spend most of my time at work, so I only see her once or twice a week, and she’s worse on every visit.”

“You don’t live with her, then?”

“I moved out when I hit eighteen. Tia lives with mother on the other side of the village.”

“What does your mother say about her behaviour?”

He shrugged. “Like mother, like daughter.”

Oh.

Luke put his cup down, and we sat in silence for a few seconds before he broke it.

“So, what are your plans for the future? Are you going to stick around here?”

A good question, and one I wasn’t about to answer. I looked at my watch. “Sorry, I’ve got work to finish. You can stay here if you like.”

“Do you make a habit of letting virtual strangers hang out in your house?” He looked concerned.

“Look around. Do you see anything worth stealing?”

My cash was hidden in the cistern, and I couldn’t see him fishing around in there. Beyond that, I didn’t care.

“I guess not. Thanks, it’s more comfortable than the feed room.”

But only marginally. He didn’t need to say that, I could tell by his grimace as he went into the kitchen to dispose of our cups.

“Just try not to let anyone see you leaving, or I’ll never hear the end of it,” I said.

“Gotcha.”

The barn had emptied out since Luke was nowhere to be seen. Jessica, Marianne, Portia and Arabella were all riding. Portia’s other two horses were standing in their stables looking bored, and the rest were in the fields. I spent a peaceful hour cleaning saddles and bridles before clattering hooves signalled the return of the horses.

The instant she saw me, Portia flung Gameela’s reins in my direction. “Untack her, would you?”

I was tempted to say no, but I thought of the grief it would cause George and nodded instead.

The little bitch turned to Arabella. “I’m going to jump Samara. Where the hell is Luke? He needs to carry things.” She pulled out her phone and demanded Luke report for duty immediately at the outdoor arena.

Poor guy.

I made Gameela comfortable then helped to tack up Samara. Luke slunk back into view, followed by half a dozen groupies who materialised out of nowhere.

As he walked past, he cut his eyes to me and muttered, “Give me strength.”

A little while later, I’d finished tidying up the piles of grooming kit and tack dumped everywhere and that meant I was done for the morning. Before going back home, curiosity made me take a detour to the arena to see how Portia was getting on with her show jumping. I didn’t even know Samara could jump.

When I rounded the corner, it soon became apparent by the mess of poles on the ground that Samara couldn’t. Portia was sitting in the sand, crying, while Luke tried to hold onto the horse and calm his sister down at the same time. I jogged across and took Samara, leaving Luke to deal with Portia who should have won an Oscar for her performance.

“Stupid horse,” she screeched. “She tripped over, that’s why I fell off. She didn’t even try to jump it properly.”

I looked at Samara, who was fidgeting and not looking at all happy. She kept shifting her weight off her left foreleg. Fearing the worst, I made her trot up. Yes, she was lame. Whatever happened, the poor horse came off worse than Portia. I led her over to where the drama queen was being fawned over by the rest of her coven.

“Portia, Samara’s injured.”

“Well, what am I supposed to do about it?”

“How about looking after her? Then calling the vet?”

“You do it. That’s what you’re here for. Look at me, I’m all dirty!” she wailed.

That little… Some people didn’t deserve to have animals. What a spoilt witch. Luke, to give him credit, looked pretty horrified by the whole exchange.

“Tia, get in the car,” he ordered.

“I need to get my bag. And change my boots. And I want a drink.”

“Get. In. The. Fucking. Car.”

Ooh, angry Luke. I liked that. It was about time somebody put Portia in her place, although I was a little surprised when she actually did as she was told.

Luke walked over to me. “How bad is it?”

“I’m not sure. There’s a bit of heat in the ligament just below the knee. I’ll cold hose her leg to keep the swelling down, but she needs the vet.”

“I’ll call him.”

The vet only took ten minutes to arrive. “Just finished up with a nasty case of colic in Upper Foxford. Good thing I was passing.”

He was a kind old chap with a Scottish accent, and as he examined Samara’s leg, he chatted away to her about rugby. Mindless chatter was a tactic I’d used myself with Stan. Horses may not understand your words, but they understood your tone, and responded to it.

Portia stayed in the car while the vet worked. She and Luke had had words, and he paced up and down the barn, looking furious. At least he didn’t come near Samara and upset her. If he’d done that, we’d have had words too.

It wasn’t long before the vet rose to his feet. “Looks like the suspensory ligament, but she’ll need a scan to confirm it. Can you bring her in on Monday?”

Luke stopped wearing a hole in the concrete and turned to me. “If I sort transport, can you travel with her? Tia’ll be at school, and I doubt she could handle her anyway.”

“Yeah, I’ll do it. Just let me know the time.” I could get up early and work a bit late to fit everything in. Anything to help the poor horse get her leg treated.

“How about half past eleven?” the vet suggested.

Luke and I both agreed.

After that depressing Saturday, on Sunday I ran myself into the ground. I set off early and went for a long run up in the hills. If I hadn’t been so bloody miserable I might have enjoyed it, because the scenery was beautiful. Morning mist swirled around the bare trees, and muntjac deer skipped over the path ahead of me.