“I don’t know.” As she came at me again, I made a gliding movement to one side, circling around her. How I did that, I didn’t know—my body was calling the shots, not me. “Mrs. Johnson, please, stop.”
She turned around, panting now. “I’ll make you tell me.” Her hands curled into fists. “I’ll beat it out of you.”
“No, ma’am, you won’t.” Gray stepped between us, and caught Mrs. Johnson’s wrists as she tried to hit him. “You leave my sister alone now.”
The woman stared up at him, and then collapsed against him, sobbing hysterically. Gray glanced at me. “Go inside and call the sheriff, Cat.”
It only took Sheriff Yamah two minutes to arrive at the store, but by then Gray had managed to calm down Sunny’s mother. He led her to his patrol car, and locked her in the back before he came to talk to us.
I briefly described the strange way Mrs. Johnson had been acting since meeting me, and how she had tried to get into the store earlier. “I don’t know why she thinks I know something, but I honestly don’t, Sheriff,” I added. “I’ve never even met Sunny.”
“Nancy’s been under a terrible strain,” he said, glancing at the patrol car. “I’ll take her home and have a talk with Jack.” He turned to Gray. “I appreciate you taking care of this.”
Gray nodded, and then walked with me to his truck. “You okay?”
“Yeah.” I wondered if the complete calm I felt was my own form of hysteria. “Thanks for saving me as usual.”
“She won’t give you any more trouble,” he said, as if she were nothing more than another bully at school.
No one ever picked on me after Gray had a talk with them, and now he’d done the same thing with Mrs. Johnson. He’d confided in me about his dreams; maybe he could do other things. “How do you know she won’t?”
“I just do.” He got in and started up the truck. “You’d better tell Trick about this.”
Yet another good reason for my big brother to make me quit my job; I’d been attacked by the grief-crazed owner of the shop across the street. I slumped back against my seat. “Do I have to?”
“If you don’t,” he warned, “the sheriff will.”
Fortunately when we got home Trick was asleep, and the next morning he left before I woke up. I made my own breakfast before I tackled my chores, and when the housework was done I went out to the barn to talk to Gray.
I saw two box fans whirring just outside the end stall that Trick had mucked out and sprayed down the previous morning. The strong smell of varnish made me cover my nose as I got close to the stall and looked in.
My brother wasn’t putting down new bedding, but was swiping a wide paint brush back and forth over the wall panels. “Whew. Can’t you wait until spring to do that?”
“Not unless you want to foal Rika outside.” He bent to dip the brush into the tray of clear varnish he had sitting on a stool. “We can’t keep the wood clean unless it’s sealed.”
I picked up a bottle of Tek-trol, which we used to disinfect the stalls every couple of months. “Good idea.” I saw that along with the bedding he’d cleared everything out of the stall, including the feed bucket. “Are we going to starve her, too?”
“Trick doesn’t want anything in here when she delivers,” he told me. “It’s to protect the foal from bacteria until he nurses for a day or two. And don’t put any fresh bedding in here until we know Rika is ready to deliver.”
“We should get a foal alarm,” I said, remembering a little electronic kit that included a sensor that hung from the mare’s tail, which sent a signal to a monitor the owner kept in their office or home. Even with an alarm, it wasn’t going to be easy. “The vet said there’s like a dozen mares foaling this month. What if he can’t get to us, and we have to do this on our own?”
“Then we do it.” Gray set down the brush and took the bandanna from his back pocket to wipe the sweat from his face. “She’ll be all right.”
“This is her first time foaling,” I reminded him. “She’s not going to know what to do. Neither do any of us.”
“Breeding means foaling.” He hesitated before he added, “That show girl stopped by this morning. She said she’d come over and help.”
My brows rose. “That show girl? Are you referring to Mena, your arch-enemy?”
He moved his shoulders. “She’s okay. For a pushy girl who think she knows everything about horses.”
“I’m pretty sure she does, actually. She also seems to like you a lot.” I observed his lack of reaction. “You should feel flattered. Not that many people like you.”
“I’m not interested.”
Oh, yes, you are, I thought. “I was going to make a big batch of meatballs and sauce to freeze for future meals. I can leave some in the fridge for you guys to have for dinner tonight.”
“I’m tired of pasta,” my brother complained. “Trick overcooks it so much it tastes like mush, even with your sauce. Anyway, he was going to grill something tonight.”
“Make something else, then,” I suggested. “Heat up the sauce and meatballs in a pan, put them on hoagie rolls with some provolone cheese, and you’ve got meatball subs. Versus eating whatever Trick turns into charcoal on the grill.”
“Thank you,” he said, and he meant it.
“No problem.” I decided to take advantage of his improved mood. “Can I ask you something?” He gave me a wary look before he nodded. “Last night, when Mrs. Johnson jumped me, did you see what happened? I mean, what I did to her?”
“You didn’t do anything wrong,” he said. “You didn’t hurt her.”
“The thing is, I’ve never been in a fight,” I lied. I had been, with Barb Riley, but I wasn’t supposed to remember that. “I didn’t know what to do. So she should have been able to beat me into the sidewalk. Only she didn’t, because I pushed her away.”
“You were defending yourself.”
“Gray, I pushed her so hard she almost ended up on the next block. I’m not that strong.” I saw him avert his eyes. “Am I?”
He shrugged. “It was probably the adrenaline.”
“I also moved so fast she never laid a hand on me. Is that adrenaline, too?” I waited, but he didn’t say anything. “Okay. What if the adrenaline kicks in again and I hurt someone?”
He gave me a strange look. “Do you want to?”
“No.”
“Then you won’t.” He went back to varnishing.
I wanted to hit him, but as angry as I was I probably would have knocked him over to the next farm. “You know, every time you do something stupid, I stand up for you. I explain things for you. I’ve probably kept you from being grounded for like half your life. And if you’ve forgotten, I even helped you with the weird dream thing the other night. So how can you just ignore me like this?”
He dropped the brush and turned on me. “You’re strong because you’ve been riding since you could walk. You move fast for the same reason. Last night that lady scared you, and you reacted. Neither of you got hurt. So now you know you’ll be okay in a fight.” Before I could say anything, he glared. “That’s all I can tell you. Which you could have figured out on your own if for once in your life you’d use your brains instead of running your mouth.”
I swallowed hard. “You’re not supposed to yell at me. House rules.”
A crash outside the stall startled both of us. Gray’s expression changed, and he grabbed me, shoving me behind him. I stumbled and almost hit the wet-varnished wall but caught myself in time. I was about to yell back at him when I looked over his shoulder and saw Rika rearing just outside the stall. Behind her I saw the remains of her stall door, lying in pieces on the floor where she’d kicked it out.
Rika eyed Gray and made an awful screeching sound as she reared again, this time bringing her hooves against the side of the stall.
I started forward. “It’s okay, girl. I’m okay.” When Gray tried to stop me, I shrugged him off. “She isn’t going to attack me. You’re the one she wants to trample.”
I eased out of the stall, talking in a low, soft voice as I approached her. Once she focused on me, she stopped attacking the stall and put herself between me and Gray.
“Come on, girl.” I took hold of her halter and tugged her toward the end of the barn. “Let’s both get some fresh air.” Out of the corner of my eye I saw Gray starting to follow us. “No, don’t get near her. Stay in the barn. I’ll be right back.”
On some level Rika had decided to trust me, because once we emerged from the barn she didn’t try to jerk free or run. I put her in the bathing pen and gave her a minute while I looked her over. I didn’t see any injuries from her tantrum in the barn, but once she seemed more at ease I felt her legs and belly.
“You make a great bodyguard,” I told her as I went around her front, checking her mouth and shoulders. “But in a fight with the barn, honey, the barn usually wins.”
Her belly still hung low with the foal, and I didn’t see any show of blood or fluids that would indicate she’d aggravated herself into delivering early. We’d still have to keep an eye on her—or I would, I mentally corrected myself. As far as I was concerned only I was going to handle the Arabian.
When I went back into the barn Gray met me at the door. “She’s all right, and I don’t think it affected the foal. We should call Dr. Marks, though, and see if he wants to take a look at her anyway.”
“I’ve never heard of a horse getting in the middle of shouting match.” He shook his head as he surveyed the damage she’d caused. “You really think it’s me?”
“You, or she hates the smell of varnish.” I went over and picked up what was left of her stall door. “God, look at this. If you hadn’t been inside the birthing stall, she might have killed you.”
