Backlash Tender Trap Aftermath - Lisa Jackson Page 0,159

know,” she admitted. “Has anyone checked on the other horses?”

“Yep.” Curtis dug in his breast pocket, reaching for a crumpled pack of cigarettes. “Len and I looked ’em all over this morning. Everything looks okay.”

“That’s the good news,” Colton said thoughtfully as they walked outside and he shut the door securely behind him. “What little of it there is.”

Curtis lit up and blew a stream of smoke toward the blue Montana sky. “I’ll see about cleaning all the tack—makin’ sure that Black Magic’s and Tempest’s things are gone over. And we’ll clean out the stalls and wash all the equipment again.” He ambled toward the tack room, leaving Colton and Cassie alone.

Colton rammed his hands into the back pockets of his jeans. His expression pensive, he scoured the valley floor with his gaze, as if he could find some clue to an unsolved puzzle. “When I got through to Denver last night, I told him everything that had been going on in the past few weeks—including the fact that Black Magic was missing for a while.”

Cassie’s stomach knotted. She could tell just by looking at him that something important was to follow, and she guessed what it was. “He thinks the horse was stolen and that Dad did it,” she said without any emotion.

“He’s convinced the horse was stolen. What he’s not sure about is if the horse contracted the disease by accident or if it was done on purpose.”

“On purpose?” she repeated, her mouth dropping open. “What do you mean?” But the ugly realization was beginning to dawn on her. “Oh, Colton, no! He couldn’t think someone would intentionally hurt one of your horses!” she said, horrified at the implications. “That’s—that’s tantamount to germ warfare!”

Colton nodded, shoving the brim of his hat away from his eyes. “I’m just telling you what his gut reaction was.”

“Then his gut reaction was wrong!”

“He didn’t seem to think so.”

“And you? What about you?” She grabbed at the smooth leather sleeve of his jacket. “Tell me you think he’s wrong,” she demanded, her eyes boring into his, her fingers clenched anxiously. He couldn’t think Ivan was involved in anything so sinister.

“I hope he’s wrong.”

“Hope?” she repeated, nearly shrieking. “Don’t you know? Oh, Colton—”

“Look, Cass, I’m just telling you, that’s all,” he said sharply.

She dropped his arm as if it were a red-hot coal. “This time Denver’s gone off the deep end,” she said angrily. “But then he has a history of that, doesn’t he?”

“So does your father.”

The wound cut deep—like the slice of a razor. Whirling, she poked a single finger at his chest. “My father has his reasons for not trusting you and for hating your uncle. But I thought we were going to bury the hatchet and try to forget all that. I even thought we were going to try to ‘start over,’ isn’t that what you said? Well, someone better clue Denver in!”

“I will. When he gets back.”

“And when will that be?”

“As soon as he can.”

“Great! I can’t wait to give him a piece of my mind,” she declared, turning on her heel and starting for her pickup. Of all the insane, horrid notions! If Denver McLean were here right now, Cassie would personally throttle him!

Righteous indignation staining her cheeks the color of the dawn, she threw open the door of the truck and climbed inside. But before she could slam it closed, Colton had wedged himself between the door and seat. “Now who’s jumping off the deep end?” he demanded.

“Excuse me, but I think my reputation and my father’s were just assassinated.” She jammed the key into the ignition. The old engine caught. “I’d just like to know, Colton,” she said, looking down at him from her perch in the truck’s cab, “what happened between last night and this morning! Remember last night—out here in this very yard? Weren’t you the guy trying to get me to stay with you? Sleep with you? Make love to you?”

His fingers flexed, the knuckles white.

“Well, I’m not interested,” she said. “Not until you and I have some mutual trust!” With a toss of her head, she slammed the truck into gear.

* * *

By the time she reached the clinic, Cassie had cooled off. Her anger had given way to incredulity, disappointment and indignation.

“Any messages?” she asked, letting herself in through the back door and catching Sandy feeding the few patients housed in the cages of the back room.

“No—and your first appointment isn’t until nine.” She poured feed pellets into a small dish and