Christmas Countdown

“Who do you think woke me up?” She continued working the knots until she freed his hands. “He’s got talent, Mac, but I know he didn’t do this. Who did?”

Mac bent and fiddled with the rope binding his ankles. “I was jumped by a thug dressed in black and his buddy used the Taser on me from behind.” He loosened the last knot, shucked the twine off his boots and stood up, then pulled Emma to her feet.

“We need to check him over, make sure he’s okay.” Striding to the stall gate, he brushed his hand down the horse’s face and leaned down, eyeing all four of Navigator’s legs.

“We can lead him around just to make sure.”

“Yeah. Let’s do that. I’ve been stuck suffocating in that sleeping bag for the last hour. Whoever they were, they had plenty of time to injure him.”

Worry laced around his nerves and attached itself to his thoughts. For all his training, he’d been no match for a man with a Taser gun and the element of surprise afforded the intruders by the diminished hearing in his left ear.

He snagged the halter and lead rope off the peg next to the gate and undid the latch. Stepping inside the stall, he caught Navigator, put on his halter and led him out into the center of the barn, moving him in a circle while Emma watched.

“He looks great, Mac. We got lucky.”

Frustration clouded his outlook on the situation. “If we got lucky, then what were they doing here?” He turned toward Emma and stopped in front of her. “Take him. I’m going to check out his stall before you put him back in.”

She took hold of the lead rope. “It does seem strange if the horse was the target that they’d tie you up like a Christmas package and simply walk away, leaving him unharmed.”

Her observation aligned with his thinking as he stepped into Navigator’s stall and moved around the perimeter, looking for anything that had the potential to harm him. Nothing.

“It’s clear, there’s nothing here.”

“Good.” She led the colt back into his stall and removed his halter. “Your description of the men sounds a lot like the one my friend Janet saw at Loomis Farm. The type that seem to follow Victor Dago around.”

He trailed her out of the colt’s stall and latched the gate. “Does Dago have a Derby prospect?”

“Not that he’s touting, but he does have a nice three-year-old stud colt named Dragon’s Soul. He’s put down some fast times on the track and he won his maiden race.”

Caution worked over him and he considered the idea that maybe the intruders were closer than they’d ever imagined. “I’ve got a contact in Lexington. I’ll give him a call, see if anything comes up on Victor Dago.”

“Great. So you were some sort of a cop before you took this job?”

“I worked for the Secret Service guarding dignitaries.”

She stared at him for a moment, her eyes narrowed in contemplation. “And that’s how you were injured?”

He watched her as she continued to gaze up at him, knowing full well she wanted details. Details he had no intention of giving her.

“Yes.” Stepping away, he picked up the sleeping bag and shook off the shavings, then tossed it onto the cot. “I need to get some sleep.”

“I’ll leave you to it then.”

Mac gave her a quick once-over. His gaze focused on the oversize rubber muck boots sticking out from under the hem of her silky robe before trailing back up to the mass of dark hair hanging loose in long waves that fell to her waist. “Thanks for letting this cat out of the bag.”

A slow smile pulled at her sweet mouth. “I heard Navigator calling. You have him to thank.” She motioned to the horse and turned for the door. “I’ll see you in the morning.”

“Good night.” He watched her walk out the barn door and followed ten steps behind.

Pausing next to the entrance, he leaned against the jamb and looked after her until she was safely inside the main house via the back door.

The porch light went out and he turned back into the stable, studying the interior. The place was as exposed as a secret with a gossip columnist chatting up the blue bloods. The intruders had simply come in one of the doors. He’d have to limit the access points immediately and consider sleeping in the hayloft over the tack room, which looked directly down into Navigator’s stall.

One of the only access points was a permanent ladder rung up the sidewall. The other was a massive loading door in the front of the barn thirty feet above the ground, used to fill the loft with hay. It offered an ideal vantage point.

Mac advanced deeper into the stable, trying to pick up on the thug’s path through the wood shavings on the floor. It was a nearly impossible task, but he spotted a faint trail leading to the rear entrance of the barn.

But something bothered him. The men had bought themselves time by using a nonlethal method to subdue him.

Time for what?

He glanced in each stall as he made his way to the back of the stable and stopped just short of the exit. Looking to the left, his stare fell on the ladder leading up into the rear loft. Traces of sawdust were deposited on the first five wooden rungs.

It was possible someone had climbed into the back loft for a bale of alfalfa, but he knew for a fact the grass hay in the front loft was being used to feed Navigator right now. Still, he couldn’t rule out the chance that Emma had used the ladder.

Mac grabbed the handle on the massive rear door, slid it shut and put the pin in the latch. For now he was content that his Navigator was safe and asleep in his stall.

EMMA WATCHED MAC TIGHTEN the last bracket on the series of motion-activated lights they had installed at the front and back entry points to the barn. If so much as a stray cat roamed near the entrance, it would be put in the spotlight where Mac could take action.

She let out a long sigh as she stepped back from the base of the ladder he stood on and watched him descend. She liked having him at Firehill. Liked the way he made her feel. The way he deflated the bubble of uncertainty that floated worry in her mind. “The locksmith will be here tomorrow to put a keypad on the stall door.”

“Good.” He held the screwdriver out to her and she took it, their fingertips brushing in the handoff.

Heat pulsed up her arm and she pulled back before staring up into his face at the knowing smile on his lips.

“Last night, after you left, I searched the stable and found sawdust on the rungs leading up to the rear loft. Any chance you climbed up there yesterday?”

“No. I haven’t been up there since they delivered the alfalfa in October. I don’t even plan on feeding it until January.”

“I’ve got a sneaking hunch the thugs who jumped me last night may have been hiding up there.”

Emma shuddered, unable to fight the uneasiness the creepy revelation generated in her body. There were too many places to hide at Firehill, and they could spend an aeon trying to search every one of them.

“Relax. I’ll keep the back door locked up from now on.” He grinned at her from under the brim of the brown felt fedora he’d found in the tack room. In fact, it had been hanging in there for as long as she could remember.

“Any more chores?” he asked.

She wanted to roll her eyes and play coy, but it wasn’t in her DNA. “As a matter of fact, it’s time to put up the Christmas lights around the eaves of the main house. I could really use your help.”

His smile faded and hesitation hardened his features. “That’s not in my job description.”

“Have you got something against Christmas?”

He looked away, focusing on something just over her head before he again met her gaze. “It wasn’t the happiest time of the year for me growing up.”

“I’m sorry.” A mixture of sadness and curiosity congealed in her veins.

“Okay. Well, just think of it as adding colored security lighting.”