Stalking Ground Read online

  She told Robo to wait in the car and headed across the yard, passing Mama’s collection of plaster of paris yard ornaments: small chipmunks, squirrels, and rabbits frozen in midscurry. Skirting around the side of the white stucco house, she entered through the kitchen door, stepping into a different world filled with lovely aromas. Mama T never sent anyone away hungry, and she cooked up love in every bite. Mattie’s mouth watered.

  “What have you fixed for me today?” she said as she entered the kitchen.

  Mama T put down her long-handled spoon and turned from the wood-burning stove for a hug. Mattie placed her cheek against the woman’s silvery streaked black hair, which was pulled into a bun at the nape of her neck. She held onto the small comfort for a moment until Mama let her go. Stepping back, they grinned at each other, Mama T’s smile showing a gap or two where teeth were missing.

  “This morning we have huevos rancheros with green chili and tortilla.”

  “Mmm . . .” One of Mama’s old standbys. Grabbing up a hot pad, Mattie went to the stove to lift the black porcelain coffee pot with the white speckles. “Can I pour you a cup of coffee?” she asked.

  “Si, gracias. Then sit.” Mama placed two plates heaped with food on the table.

  As was their habit, Mama uttered a brief prayer of gratitude and then they ate in silence. Mama always insisted that her guests savor each bite and not waste time with chitchat. After they finished, she spoke. “Your brother called.”

  Mattie had been waiting for him to call for months. He’d called Mama T last August, asking her to see if Mattie wanted to reconnect, and then nothing. Of course he had to call now, just when she needed to focus on work and finding Adrienne. “What did he have to say?”

  “That he is glad you will talk to him. He took your cell phone number and your home number both. He said he will call you soon.”

  “Okay. How did he sound?”

  A frown line formed between Mama’s brows. Apparently she considered the question important enough to give it her full concentration. “He sounded tired. And maybe at first, afraid you would not want him to call you. Then he sounded relieved. Happy. But still tired.”

  Her foster mother could gather a great deal from even a short phone call. During high school, Mattie learned she could hide nothing from her Mama T.

  “He said to tell you thank you, and he looks forward to talking to you.”

  Mattie couldn’t help giving her head a slight shake. Her brother Willie was a mystery to her. She’d hoped, for all the years since they’d been separated after Willie was sent away, that he would find her someday. And now that he had, he’d delayed their reunion for months. It didn’t make sense. She preferred tackling this kind of situation head on, not waiting around for the moment to fester.

  “Did he leave you a phone number?”

  “No. It’s strange. I asked for it, but he said no, he would call you.”

  “Well, I guess I’ll just wait to hear from him then. Thank you, Mama, for being the middleman on this. It seems kind of crazy the way he’s handling it.”

  The lady smiled. “Middlewoman,” she said, her eyes twinkling. Then she sobered. “It does seem strange. Like he’s hiding something. I hope it will be all right.”

  Mattie touched her warm hand and then stood to carry her dishes to the sink. “Don’t worry. This is good. You said so yourself.”

  “I did, mijita. And so it is. Now you go to your work. You have much more important things to do than washing my dishes.”

  Mattie hugged Mama T and let herself out the door. On the way to the car, she suppressed a shiver. She zipped her jacket, pretending it was the cold air that caused it. But she couldn’t hold back the bad feeling she had swelling in her chest. Was it about Willie? What if he didn’t call? She’d been unable to retrieve Willie’s number because Mama T still used an old-fashioned rotary phone on her kitchen wall. Detective LoSasso had suggested they subpoena her foster mother’s phone records to find the number, but Mattie hesitated to abuse a system meant to trace criminals and not long-lost relatives.

  Or was the bad feeling caused by something else, something that lay hidden out there that she had yet to discover?

  Whatever it was, she didn’t like this feeling of dread one bit.

  *

  Cole could smell bacon cooking when he came down the stairs for breakfast. He was mentally thanking his sister for finding Mrs. Gibbs, until he heard that dear woman’s voice wafting up the stairway alongside the scent of bacon. Her Irish brogue colored her speech, and her angry tone heated up the kitchen.

  “Ye’ll not be going to school in that outfit, young miss. Not while I’m in charge, anyway.”

  Cole resisted the urge to turn around and head back to his bedroom. He sighed and trudged into the kitchen to face the battle. He sought out Angela—for he knew it must be his eldest drawing fire—and recognized immediately what had instigated the housekeeper’s censorship.

  In addition to a stony face, Angela wore an extremely low-cut tank top that Cole hadn’t seen since summer. “What’s wrong with it?” she asked.

  “It’s shameless, it is. I’ll not have you parading around school with your bosom exposed.”

  The last thing Cole wanted to talk about at breakfast was his teenage daughter’s bosom. Angela had vacillated between being his right-hand girl and acting out since school started. He understood the difficulties a teenager faced, but he felt compelled to stand behind the housekeeper and present a united front. Especially since he agreed on this one. “Mrs. Gibbs is right, Angie. You need to go upstairs and change.”

  “I’ve worn this shirt to school before, Dad. You didn’t complain about it then.”

  After receiving his divorce papers, Cole had been in a depressive funk when school started last summer. Back then, he probably hadn’t noticed. “I don’t remember that, but I’ll take your word for it. Letting you wear this shirt was my mistake. Let’s not repeat it. Go change, Angie, before you miss the bus.”

  “Dad.”

  How can she load such disgust and disappointment into one syllable? “Do what I say. Hurry up.”

  Throwing him a look that would kill a lesser man, Angie left the table. Cole turned his attention to his youngest, Sophie. She looked rather self-satisfied after witnessing her older sister’s defeat and was dressed in a freshly ironed pink blouse, her brown curls tied up on top of her head with a gauzy pink scarf. Mrs. Gibbs’s work, no doubt. Belle, their Bernese mountain dog, sat beside Sophie, eagerly watching for anything that might drop. Cole smiled. Belle knew who was the messy one in the family.

  “Good morning, sunshine,” Cole said to Sophie as he made his way to the coffee pot.

  “Hi, Daddy,” she said, taking a bite of scrambled egg. “Mrs. Gibbs made breakfast.”

  “Mmm . . . I could smell it on my way down the stairs. Thank you, Mrs. Gibbs.”

  Standing at the stove with spatula in hand, the woman gave him an approving nod, probably more for backing her up with Angela than for his expression of gratitude. She wore her gray hair in tight curls around her round and ruddy face. She’d only been with them for a few days, but so far she appeared to prefer more formal dress—black trousers with creases and neutral colored blouses that had a look of starch about them—rather than the denims and T-shirts that Cole and his youngsters were used to.

  “How do you like your eggs, Dr. Walker?” she said, brandishing one above the skillet.

  “Please, call me Cole,” he told her for the umpteenth time.

  She gave him a slight shrug.

  “Scrambled is great. Two please.” He took his seat beside Sophie, relishing her smile, a childish greeting around the toast she was taking a bite out of at the same time. “Do you have your backpack ready?”

  “Yes, I do. Today we’re going to start a science lesson about stars. Mattie showed us the dippers and the North Star, so I’ll have a head start.”

  “Sounds good, little bit.” He looked at Mrs. Gibbs, wanting to draw her into
the conversation. “Are you all still planning to go out to the Hartman place after school?”

  “Yes,” Sophie said, while Mrs. Gibbs said, “We will.”

  “Do you need directions?” Cole asked.

  “Angela can show me the way, can she not?”

  “I’m sure she can.” Cole hoped Angie was in a better mood when the time came.

  Mrs. Gibbs set his plate—piled high with steaming eggs, four strips of bacon, and toast—in front of him. He could get used to this. Since he’d taken over kitchen duty, they’d had nothing but boxed cereals to choose from in the morning.

  “Mrs. Gibbs, I appreciate this more than you’ll ever know.”

  The crow’s feet deepened around her green eyes when she smiled. “Oh, I have a notion how much you like your bacon. Most men do.”

  Cole dug in, eating quickly so that he could get to the office.

  “What would you like for dinner?” Mrs. Gibbs asked as she sat down at the table with her own plate.

  Dinner. On the table after work. One that he didn’t have to cook himself. Would wonders never cease? “I’ll leave that entirely up to you. I’m easy to please.”

  “Hamburgers,” Sophie chimed in.

  “We’ll see,” Mrs. Gibbs told her. “Now run upstairs and brush your teeth. It’s almost time to go out for the bus.”

  Sophie got up from the table, smacked a kiss on top of Belle’s head, and headed up the stairs. Belle took off after her, limping only slightly from the gunshot wound she’d sustained last summer. After Sophie left, Mrs. Gibbs spoke quietly. “Young Angela isn’t very pleased with me.”

  “She’ll get over it. She’s a good kid, but I think she’s gotten used to calling her own shots around here the past few months.”

  “I’ll try to respect that. But I feel I must express my own opinion when I see something that the girls are doing that I don’t agree with.”

  “Of course. And I’ll back you up when I can.” Cole might be desperate to have help around the house, but he wouldn’t turn over the raising of his kids to an outsider. “One thing I learned lately is that I’ve got to be involved with my kids, and we made a pact to communicate with each other. So I’ll have to express my opinions, too. Often you and I will agree. Sometimes we might not. Then we’ll have to work things out.”

  Mrs. Gibbs gave him a skeptical look. “We shall see.”

  It sounded ominous. “I’m sure we can work together. We just need to keep each other in the loop.” He pushed back his chair, ending the conversation. “Thank you for breakfast. That’s a mighty fine way to start the morning.”

  “And what do you want for your lunch?”

  “I’m used to a sandwich, but I can make that myself. I never know when I’ll be able to take a lunch break.”

  “I’ll leave something made for you in the refrigerator.”

  Clearly Mrs. Gibbs knew her way into a man’s heart. “Thanks. As long as I have fruit, chips, and sandwich fixin’s, I’m a happy camper.”

  The kids came down the stairs together, Angie picking at Sophie’s hair in a teasing way but dressed in a more acceptable shirt. Cole decided not to comment on it, gave both girls a hug, and saw them out the door. They headed up the lane toward the highway to catch the school bus.

  He felt autumn’s chill in the air and instantly thought of Adrienne Howard. He scanned the sky. Wispy gray clouds spread over half of it from the west, and they looked like they were filled with wind. As if proving him right, a light breeze lifted some dry leaves and scattered them across the lane. If a storm was brewing, the warm Indian summer might be coming to an end.

  Leaving Mrs. Gibbs to her own means, he said good-bye, pulled his pickup truck out of the garage, and headed down the lane to his clinic.

  Chapter 5

  Cole’s assistant, Tess Murphy, arrived at the clinic shortly after him. He’d never paid much attention to the way his assistant dressed before, but the discussion at home must have triggered a new awareness. He noticed that today she wore a wild-patterned T-shirt under her white jacket, and her red hair stood up in stiff spikes.

  “Hi, hi.” Tess gave him her usual twinkly greeting. “How goes it with Mrs. Gibbs this morning?”

  “We’re getting along fine.” A private man, Cole had never liked to air his personal life, so he switched the subject. “What do we have on the schedule?”

  The phone rang, and Tess answered. He looked at the schedule while Tess opened the computer screen for the intake of new clients. After tapping in information, Tess held out the phone, covering the speaker. “This is Carmen Santiago. New client—Dark Horse Stable. Wants to schedule an ambulatory visit for a sick stud horse. It’s way up in the mountains, so I thought you might want to prioritize.”

  He nodded, tucked the phone against his ear, and headed for the treatment room to prepare for his first client of the day, a routine cat exam with inoculations. “This is Dr. Walker.”

  “Carmen Santiago. I need an appointment as soon as you can work us in.”

  “Tess told me you’re having trouble with your stallion. What’s going on?”

  Her voice was low-pitched and melodious, and she had a slight Spanish accent. “He acts like he’s in pain. Stiff through the hind legs—doesn’t want to walk.”

  “Are the muscles in his back and hind legs hard, like they’re in spasm?”

  “Yes.”

  “Did you exercise him right before the symptoms started?”

  “Yes. We’d just finished his first morning workout.”

  “All right,” Cole said. “He could be tying up. It’s a condition that sport horses can get after working out real hard. Are you familiar with it?”

  “Yes, I’ve seen it before. But this seems different. There are also muscle tremors.”

  “Those can occur sometimes. Do you have any pain reliever?” Cole mentioned a common analgesic that most horse trainers kept on hand.

  “I do.”

  “Start him on that.” Cole explained the dosage. “I’ll be up as soon as I can. Where is your place?”

  “We’re located about twenty miles out. Go ten miles toward Hightower and turn north on Soldier Canyon Road.” She then described a series of twists and turns that led up into the high country.

  “I didn’t realize you were so far out. It will take me about an hour to get to you. Make him as comfortable as you can.” He heard the front door to the clinic open and knew his first patient had arrived. “I’ll have Tess do some rescheduling. I can leave here in about twenty minutes.”

  He made arrangements with Tess to reschedule his morning and took care of the cat. Then he checked supplies in the mobile vet unit that sat in the back of his pickup truck, climbed in, and headed west on the highway going through Timber Creek toward Hightower.

  The first few miles were smooth sailing through lush meadows that swept away on either side of the road. Feeling a pang of guilt, he drove past his childhood home, a cattle ranch where his parents still lived. It had been months since he’d visited. His mother was a difficult lady, and he felt she was partially to blame for his divorce. He’d found out too late that his mother had criticized Olivia constantly, and his ex-wife blamed him for not stopping it.

  Good Lord, how could I stop something I didn’t even know was happening?

  After he turned off onto Soldier Canyon, the road forced him to pay attention to his driving. Covered in gravel and ruts, it climbed a steep grade through pinion, limber pine, and ever thickening trees. Finally, after ten miles, he topped the last hill. From this vantage point, he could see a clearing in the valley and the red metal rooftops of several buildings, one a large barnlike structure. He kept the truck in low gear as he made his way toward the place, down through the heavy evergreen forest and pockets of aspen with golden leaves that shivered in the breeze. It seemed like an isolated location for a training stable, but many folks loved the mountains enough to put up with the distance.

  He found the entry to the stable easily enough. It
was the only one along this stretch and was marked well with a log archway. A wooden sign swung from the top, embossed with the name Dark Horse Stable. He drove under the arch and followed a narrow lane a half-mile through the forest until a clearing opened up.

  The lane split to the left where Cole could see a huge log home perched on a rise. Its vaulted roof rose above a wall of glass, exposing a forest view for its occupants as well as a view of the stable off to his right. He followed the right fork and drove toward the barn, made of solid red metal panels. After driving around it, he could see a flat space had been cleared on the other side where a well-groomed racetrack had been built. A bay thoroughbred streaked around the track, its black mane and tail streaming, running full out with a small rider perched on top. Cole shut down his engine and paused for a moment to enjoy the sight of the beautiful and powerful animal.

  A man of Hispanic descent approached the truck, and Cole got out to meet him. As the man came closer, Cole could make out his saddened expression, and he was reminded of a bloodhound: long face, sad droopy eyes. He extended his hand. “I’m Dr. Walker.”

  The man offered a limp handshake with a well-calloused hand but didn’t state his name. “Patron,” he said, waving his other hand toward the racetrack.

  Cole didn’t understand much Spanish, but he knew the man was telling him that the boss was out there on the horse. “Okay,” he said, making his way toward the track. He could see now that the rider was a woman, presumably Carmen Santiago.

  The rider pulled up and slipped from the saddle, landing lightly on her feet. The man hurried to take the horse’s reins.

  “I’m Carmen,” she said, extending her hand.

  “Dr. Walker.” Her handshake was so firm that for a moment he thought he’d entered an arm-wrestling contest.

  Carmen, also of Hispanic descent, was gorgeous. She wore her long, shiny hair pulled back and secured at the base of her neck in a black braid. Her flawless skin was a deep tan, the same color as Mattie’s. She looked at him with earnest brown eyes so dark they were almost black. “Thank you for coming so quickly. I’ll take you to see Diablo.”