Sabotage. Kit Wilkinson
than anyone else. You’d know where to start looking.”
“I don’t want to play detective,” she said.
“Okay. Just saying that’s what I would do if I were you.”
“Well, you’re not me.”
“I would pray, too,” he added, ignoring her last statement.
“I don’t really do that.” She waved a hand through the air.
Derrick frowned. “It’s pretty simple. You just talk to God like you’re talking to me. You should try it.”
“Maybe,” Emilie said, ready to change the subject.
Derrick nodded and fell silent until they drove onto the Gill estate. “To the stable or home?”
“Home.”
Emilie didn’t know why but she did not look at Derrick or thank him when she climbed out of the car.
Derrick watched Emilie weave through the beautiful gardens behind her home. The back door opened to her—perhaps the housekeeper had come to greet her. At least she wasn’t alone. She turned and closed the door to the house without looking his way. Not even a wave. Derrick wasn’t sure why that bothered him but it did.
He sighed long and hard then backed up and headed to the stable. He wanted to meet with the evening stable worker and follow up on a few things he’d started earlier. But it was later than he’d realized. Stephan, the scheduled stablehand, had already left. All the horses had been brought in, fed and watered, except for Emilie’s. That was his job. He started with the ladies, Duchess and Chelsea. Then he fetched Marco and finally the stallion. He couldn’t help but stare at the yellow crime scene tape strung up near Bugs’s stall, blocking the entrance to the old barn. What had really happened there behind that tape? “Ho there.”
Derrick started at the strange, deep voice, thinking himself the only person in the stable. He dropped the stallion’s hoof that he’d been ready to pick and walked to the door of the stall.
“Got a call about one of the Gill horses.”
Down the aisle, a tall man stood, legs apart and hands on hips. He was deeply tanned and dressed in a leather apron—the farrier.
“Yes. Yes, you did.” Derrick stepped out of the stallion’s stall, locked the door and moved toward the man. “That would have been me. I’m Derrick Randall, the new groom.”
“James Joyner.”
They shook hands.
“I’d thought maybe I’d missed you. I had to go out for a bit.” Derrick led him to Marco and showed him the shoe Cindy had tacked on earlier.
“No. Got tied up at a new stable.” Joyner inspected all four hooves. “Looks to me like he could use a new set.”
“You have time for that tonight?”
“I’m here, ain’t I?” James grinned then headed to his truck. “Meet me at the west doors.”
Derrick pulled Marco from his stall and headed to the side entrance where James would back up his truck to work. In no time, the farrier was hunched over, pulling Marco’s back leg between his knees and removing the old shoe. Then, holding a foot-long rasp in his hands, he filed over the hoof with long smooth strokes. James’s hands were marked with cuts and scrapes. Sweat dripped from his forehead as he muscled through the layers of thick hoof.
Marco misbehaved. He knocked Derrick with his enormous head, then jerked his legs from James, striking a structural column to his rear.
“Is he always so restless?” Derrick asked. “He seemed to have better ground manners earlier.”
“Not gonna say he’s my best client.” James chuckled and wiped the sweat from his face. “I heard there’s been a lot going on at the stable. Maybe he’s just a little shaken up.”
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