Sabotage. Kit Wilkinson
Cold water seeped through to her toes before she nodded in agreement.
“Until Tuesday.” He rolled up his window then sped down the gravel drive.
Emilie shivered, hugging her shoulders as she ran the last few yards to the stable.
“Mr. Randall?” His name echoed through the barn, creating unnatural reverberations that chilled her head to toe. Goose bumps prickled her skin as she removed her helmet and wrung out her wet braid. The brief joy from Mr. Winslow’s approval had already gone, replaced with the same dread that had haunted her since finding Camillo’s note.
She grabbed a thick wool blanket from the top of a tack trunk, draped it over her shoulders then crossed the spacious foyer to check the thermostat.
“Wow, you are one tiny rider.” A deep baritone sounded from behind.
Emilie muffled a squeal, dropping one end of the blanket.
“Did I startle you?” Derrick’s accent, maybe Tennessee, seemed heavier than it had over the phone. “Sorry about that.”
Emilie shook her head but remained facing the wall as she adjusted the temperature a few degrees. Heat crept up her spine as she could feel Derrick’s eyes on her back. She turned. “I’m just a little jumpy today….”
The rest of the sentence escaped her. Her eyes grew large. The man stood in the center of the main aisle holding the most skittish horse in the barn by nothing but a handful of mane.
He stroked the horse’s lean neck and smiled wide. “Poor guy was just walkin’ up and down the aisle. Seemed lost.”
Emilie’s mouth fell half-open. Not only did Derrick hold Redman with so little effort, but the man had also shed his rain gear. His large T-shirt and loose-fit jeans stretched across walls of hard muscle. She sucked in a quick breath and forced her eyes up. His wide-set steely eyes, golden skin and thick waves of dark hair sticking out recklessly in every direction weren’t any less appealing.
Emilie blinked and shifted her gaze to the gelding beside him. “That’s Redman. He’s a rescue and he’s usually a bit…flighty.” The one time she’d ventured to touch him, the scared animal had tried to bite her.
“Well, who can blame him? Look at this place. It’s like a country club in here.” He pointed to the dark stained cedar that crowned the open foyer with its cathedral ceiling and faux antler chandelier. Then he gave the chestnut a hearty pat on the shoulder. “Yep, Redman, I know how you feel.”
Emilie put the blanket down and pulled at the neck of her damp sweater. “That horse belongs in Stall K and apparently he needs a snap clip on his door. Put him away, Mr. Randall. We need to—”
“I’d really like it if you could call me something besides Mr. Randall,” he interrupted. “Makes me think my dad is here.”
She lifted an eyebrow.
“So, just call me Derrick. Okay?” His smile grew wider.
“Okay. Derrick,” she said with some reluctance.
A dimple formed on his left cheek. He turned Redman toward the north stalls and strutted away. “Be right back,” he called over his shoulder. Great.
He and the horse moved off as silently as they’d come. Emilie reminded herself to breath again. Could she really work with this guy? Did he ever stop smiling? Ugh. It wouldn’t be anything like working with Camillo. But she did need help. The fact that Redman was roaming the aisles was proof of that. And Mr. Winslow liked him.
When Derrick returned, Emilie looked quickly away toward the back of the stable. “It’s time to turn the horses out,” she said. “But I’ll show you the old barn first. If you take the job, it’s where your office and tack space will be. There’s a restroom, telephone and refrigerator there for your private use.”
She led the way to the far end of the facility. Derrick followed close behind. She wondered if he could sense her nervousness and the strange unease that hung in the air of the stable. She scratched her neck then clasped her hands behind her back to keep them still. Or was it he that made her nervous? She glanced over her shoulder. What if he didn’t even want the job? She stopped and faced him.
“Mr. Ran—Derrick…I don’t really know you, but Mr. Winslow and, of course, my sister seem to think you’d be good here and I trust their judgment. I’m sure you’re aware it’s not usually this quiet at Cedar Oaks. There are forty-three boarders, over fifty horses, farrier visits, riding students, vet calls and lots of shows. You’d be in charge of it all…until Camillo comes back. In that case, you’d work under him through the jumper season, but he would resume teaching lessons and scheduling. Regardless, the hours are long and you’d have to work every weekend.”
Derrick’s grin faded slightly. “I need this job.”
“And you agree to the pay we discussed?” He nodded.
“Good then.” She shook his hand. It felt strong and warm against hers. “Are you ready to move in?”
“No. I can stay for the rest of the day but I have an appointment with the dean to sign my leave papers in the morning. I can be back tomorrow by late afternoon.”
Emilie clenched her teeth. First he’s late and now he needs a day off? Why was she agreeing to this? Mr. Winslow, she reminded herself. Mr. Winslow and the Olympics.
“That’s fine.” She tried to keep the irritation from her voice. “Anyway, I forgot to ask the housekeeper to run through the apartment where you’ll be staying. My father wants you near the main house. I hope that’s okay? Camillo lived here in the old barn, but he left everything behind and it’s a mess.”
Derrick grinned again and an unfamiliar warmth spread through Emilie as she finally managed to look into his gray eyes.
“I’d be happy to sleep with Redman if you asked me to,” he said. “I’ve never been in a heated barn before. Don’t tell me it’s air-conditioned, too?”
Of course it’s air-conditioned. Silly man. “You want to sleep with Redman? I can arrange that.” She smirked.
His smile stretched so wide the dimple reappeared on his left cheek. “Ah. You do have a sense of humor.”
Heat rose to her cheeks. She turned and strode quickly to the old barn, pushing her way through the heavy doors that divided the two structures.
“I guess the stable hand must have closed these.” Although she couldn’t imagine why. “We usually leave them open.”
Emilie stopped after taking two steps into the old barn.
“Is something wrong?” Derrick asked.
“I don’t know…Just—those doors should be open, and this door,” she pointed to Camillo’s tack room door, “it should be closed and locked. In fact, it was locked yesterday. I don’t know why…”
Had Camillo come back?
She rushed into the dark room, fumbling for the switch. A putrid odor stung her nostrils and robbed her of oxygen. As light flooded the space, she gasped and stumbled back.
No. Not Camillo.
But there was his body. Stiff and strangely twisted. Clearly dead. Broken boards from old jump standards lay around him. And blood.
Emilie screamed but heard nothing as she went limp down to the floor.
TWO
Derrick scooped Emilie into his arms. She’d become completely unresponsive as he carried her back to the front stable. Shock had set in. He, meanwhile, fought waves of nausea, which he feared would only worsen after witnessing such a sight.
A dead body in a stable…
It raised all sorts of questions, like why? And how? What had happened to the poor man? Who was he?
Derrick