5. Izzy
Chapter 5
Izzy
“ I ’m glad you could call,” I say. “I’ve missed hearing your voice.”
“Same,” Tim says. “But for now, I need you to keep your eye on the prize. If this horse doesn’t sell for much, you could sell your trailer. Your truck. Whatever. I’ll buy you a new one once this is all over, and you can use my truck for now.”
His truck’s worth way more than mine, and I wonder for a moment why he’s not telling me to sell that. “I can’t sell yours, since it’s not in my name,” I say, “I guess that makes sense.”
“Or, if none of that works, you can ask your parents for tuition money, right? You didn’t tell them that you didn’t get in to vet school yet, did you?”
That hurts. “No, not yet.”
“Good,” he says. “They’ve always been great at sending you money for school, so just tell them you need money for that. Later, after we get engaged, you can tell them you’ve changed your mind. I’ll have paid you back, and you can return the money to them.”
“I guess.” It does make sense, but it feels. . .I don’t know. It makes me feel super icky.
“I have to go,” he says. “I’m sorry. I’ll try and call again as soon as I can.”
“Alright.” I can’t help feeling deflated when he hangs up, and not only because I can’t talk to him anymore. It felt like he only really called to try and push me about getting his bail money. He didn’t say he missed me. He didn’t say anything nice at all. I do get it. He’s probably super stressed, and we’re on a recorded line, after all.
At least he gave me an idea for where to get papers and a possible buyer for Drago. . .if I can get him into some kind of suitable form to sell. I startle a bit, realizing that I’ve been standing in the stallion paddock this whole time, right in front of Drago.
Unlike a usual horse, he’s not exploring the perimeter of the paddock or even trotting around the center. He’s completely ignored the two horses calling to him on the far end of the space, their faces shoved against the fence. Bizarrely, he’s standing right beside me, staring for all the world like he was listening in on my phone conversation, which is nuts. Horses obviously don’t do that, especially the ones who were just trying to audition for a spot in the Kentucky Derby while running away from me.
I start to sneak past him, headed for the gate, but he follows me.
“Okay.” I stop, holding my hand out toward him, palm out.
He shoves his nose against it. It’s surprisingly warm, and very, very soft.
“You’re sure sweet for someone who tried to destroy me, cover me with your sand-spray, and disappear forever, in that order.” I frown. “Repeatedly.”
He whuffles against my hand, almost like he’s trying to apologize.
“I certainly appreciate the improved manners.” I scratch under his chin.
He inhales slowly and shifts away.
Maybe that’s not his spot. I move my hand up, up, up and reach carefully behind his ears. It’s a very hit or miss spot, but when it hits. . .
He closes his eyes and stretches his whole neck out, his gigantic head reaching closer and closer until it’s nestled up beside my boob. If he weren’t a horse, I’d slap him. As it is, I just laugh. “Alright, alright.” I step back. “I have to go, now. I have some work to do in the house, on the computer. Before I start, I’ll get you the hay I promised. Why don’t you check out your new space.” I point. “Including the shelter on that end. It’s not too cold yet, luckily, but we could get a storm rolling through any day. The weather’s pretty unpredictable in Utah.”
He bobs his head like he understands.
“You do not have a winter coat yet.” I rub his cheek. “You’re way too glossy. I hope you shag out soon, or even a blanket won’t keep you warm.”
He snorts.
But this time, when I head for the exit, he stands stock still, staring at me. I can’t help waving at him.
He tosses his head.
I’ve barely left the enclosure when a car pulls up in the driveway. It’s not one I recognize, and I know most of Tim’s friends. It’s a plain, unmarked black sedan, but the two men who climb out are anything but boring. One of them’s also massively tall. He has to be over six foot five, because I’m five foot eleven inches, and he looks tall, even to me.
The other man’s very, very short. He’s also not very heavy, but he looks mean, like the pony in the pasture that you have to keep an eye on. He looks like he’d go for the knees and make it count.
Both of the men are wearing all black, including dark sunglasses. For an overcast day, it’s odd. But they also start walking toward me together, and it feels aggressive for some reason I can’t pinpoint. Maybe because I’m a girl? Maybe because I don’t know them. Maybe because I’m here alone.
I really don’t like that they’re between me and the house.
“Hey guys,” I say. “I’m just headed over to get some hay for our new horse here.” I point. “Unfortunately, Mr. Heaston’s not here. I’m just helping out with the animals until he comes back.”
I’m not sure why I say that, except I don’t want them to know any more about me than they do. I duck around the edge of the paddock and practically run to the small barn beside the two pastures. I shoot through the door and grab an armful of hay. Drago may not strictly need three full flakes, especially with as big as these are, but it gives me something to do so that I look busy.
Unfortunately, when I come out, they’re still out there.
Watching me.
“Yer Heaston’s girl,” the short one says. “I seen pictures.”
The tall one nods, but he doesn’t speak.
“We need you to call him now,” the short man says. He has a funny accent, but I can’t quite place it. Maybe it’s one of the odd New York ones I’ve only heard on television. “Heaston owes our boss a lot of money, and our boss has downright lost his patience.”
My pulse starts to pound hard enough that I can hear it in my ears.
This isn’t the time to freak out though. Focus, Izzy . “Um, that’s too bad.”
They’re both frowning, now.
I circle around them, giving them a wide berth, but they’re still moving toward me, their booted footfalls ominously loud as they crunch across the gravel. I move a little faster, my arms starting to complain about being held directly out. Why did I grab so much hay?
“How about this?” I suggest. “Once I have this horse settled, I’ll call Tim and let him know that you came by. He’s out of town, but hopefully he’ll be back soon.”
I’m almost to the paddock, but they’re moving faster. There’s only a few feet between us. As I see it, I have two options. I could chuck the hay at them and bolt for the house. My fear’s that I won’t get in and lock the door before they reach me. Or, I could head another direction. With just a few feet between me and the stallion pasture, I could duck in with the hay and hope they’re afraid of horses. With my luck, the idiot stallion’ll dart out the gate and trample me before the men even get a chance to hurt me themselves.
But when I glance back at the enclosure, I realize that in my flustered state, I didn’t close up the padlock on the gate. I could get in quickly, even with hay.
They seem to have figured out what I’m doing, and they take off at a run.
I hurl the hay at them, hoping to buy myself some time, and duck inside the gate. My hands aren’t working right, so when I try to lock the padlock. . .I drop it instead.
A terrible swear word escapes my mouth, not that they care.
The fear I feel as the men follow me into the pasture only grows as they get closer and closer. The little man’s holding something in his hand, and as he turns, I realize it’s a glistening metal gun of some kind.
My heart’s racing now and my hands are trembling. Drago has raced along the fence line beside me, and he’s standing still at my side, nostrils flared, breath coming in quick, angry puffs.
“These guys are bad,” I hiss. “Go.” I shoo my hands at the horse. “Run to the back of the pasture, now.”
He stomps one foot and whinnies loudly.
“What’s wrong with that horse?” the short one asks, waving his gun at Drago. “He sick?”
I nod shortly. “That’s why he’s in here. He’s sick, yes.”
The short man pauses. “Can humans get it?”
“Uh, yes,” I say. “They can.”
The man frowns.
The tall man mumbles something, but I can’t hear what he said.
Drago, almost like he’s taking advantage of their distraction, bumps me with his nose. Then he drops one shoulder.
“What are you doing?” I ask. “Run.”
I can only see his right eye, but I swear he rolls it. Then he drops his shoulder even farther, as if to say, Get on, idiot.
“You want me to get on your back?” I’ve lost my mind. I’m talking to a horse. . .and expecting him to understand me.
He nods .
A horse nodded in response to my question.
But our reprieve’s gone. The men are coming at us again, and I have a quick decision to make. Slap the horse to get him away, or try climbing on his back in the hope they’ll be too afraid to follow me on a sick horse.
What’s the bigger threat?
Gun-wielding mobsters, or a maniac horse that already tried to kill me once today? I drag a breath in and swing up, grabbing his withers as best I can.
Egads , he’s tall.
It’s inelegant as all get out, but I manage to scramble onto his back, and what’s more, he doesn’t flip out or chuck me off, both of which would be very simple for him to do seeing as I have neither bridle nor saddle to help me stay on. Almost as soon as I gain my balance, Drago starts moving, but instead of running away from them, he charges.
I chose wrong. I chose wrong. I chose WRONG!
We’re racing at the men, but instead of shooting us, they duck out of the enclosure, swearing up a storm. In fact, they’re both using words I’ve never even heard before.
Drago isn’t satisfied with their retreat. Apparently he wants them gone. He pushes past the edge of the gate and keeps after them. I’m pulling on his mane, “Whoa, whoa, there boy.”
“Tell your horse to back off,” the short man says. “Or I’ll shoot.”
Drago doesn’t act like he understands English now, though. Not at all. He plows forward, rushing right at the tiny man who threatened to shoot us.
BANG.
The man wasn’t kidding. A bullet slams into Drago, and I feel the force of its impact. I expect us to crash to the ground, and I prepare to spring away so I’m not rolled flat like pie crust, but he never actually falls. He doesn’t even stumble.
Drago keeps moving forward until he’s upon the men, and then he rears back and kicks out at the small man, striking him in his hand and sending the gun flying. The tall man runs away, screaming like a little girl. The smaller man falls to the ground, and he’s crab walking backward, but only using one arm. His other arm’s curled into his body like it’s?—
Upon closer inspection, the hand that held the gun looks like a bloody, broken mess. I suppose shooting at a maniacal stallion’s risky.
The men reach their car just in time to avoid a second trampling .
While the tall man turns the car on and the shorter man scrambles inside, slamming the door and locking it, Drago attacks the front bumper with both hooves, striking it over and over. It’s all I can to do hold on, but I swear, he’s marvelously vicious when he smashes their hood, shatters both headlights, and knocks the bumper off. Their nondescript black sedan won’t be so nondescript the next time I see it. I count at least three distinct hoof-shaped dents as they scream backward down the drive.
Once they’re gone, I expect Drago to bolt down the road, ignoring my presence entirely, but he doesn’t. He simply turns his head around, eyes me with one big, dark eye, and blinks.
“You were shot!” I completely forgot about it, thanks to his spectacular attack. I slide off his back, no halter in hand to grab him, no crop to guide him, and a massive pile of hay to our right, blowing every which way in the wind that’s picking up. I turn toward him, moving slowly, hoping not to spook him. I can’t imagine what I’ll tell the vet when I call them—the closest practice is Heaston’s. Ugh.
But when Drago lets me approach, simply turning his head to watch me, I can’t find a scratch on him.
“You were shot,” I whisper. “I saw it. I felt it.” I run my hand across his chest and jugular groove, legitimately shocked. “How can this be?”
He whuffles again, brushing his nose against my hair and blowing.
“I can see that you’re fine,” I say. “I’m just. . .not sure how.”
And then, in a move that’s almost stranger, he waits while I gather up all the hay I can, and then he follows me right back into his enclosure and stands patiently while I close the gate.
“Maybe you were hangry before,” I say. “I should’ve put hay in your paddock first.” I’m just. . .I’m reaching. But I can’t think of anything else to make sense of the last half hour. “Why would anyone kill a creature as spectacular as you?”
His snorting sounds almost like laughter.
I pat his neck. “Eat, you amazing beast.” I lean against him, scratching the line of skin just underneath his mane. Nearly every horse likes that, and he’s no exception, freezing in place other than turning his head slightly to the side and stretching .
“You’re my hero today, Drago. I mean it.”
He finally turns then and eats some hay. He looks almost put out by it, but I can’t figure out why he would be. “I’ll bring you grain for dinner tonight,” I say. “It’s the good kind, too. You’ll be happier about that.”
He snorts.
Probably just clearing his nose.
I’m sure all this interaction is all in my head, but I’m going to pretend it’s not. After the day I’ve had, I deserve it. “Who can blame me for thinking you’re brilliant?” I ask. “You did just save my life.”
He tosses his head again, and I scratch his shoulder.
“I guess you know how to be ridden, or at least you’re okay with someone getting on your back. Maybe it’s your stallion instincts. Either way, I feel better about my crazy idea than I have all day, so thanks for that.”
Now I just have to go inside and dig through Heaston’s files until I find the stuff from that lady with the chestnut stallion. I remember Heaston being pretty upset when he had to put that one down. If he somehow has her papers, it would be a miracle, especially if the markings are even somewhat similar to Drago’s.
Then again, when someone as good as Tim Heaston needs help, it makes sense that the stars would align. I’m happy to play my part in it. One day, when we’re telling our kids about this, it’s going to be quite a story. I look forward to hearing why those men showed up—probably something to do with his partners setting him up. They’re going to have a lot to answer for.