It was a short fifteen-minute drive to the next small town over, although Brady and Tanya used to make it in ten back when they drove too fast and thought they were invincible in that way teenagers often do.
Brady threw open drawers and stepped into a pair of worn Wranglers. “Be right out.”
He pulled on a button-down shirt but didn’t take the time to button it, focusing on getting his socks and boots on instead. He grabbed his wallet and debated a moment before grabbing his pistol as well. If he’d been alert enough, he would’ve asked for more details, but this was clearly an emergency. Which led him to believe it was a situation that might get ugly, and he didn’t want to be the guy who brought a rope to a gunfight.
With the first rays of sun barely peeking out above the horizon, the air was chillier than expected. Since Brady didn’t have time for coffee, hopefully the cool temperature would do the job of waking him up the rest of the way.
He rushed toward the stables and stared at the items in the tack room, wishing again he’d been alert enough to ask more questions. In the event a horse required subduing, they kept handy a bag of basic medicine essentials, antibiotic cream, gauze, wraps, and tranquilizers.
The sound of a growling engine and tires on gravel filtered through, and time was up. He grabbed the medical bag and a rope and bridle and then hustled over to Tanya’s shiny, red F-150 and climbed inside. Usually, he’d give her shit about how bright her truck was or how Dodges were better than Fords, just for old times’ sake. But she was already pulling away, driving the way she used to in high school—like a bat out of hell, dirt billowing up behind them.
As she turned onto the road that would take them to Thorne Ridge, she glanced at him. Then did a double take. “Did you plan on flashing those abs in case someone needs extra convincing?”
He looked down—oops, he never had gotten his shirt buttoned up. He went to work on making himself decent as he shot her an indecent grin. “You think it’d work?”
One corner of her mouth turned up. “About as well as your training drills.”
“So definitely. Got it.” He twisted in his seat, and in spite of the harried situation, his breath caught at the way the rising sun lit up her mess of red curls. He couldn’t decide if she looked more like an angel or a woman on fire, but damn she was pretty, au naturel with a bit of bedhead thrown in for good measure.
While he’d meant no makeup, the other meaning of that word—the one that involved no clothes—drifted to mind, and he was derailing that line of thinking right now. For people who lived next door to each other, it was sure hard for them to find time together, and they hadn’t seen each other since the middle of last week.
In a few minutes, they’d reach the town limits—which had to be a new record—and the tension that’d claimed Tanya’s shoulders and neck meant she was worried about whatever they were racing toward.
“Any details you’d like to share with the class?” he asked, and she cast him a confused glance. “About the horse and the situation?”
They’d stepped in to rescue horses before, on cases involving neglect and abuse, and Tanya had reported people on the rodeo circuit mistreating animals several times throughout the years. But it’d been a while.
“Edgar called three times in a row,” Tanya said, “which I thought was a little weird, but he had hip surgery about five months back, and here and there, he calls when he gets lonely. He likes to tell me about the glory days, and I enjoy reliving them with him, so I figured I’d pick up and listen to a story…”
Brady wondered why she’d never mentioned the conversations with Edgar before. Not that she had to tell him everything. It was just another side of her. A softer, intriguing side she rarely showed.
Tanya slowed and squinted at a street sign before speeding up again. “Instead he tells me how he came across a horse that had gotten tangled up in a barbed-wire fence. Even though his bum hip was screaming at him the whole time, he tried to free the mare, but then the owner showed up and threatened to shoot him if he didn’t get off his property.” A steely edge entered her voice. “Brady, the horse clearly hasn’t been fed in a long time, and Edgar thinks she was desperate enough to try to break through the fence to get food.”
Brady’s muscles turned to stone. “Glad I grabbed my pistol.”
“I brought mine, too, but Edgar contacted the sheriff’s office right before he called me, so hopefully the police will take care of that part. He apologized for it being so early but said half the town is related to this guy, so he needed someone he could trust and knew I’d be able to keep the horse calm. He also added that he was hoping I’d take the mare home while they sorted out things with the law.”
Brady nodded. That made sense. He’d call Tanya, too. Good, bad, happy, sad. She was the best person to have by your side.
Tanya made a sharp left turn while muttering about how they should make the street signs out here easier to read, and Brady braced his hand on the dashboard.
About a half mile down, a pickup truck and a police cruiser were crookedly parked next to the fence, obscuring most of the horse. All Brady caught was a glimpse of a reddish-brown coat. “I’m assuming you brought the fence cutters?”
“You know me. Always prepared and ready to destroy.” Tanya reached behind the seat, brought out two pair, and handed one to him. They climbed out of the truck and approached Edgar, the sheriff, and a man in a white wifebeater who was doing his best to keep the redneck stereotype alive.
The guy was yelling up a storm about his rights and his property. The rifle on the ground at the cop’s feet had obviously been tossed there, skid marks showing it’d slid a few inches.
Edgar bent to grab the gun. He was definitely favoring one leg—or hip, Brady knew now. He released the magazine and used the lever action to eject the bullet in the chamber.
Tanya’s gasp yanked Brady’s attention back to her. He followed her gaze, and bile coated his throat as he got his first full look at the horse. So skinny he could see ribs and hip bones jutting through the coat, which was shedding in dull, lumpy chunks. Dark-red blood oozed from cuts where the barbs had dug in, and the horse’s body sagged on the fence. The mare gave a weak whinny, no longer seeming to care about the barbs digging into its belly—if it could even be called a belly anymore.
Anger ignited low in Brady’s gut and spread, but he clenched his jaw and forced himself to hold his temper in check. Horse first, and then he’d deal with the son of a bitch who’d left her in such a debilitated state.
“We’re going to cut her loose,” Brady said to the deputy, because he was afraid if he looked at the negligent owner, his rage would take the wheel.
The cop nodded, and the owner released a vitriol of swear words about his horse and his property. He also threatened to shoot them, even though his gun was unloaded and out of reach.