Page 31 of Brighton

“Not everything is a competition, you know?”

“The hell you say. Favorite aunt right here.” I throw up my hands, but my laugh is choked out by my stomach reminding me that it wouldn’t have a problem showing me its contents. I’m still very much hungover and have to pause. “Going to the office or coming to the stables?”

“Stables, I guess. No clue how to work with a baby on my hip.”

“That makes two of us.”

He laughs but bows his head at the same time, saying somberly, “Mom would know.”

I nod once before locking my gaze on his. “Yeah.” But that’s all I say and peel away from them to head to my office. So long as I’m here, there’s shit to do.

“Brighton?” I turn when Brax hollers. “Thanks for this morning. For yesterday.”

“Of course. I can’t have Colt’s favorite aunt be that woman.” I hitch my thumb over my shoulder in the direction of his house. “Never. Gonna. Happen.”

“Yeah, yeah.” He smiles as he wanders away.

* * *

“Tell me again about the feed.”My head still pounds. My stomach roils and the late afternoon heat hits me from all directions, warming my body in a way that is all kinds of bad.

“It’s the same stuff Randy always sends over.”

I roll my lips together, not believing my client’s story. The puzzle pieces are not forming a picture that’s true. A stable full of horses don’t just become sick, not healthy ones with good nutrition and the right environment.

“Why do you ask?” he continues.

I stare at Rich Lager. He’s older than my dad, probably mid-sixties, but those years have not been kind. Deep wrinkles crowd the corners of his eyes and his dry skin is leathery from time in the sun and… something. Overindulgence in alcohol, if I had to guess. He certainly hasn’t taken care of himself. Just as I know he’s not taking care of these horses.

Rich has been a client since I moved home from College Station. He bought an old place east of town not long before I graduated. I know beyond a shadow of a doubt that we never met before the July morning when he contacted me. Come to think of it, his horses weren’t thriving then either.

But there was a familiarity in him, something almost comforting I couldn’t put my finger on, that made me trust him.

Four years later, I’m not so sure of that.

“It’s unusual. His stuff is top quality. I haven’t seen horses get or stay this sick on his feed.” Or anywhere else in a sixty-mile radius for that matter. “I’ll place a call and see if we can’t get yours replaced as quickly as possible.”

He nods, subtly stepping between me and the exit.

My mind spins, but instead of trying to get past him, I make my way to the horses again, rubbing their snouts, studying their eyes and their manes.

“And the water’s been tested so you know it’s safe?”

The hardness around his eyes is nothing new, but the challenge in them is. “Yes.”

“Let me grab some supplies. I’ll be back within the next couple of days to draw some more blood—not just the standard tests—and see what we can find.” I’m hedging but something is off.

I’ve never worried about Mr. Lager. Never worried about being miles away from anyone or in a pasture or barn with limited cell signal.

Because I’ve never seen what I notice in his eyes right now...

There’s still that initial familiarity, but the comfort piece is long since gone.

I walk toward the barn opening, turning to slide past him since he doesn’t move from his position blocking my path. I swing into my Wrangler, knowing my pistol is within arm’s reach if I need it, and take in the scene as I pull away.

Rich Lager stands silhouetted, eyes boring into me, in the dark barn. A barn that hasn’t been maintained well, but one that I wouldn’t say is hazardous for his horses. The earth at his feet is dry, and the yellow grass sits over deep crevices in the parched soil. Drought hit us all. Hard.

None of this adds up.

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