The next day is Saturday, and despite my nervousness about seeing Jake, I spend the morning at the barn as usual. I groom Buddy, muck out his stall and clean my saddle. Jake is teaching in the arena, so it’s easy to stay out of his way. I’m helping one of his students—a tiny girl with long black braids—find the right bridle for the pony she’ll be riding, when Leah walks in.
“Hey,” she says. “Here you go.” She hands me a mug of coffee.
I send Black Pigtails on her way and take the coffee, wrapping my cold hands around it and enjoying the warmth. “Thanks. What are you up to?” I ask.
“Homework.” She makes a face. “Boring. Are you going to ride?”
“Yeah.” I notice that she’s dressed for riding, in an old pair of beige breeches and riding boots. “Want to join me?”
“Sure. I need a break, and Snow needs exercise.”
I pull my gray leather chaps out of my tack box and zip them over my jeans. “Let’s do it.”
But I can’t stop thinking about Jake. Can’t stop thinking what if, what if, what if. We’ve only gone half a mile or so when I make up my mind. I pull Buddy to a halt and jump off quickly, running my hand over his fetlock. “It’s not warm or swollen or anything,” I say. “But he’s definitely sore. I’m going to walk him back.”
Leah gives me a sympathetic look. “That sucks. I’ll see you back there, then?”
“Yeah.” I wave to Leah and lead Buddy back toward the barn. “Buddy, Buddy, Buddy,” I say, stroking his shoulder. “Sorry about your trail ride, pal. I bet you’re wondering what the hell is wrong with me, huh?”
Back in Buddy’s stall, I take off his saddle and bridle and give him a quick brush-down. I can hear Jake’s voice from the arena, calling out instructions to his eleven-o’clock class. “Ashley, more legs! Don’t let him be lazy. Keep those gentle hands just like that, Jude. Nice transition there, Matt! Kaylie, your leg position’s looking good, but let’s see a little more weight in your heels…”
He’s a good teacher. Patient with the kids, gentle with the horses.
It’s hard to fit the way he treats me—and the things he said about my parents—together with this other, kinder side of him.
When I listen to him with his students, I think there’s no way he could be the anonymous caller. I’m being paranoid. I wish I could talk to Leah—share my suspicions with her—but it’s a bad idea. She’s blindly loyal when it comes to family. We’d end up fighting.
I can’t believe I just lied to her. That I pretended Buddy was limping. I feel slightly sick thinking about it.
But what if it is Jake? What if I ignore my suspicions and something happens to my parents? How do I live with that?
I look up the driveway at the Gibsons’ house. Diane’s car isn’t there, so she must be out.
Leah’s riding Snow.
Jake’s teaching…
My breath catches in my throat at the thought of what I’m about to do.
The front door is unlocked. I let myself in. “Diane?” I call out, just in case.
No one answers. I tug my boots off and pad down the hall, my heart racing. Leah’s bedroom and her mom’s are both upstairs, but Jake’s is on the main floor. His door is closed, and as I push it open, it creaks loudly and I practically jump out of my skin.
Chill, I tell myself. Jake’s lesson goes for another twenty minutes, Leah’s off in the woods somewhere, and if Diane comes home, I’ll hear her car and make up some excuse for being here.
I slip into Jake’s room. Narrow bed against one wall, desk with computer on it, a tidy bookshelf, guitar leaning against the wall, music stand…I scan the books on the shelves—a few old math texts, some books on HTML programming, a stack of music magazines. Biographies of musicians. Some thrillers and mystery novels—Stephen King, John Grisham, that kind of thing. No Dummies Guide to Bombs or anything of that sort. No Bible with conveniently marked passages. No books about the evils of abortion.
I don’t know what I expected to find.
I’m turning to leave when I notice a roll of wrapping paper in the corner behind the door. Birthday theme—cake and candles.
Of course, he could just be going to a party.
On the other hand? Two nights ago, someone delivered a gift-wrapped bomb threat to the hospital.
I tear off a corner of the paper and stuff it into the back pocket of my jeans. Then I leave Jake’s room, close the door behind me and sprint back down the driveway to the barn.
Jake is still teaching. I check my watch—five minutes until the lesson ends. I slide open Buddy’s stall door and lean my head against him. He ignores me, contentedly munching on his hay. “What should I do, Buddy?” I whisper. “Should I talk to Leah? Or is that a really bad idea?”
He lifts his head and looks at me, blowing out a long breath through fluttering nostrils.
“Yeah,” I say. “You’re probably right.”
I can’t just ignore my suspicions. But suspicions are all I have. And wrapping paper, which is hardly evidence of a crime. Just because Jake’s anti-choice—and an obnoxious, ignorant jerk—it doesn’t mean he’s done anything illegal.
I know what Leah would say. I can hear her voice in my head already: No way. Jake wouldn’t do anything like that.
I decide to leave it to fate. I’ll take Buddy out to the paddock so he can spend the afternoon outside, and then I’ll head home. If Leah gets back with Snow before I leave, I’ll talk to her. If not…I’ll let it go.
I clip a lead rope onto Buddy’s halter. “Come on, Bud. Let’s get out of here before Jake shows up, hey?”
I lead him outside, turn him loose in the fenced-off end of the field and return to the barn just as Jake’s students are filing out of the arena. Horseshoes clatter against concrete floor, girls’ voices chatter, and Jake laughs. I hang my lead rope over Buddy’s stall door, not taking the time to put it away properly, and hightail it to my car.
Guess I’m not talking to Leah.