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Grady walked alongside Ginger, Cecily close enough to bail him out if anything happened. As she chattered about everything and nothing, Grady toyed with asking her for help tracking down Enrique and Xiang. Once again he dismissed the idea as too risky. After Derek said they’d caught their killer, Grady knew Enrique and Xiang couldn’t have had anything to do with it, which made him feel safer.
When Ginger moved her head close to him, he tensed, but didn’t freaking fly out of his skin. She was even starting to smell good.
Not as good as Cecily, but it was obvious she was deep into Bryce, even if she and Bryce hadn’t figured it out yet. Any idiot—even one needing bottle-thick glasses—could see they had the hots for each other, but neither was willing to step across whatever line they’d drawn between them. He’d love to tell them to just do the deed already, but they’d never listen to advice from him.
Not to mention, he’d embarrass all three of them. Maybe four, if you counted Ginger. Bryce and Cecily had been dead right when they’d said the animals tuned into the emotions of the people around them.
Which was why he wasn’t ready to branch out to the other horses. Ginger seemed to tolerate—or ignore—the underlying tension that seeped through him like stepping into a high drift of wet, winter snow. He considered Elmer—and who’d name a horse Elmer, anyway? Hadn’t they heard of Elmer’s Glue? Didn’t seem fair to the horse. Grady had interacted with Elmer, but the horse was wary, even when it came to treats. Skeptical. Same as he was.
Could either of the horses tell Grady’s nerves were only halfway related to them? Because he hadn’t been able to ignore that an animal as large as a horse, even trained, could stomp him in a heartbeat? Bryce had explained they were herd animals, and as long as they accepted him as leader, things would be cool. How did you tell a horse that you weren’t afraid of it—even if you were, a little—that what you were actually afraid of was two street goons who might come after you for something you stole from them. Not “stole” in the literal sense, but to them, semantics was a triviality.
In the best of worlds, they wouldn’t even know he had the pictures, but Grady hadn’t lived in the best of worlds in a long time. Why would things have changed now? If they thought he had anything incriminating, they’d come after him first. Ask questions later. Even if he swore he’d destroyed them, they’d never believe him. They were big into teaching lessons and setting examples.
“Time to head back,” Cecily said. “Make sure you have a firm grip on the lead and take her in a nice, easy circle. She doesn’t like tight U-ies.”
From the worn semi-circle alongside the trail they’d been following, Grady assumed this was the normal turn-around spot. Ginger must have known it, too, because she veered off to the right instead of going straight ahead.
“You have her stall ready?” Cecily asked.
“Yes.” He knew the drill. Horses came first. He’d done all his barn and shit chores before Derek had sent him out on the Gator.
“Then after you brush her down, you can put her in the barn,” Bryce said.
The thought of brushing Ginger didn’t fill him with apprehension. He must be getting used to this horse stuff. As long as the horse was Ginger. He reached over and stroked her neck. “Sure, I guess.”
After they got to the barn, Bryce showed Grady a metal ring on the wall near the tack room. “Tie ring,” he said, demonstrating how to feed a rope through the clip, then unfastened it. “You do it.”
Grady repeated the steps three times until Bryce was satisfied. It wasn’t rocket science.
Cecily went into the tack room and brought out a gizmo made of concentric circles of toothed metal on a handle. “Curry comb,” she said. “Gets the mud loosened. She likes to roll around.”
Bryce showed him an oval, stiff-bristled brush with a strap across the wooden base. “When you get the mud loose, move onto the brush. She’s ticklish on her belly, near her hind legs, so be gentle there. Everywhere else, be firm. Give her fifteen minutes or so, then put her in her stall.”
Grady took the curry comb and ran the toothed metal blades over his hand. “This won’t hurt her?”
“Nah,” Cecily said. “She likes it. She’s got a tougher hide than you do.”
Grady attached Ginger’s lead to the tie ring the way Bryce had showed him—although with Ginger on the other end of the rope, it wasn’t the same. Nothing said she wouldn’t bump him or bolt before he’d finished securing her. Bryce gave the rope a quick tug. “Nice job. Now, start cleaning her up.”
Grady passed the comb over Ginger’s backside, where there were larger clumps of mud.
Cecily laid her hand over his. “Harder,” she said. “If you’re tentative, she’ll wonder what you’re doing and might try to skitter away.” She demonstrated the correct amount of pressure, and supervised for a minute or two while he got the hang of it.
Bryce hung back, and Grady wondered if Cecily’s touching him pissed off the cowboy. Bryce didn’t intervene, and Grady focused his attention on the horse.
“I need to get going,” Cecily said. “Grady, I’ll be back either Wednesday late afternoon or Thursday morning with your books, if that’s okay.”
He shrugged. “Sure.” She hadn’t mentioned anything other than those few bucks and the books, so maybe the cops hadn’t found what he’d tucked in between the pages of one of them. If they had, it would have been on the list, right? Or would they have confiscated it and not put it on the sheet? Weren’t they supposed to keep track of everything? They could have taken his five bucks, but they wrote that down.
He assumed everything would be packaged and sealed, and that Cecily wouldn’t invade his privacy by opening it. For all the unlocked doors, they seemed to respect personal space around here.
“See you then.” She glanced at Bryce, who was playing with his rubber bands. Gave him a couple seconds to respond.
Walk her to her car, idiot.
But Bryce’s telepathy thing didn’t seem to work with people. Either that or he was an idiot. Cecily left, and Bryce stood there.
“Gonna check the paddock,” Bryce said after a minute or two. Before he left, he showed Grady how to work on Ginger’s legs, an area Grady had wished wasn’t part of the deal, because he regarded Ginger’s hooves as lethal weapons. Maiming weapons at the least.
Grady hoped Cecily hadn’t left yet. Maybe Bryce wasn’t going to the paddock. Maybe Bryce did have the telepathy thing going. Maybe Cecily’s announcement that she was leaving was a code for don’t follow right away or Grady might suspect.
Grady snorted. “What do you think, Ginger? You think they’re too dumb to know how obvious they are? Why don’t they just admit it? Think of all the time they’re wasting by being in denial. Not talking to each other. Women like to be told stuff.”
Not that Grady had a lot of personal experience along those lines. Okay, zero personal experience, but that didn’t mean he couldn’t read the signs.
Now, if only there had been signs from Enrique and Xiang. He swapped the curry comb for the brush and moved to Ginger’s neck, cleaning the loosened mud flakes and smoothing down her coat. “You ever do anything stupid, Ginger? I’ll bet you’d never get mixed up with a couple of street goons. Dumbest thing I ever did. My telepathy was completely off when I met them. Why couldn’t I see what they really were?”
You saw what you wanted to see. What you needed to see. What looked like a way out.