Kit Ehrman - At Risk

"Geez." I turned and left him there.

"— has an image to uphold," he yelled at my back.

We stood outside Lucky's stall. The gelding was standing near the back wall, his eyes wide, muscles tensed.

"Goddamn it."

"You should of seen him, Steve. Whitcombe had ol' Lucky here so worked up, gallopin' full out, I thought he was gonna wipe out it in the turn… or crash through a fence."

I slid the door back and walked into the stall. Lucky was drenched with sweat, and the muscles along his flank trembled in spasms. I examined the cuts and was relieved to find they weren't as bad as I'd first thought-more gore than actual damage. I collected the supplies I would need, then we cross-tied him in the wash-rack.

"Damn Whitcombe," I muttered.

I stepped toward Lucky's shoulder, and he bobbed his head. The chains rattled hollowly against the wall.

"Marty, hold his head for me." I patted the gelding's neck and kept my hand on his body as I moved toward his flank.

"His ears are pinned, Steve."

"I'll be right back."

I grabbed a bag of carrots out of the feed room and fed him a couple.

"Poor guy." I broke another carrot in two. "Marty, what happened exactly?"

"Well, when Lucky here refused the Liverpool for the third time, Whitcombe just laid into him. I can't believe the shit was stupid enough to do it in front of everybody."

"What a fool."

"One of the boarders ran into the office and told Mrs. Hill what was goin' on. She saw the end of his little temper tantrum and fired his ass."

I grinned. "Good for her. It couldn't have happened to a better person." I glanced down the aisle. "Eh, where is Mr. Whitcombe, anyway?"

"He had a few words with Mrs. Hill, then drove off." Marty grinned. "Oh, and the little shit's got a new ride."

"What?"

"A fucking new Mustang convertible."

"Wonder where he got the money for that? He sure didn't earn it here."

Marty shrugged.

"Too bad I missed it. I would've liked to have said goodbye."

"I bet you would of."

"There's justice after all. Whitcombe loses his job, maybe now he won't be able to make his car payments." I ran my hand down Lucky's face and cupped my hand around his muzzle. His old, soft lips searched my palm for another piece of carrot. "Except ol' Lucky here'll be going with him."

I was leaving for the day when Mrs. Hill stopped me on the sidewalk just outside her office door.

"I have a favor to ask," she said. "After you've had your supper, would you come back and stay here until Mr. Whitcombe picks up his horses and tack?" She looked at my face and could see I was less than thrilled. "Please, Stephen… here's some pizza money-"

"No, thank you. You don't need to do that."

"Take it, dear." She shoved the folded bills into my palm. "I know I'm asking a huge favor, but he said he'd be back later tonight, and to be honest, dear, as angry as he was when he left, I don't trust him." She peered into my face. "I know everything will be all right if you're here."

I exhaled. "I'll be back in a little while, then."

"Oh, thank you, dear. Thank you so much. I'll stay until you get back. I told him you'd be here to lock up when he was finished, so he knows he won't be able to get away with anything."

I shoved Mrs. Hill's pizza money into my pocket and headed for the parking lot. It wasn't until I'd climbed into my truck that I realized I'd lost my appetite.

More than one of the crew had overheard Whitcombe blaming me for what happened, so as soon as I was certain I'd catch Marty at home, I closed the door between the lounge and office and used the phone.

"Shit, Steve. I have a date."

"Come on, Marty." I swiveled around in the chair until my back was to the door and rested my chin on my hand. "Bring her along. You can hang out in the lounge."

"Not for what I got planned. Not unless you wanna watch."

I groaned.

"Man, I can't stand it when you whine… Oh, all right, but I won't be over until ten, maybe eleven."

I didn't say anything.

He sighed. "Okay. Ten o'clock and not a minute before, and you owe me."

"Thanks."

"Sissy," he said, and I could hear a smile in his voice.

"Got that right. Whitcombe's PO'ed, and I'm not on his top ten list."

"Depends what list you're talkin' about."

Ten o'clock came and went, and no Marty. Karen and Judy left for the evening, and all the boarders packed up and drifted home. The place was deserted, yet the newly-installed gates by the road stood wide open so Whitcombe could drive down to the barn, and Marty.

Where the hell was he? I could imagine where he was, damn him.

At eleven thirty, I picked up the phone. No answer.

I had never thought much about the presence or absence of courage. Apparently I was lacking in that department, and I didn't like it. Not one little bit. I was tempted to call Mrs. Hill, or just go home; instead, I sat on the sofa and switched the channel to a late night talk show that was only marginally entertaining.

Someone gripped my shoulder and shook me.

I scrambled off the sofa and just about fell on my butt. "Damn, Marty. You almost gave me a heart attack, sneaking up on me like that."

He laughed. "'Sneakin', my ass. You were sound asleep."

"God." I shook myself. Every muscle in my body was strung tight, and my heart was pounding so hard it hurt. Waking up like that couldn't be healthy.

"Nervous, Steve?"

"A little… So where the hell've you been?" I looked at my watch. "It's one-fifteen."

"Sorry. Fell asleep."

"In whose bed?"

Marty grinned. "Wouldn't you like to know." He yawned and rubbed his face. "I take it Whitcombe hasn't showed?"

"No. Even if he got past me while I was asleep, he still needs to come in here and pick up his paperwork before he can get his deposit refunded."

"Think he's gonna show?"

"Who knows," I said. "This is the last thing I feel like doing right now." I looked at Marty. "Or you, either. Thanks for coming in."

"Well, I would of felt like shit if Whitcombe planned some pay-back and you were here all by your lonesome."

"Didn't know you cared."

"I don't." Marty dropped down onto the sofa. "I just don't like guilt."

"Now, that sounds like the Marty I know-"

"And love?"

"Not on your life," I said. "Not in this life. Not in any life." Marty was still chuckling when I walked over to the soda machine and slotted some coins into the machine. "I think you're confusing me with Whitcombe. Want a Coke?"

"No, I'd be awake half the night. Speakin' of sex-"

"I thought we were speakin' of love," I said. "Or sleep."

"Whatever. Anyhow, that Rachel's sure cute." He leaned back against the sagging, worn cushions and hooked his leg over the armrest. "Maybe she'll wake you up."

I grinned.

Marty lifted his head off the cushions. "Well, hallelujah. I was afraid you were gonna turn into a monk or somethin' and be celibate for the rest of your godforsaken life."

I swallowed some Coke, and we both looked up when a horse van rumbled down the lane past the lounge door.

I lowered the can from my lips. "Party time." I grabbed the paperwork off Mrs. Hill's desk.

The van had parked in the pool of light between the barns. As Marty and I approached, Whitcombe hopped down from the cab and turned toward me with a smirk on his face that disappeared when he saw Marty.

Marty worked out every day. Excluding the opposite sex, it was his passion, and I'd often thought that I wouldn't want to find myself on the wrong side of his anger.

The passenger's door opened. Someone got out and walked around the front bumper. He stopped behind Whitcombe, and I thanked my lucky stars I'd had the sense to get reinforcements. He looked like a goon-all muscle, no brain-and he didn't look like a horseman. Light glinted off his bald head, and despite the chilly night air, he was wearing a muscle shirt that showed off his tattooed biceps to best advantage.