Carolyn McSparren - The Payback Man

“Of course not!”

“Do you have a permit?”

“I had to go through the course and get a permit before they’d hire me at the farm, but I certainly don’t carry one. For one thing, it’s illegal inside the gates.”

“It’s not illegal in your house, and there are lockers outside the gates for you to store stuff in while you’re inside.”

“That’s such a bother.”

“Think about it, that’s all I’m saying. And I would definitely keep one beside your bed at night.”

“I’m beginning to wish I’d never taken this job.”

“Actually, you’re safer inside than outside.”

“That’s what Ernest Portree says. I’m starting to disagree.”

By common consent, they spent the remainder of their lunch talking about Raoul’s two children, on whom he obviously doted, and his wife, a speech pathologist, whom he adored. They were silent on the way back to the farm.

As he parked in front of the barn to let her out, he said, “There’s an old New Jersey saying—don’t mix in. So don’t.”

She nodded. “I’ll try.”

She had beaten the men back to the barn by ten minutes or so. The place was completely deserted. She walked into the now completely open barn, half-painted in white enamel.

She found her laptop still sitting plugged in on her desk. The screen saver flashed scenes of green fields and mountains.

She heard conversation outside, and a moment later Selma stuck her head in the door, saw the computer and said, “Damn. Didn’t think. You need to requisition a safe to lock that computer up when you’re not here.”

“The credenza locks.”

“I could open it with a paper clip. Besides, you’ll need to store paper and things, won’t you?”

“Why would they steal the computer? They couldn’t use it.”

Selma came in and leaned against the doorjamb, easing her back against the angle of the door like a bear. “God, that feels good. Listen, they snatch the computer, they stash it somewhere outside, call a buddy, and shazaam, that night it’s picked up and sold before morning. The men aren’t moving around much on their own yet, but they will be when they start working the cows, won’t they?”

“Yes.”

“So requisition a safe.”

Eleanor nodded. “Right. Okay. And the warden finally agreed to issue an extra set of clothing to each man to keep here for emergencies. I thought we could put each set into a grocery sack with each man’s name on it. Think that would do?”

“You’ll have to lock the clothes up, too,” Selma said. “Won’t be room in the safe or the credenza.”

Eleanor thought for a minute. “Okay. I’ve got an old footlocker at my place I used to pack books. It’s a little musty, but it’s got a good padlock. How about I bring that down tomorrow?”

“Sure.” Selma grinned. “The least I can do is contribute the grocery sacks. My family hoards them.”

Eleanor looked at her watch. “I’m leaving for my regular shift at the clinic in about fifteen minutes,” she said. “Will you take the laptop home with you for tonight?”

“Sure.”

“You will be back tomorrow, won’t you?”

“I think so. Will you?”

“I beg your pardon?” Eleanor asked.

“Pretty obvious this isn’t what you thought it was going to be. So, are you going to pack it in or stick it out?”

Eleanor didn’t answer her right away. Instead, she headed out to her truck, Selma right behind her. Part of her wanted to leave this place and never come back, even though it meant finding another place to live. At least she wouldn’t be faced with Steve Chadwick every day. She wouldn’t have feelings she didn’t want to admit to herself, nor would she have to worry whether he was innocent or guilty. And if he really was innocent, what on earth could she do about it?

She slid into the front seat of her truck. Selma stood outside the door, hands on her ample hips. Finally Eleanor leaned out the window. “I’ll be here tomorrow and the next day and the next. I’m not quitting.”

“Good,” Selma said, then laid her hand on Eleanor’s arm. “Remember, if you want to keep your peace of mind, keep your distance from the men—all the men.”

ELEANOR FELT HER FACE FLAME as she drove out through the farm gates toward Creature Comfort. She should have realized Selma would know that something out of the ordinary had happened between her and Steve.

He was plausible, good-looking, charming and intelligent. Of course, he might also be a sociopath and a liar. He probably had a dozen women writing him fan letters and coming to see him on visiting days. She sure did not intend to be one of them.

When she drove into the Creature Comfort staff parking lot, Jack Renfro, the ex-jockey and veterinary technician, and her boss, Sarah Scott, met her before she had a chance to climb out of her truck.

“Guess what you’re going to do this afternoon?” Sarah said. “You like sheep?”

“Not one of my favorite of God’s creatures.”

“I’m sure you’ll learn to love them before the afternoon’s out. You’ve got to vaccinate a herd of about thirty and oversee dipping them.”

Eleanor stared at Sarah. “You’re not going with us, are you? The last thing a pregnant woman needs is to be around all those chemicals.”

“Nope, you and Jack are on your own. You’ve got coveralls and rubber boots in the truck, haven’t you?”

“Of course.”

“Took time to persuade her to stay out of it,” Jack grumbled. “Sheep kick and butt like goats. I’ll not have you putting my godson in danger.”

“I do miss going out on calls,” Sarah said wistfully. “My stomach’s finally settling. I’m only three months pregnant, and I’m already starting to get cabin fever.” She looked down at the top of Jack’s head. “And your god-child is a she, not a he.”

“Not certain yet, are you? I’ll spot you eight to five on a boy.” Despite his years of riding racehorses in the United States and Canada, and his wife from Marion, Arkansas, Jack had traces of his Cockney accent, although overlaid with an Arkansas drawl and an occasional “y’all.”

“You’re just bored, Sarah,” Eleanor said. “Go help Bill Chumley with his exotics or Rick with the cats and dogs. Come on, Jack. Ah, the odor of sheep-dip on the balmy October air—my favorite perfume.”

They drove out before Sarah could change her mind.

“Jack, I have a very strange and terribly personal question to ask you,” Eleanor said after a few minutes on the road. “Tell me to stuff it if you like. I won’t take offense.”

“Takes a lot to offend me, Eleanor. Go ahead and ask.”

“Did you ever know anybody in prison?”

Jack sat up. “This side of the pond or the other?”

“Either.”

“Couple of what I believe are called ‘domestic disputes,’ a couple of public drunkenness cases among my friends when I was riding. Jockeys can come all over bad-tempered when they’ve had a drop too much or too many losses in a row. Small men, you know.”

“Not some overnight thing in the county jail. Real prison. For a long stretch.”

“Oh. Then, no.”

“Darn. I was hoping you could give me some advice. I don’t seem to be handling my new job very well.”

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