Summer Nights (Fool's Gold #8)

CHARLIE PUT THE DANDY brush back in the box and grabbed Mason’s body brush. His ears flicked in anticipation of what was his favorite part of being groomed. As she started at the top of his neck, prepared to work her way down and back, she was aware of Shane coming out of the barn. His gaze darted toward her, then as quickly shifted away.

Charlie had never studied any kind of criminal investigation but she knew enough about people to guess there was a problem. She and Shane hadn’t known each other long, but they’d gotten along well enough. He took care of her horse when she was working and she let him use Mason for the guys who needed to practice their calf roping. Mason had been a rodeo horse before she’d bought him and he enjoyed the practice.

But ever since she’d arrived, earlier that afternoon, Shane had been hovering just out of conversational reach. They hadn’t spoken beyond a brief “Hello” which wouldn’t have bothered her except for the way he kept looking at her. As if he’d been spooked. She had a feeling she knew exactly what ghost had come calling.

“Shane,” she yelled before he could scoot back into the barn. “Get over here.”

He stiffened slightly, then seemed to brace himself. No doubt prepared for the inevitable, she thought grimly, continuing to use long stroking motions as she brushed Mason. His coat gleamed in the warm afternoon.

She’d tied him under one of the big trees to give them both shade. As the branches swayed in the gentle breeze, sunlight spilled onto his coat and the back of her hands.

Shane approached slowly but purposefully. If she were a different type of woman, she would torment him first. Just for sport. It was certainly in her nature, but men, at least in a romantic or sexual sense, weren’t part of her comfort zone.

She waited until he was standing on the other side of Mason, then rested both her hands on the horse’s back and stared at the man.

“Annabelle talked to you about me.” She spoke flatly, not asking a question.

He pulled off his hat and ran his fingers through his hair. After clearing his throat, he managed a strangled, “She might have said something.”

Annabelle needed a good killing, Charlie thought, even as she told herself her friend had just been trying to help. Apparently with the subtlety of a bulldozer in a flower garden.

“You’re not my type,” Charlie told him, figuring bluntness was her strength and this was the time to go for it. “No offense.”

He practically sagged with relief. “None taken. Not that you’re not appealing,” he added weakly.

“Of course. Practically keeping you up at night.”

One corner of his mouth twitched. “Just like I do you.”

“Right.”

She returned her attention back to her horse and continued to brush him. “She’s trying to help. Annabelle has a burr up her ass about me dating. God knows who else she’s talking to.”

“It’s not just me?” Shane raised his eyebrows. “I’m devastated.”

“I can tell.” She glanced over Mason at him again. “Although I would say Annabelle was more to your liking.”

Shane had been about to put his hat back on his head. He paused, almost comically, his arms extended in the air, the hat frozen in time.

“I, ah, I’m not sure what…”

“Is that so?” Charlie relaxed, knowing they weren’t talking about her anymore. Now she could afford to have a little fun. “Good to know. By the way, Annabelle is well-liked in town. Don’t hurt her or you’ll be sorry.”

He managed to set his hat on his head. “We’re not even dating and already you’re imagining we’ve broken up and it’s my fault?”

“She’s my friend.”

“I look after your horse.”

“It’s not the same.” She looked past him to the fenced-in area across the property. Priscilla stood where she always did, watching what was going on, looking as solitary as it was possible for an elephant to look.

“Your girl there needs a friend. Don’t elephants like companionship?”

He turned, following her gaze. “From what I’ve been reading, they do. I’ve tried the llamas, the donkey and a couple of the goats. She likes Athena, but they didn’t really bond.”

“What about one of your mares? Maybe the pregnant one. Priscilla might like to be a grandmother.”

Shane hadn’t been able to get an accurate read on how old the elephant was. Priscilla had come from a small circus that was disbanding. Her caretaker had guessed she was in her late twenties. Although elephants in the wild could live well past fifty, they didn’t live as long in captivity.

His research had given him information on the best way to care for Priscilla. In the past month, a pond had been dug for her and he’d brought in trees and plants for her. But he hadn’t been able to find her a friend.

“A pregnant mare is a good idea,” he told Charlie. “I’m going to try that.”

He walked toward Priscilla, wanting to check out the area next to her pen. As he approached, she shook her head and stomped her foot. Almost as if she were threatening him.

Shane paused. He had to admit he didn’t have a lot of experience with elephants, but he and Priscilla had always gotten along.