Page 87 of Reckless Skye

TJ tried to pick up his pace, even though every step had his vision narrowing. When he came to Smokey’s stall and looked in, his heart dropped.

Smokey stood inside the stall, her head hung low. A long, shallow gash ran down the length of her side. The shavings beneath her hooves were red with droplets of blood – blood that Skye knelt in as she tried to assess the wound.

She looked up at him, her face white, her big eyes dark with shock, and she whispered, ‘What do I do?’

TJ snapped to. Rage like he had never known before flared out of his shock. He hurriedly put Kai in his stall, leaving his horse fully saddled in his rush. When he stepped back out, he saw one of the barn hands walking with a clipboard up ahead.

TJ shouted, ‘Hey!’ and when the girl turned, he said, ‘Call the cops; a horse has been injured over here.’

‘What?’ The girl ran over.

Around them, people started filtering out of stalls and hurrying over.

As TJ stepped into Smokey’s stall, everyone crowded around. ‘I’ve got to call the event manager,’ the barn hand said, her voice shaky with panic.

‘Cops first,’ TJ instructed. ‘Whoever did this might still be here.’

Smokey tossed her head, clearly overwhelmed by the crowd. ‘Okay, pretty girl,’ TJ crooned, momentarily forgetting his own pain to soothe the horse.

He ran one palm down her neck, felt some relief when that horsey warmth seeped into his hand. On the floor, big tears ran down Skye’s pale face. Her hands, spread over Smokey’s bloody side, trembled.

‘Hey,’ TJ said quietly, and when Skye looked up at him, he added, ‘I need you to let go so that I can have a look.’

She bit back a sob, but she didn’t move, only closed her eyes. TJ reached forward and, taking her hands in his, gently lowered them.

He kept them linked with his, Smokey’s blood drying between their fingers, as he assessed the damage.

The cut was long and clean, one that could only have been made with a knife or a scalpel. But it wasn’t deep. Its placement seemed deliberate. To scare, yes. But the way the cut ran the entire length of the horse’s body, over where both cinches would attach, told him that whoever had done it meant to ensure that Smokey would be out of commission for a while.

‘I need the on-call vet,’ he said to the crowd behind him.

‘I’ve called already,’ someone said. ‘He’s on premises, seeing to a show bull in Barn A. He’ll be here in five.’

‘Are all the other animals okay?’ TJ asked. He knew as surely as Skye did that they would be, but the question had the crowd dispersing to check their own horses.

He looked down at Skye. She must be still in shock, because she hadn’t yanked her hands back yet. She tilted her head to meet his eyes and, in a voice that was so small and tired, whispered, ‘He found me.’

Chapter 27

Of all the things Skye would never forgive her father for, this took first place. As she sat in a pile of wood shavings and blood – Smokey’s blood – she promised that he would live to regret the day he’d had someone take a knife to her horse.

‘Jesus Christ.’

Skye looked up as the vet, his medical box in one hand, slid the stall door open and stepped inside. ‘What happened here?’

‘We don’t know,’ Skye said.

‘Ford.’ TJ greeted the vet by name. ‘Someone meant to do this. It’s too clean to be accidental.’

Skye looked down and felt her heart lurch when she saw TJ’s familiar hands, so strong and competent, folded over the backs of hers, Smokey’s blood drying between them. Binding them.

Unable to think about why that contact was still so comforting after everything he’d put her through, Skye shook him loose. She curled her hands into fists as the vet knelt at her side and TJ slowly got to his feet and took a step out of the way.

‘Ford Anderson.’ The vet, a large, handsome man with a shock of red hair beneath his cowboy hat and kind green eyes, introduced himself. He raised his fingers to the wound on Smokey’s side, carefully shifted the loose skin back and forth as he assessed the damage. ‘I have to agree with your assessment. This was deliberate.’

Skye couldn’t focus on that just then, only asked, ‘Will she be okay?’

‘Oh yeah.’ Ford leaned back on his haunches and opened his medical box. ‘It’s not deep at all, just inconveniently placed. Only this part’ – he showed her the first three inches on the cut – ‘will need a stitch or two. The rest we’ll clean, disinfect, and treat with antimicrobial. It doesn’t even need a bandage so long as you keep everything nice and clean. Just wound powder.’ He paused what he was doing to meet her gaze. ‘I’m sure I don’t have to tell you, but this will take her out. Probably for at least three weeks while the worst of it closes, maybe longer.’