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Picking up his mug and starting to feel a tad concerned, Duke walked out onto the terrace and closed the door behind him.
“Dad, what’s going on?”
“Sit down and I’ll explain.”
* * *
Rick and Bailey were just starting to fall asleep when Rick’s phone rang.
“Who’s calling you so late?” Bailey asked wearily as he rolled over to pick it up.
“It’s Trevor.”
“Trevor? I hope nothing’s wrong.”
“There’s only one way to find out,” Rick replied, accepting the call. “What’s up?”
“Before you ask. Miss Piggy is fine, and I’m sorry to call you at this hour, but you need to hear this.”
CHAPTER FORTY-ONE
Big John’s alarm clock shrilled through the bedroom jolting him from sleep. Rolling over, he pushed the button to turn it off, then rubbed his eyes and stared at the time. The old-fashioned dial told him it was just past seven-thirty. Groaning, he pushed himself out of bed and stumbled into the bathroom.
The long, hot shower helped, but he didn’t bother to shave. Half an hour later, after drinking two cups of black coffee and eating two pop tarts, he walked outside, climbed into his truck, and backed it up to his trailer. Wishing he’d done the arduous task the day before, he cursed under his breath as he hooked it up, then strode into the barn for halters and lead ropes. Tossing them in his truck, he checked his watch.
“What the fuck?” he muttered under his breath. “How the hell did it get to be almost eight-forty-five?”
Hurrying back inside, he grabbed his wallet and phone and stuffed them into his pockets, then paused to make sure he hadn’t forgotten anything. Satisfied, he returned to his truck, climbed in, and started down his long, gravel driveway.
* * *
Twenty-minutes later, driving past the high stone walls surrounding Bellwood Country Estates, John eased his foot on the accelerator. The gates were just ahead, and Steve was supposed to be waiting at the curb. Suddenly the man appeared from behind some trees. John pulled over and stopped then lowered his window.
“Hi, John, my car’s right there,” Steve declared, leaning in and pointing to an old Buick parked across the street.
“Is everything set?”
“Yeah, the horses are in the paddock waiting. Just follow me,” he replied, then jogged to his sedan, settled behind the wheel and started off.
The manicured street wound around the high-end development, then became a dirt road leading into the rear of the community. As they entered, John spotted several graded lots waiting for new homes, then the horses in a large, grassy, white-fenced field. Hoping they’d be easy to catch, he stopped close to the gate, climbed out, then looked behind him and studied the trees and the gentle slope searching for any signs of life.
“I hope you brought halters and lead ropes,” Steve declared as he stepped from his car. “The stupid groom must’ve forgotten to leave them.”
“You’ve made sure he’ll stay away and keep his mouth shut, right?” John asked, still scanning the area.
“Yeah, of course. He got the carrot and the stick. Believe me, he won’t say a word. So, what do you think. Pretty nice horses, right?”
“Until I see them close up it’s hard to say,” he replied, finally satisfied they were alone and turning his attention to the livestock. “Bein’ quarter horses—hang on—” he said tersely, hastily climbing through the fence.
“What’s wrong?”
“What the fuck? Steve! These aren’t quarter horses,” John shouted, spinning around and scowling at him.
“They’re not?”
“No! They’re fuckin’ warmbloods. What the fuck are you tryin’ to pull?”
“I’m sorry, that’s what I was told at the card game Quarter horses. I wouldn’t know one breed from another. Does it matter? You can still sell them, can’t you?”
