Shane ( Horse Whisperer Novel Book 2) Read online

  SHANE

  Part two of two

  SHANE & MARIAH's Story

  A Horse Whisperer Novel

  by

  Carol Devine

  copyright © 2017 Carol Devine Rusley

  All rights reserved. Except for brief excerpts for review purposes as described by U.S. and International copyright law, no part of this publication may be reverse engineered, reproduced, distributed or transmitted in any form or by any means including digital, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, film, lyric, video, audio or otherwise without the prior written consent of the author at authorcaroldevine.com

  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are products of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events or locales or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

  First Edition

  ISBN: 154534082-X

  ISBN-13: 978-1545340820

  CONTENTS

  Acknowledgments

  6

  1

  Chapter One

  7

  2

  Chapter Two

  Pg 35

  3

  Chapter Three

  Pg 75

  4

  Chapter Four

  Pg 109

  5

  Chapter Five

  Pg 145

  6

  Chapter Six

  Pg 169

  7

  Chapter Seven

  Pg 202

  8

  Chapter Eight

  Pg 239

  9

  Chapter Nine

  Pg 252

  10

  Chapter Ten

  Pg 261

  DEDICATION

  To Shadow

  ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

  If you find errors in my work, please let me know by contacting me at: [email protected]. As an independent author, I treasure your feedback and take pride in delivering a product to my readers that rivals those of the big publishing houses. A rating or review on the site where you purchased this book allows me to support myself while producing more romantic stories to love.

  I thank the creators of the British TV Series, Doc Martin, which inspired me to create the fictional town of Grizzly Springs and populate it with characters both quirky and sublime. Beta-readers of this book include Steve Rusley, Barbara Trexler, Mary Clark, Angela Keane of Story Preserves, the BooksGoSocial network of Indie writers, and especially Sue Paluska, who definitely knows her copy editing stuff. Colleen Collins' HOW DO PRIVATE EYES DO THAT helped me with the heroine's character. Janel Clarke and Facebook's Friendly Horse Questions helped me with the horse research and, along with Nancy Cole and Lou Casteel, inspired the formation of many of the characters in this book.

  authorcaroldevine.com currently sponsored by Weebly.

  Cover design by Sabre, Gray & Bane Cover Design

  CHAPTER ONE

  Shane Youngblood steered his pickup truck onto Highway 61 and checked his side mirrors. He was hauling a one-horse trailer and the horse inside was worth more than fifty thousand dollars.

  The highway had originally been built as a two lane road, connecting his small Colorado hometown to the county line, where the next county was expected to fund and build a connecting road to Aspen. But a rich real estate developer came on the scene and claimed he needed a paved, four lane highway to bring buyers to his five acre ranchettes on the far outskirts of Aspen. The far outskirts turned out to be halfway to his hometown of Grizzly Springs.

  For years, the small town's Mayor had struggled to fund better feeder roads to downtown Grizzly Springs. In its heyday more than a century before, the town had been a railroad hub, part of the bustling trade resulting from Colorado's 1859 Gold Rush. The riches from mining allowed brick and stone buildings to spring up, including an Opera House turned into a four star hotel, and a General Store that was well-run enough to prevent encroachment from the big box stores like Walmart. Unfortunately, like many towns in rural America, attracting tourists was hit or miss once the railroad closed down. Hunters and fishermen were more commonplace since Grizzly Springs was nestled in the center of the Red River valley, surrounded by mountains and State and National Forestland.

  As the founder of the town stables, Shane heard about the highway improvement and joined the cause, reasoning that a fast track to Aspen would serve his horse breeding and training operation in a number of ways, bringing trail riders and buyers in and make transporting across country considerably easier.

  As an eight time winner of the World Championship of Rodeo and owner of the most profitable business in town, he'd wielded considerable juice with the local county commissioners. Strategic donations to his local representatives in the State House helped advance his quest to improve the road.

  Next, he scheduled a trip to Denver, did a week's worth of his famous Horse Whisperer Clinics, and during his free hours, did the schmoozing necessary to open doors and gain access to the Governor and more influential members of the State House. A year later, the money to extend the highway thirty-five miles was appropriated. Two years later, the newly built highway connected Aspen to Grizzly Springs.

  Now, Highway 61 was a seventy five mile straight shot to Aspen, one he found not only convenient, but necessary to move his livestock from his end of the county to the rarefied atmosphere of the other. One of those five acre ranchettes was his destination today.

  He'd traveled about seven miles out of town when he spotted a lone figure walking along the side of the road. It was Sunday morning and traffic was nonexistent.

  His first thought was that it was the town drunk, Bird McBride. He liked to scrounge bottles and cans wherever and whenever. But as Shane drew closer, he saw waist-length brown hair, blowing in the breeze. She had long legs, too, bare legs in itty bitty shorts. Pink sneakers and an oversized sweatshirt confirmed his suspicion that he was definitely a she. A young she.

  He slowed down, hoping to recognize her. For fifteen years, he'd been giving riding lessons and trail rides to lots of kids in town. His rodeo star status and the fact that he was a Grizzly Springs native guaranteed a certain infamy. Most people around here knew him on sight.

  She must have heard his rig chugging behind her. She swerved to the road's far edge, where pavement gave way to weeds. She ducked as he passed, hiding her face. No purse, no backpack, nothing that would lead to an ID.

  It wasn't safe for a lone woman to be out here, much less a teen-aged girl. Her hips hadn't filled out yet. She had breasts but they were barely starting to show. Her sweatshirt was several sizes too big and the sleeves flapped past her hands.

  He pulled over, mindful of the trailer, the rig ending up about a hundred feet ahead of her. She stopped, cocked her head in his direction, looking unsure. Wherever she was going, he was offering her a ride. He didn't want to alarm her, though, make her think he was a pervert looking to take advantage.

  He removed his hat, raked a hand through his unruly hair. The black felt Stetson was kinda intimidating when worn by a six foot two cowboy who weighed over 200 pounds.

  He checked her status one more time. She stuck her hands inside the front pockets of her sweatshirt in a protective way, poised on her toes, watchfulness bleeding into clear distrust. Already he'd scared her, merely sitting in his truck. If he made a wrong move, she'd run. There was no place to go, with empty fenced pasture on both sides of the highway.

  He stabbed his cell phone, connecting with the PI office of his girlfriend, Mariah McBride. He needed backup just in case the young lady in question decided he was a kidnapper or something. Mariah would know whether the Sheriff should be involved, too. Sh
e was former FBI with a master's degree in criminal justice and a PhD in Psychology, wise and wonderful, the opposite of her dad, drunken Bird McBride. If the girl needed calming, Doc was the one who could provide it. She'd be able to call the Sheriff's office, too.

  She picked up on the third ring, her tone brisk.

  "Sorry, Shane, but I'm in a bit of a situation. Can I call you back?"

  "Don't hang up. I'm in a situation myself. There's a girl walking down 61 by her lonesome. She's too young to be out here by herself."

  "You found a… what? A girl?"

  "I'm guessing she's about the same age as Ana's oldest. Thirteen, maybe fourteen. Skinny as a rail but tall like you."

  "Describe what she's wearing."

  "Really short shorts. Too short, if you catch my drift."

  "Purple sweatshirt?"

  Shane stuck his head out the truck to be certain. The sweatshirt had a logo he recognized and block letters in front. Minnesota Vikings. "How did you know?"

  "Believe it or not, I have her father in my office with me. He's desperate to find her. Long story. Where are you, exactly?"

  He told her, then started asking what the hell was going on. She hung up.

  "Dammit, Mariah."

  She hadn't given him the girl's name. He started to call back, then decided, fuck it, he didn't need her name. He needed to keep her occupied until Mariah arrived.

  Shane exited the truck. The girl stutter-stepped in alarm and looked over her shoulder at the road behind her. Like a doe-eyed deer scenting trouble, ready to spring the fence. A barbed wire fence.

  Not good for her. Him, either.

  He left the cab door hanging open in case Mariah called, buttoned his shirt to his neck, trying to look respectable, and strolled towards her. His horse, Jukebox, stomped his hooves and neighed. The gelding wasn't named Jukebox for nothing.

  "Hey," he called. "You need a ride?"

  "Don't call the police!" she screamed.

  Her overreaction told him two things. One, this was Sheriff Country, so she probably came from somewhere else. Secondly, her voice was shrill, scared. Scared of him, or maybe scared of being found. If she recognized him, she didn't show it. World Rodeo Champion and Horse Whisperer of the Rockies came in handy sometimes.

  "No reason to call anybody," he said. "Where're you headed? I can give you a ride. I'm going both directions today."

  She retreated, heading back the way she'd come, swiveling every few feet to keep an eye on him. Shane checked his watch. Five minutes since he talked to Mariah. She needed more than fifteen minutes to get here. He had to keep the girl within sight for ten more minutes.

  Shane jogged, closing the gap. "I'm doing the neighborly thing here. I'll give you a ride home, see that you get there safe, no questions asked."

  She raised her hand, palm flattened and facing him in the universal stop sign. "I'm not supposed to talk to strangers."

  He halted about ten feet away. "My name is Kellen Shane Youngblood. I go by Shane. Own the Grizzly Springs Stables. Got my initials on the side of my truck and trailer if you want proof."

  Her eyes flickered, unsure whether to believe him or not.

  "What's your name?" he asked.

  "I can't talk to strangers. I told you already."

  "No strangers here. You know who I am. KSY Stables. Shane Youngblood. Grizzly Springs. Small town up the road?"

  She toed the pavement, uncertain.

  Where was his giant championship belt buckle when he needed it? Shane jerked his thumb toward his trailer. "My horse, Jukebox. You want to say hello?"

  "Jukebox?"

  "I'll show you," he said.

  Shane sprinted to the trailer, unlocked it, opened the door and pulled the ramp. Jukebox bunched his powerful hindquarters, neighing and jerking his head, but Shane had trained the horse well. Jukebox backed out and Shane seized his halter, unbuckled his blanket, pulled it off and wheeled him around.

  The girl's mouth dropped open in what could only be described as a combination of shock and amazement. Jukebox was impressive. A full-blooded Quarter Horse chestnut gelding with a goldish mane, he stood 17 hands tall and competed in reining competitions across the nation.

  Shane led him forward. "Meet Jukebox. He thinks he's a lover, a singer, and a performer, in that order."

  She hesitated, squinting in the sun. Yep, he'd gone and done something flat out nuts. Better than being a rapist or serial killer, though.

  Shane halted about five feet away. "Say hello to the young lady."

  Jukebox obeyed, whinnying and bobbing his head.

  Her eyes widened. "Did you teach him that?"

  "Among other things. Comes natural to him if you want to know the truth. He likes making all kinds of noises. He likes people, too. He likes them to rub the star on his forehead."

  Shane demonstrated, brushing the forelock aside. He knuckled the round white star between the horse's ears, going with the spiral grain of Jukebox's coat, focusing on the horse rather than the girl.

  She sidled closer.

  "Go ahead," Shane invited. "I'll hold him steady."

  She fisted her hands inside the sleeves of her sweat-shirt and shook her head.

  Shane scratched Jukebox's long nose, acting casual. "You a Vikings fan?"

  She didn't answer.

  He kept on talking, figuring it was one way to kill time. Juvenile stuff, nothing that might spook her.

  "I've done horsemanship clinics in Minneapolis and St. Paul. Lot of Appaloosas in that part of the country. Appys originated west of Minnesota, courtesy of the Nez Perce. Every heard of the Nez Perce?"

  She shook her head.

  "Native American tribe, out of Montana. Famous for breeding spotted horses. Good-lookers, good for all-around riding. Made in America. Native American. Get it?"

  In the face of her silence, he shrugged.

  "Bad joke."

  She studied Jukebox. "He doesn't have spots."

  "That's cause he's chestnut. Red color, white stockings. Only spot he has is the one on his forehead. Horse people call it a star." He paused, hoping she'd reach out, pet the damn horse. She didn't. "Is your dad the Vikings fan?"

  "Mom."

  "Bet your dad is a Broncos fan."

  She nodded, balling her fists in her sweatshirt like she was cold.

  "It's warm in the cab of my truck, if you need it."

  "I'm fine."

  "Suit yourself." Shane groped for another subject. "Can't blame anybody for being a Broncos fan. Playoff contenders every year, seems like. Your family live in Colorado?"

  "Lakewood."

  "Near Denver. You like the Broncos?"

  "Me and Dad make bets with Mom."

  Jukebox nickered and pawed his front hoof, tired of being shut out of the conversation. The girl pushed one of her sleeves up and reached out. Her first touch was tentative, on the horse's shoulder. The gleaming arched neck drew her higher. She stroked.

  "That's his second favorite spot."

  "He's like a huge photograph," she said, tone reverent. "Shiny and beautiful… like a new penny." She riffled along the edges of his mane. "And gold."

  "He's usually picky about who pets him." Shane figured a white lie was permissible under the circumstances. Jukebox was the opposite of picky. He lived for affection. Even rookie horseback rider Mariah groomed him, tickled by his soft nickers and snorts that he serenaded everyone with. "He must like you."

  The girl moved closer. Jukebox lifted his head, pricked his ears and switched his attention to the long ribbon of road behind them. The highway rose straight into the horizon. Mariah's SUV came into view. From the speed and engine roar, Shane estimated she was going close to 100 miles an hour.

  She braked once she spotted them, swerved sideways a hundred yards out, coming to a squealing halt perpendicular to the double yellow line dividing the road. Both front doors of her SUV opened and a man jumped out from the passenger side.

  "Caitlyn!" He raced toward them.

  S
urprise lit the girl's face. "Dad? Dad!"

  She sprinted and jumped into the man's arms. He whirled her, toes off the ground. Relief crumpled his face.

  Spooked by the commotion, Jukebox danced sideways, neighing and carrying on like a god-damned nincompoop. Mariah came over to help calm him, her blonde ponytail catching sunlight. Shane winked at her as she stroked the horse. "Hey, partner. Nice work."

  "Nice work," Mariah said at the exact same time.

  They both chuckled. 'Nice' was a word that had special meaning to them, dating to when Shane first visited her fledgling business in Grizzly Springs.

  Recalling the moment, Shane upped the wattage and grinned. "Thanks for getting here so fast. I got me one magnificent girlfriend if I do say so myself."

  She raised her sunglasses, treating him to a view of her teasing greenish-blue eyes. "You fishing for compliments? You want me to say you're magnificent, too?"

  "That's me, always fishing for compliments." He eyed the reunion between father and daughter. It appeared to be going well. "Her name's Caitlyn, huh?"

  "Yes. Her dad is Roger Cahill. They're from Denver but spent last night in Grizzly Springs. Caitlyn ran away this morning. He called the Sheriff and Wilma took his info, then told him to call me."

  "She got her deputies searching town?"

  "Yes. She wanted me to interview him in case she needed to widen the search. I was trying to get a feel about where Caitlyn most likely would go when you called. I contacted Wilma on the way, told her you found Caitlyn."

  "She wasn't about to trust me. Jukebox saved the day, though."

  Mariah rubbed Jukebox's star. "Such a pretty boy, aren't you?"

  "Since when do you like petting horses?"

  "Well, my boyfriend happens to breed and train them. I'm trying to impress him with my enthusiasm."