Darci's Pride. Jenna MillsЧитать онлайн книгу.

      Chapter Five

      The words, soft, challenging, slipped through Tyler, burning where seconds before, the lemon cordial had cooled. He looked at her standing next to the dusty white fence with her chin lifted and the hair falling in her face, her eyes filled with a glow he’d tried to forget.

      She’d been at Lochlain since the fire. She’d led horses to the far pasture. She’d tended to him under the cover of darkness. She’d given him a drink, damn it. She’d soothed shaken members of his staff.

      She’d sung to Lightning Chaser, and she’d cried.

      Over sixteen hours after arriving, she still wore the same stained, torn clothes. Only her hair was different, no longer stuffed inside a cap, but hanging loose and tangled around her face. In place of makeup she wore soot and fatigue and grief, but somehow, goddammit, she still looked beautiful.

      And he wanted to touch. So brutally bad he refused to let himself move. Because more than touch, he wanted to taste. He wanted to crush her in his arms and bury his face in her hair, to slide his mouth to hers and forget—

      For-bloody-get.

      It was the word that got him, the word that stopped him. He stepped back and looked toward the hulking remains of Barn B, where his father and Detective Hastings strode toward him, with Beverly Morgan following closely behind. Their expressions were tight, unreadable, and before they reached him, he knew. He knew what the news would be. What the arson dog had detected.

      “Thanks for the drink,” he said with the politeness typically reserved for strangers. The spark in Darci’s eyes went flat, but already he was handing her the glass and turning toward the approaching trio.

      His barn complex lay in ruins. He’d lost two horses, might lose several more. Lightning Chaser would never race again.

      Now was not the time to wonder if Darci Parnell could possibly taste as sweet as she looked.

      “Have that arm looked at,” she said quietly, and if there was a note of hurt in her voice, he reminded himself just how dangerous illusions could be.

      With narrowed eyes he watched her walk into the glare of the lowering sun as his father drew near, watched her hair sway against her back as she once again headed forAndrew.

      “Millie found an accelerant,” Hastings said. “Near what your father says used to be the tack room.”

      Swearing softly, Tyler looked toward the blue-and-white checked crime-scene tape stretched around the barn. In the nearby shade, two of the border collies drank greedily from a bowl of water Darci had brought over.

      “There are faint trails leading to both the other barns,” Hastings added.

      “We’re lucky we didn’t lose all three,” Tyler’s father said. “It could have been a hell of a lot worse.”

      The confirmation of his suspicions sickened him. Someone had torched his barns. Someone had started a fire while the animals were inside, sleeping. If things had only been a little different—

      “Someone was supposed to be watching.” They had a rotation. Someone was awake at all times, walking the grounds, monitoring the surveillance feed….

      Hastings glanced at his notepad. “Fella named Reynard had first shift, but turned it over to a kid named Craig around midnight.”

      Tyler nodded. Reynard was new to Lochlain; Craig Stevens had grown up there. His father was one of the assistant trainers. Craig was an exercise rider. He wanted to be a jockey.

      “He’s a good kid,” Tyler said.

      “Says he heard a noise over by the office and went to check it out. Didn’t see anything, so he went to get a drink. He was on his way back when he smelled smoke.”

      “He sounded the alarm, did everything right,” David added. “But he’s torn up something awful. His dad is with him now.”

      Tyler looked at the three of them, Hastings all business, his father grim-eyed, the insurance investigator ominously quiet. She didn’t need to say anything. What she was thinking—what anyone would think—was clear.