The Night is Forever. Heather GrahamЧитать онлайн книгу.
mean, people who do important things, people like you, can have problems just like me.”
“Well, uh, good,” Dustin said, a little helplessly.
“Especially after what happened to Marcus,” she added.
He didn’t get a chance to say any more. Joey was there. Dustin was glad to see that he seemed to have a special place in his heart for Brent and made a point of greeting him.
Olivia Gordon reappeared, leading a massive bay gelding with a glossy coat. He had to be about seventeen hands high.
“This is Cheyenne. He was bought as a three-year-old for a young rider. He was too much for her and the father sold him to a hack ranch. He was never handled properly and started throwing riders. One of the stable hands thought that whipping him would work and Cheyenne threw him into a field. He was then put in a paddock and basically ignored until—” she paused for just a second “—until Marcus Danby came upon him. We’ve had him about three months now and we’re working with him today because we’re working on boundaries. So, first, one by one, get to know him.”
Dustin had to admit he wasn’t sure how getting to know a horse was going to be therapeutic for an adolescent boy, a Down syndrome child and a woman in court-ordered rehab. Or how a difficult horse could help anyone with “boundaries.” Or why the three of them seemed like a good combo.
But as their time together progressed, he realized that what Olivia was telling them was true. They each worked with the animal, leading him, stopping with him, leading him again. She taught them to respect the horse—but to maintain control. They were given a distance to cover; they weren’t to stop because Cheyenne tried to bully them into walking over to the grass. Neither were they to jerk on his reins or in any way harm the horse.
It was interesting—even for Dustin—because the horse was a powerhouse of muscle. They were encouraged to speak to one another. And they were all encouraged to give the horse encouragement, to applaud his compliance. When Olivia ended the session, she released the gelding and he immediately bolted for the field. Cheyenne ran about for a few minutes. And then he ran back to them. He nudged Brent, and Brent laughed delightedly and returned the animal’s affection.
“How did you get him to do that?” Patty asked Olivia.
“I didn’t. He chose to come back,” Olivia said. “Okay, we’ll take Cheyenne to the stables now. Grooming time.”
It was an intriguing exercise. Olivia supplied brushes and they decided among themselves who’d do the mane and tail and how they’d share this one-person task.
Then their two-hour session was over. Olivia told Brent to say hello to his mom for her, said goodbye to Patty and informed Joey that they’d be ready for his ride in half an hour. She turned to Dustin. He was struck again by the beauty of this slender woman who seemed to have so much confidence, such easy control.
She was obviously waiting for the others to walk away so she could speak to him privately. But they were talking and laughing among themselves.
He moved closer to her. “I’m here because of Malachi,” he said quietly.
She glanced quickly around. “Someone could have called me and told me that yes, it was being handled.”
Her taut response gave him a start. He lowered his voice. “You could answer your phone,” he told her. “Although one would’ve thought that if you’d called an agent for help and another agent showed up, you’d put two and two together. Then again, if you answered your phone, you might have spoken with both of us.”
She looked away. “Yesterday wasn’t a good day for us. We got the autopsy report in the morning.”
“Yes, I know that, Ms. Gordon. Because the day before, I was about to head out on a serious case—kidnapping and murder in the Northwest. Instead, I’m here—where an addict might or might not have gone back to his old ways.”
She flashed a glance at him, her eyes shimmering with hostility. “I’m sorry. I would think the murder of any human being was important and worth investigating. If we’re not gruesome enough for you, I do apologize. But you are here to investigate. I—”
She paused, moving a step closer. She might work with horses in a stable, but she wore some kind of subtle perfume that made her smell like the whisper of flowers in the breeze.
“I have two individual sessions this afternoon. You’re not one of them. Everyone starts off with a session like you just went through, to see if they feel this will be of benefit to them. That will allow you to fit in here, which is the point. So, now you can investigate. What are you going to do?”
He frowned at her, somewhat irritated that she’d gotten under his skin. All his life he’d walked a straight line. He felt he had sympathy for those left behind after a death, although he wasn’t and never had been a counselor in any way. But he didn’t let emotion invade his work. In his position, he couldn’t. He’d wind up...
In therapy, he thought dryly.
“Well?” she asked. “What will you do this afternoon?”
He angled his head thoughtfully. “I’m going to play Ping-Pong. What time do you get off, Ms. Gordon?”
* * *
When Olivia finished with her last session, she discovered that Dustin Blake was still at the facility. He was playing doubles; he and Joey were partnered against Sean and Matt.
Officially, the Horse Farm was there for equine therapy. But any “guest”—as they officially called their patients or clients—was welcome on the grounds during open hours, which usually ended at six. They’d long ago noticed that their guests were comfortable at the Horse Farm and, because of that, many stayed long hours reading in the back room or playing games.
Olivia wondered if perhaps he’d been waiting for her. But she paused by the reception area, pouring herself a cup of coffee and watching him. She’d managed to call Malachi on her cell during her last ride, and he’d managed to call her back. Yes, if she’d answered her phone, she would have learned that Blake was the agent who’d been sent.
He was a curious choice, she thought. He was hardly nondescript. The man stood at about six foot four. He had the kind of lean, hard muscle that might be seen on a basketball player. His every movement hinted at agility. His face was chiseled, his jaw square, and he had flashing dark eyes that seemed to view the world around him with a certain amount of skepticism. No one could miss him. Hardly the type to slip in and out of anywhere unnoticed.
But then, he’d come here as what he was—or mostly as what he was. Aaron was practically giddy that the bureau had chosen their facility as a place for the man to unwind, chill out or vanquish his demons. Nowhere in the paperwork had it been suggested that he was addicted to alcohol or other substances, but you didn’t have to be an addict or suffering from a physical or congenital disadvantage to benefit from the Horse Farm. Marcus Danby had believed that the best therapy brought various kinds of people together. For instance, a stressed-out business exec could learn that patience and tolerance for an autistic or otherwise handicapped child was something that should come naturally. Equally, a young man like Brent could show true acceptance and affection to a drug addict or alcoholic who discovered that friends—real friends, or the ones who’d enabled their addictions—were afraid to be there for them anymore.
But while they’d had handsome high school and college football heroes, a number of pro athletes, musicians and some of the people who pulled major strings on Wall Street, they’d never had anyone quite like Dustin Blake.
He was the topic du jour.
Drew Dicksen stepped in from outside. He walked directly over to her and the table with the ever-present coffee service.
“Hey, how are you doing, kid?” he asked her.
He seemed to look at her with concern all the time now.
“I’m doing all right. How about you?”
“Fine.