The Saddle Creek Series 5-Book Bundle. Shelley Peterson

to asking.”

      “Gus, how much would it take for you not to mention Joy’s offer to Wick? Pretend it’s yesterday. I’ll put in a good offer. When Wick accepts it, you get a handsome fee and we don’t have to fool around with counteroffers.”

      “It’s tempting, Sam. But you forget, I already had my licence suspended once for you. I won’t be making that mistake again.”

      “You told me there’d be no problem. It’s a problem if I don’t get the property.” Samuel Owens hung up, angry. Nobody wants to help a friend. He got up from his desk and took his favourite position by the picture window. Soon, all this would be his, but it was taking too long. There were more obstacles than he’d expected, and he was getting impatient.

      Something was moving across his land. Way back, near the Wick boundary. Owens picked up his binoculars and adjusted them. A horse, no rider, but saddled up. A human, carrying something dark and heavy. The horse was Dancer. There was no mistake. Dancer, on his property. Mousie James wouldn’t have the nerve to be on his land, would she? He strained his eyes to see. Didn’t they learn their lesson last time? He was within his rights to shoot trespassers. There were signs posted. Couldn’t she read?

      The phone on his desk rang.

      “Owens here.”

      “Mr. Owens? It’s Gladys Forsyth.”

      Samuel Owens’ eyes lit up. His voice took on a kindly, paternal tone. “Well, Gladys, how nice to hear back from you so quickly.”

      “I’ll want more money for my house.”

      Owens’ face darkened, but his voice purred. “That was a generous offer, Gladys. The price per acre is well-known. I offered twice the going rate.”

      “I had an estimate done. My son told me to do that. Mrs. James says it’s worth six times the price per acre because it’s a severed lot. That’s three times what you offered, and that’s what I want.”

      “You greedy—Christine James, eh? You called her in for an appraisal? She’s been busy lately.”

      “Are you going to pay, or walk away? My son said to say that.”

      “Let me think on it, Gladys. Remember, this is a solid offer. A bird in the hand and all that, but I’ll get back to you.”

      “Don’t wait too long, or it’ll be gone. Heh, heh.”

      “Your son is a funny man, Gladys. Goodbye.”

      Owens was furious. Dancer was walking across his property, and Mousie’s mother and grandmother were messing up all his plans by putting in an offer on the Wick farm and telling Gladys Forsyth her acre was worth three times his offer.

      That does it. Owens took his Remington hunting rifle off the shelf over his desk. Keeping his eyes fixed on Dancer, Owens slipped a cartridge into place. He closed the well-oiled chamber with a firm click. He threw open the casement window and aimed. That horse was not welcome on his property.

      Boom! Boom boom! The sounds of a rifle discharging ripped through the air like claps of thunder. Abby dropped to the ground, her body covering Cody. Dancer jumped, startled. His muscles tensed, ready for flight.

      Where were the shots coming from? Abby looked up at Dancer. The big horse’s eyes were wild. She could duck low, but Dancer was a big target.

      “Home, Dancer!” Abby commanded.

      Dancer refused to go. He nudged her with his nose, urging her to get up. He nudged her again, this time pushing so hard that she was lifted to her feet. “Okay, Dancer. We’ll run.” Abby spied a wooded growth not far away.

      As she gathered Cody into her arms, he whimpered with pain, then placed one paw over Abby’s arm. “You can cry if you like, Cody,” she told him. “I know it hurts.” Abby headed toward the trees. She ran low to the ground with Cody tucked into her chest.

      Boom boom boom!

      They made it to cover. From the safety of the thick tree trunks, Abby scanned the horizon, trying to see where the gunfire had originated.

      Boom!

      Samuel Owens’ mansion. Somebody was firing a rifle from his house. Abby’s blood ran cold. He was back.

      Missed again! Owens couldn’t contain himself. He hurled his rifle out the window as far as he could, then ran out into the yard and jumped on it. How could he miss? He was a champion shot. Angrily he strode back into the house and slammed the door. He rang for his manservant.

      Walter came running, his face pale. “Sir?”

      Owens smiled at the man’s fear. That made him feel a little better. “Can’t take a little rifle noise, Walter? Never served your country? It shows, Walter. You’re a snivelling coward, aren’t you, Walter?”

      “Yes, sir.”

      “Go out and buy a dozen red roses. Deliver them yourself to the beautiful Mrs. Casey. Write something clever on the card, from me.” Owens threw a crisp fifty-dollar bill on the floor at Walter’s feet. “And Walter? Act like a man.”

      “Yes, sir, Mr. Owens, sir.” Walter’s face was deep red as he stooped to retrieve the money, kneeling under the sneering face of his boss.

      Hilary trotted Henry home along the gravel road, giving him a good workout. The amount of sweat that seeped through his shedding winter coat reminded Hilary that he was out of shape.

      “You’re a nice boy,” she told him, “but you’re fat. You need some work.” Hilary wondered if she should hire Abby to exercise both horses. Henry would live longer if his heart and body were healthy. Abby might like the extra money, if she had time.

      Hilary looked at her watch. The hour was almost up. Perhaps she’d meet Abby and Dancer coming back. Hilary fully expected Cody to be following them, and Abby would say she’d been worrying needlessly. Regardless, it had been a lovely ride. Henry needed the exercise, and Pepper was enjoying the run.

      They walked up the hill toward Hogscroft. As the road straightened, Henry’s ears shot forward. He whinnied loudly, a whinny of greeting. An echoing whinny answered his call. Hilary couldn’t see anything yet, but she knew Dancer’s call. She kept Henry walking, even though he badly wanted to trot.

      Dancer whinnied urgently from down the road. Henry responded. Ignoring the reins, he grabbed the bit in his teeth. He trotted down the road, around the curve past Hogscroft.

      That’s when Hilary saw Abby, carrying a bleeding mess of grey fur, followed by the tall, elegant stallion.

      “Oh, my God,” Hilary muttered under her breath. She cantered Henry right up to the trio, stopped him, then slid from his back onto the road.

      “Abby! What happened?”

      “Cody was caught in a leg-hold trap and the coyotes were coming to kill him. Dancer scared them off. Cody needs help. He’s dying. Call Pete Pierson, Hilary. Now!”

      “Can I help you carry him? He looks heavy.” She reached out to help, but Cody growled and snapped. “No, I guess not,” she said.

      “He’s in pain, Hilary, and he doesn’t know you. Don’t take offence.”

      “I won’t, don’t worry.” Hilary remounted Henry. “I’ll run home and phone Mr. Pierson. Give me Dancer’s reins, and I’ll pony him back.”

      “They’re in my pocket.”

      “In your pocket? He’s following you? I thought you were leading him. Dancer! Come!”

      Dancer looked at Hilary, but stayed with Abby.

      Squelching the enormous feeling of hurt that swelled up inside her, Hilary turned and cantered Henry back toward Hogscroft.

      Tears ran down her face. She scolded herself. She’d wanted Dancer to like Abby. That had