Avenging Angel. Alice Sharpe

       Avenging Angel

       Alice Sharpe

      This book is dedicated to my mother, Mary R. LeVelle,

       and my editor, Allison Lyons, both women who know exactly what to say and when to say it.

      My special thanks to Alma D. Velazquez for her patient help with translations. Thanks also to my horse experts, my sister, Mary Shumate, and fellow writer, Danita Cahill.

      Contents

      Prologue

      Chapter One

      Chapter Two

      Chapter Three

      Chapter Four

      Chapter Five

      Chapter Six

      Chapter Seven

      Chapter Eight

      Chapter Nine

      Chapter Ten

      Chapter Eleven

      Chapter Twelve

      Chapter Thirteen

      Prologue

      March, twenty years earlier

      Daddy said never open the door to strangers.

      Janey shrank back against the wall, holding Teddy tight against her chest, squeezing her eyes shut until the man outside stopped pounding.

      She pulled a chair over to the door and climbed on top. Gently pulling one edge of thick drapery away from the inserted glass panel, she peered outside. Gray skies, trees with just a shimmer of green, wet pavement. The man was gone but she could see the edge of a big brown box peeking above the cement step.

      Should she open the door and get the box?

      What if it was a trick and the man was waiting behind a bush to grab her? She was too smart for that. She’d be six years old pretty soon and she wouldn’t fall for a baby trick. She climbed down and pushed the chair back to the corner, still holding on to her bear.

      She didn’t know how long Daddy had been asleep and she’d been alone. She didn’t know where Mommy was or Baby Brother. All she knew was that Daddy was lying down in the basement and she was alone.

      And her tummy hurt.

      She wandered into the messy kitchen and opened the refrigerator. She’d been eating what she wanted when she wanted it. No one to tell her not to eat cupcakes for dinner. No one to scold her for spilling purple juice on the floor.

      She found a bowl of black olives on the bottom shelf and carefully stuck one on the tip of each finger as juice dribbled down her arms. Eating them off one at a time, she chewed thoughtfully while Teddy stared at her from the floor, his lone black button eye shiny and bright.

      Her tummy still felt funny.

      Hugging Teddy so tight his fur squished between her sticky fingers, she crept to the basement door.

      The light was on which was funny because Daddy was so asleep. She wondered if she should turn off the light but she couldn’t bring herself to do it. Instead she tiptoed halfway down the stairs and stopped, staring at Daddy’s back.

      He was lying on the floor, hands tucked under his body, face turned toward the wall. She was glad because she’d looked at his face once and it had scared her.

      Why wouldn’t he wake up?

      “Daddy?” she said, teeth chattering from cold and from something else she couldn’t name.

      He was so still and quiet….

      A big envelope lay on the ground a couple of feet away. It had a funny little smiley face on it.

      “Daddy?” she said again.

      There was more banging on the front door and this time a voice she recognized.

      Janey backed up the stairs, one hand reaching out to touch the wall for balance, her gaze glued to her father’s back until he disappeared from view.

      Chapter One

      August, Present Day

      The moment she flew out of the saddle, Elle Medina knew she’d blown it.

      Unless Víctor Alazandro hadn’t seen the fall. Unfortunately, a running horse stopping short of a fence while the rider kept going had a tendency to draw attention.

      She hit the water hazard—filled earlier in the day in preparation for this jumping class—with a splash, landing face down in the murk, wishing she could sink into the ooze and disappear below the Nevada soil, right into the center of the earth.

      Instead, she raised her head in time to see the dappled gelding trot off toward the corral fence while her student ran toward her screaming, both hands fluttering at her sides like little propellers.

      Tabitha fell to her expensively clad knees, avoiding the splattered muck. “Elle? Are you okay? I can’t believe you fell off Silver Bells. I’ve never even done that!” The girl shaded her eyes with one hand as she looked around the corral. “Is he okay?”

      Elle, on hands and knees, twisted her torso and plopped back down on her read end. Shoving fine strands of dripping blonde hair away from her face before resting her forearms on bended knees, she said, “I’m fine, Tabitha, stop fussing. Silver Bells—”

      “He just stopped,” the girl said. “He just ran up to the fence and stopped. And you…didn’t.”

      “I’m fine,” Elle repeated. She didn’t add what she suspected was the truth. Silver Bells had probably stopped short of the jump because Tabitha had veered him away at the last minute a half dozen times before Elle took over to demonstrate how it was done. Apparently, the horse had had enough. She added, “Why don’t you go tend to Silver Bells.”

      “Poor baby,” Tabitha gushed, springing to her feet.

      The poor baby in question, reins trailing in the dirt, took one look at Tabitha’s frantic approach and trotted toward Mike, the stable hand, who had come to see what the commotion was about.

      Elle took stock of her own situation. She might be covered in muddy water, but at least nothing felt broken.

      Well, nothing except her pride. Falling off a horse like a blasted rookie. Oh well, get over it. She hadn’t been waiting around Tahoe Stables for her big chance just to give up because of a little mishap.

      She knew Víctor Alazandro was on the property. She’d seen him and an assistant arrive, but she’d lost track of his exact whereabouts during the lesson. Sometimes Peg took people inside for a quick drink before giving them a tour of the stables. With any luck, Elle could sneak off and change clothes before the promised introduction to Alazandro.

      That slim hope died away as she struggled to her feet. Peg, Alazandro and the man who had accompanied Alazandro stood with arms hooked over the corral railing, staring right at her.

      Two options. Walk toward them, run away.

      Only one option with any chance for salvaging this disaster. Waving a hand at Mike who appeared to have things under control, Elle started walking toward the three onlookers. She straightened her shoulders, held her head high. At five foot five, she wasn’t a particularly tall woman and her outdoor life kept her on the slim side, but she walked as though she owned the ground, ignoring her squelching boots, chafing jeans and the mud-splattered T-shirt plastered against her breasts.

      Peg Stiles, owner of the stables and Elle’s boss, regarded Elle’s approach with a rare grin.

      Alazandro’s hooded dark eyes, however, revealed nothing. A black Stetson crowned