Fractured Steel Read online

  Fractured

  Steel

  By

  T.J. Loveless

  Fractured Steel

  Copyright © 2014 T.J. Loveless

  Published by T.J. Loveless

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form, including electronic or mechanical, without written permission from the publisher, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles or reviews.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events, and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.

  This book is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This book may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each person you share it with. If you are reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then you should return it to the seller and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the author’s work.

  Published: T.J. Loveless: [email protected]

  Editing: Cliffhanger Editing, Robin Alexander

  Cover Design: Madelene Martin: http://on.fb.me/1d0Bfur

  Proofreading by: AVC Proofreading, Alicia Carmical

  Kindle Edition

  Other Books by T.J. Loveless

  Urban Fantasy

  Going Thru Hell

  The Fortune Cookie Diaries

  Lucky Number Six

  Odd Number Five

  Unlucky Number Four (Release March of 2014)

  Contemporary Fiction

  Fractured Steel

  Dedication:

  To Daron, the love of my life, my Fozzy Bear during the darkest hours.

  Prologue

  Stockholm Syndrome. Two words I hated, loathed and wanted erased. But here I sat, as she repeated the phrase, and insisted I had to understand their meaning in order to move forward. Stockholm Syndrome, the two words would explain everything, help me on the road to recovery.

  Memories surfaced, causing physical reactions I wasn’t going to tell the court ordered therapist. She wouldn’t understand, and it sure as shit wasn’t going to help. Trusting her wasn’t an option, and the pain from thinking about the last several months didn’t need to be spouted to a stranger.

  I pretended, nodding, and acting as if I heard. She could blame Stockholm all she wanted, the situation was my fault in many respects.

  Fuck them. It had nothing to do with Stockholm, but everything to do with the violent, sadistic, serial killer currently sitting in prison. The new, bright pink scars dissecting my face and trickling down my back, a father who kept secrets far too well, and a famous horse worth ten million dollars.

  Chapter One

  The alarm buzzed loud and clear as the little clock rolled around the bedroom. A technological advance for those more apt to hit snooze repeatedly rather than get out of bed. I carried a love-hate relationship with it.

  I scrubbed my face, moaning. Four a.m. was never pleasant, but chores had to be done, and four horses were heading to auction. The world worked in the daylight.

  The night remained my preferred partner, when I could keep the nightmares spawned by battle memories at bay.

  Pulling my long, brunette hair into a ponytail, I grabbed jeans, boots and a t-shirt. Six horses waited for morning turnout, four needed to be prepped for auction, all stalls required mucking and fresh bedding, three dogs begged to be fed, and all the animals had to be exercised.

  I loved everything about the little ranch: the smells, the hard work, and no boss screaming at me. It was lonely as hell. Dad left it to me in his will, the egg donor split the day I was born, and only the animals could be trusted.

  Soft nickers greeted the stable doors opening, and the smell of horses, hay and manure wafted through the early morning air. My shoulders dropped, the familiar sounds, sights and smells a happy place.

  I released the horses into the near pasture, watching as they verified the pecking order. Happy Feet took lead, trotting to the best grass at the center of the pasture. I secured the gate, leaning against it. The whistle of a light wind on the valley grass, the moon disappeared in time for the sun to make an appearance. The sight made getting up worth the trouble. As the golden rays made their daily appearance, I stared at Happy Feet’s sorrel coat, glistening copper in the early morning sun. She was burgeoning with life, due to foal within the next six weeks. I’d paired her, a great granddaughter of the late, great, San Peppy Badger, with current AQHA Reining, Cutting, and Eventing U.S. champion, Five Alarm. I expected great things out of the foal, looked forward to training and building a special relationship. I didn’t doubt the foal would be as great as his sire, a horse I missed with painful intensity.

  My mind wandered a bit, remembering the horses that trotted through my world, from the time I was a small child, until today. The trust I could give them, but struggled to give humans.

  One of my rottweilers, Rage, whimpered, giving the Rottie Butt Wag. I laughed and reached down. He’d been my companion since returning from the Iraqi theatre ten years ago, and his gray muzzle was comforting. I knew he only had a limited amount of time left, given his age. I gave in and squatted down, hugging the massive shoulders and answering the stereotypical Rottie Growlese. Living without him would shatter my heart.

  Grinning, I started the list of daily chores, enjoying the long standing schedule. I could count on routine. It held the duality of needing it, and fervently hoping for something different.

  Finishing the last stall, I hung the pitchfork in the usual place, slapping my jeans to get rid of the excess dust and dirt. Sweat poured down my neck and back, the t-shirt sticking. I plucked at the fabric, hoping to get a little air between the shirt and me. It was hot, and I wiped the sweat from my brow. Tendrils of curly, brunette hair fell in front of my face, and puffed air to get it out of my line of sight.

  Giving up, I walked to a hose near the south side of the stables. Cranking on the cold water, I doused myself, enjoying the contrast. Thoroughly soaked, I turned it off and spun around.

  “Hello.” The man stood ten feet back, in jeans, untucked t-shirt and loafers, no socks. He wore aviator sunglasses, carried an even tan, with a well-built musculature, but not from hard work. It was a gym build. A late model, black Mercedes coupe with the top down was parked near the storage building for the horse trailers.

  Definitely not a horse person.

  “Can I help you?” I glanced at the sun, estimating about seven in the late spring morning.

  “I was told you were the person to speak to in regards to boarding a horse?” he whipped off the aviator sunglasses. With them on, he looked about late thirties, but his eyes showed closer to fifty. A faded green, cold and lifeless, settled deep in their sockets, and harsh lines radiating from the corners. He ran his gaze up and down my body, until he grunted and looked me in the eyes.

  I wanted to growl at the disrespect, but if a horse was involved, I’d listen.

  “Yes, I board horses, but only after all the paperwork is filled out and my vet certifies the animal as healthy.” I saw his left eye twitch, and he put the sunglasses on.

  “I just acquired him, and the paperwork is still in progress. I’d like to bring him straight here.” He gave me a beautiful smile, filled with perfect white teeth.

  Alarm bells rang loud in my head.

  “I don’t make exceptions. There are other places that will accommodate you.” I turned to go inside, keeping an eye on his shadow.

  “I can pay you whatever you want. The horse is Five Alarm.” I heard a slight hitch in his voice. “You do kno
w who Five Alarm is, right?”

  He was pissing me off. I turned to face him with crossed arms and gritting out, “Yes, I do happen to know the 1998 AQHA sorrel quarter horse stallion, Five Alarm. As a matter of fact, I own his dam, Ringing Alarm, great granddaughter to Secretariat, and daughter of the late, great Special Effort. I personally bred the colt when we leased his sire, Five Card Stud, out of the 1993 Kentucky Derby Winner, Sea Hero and the Halter Champion broodmare AQHA Packed Little Lena. Five Alarm has won American Reining Horse Association Championships the last three years in a row, took third place in the FEI World Equestrian Championship in 2010 for reining and eventing, won the National Cutting Horse Association Championships in Fort Worth twice, and so far has bred nine, out of ten breedings, Junior Halter Champions, not yet two years old. He’s been at Spade Farms for the last six years. Now, why do you want me to board the stallion foaled in this very barn?” During my tirade, I watched his body tense.

  “As I stated, I acquired him and was told you are the one to go to for the best long term boarding. However, I think I’ll find somewhere else.” He turned on his heel, the gravel crunching as the loafers stalked to the Mercedes. Peeling out of my gravel drive, he dinged the crap out of the bottom of the Mercedes.

  Something was wrong. Five wouldn’t be sold, not when his breeding ability was starting to show. Plus I had a contract with Spade Farms, the first right of refusal in writing should they decide to sell. If they sold him without coming to me first, we had a breach of contract, one in which I’d own their multi-million dollar farm.

  I jogged to the stable office, grabbed the phone, dialing from memory. The lines rang, but no answer, and the voicemail didn’t pick up. I hung up and stared at the phone, mind racing. I looked outside the window at mares grazing on damp grass.

  “Shit.” I pulled out the Rolodex and dialed numbers. Most had not yet heard from Jerry, owner of Spade Farms. Several said he might be on the road, since the show season was heating up. An hour later, I had no definitive news.

  I loved Wyoming for many reasons, the wide open spaces, and the mountains acting as sentinels against invaders. Picturesque Laramie, with a lot of snow and long winters, but beautiful and warm summers. The high altitude helped horses become extremely oxygen proficient, and working in the lower altitudes, moved like they took speed, when it was really the higher oxygen content.

  I’d chosen to remain after Dad’s death, isolation the main reason. I’d never recovered from time in the military, or the one tour of Iraq early in the war. Being around a lot of people set my teeth on edge, and the nightmares unbearable. In Laramie, at least, the mountains created the illusion of safety.

  But for the moment, I felt out of the loop, isolated. Spade Farms resided in northeast Oklahoma, in the center of the AQHA show circuit of states. I couldn’t jump in the truck and take a run at them to find out exactly what was going on. I paced the office, unable to think of what to do next. Glancing out the window, I stalked out of the office and into the tack room. The horses needed training and exercise. I’d continue the campaign for information in the afternoon.

  Chapter Two

  I stood, tapping the rope against a thigh, the ache in my back turning into a flat out pain in the ass. It was my fault, I’d misjudged the gelding’s body language. Despite twenty minutes of working in the round pen, the horse was full of piss and vinegar.

  Hands on hips, I took several deep breaths and centered myself. Working with half-ton animals was exhausting, and when they ran hot, it ripped the energy out of me. A person could never take horses for granted, each animal with their own personalities, quirks, and needs. I’d become distracted and paid the price.

  The big bay gelding snorted and pranced at the opposite end of the arena, and I let him. I grabbed a horse whip out of a nearby tack box, returned to the arena, and approached. He half reared and made to bolt. I held out the whip, wiggling it and talking in a low voice.

  “Shhh, easy boy, just me. It was my fault, I know. Come on, let me approach.” His ears flicked in my direction, and licking his lips. Good, submission. With slow, deliberate steps, I approached his shoulder and grabbed the reins. Turning, I walked away like the boss I was supposed to be. He followed.

  I spent twenty minutes working the gelding in the round pen, until he calmed and faced me at every signal to stop. I gave him a good bath, plus a scratch for good measure. As he was tucked into a stall for the night, he was rewarded with a favorite treat – a small square of dark chocolate.

  I walked past Ringing Alarm’s stall, her chestnut face over the half door. She’d once been a vibrant, silky reddish brown, the white blaze a startling contrast to the dark coloring. Her eyes, a gorgeous dark brown, bright with a softness I envied. Most humans could take a lesson. She’d been a champion in the day, racing as a two year old, sold to my father at three, and made a big splash in the Reining world. Ringing Alarm worked hard, blood flowing through a heart of gold. Ask, and she delivered. The mare taught me how to ride, and at the ripe old age of sixteen, asked Dad if I could breed her to the leased stallion, Five Card Stud. Since the contract stated any mare on premises in season, Dad said yes.

  Whenever I looked at Ringing Alarm, I saw her colt, Five Alarm. He had her spirit and heart, beauty, ability and movement, while displaying his sire’s stamina, size, and speed. Five was doing very well at Spade, and Ringing was my link to the stallion. She was my best friend, from the moment she arrived at our small ranch. I’d learned more about horses with her patience than anything Dad ever taught me. It was a picture of her and Five Alarm as a young colt I’d carried in Iraq, through the blood and tears, the death and destruction. They’d been my sanity.

  She’d been sixteen when I bred her to Five Card Stud, only a few months older than me. Now her muzzle was gray, her body thinner. A senior who’d earned the right to retirement, she was my favorite mare. If cuddles were requested, damn it, she’d get them.

  I spent the better part of an hour fussing over her, taking the soft bristled brush over itchy spots, talking nonsense, giving well deserved high praise. Ringing relaxed and answered all of my questions with light whinnies or soft snorts. I braided her tail and mane, to keep it from tangling. I left feeling better about the world, sore and achy, but happy for the moment.

  “Hey, good looking,” a low male voice greeted my entrance into the ranch’s sprawling home.

  I smiled at Jake’s words. We’d dated on and off since high school, competed against each other in various shows, often argued about whose horse was better. He’d been my first lover, and first love.

  I looked up. Though I was tall at five foot nine, he towered at six foot two. Sporting the lanky cowboy physique, honed from years of working on the ranch and in the fields. Add in training and showing horses, and he could rip through five thousand calories before breakfast. What I loved best was the dark green eyes, reminders of pine trees at early dusk. His rugged handsomeness received looks of envy from other men, especially those born and raised in cities. Probably because women fell over themselves to get his attention. All I had to do was smile.

  “Hey, honey! Thought you wouldn’t be back until day after tomorrow. How’s Maverick performing?” I didn’t allow time for an answer as I put my arms around his neck and tugged. He growled low in his throat and pulled me close. I could feel the body heat and didn’t resist. Teasing turned into dueling tongues, and I loved the taste of cinnamon from his favorite candy. I pressed every inch of myself against the lean strength. My body wanted exactly what the kiss promised.

  He pulled back, “Honey, you could tempt a badger away from his dinner. How is Ringing?” Bless the man, he knew my weakness.

  “She’s old and sweet, much like Granny. How did Maverick do in the shows?” I kept my hold, enjoying the strength and heat.

  “Took first in two shows, came in second at the nationals. My fault, I was nervous, needed the third win. I want to sell his brother, and the more wins Mav wracks up, the higher the colt’s price wil
l be.”

  “Yeah, but once you put him to stud, you’ll make a killing. Not to mention he looks a lot like Five Alarm. They are almost identical with the exception of the one sock.”

  Several emotions skittered across his features, too fast for me to interpret.

  “So does the colt. It’s a good selling point. Although telling people he isn’t out of Five drops the offer prices.”

  “Sorry. Why don’t you come and take a shower with me?” Letting him know in my smile exactly what I really wanted. “Let me lather-rinse-and-repeat those troubles away.”

  He chuckled and pushed me away. “I can’t, Karen, I have to get Mav home. I just wanted to see you.” He kissed the back of my hand. “I also have a pressing engagement tonight, one I can’t miss.” The light in his eyes dimmed and he looked away.

  “Anything I can help with?” I cocked my head to the side, feeling an alarm gently vibrate in my chest.

  “I’m afraid not, wish I could just cancel the whole damn thing, truth be told.” He wrapped strong arms around my shoulders and held me close.

  “What is it? Are you sure I can’t help?” My words were muffled against his chest.

  “It’s something that is family oriented, and you know how they are.” He rocked a little and I swayed.

  “Figures. Thank goodness for good ole pocket rocket,” I smirked.

  Jake laughed, and I responded. Things deep in my abdomen clenched, and I barely kept from turning beet red at the moisture spreading in my panties. He must have read something on my face, because he groaned and adjusted the raging hard on in his Wranglers.

  “Don’t. I don’t have the time. Listen, I’ll call you later, okay?” He kissed my forehead and left me standing in place, aching.