Mr. Miracle. Carolyn McSparren

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      CHAPTER SIX

      “HEY, COOL MOTORCYCLE!” Albert’s nephew Kenny said as he walked into Vic’s office the following morning. “Who’s it belong to?”

      Vic jumped guiltily. Above her head she could hear the scrape of furniture being dragged across the floor. Jamey was safely out of Kenny’s way. What Kenny didn’t see, he didn’t report to Albert, and what Albert didn’t know, he wouldn’t worry about.

      In many ways, having a protector the size and shape of Albert was a godsend, but there were times when she wished he had a bit less Doberman in him and a bit more spaniel.

      “Hey, Kenny,” Vic said. “The motorcycle belongs to one of the clients. He’s leaving it here while he’s out of town.” She didn’t normally tell bald-faced lies, but this was an emergency. Albert did not need to climb out of a sickbed to check her out. “How’s Albert? Is somebody looking after him and Linette?”

      “They’re fine. Well, not fine. Albert’s fussing when he’s not asleep, which is mostly. Linette is getting over it, but she still feels pretty achy. Albert sent me over this morning on my way to school to see if you needed me this afternoon to muck out stalls and stuff.”

      “You’ve got your hands full with college, young man. And I’m managing fine.”

      “Has that disloyal Benito come back from Juarez yet?”

      Vic laughed. “He’s not disloyal. He was just homesick. How would you like to be a thousand miles from your family at Christmas? He’ll probably show up again in March when his money runs out and the weather’s warmer. You have to admit, he works hard when he’s here.”

      “Yeah. Well, Albert says y’all have got to have somebody you can count on. This place is too big to run with just y’all.”

      “I’m looking, Kenny, but in the meantime having you to help out on the weekends is plenty. I promise you, I am not suffering. Tell Albert to relax and enjoy being poorly, and tell Linette not to brain him if he starts complaining. I’ll call later this afternoon.”

      Overhead something crashed. “What’s that?” Kenny asked, looking in the direction of the noise. “You got possums or something up there?”

      Vic stood and quickly moved him out into the hall. “Just one of the clients hunting for something. Don’t worry.” She practically shoved him toward the front door. “Go to school before you’re late. And thanks for stopping by.”

      He moved, still glancing over his head. “You’re sure you’re okay?”

      “Yes, yes, yes. I promise. Now scat.”

      She waved as Kenny’s ancient Toyota wound its way down the driveway. Close one. She knew she was borrowing only a small amount of time with Jamey McLachlan until somebody snitched to Albert or, even worse, to Liz or Mike in Florida. She hoped it wouldn’t dawn on Kenny that the only vehicle outside the stable had been her old truck. Any client upstairs would have had to materialize out of thin air.

      Vic had sworn Angie to secrecy over lunch, and Angie was usually trustworthy. But people kept doing stuff for Vic’s own good. As though she were some ditzy idiot who needed protecting from her own bad decisions.

      Well, hiring Jamey McLachlan had so far proved to be the best decision for ValleyCrest she’d made since she convinced Mike Whitten to set up an after-school riding program for his daughter and her classmates. That had eventually resulted in Liz and Mike’s marriage, and his daughter Pat’s great strides as a junior rider. And muchneeded solvency for ValleyCrest, which had suffered after Vic’s husband, Frank, an internationally ranked trainer, had died suddenly.

      She had no intention of using any of Mike’s money to subsidize ValleyCrest, but she took a certain amount of comfort in knowing that he had offered to bail them out if necessary.

      As it was, he was paying for the renovation of the old family home and for some repainting and repair to the cottage.

      For the first time in her life, Vic found herself with no one looking over her shoulder. She’d always considered herself to be tough-minded and independent, but in reality she’d been under her grandmother’s thumb, then under Frank’s, and then there were Albert and Liz and the clients and Lord knew who else. Sometimes she felt as though the entire world spent its time pulling on her, demanding her attention.

      She couldn’t boss Albert or Liz. Actually, they usually did the bossing. She hated confrontations with either of them.

      But Jamey worked for her.

      Well, sort of.

      She’d been in her room with the door shut when he returned from the barn last night, and had heard him mount the stairs to his bedroom. This morning he’d been gone before she got up. The man apparently didn’t require as much sleep as the average raccoon.

      So far today she had not seen him—only the evidence of his presence. Morning chores were already complete. Amazing. He must be physically exhausted.