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difficulty, he slid a hand around her elbow to provide support. She could feel the size and strength of that hand clear through her jacket. His grip was both impersonal, and hard.

Four

    I have to admit, you’ve kind of caught me by surprise, turning up here like this. What can I do for you?”
    Her ankles wobbled as her feet sank into the gravel. His grip tightened in response. Alex took a deep breath, drawing in the cold, damp air along with the smell of mud. Gritting her teeth, she pushed away the ever-threatening fog of grief and reminded herself of her purpose. Her voice was determinedly brisk when she spoke.
    “I realize it’s Saturday, and I apologize for encroaching on what is very probably your personal time, but—there are some matters concerning the farm that need to be dealt with as soon as possible. The girl who answered the phone at the number I have for you said I could find you up at the barn behind your house, and I should just come on over. So I did.”
    “Horsemen work seven days a week, Miss Haywood, so you don’t need to worry about encroaching on my personal time. And you most likely were talking to my daughter, Jenny.” His voice was dry. They had nearly reached the barn now, and Alex was surprised to hear the urgent beat of Black Sabbath emanating from somewhere inside. Hard rock music didn’t seem compatible with this man, somehow—but of coursethere was that teenage boy who still watched them from the barn door to consider. Probably the music was his.
    He continued, “If you’d left a message, I would have come up to Whistledown to see you. Saved you chasing me down.”
    “That’s all right. I felt like getting out. And since I’m only planning to be here over the weekend, time is a factor.”
    They reached the barn. The boy moved out of the doorway, and Alex stepped inside. Welch released her elbow and followed her, rolling the door shut behind him with a loud rattle. The air was warmer in the barn, but only marginally. A line of battered light fixtures overhead gave off a meager amount of illumination. A smell, earthy but not unpleasant, greeted her. Perhaps a dozen horses looked out from the twenty or so stalls that she could see. To her left was a raw plank wall in which was centered a closed door, and to her right was a large open area. In the open area a big red horse, so skinny she could see every single one of his ribs, was tethered by a long leather strap to an iron ring affixed to the wall. Although his coat was dull and he looked half-starved, he was eating from a hay-filled manger, and a curry brush and comb lay on an overturned bucket near his feet. Still munching a mouthful of hay, the horse had his head up and was watching her with liquid brown eyes. Alex moved toward him automatically, drawn by his gaze and the obvious signs of his neediness. Two men, a slender one in a tan hunter’s coverall and a stockier one in jeans and a black leather jacket, stood near the horse’s hindquarters. Both turned to look at her as she approached, watching her with as much open interest as the animal had displayed.
    Alex ignored them as she reached the horse and stroked his big head, then sought Welch out with her gaze. He stood at the mouth of the open area looking at her, the boy at his side.
    “Is this animal ill? Why is he so thin?” she demanded, her voice raised to be heard over Black Sabbath’s dirge-like chorus. It was very possible that the animal belonged to Whistledown Farm, and was, thus, technically hers. But whether he was hers or not didn’t really matter. She loved horses, and could not bear to see them mistreated.
    “Turn the music off, Josh,” Welch directed. With a sullen twitch of his mouth the boy headed toward a yellow boom box on a bale of haynear the door. Welch moved to join Alex and the horse, one hand reaching into his pocket. When he withdrew it, he was holding a peppermint, which he began to unwrap. The music stopped abruptly and for a moment the sound