Page 42 of One in a Million
One in a Million snorted, but softly. His nostrils flared and twitched as he took in the unfamiliar smells that probably clung to Charlie’s body. Then his head lowered again. He took a bite of hay from his feeder, munching while he eyed the newcomer.
Nothing.
“Let’s go.” Sam backed Charlie, who needed no urging, out of the stall and slid the gate shut behind them. Either Charlie was innocent or Sam’s idea about the horse recognizing Frank’s killer was so much bull. Maybe both.
“Did I pass?” Charlie asked as they left the stable and headed back to the parking lot.
“For now. You can leave, but you’re to go straight home and stay there. If I hear that you’ve contacted Jasmine again, in any way, I promise to make your life sheer living hell. Got it?”
“Got it.” They had reached Charlie’s truck. “I take it you’ve staked your claim on her for the time you plan to be here.”
Sam shook his head. “Nobody can stake a claim on Jasmine. Not you and sure as hell not me. That lady is a hundred percent her own woman. Now get going.”
As the red taillights vanished in the direction of the game ranch, Sam’s thoughts were drawn back to Jasmine. Once more, he battled the urge to climb into the Jeep and go after her. He forced himself to resist. No matter how much he might worry about her, what she did was none of his business. And the last thing he wanted was to walk into that small-town dive and see her with another man.
Even the thought triggered a curse. But all he could do was hope that she had the common sense to stay out of trouble.
* * *
Huddled in a shadowy booth at the Willow Bend saloon, Jasmine nursed her third Michelob of the night. The beer, which she drank from the can, had gone warm and flat. But why should she care, when all she had to look forward to was going home to face her mother. And Sam. She would have to face him, too—after all those awful things, mostly true, that Charlie had said about her.
At first, she’d both hoped and feared that Sam might come after her. She should have known better. Sam would let her go. He would let her make her mistakes because it wasn’t in his damned job description to care what happened to her.
She wasn’t drunk—not really. And she’d waved away several interested cowboys. At least she wasn’t going to make that mistake again. Right now, she just wanted to be alone.
She’d lost track of how much time had passed when a lanky shadow fell across her table. She heard a vaguely familiar voice.
“Jasmine?”
Her gaze traveled up a skinny frame in a black tee to a narrow face with a sandy beard. It was Kevin, one of the leaders in the animal rights group she’d met earlier. ERFA—that was what they were called. Equal Rights For Animals. “Oh, hi,” she said. “Sorry, I was preoccupied.”
“Hi, yourself.” He gave her a grin. “Thanks for showing up. Since we hadn’t heard, we didn’t know whether or not you were going to be here.”
“Be here for what?” Jasmine blinked herself to alertness. “What’s going on, Kevin?”
“The demonstration against the game ranch! It’s on for tonight! We’ve got signs, torches, a video camera, everything we need. It’s all outside in the truck.”
“How . . .” Her tongue felt thick. “How many of you are there?”
“We’ve got a good group. Twenty-one, twenty-two counting you. We were told that the main gate to the game ranch is locked. Are you still willing to guide us in the back way, through your property? Don’t worry, we promise not to damage anything.”
For a moment Jasmine hesitated, her memory hearing Sam’s voice, cautioning her that these well-meaning people could put her in danger. But she swiftly dismissed the warning. After her humiliation at home, this demonstration was just what she needed—to strike a blow for those poor, defenseless animals, and against men like Charlie Grishman. Maybe, if all went well, she could even make a difference in this brutal world.
“So what’s it to be?” Kevin asked. “Can we count on you?”
“On one condition,” Jasmine said. “I don’t just want to be your guide. I want to be part of the demonstration. Give me a sign or a torch and let me march with you.”
“Happy to have you.” Kevin extended a hand to help her out of the booth. “Come on outside and meet the people you don’t already know. We’ll be heading out as soon as the moon is up.”
* * *
The demonstrators, both men and women, were spread among several vehicles. They parked along the road near the spot where Jasmine had shot the gazelle and gathered in a group while someone passed around a jar of black goo that people were smearing on their faces. Assuming it would make them harder to identify in photos or videos, Jasmine followed their example. As she raised her hand to her face, she realized that she was still wearing the silver bracelet. She should have taken it off and left it in her car—or better yet, left it at home. But it was too late for that now.
There was a gate in the fence—the same gate Charlie had used to get to the road. The gate wasn’t locked, but the latch had been secured with a length of twisted barbed wire. Wearing borrowed work gloves, Jasmine was about to untangle the wire when a young man stepped forward with a heavy-duty wire cutter. “Out of the way. I’ve got this.” He nudged Jasmine aside. With a single snip, the wire dangled loose, and the gate swung open.
This should have been Jasmine’s first clue that the situation wasn’t under her control. But she chose to dismiss the vague uneasiness she felt. So the demonstrators had a few tools she hadn’t known about. What could it hurt?
After closing the gate with the simple latch, she hurried to catch up with her new friends.