Free Soul Deep by Pamela Clare Page A

while poor Buckwheat here gets nothing.”
    “Stallions are slaves to their biology. Their
lives carry a fair amount of stress. They’re biologically geared to
do two things: fight and mate.”
    “That sounds like a lot of the guys I’ve
helped put in the penitentiary.”
    He chuckled. “There are times I’ve wondered
if we wouldn’t make the world a better place by treating human
males more like we treat colts.”
    “So now we’re talking about mating people?”
The words were out before she could stop them. Was she flirting
with him?
    “Well, I was talking more about castrating
some of the male variety, but if your mind is on mating, that’s
okay. Let’s go there.”
    “What qualities would you look for in a
woman?”
    She was flirting with him—and he was
flirting back.
    He laughed. “If I had the mindset of a
stallion, only one—willingness. For a male of any species, success
at mating is all about spreading your seed.”
    “That’s lovely.” That also described a lot of
the men she’d known.
    “Fortunately, I am not ruled by biology. It’s
brains over balls.”
    “Meaning what?” She looked up, her gaze
connecting with his.
    “Meaning I spent thirty-eight years making a
study of just one woman, trying to be the man she deserved.”
    In his words, Janet heard the love he’d felt
for his wife. He’d been devoted to her, and he’d been faithful to
her. Then he’d lost her.
    She realized she was staring at him, her hand
motionless on the gelding’s flank. “You must miss her very
much.”
    “I do.” Jack smiled, his blue eyes looking
into hers. “But lately I’ve been thinking life just might have a
few surprises left for me.”
    And Janet found it hard to breathe.
    # # #
    Jack fixed cross ties to Chinook’s halter
then held fast to the cheek piece to steady the animal, knowing
full well that ropes wouldn’t hold the stallion if he were truly
frightened or upset. “No sudden sounds or movements, and we’ll be
fine. If your camera has a flash on it, turn it off.”

    Det. Sgt. Taylor, a young man perhaps in his
thirties, made an adjustment to his camera, then moved closer to
photograph the wound on the stallion’s forearm and the stippling on
his skin, the camera’s electronic buzz making Chinook nervous.
    Jack hadn’t wanted to get outsiders involved
in his problems, but Janet had made him realize that he really had
no choice, not if he wanted to protect his horses and find the
shooter.
    When Taylor was done, Sheriff Rove bent down
to examine the wound. “Sure looks like a graze to me. You say you
found the slug?”
    Jack reached into his coat pocket and drew
out the plastic sandwich bag that held the slug. “Ms. Killeen found
it embedded in the barn wall. I’ll take you outside and show you
where she found it when you’re finished here.”
    The sheriff took the bag, looked at the slug.
“It’s a forty-five for sure. You’re the one who found it,
ma’am?”
    Janet stood at a respectful distance beside
Chuck. “Yes.”
    Because she’d been here when the shooting had
happened, Janet would probably be asked to make a statement. Jack
hated seeing her get dragged into this. He didn’t want her having
nightmares again.
    The sheriff was still examining the slug, a
frown on his face. “I had some hunters report a forty-five stolen
from one of their vehicles a couple of days before the storm hit—a
Kimber 1911 with custom camo grips. They admitted to trespassing on
your land and said they thought you had taken it to get back at
them.”
    “Is that so? Why is this the first I’ve heard
about it?”
    Sheriff Rove handed the plastic bag with the
slug over to his detective. “I didn’t want to bother you. I figured
it was bullshit.”
    “It is bullshit.” Jack had never
stolen anything from anyone. “We had contact with a party of
hunters a few days before the storm broke. I asked them to leave my
land, but I sure as hell didn’t take a firearm from them.”
    Then Janet spoke