A Whisper of Trouble Read online

  Praise for Susan Y. Tanner

  Praise for A Trouble’d Christmas

  “This is a fast-paced short story that is filled with mystery, a sleek black cat, and a healthy dose of romance.” –Amazon Reviewer

  “Love this author & the way she takes you on the adventure with her. Can see the cat sitting in the seat by me.” –Mary Allgood

  Praise for Trouble in Action

  “Edge of your seat action.” –Amazon Reviewer

  “This story has the perfect balance of mystery, romance, and twist and turns that will keep you in suspense and guessing until the end.” –Bookbub Reviewer

  “…delightful, fast paced, with a touch of whimsy, while still offering serious sleuthing, an authentic set-up, and compelling characters.” –Claire Matturro

  Praise for Turning for Trouble

  “The plot, the characters, the romantic suspense, and the air of realism make this book shine.” –Claire Matturro

  “Not only are Tanner’s stories entertaining and fun, they are poignant and thoughtful as they cast a bright spotlight on social issues that plague our world today.” –Amazon Reviewer

  “This is the first ‘Trouble’ book I've read and I enjoyed it so much that I bought the other 6 immediately!” –Amazon Reviewer

  Praise for Trouble in Summer Valley

  “An entertaining read by a writer who draws true to life characters.” –Rebecca Barrett

  “Susan Tanner delivers a great page turner!!” –Amazon Reviewer

  “… the perfect blend of taut mystery and tender romance …” –Carolyn Haines

  “… the right amount of mystery, suspense and romance …” –Karen Baron (aka Karen the Baronness) @Baronessbooktrove.com

  A Whisper of Trouble

  Trouble Cat Mysteries #12

  Susan Y. Tanner

  Copyright © 2020 by Susan Y. Tanner

  All rights reserved. Published by KaliOka Press.

  No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  Cover design by Cissy Hartley

  Formatted by Priya Bhakta

  For Avery, my fourth-born grandchild. She carries a piece of my heart wherever she goes.

  Contents

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Acknowledgments

  About the Author

  Trouble Cat Mysteries

  Trouble’s Double Contest Winner

  Chapter One

  Hmmmm, I seem to recall some old series about a dog whisperer on the telly. No need to worry about such a thing for cats, as there would be no demand for their services. We felines are altogether self-reliant.

  This horse whisperer person intrigues me but appears to have made no inroads with the wild-eyed equine staring back at her from the center of the round pen. Liz O’Neal—and her name suits her, I think—arrived a few hours ago. She’s tall for a female biped and perhaps a bit on the thin side. Her features are striking. Not movie star pretty but memorable which is perhaps even more attractive. I’m an eye connoisseur, myself, and hers are the color of fine whiskey. I will admit, I’m also a leg aficionado but, with her gams covered in denim, there’s not much to be seen there.

  Next to her, Tucker Hollis, resident veterinarian for Summer Valley Ranch, watches the wary animal as well. Tucker’s one of those studious types but much stronger than his wiry frame would indicate to the casual observer.

  “And you’re the only person who’s been able to handle him?” Liz asks the vet.

  Even more intriguing than her eyes is that smooth voice with the faint lilt of some accent I haven’t quite placed. I could listen to her for hours but, alas, that shall not happen. I believe Tammy Lynn and I are to depart for home as soon as she returns from an extended, and doubtless exhausting, book tour with a friend. My visit here has been all too brief though enjoyable as always…well, enjoyable save for the fact that I was due some rather nasty vaccinations along with my annual physical. My human knows I prefer the ministrations of Tucker to those of our local vet.

  “Me and the girl who brought him to us. Says she got him from a kill pen.” Tucker props his arm on the rail of the round pen.

  “But you don’t believe her.” It isn’t a question.

  So, she caught that undercurrent as well. Very astute of her as she hasn’t the benefit of a longtime acquaintance with Tucker as I have.

  He looks at her surprised but answers without hesitation, “Not sure if I do or if I don’t. She pulled up in a dilapidated truck and trailer and said she was passing through some little nowhere town and chanced on a kill-pen sale and he caught her eye. Then she just happened to hear about Avery and her rescues and found her way here.”

  She shrugs “But?”

  “Not but so much as and. She’s afraid of something and it’s not this crazy-ass horse.”

  “Is she still here? I’d like to meet her.”

  “She is for now and I’d like to hire her. She’s a hand with a horse, for sure, but she plans to move on before long.” Tucker straightens his shoulders. “You ready to get to work?”

  “I’ve already begun but I’ll need you to leave now.”

  That draws a scowl. “I’m sure you’ve noticed this guy’s a stud which makes him unpredictable under the best of circumstances. And his haven’t been the best. Avery will have my hide if I let anything happen to you.”

  “She’s just as likely to do so if you get in the way of the work she’s paying me to do. I’m not cheap. And I don’t need a watchdog.”

  I find it interesting that there’s no bite to that last, just a touch of wry humor. She recognizes that Tucker’s concern comes from a good place.

  For a moment it appears there will be what some bipeds call a Mexican standoff although why they do so I have no idea. But Tucker relents with a snort or at least he appears to give way to her insistence. I suspect his saunter won’t carry him out of shouting distance. I would, in fact, bet my next filet mignon on that. Too, he knows that I’m on the job and gives me a speaking glance on his way to being gone. I give him a one-eyed blink to let him know I’ve got the situation covered.

  * * *

  Liz focused all of her attention on the animal. He felt it. Didn’t like it. His ears flattened a bit. But he’d get used to it. She didn’t win all of them, couldn’t save all of them, but failure was rare and she already sensed the hope of trust with this one. He’d been neglected and hurt so he was frightened and sad—more sad than anything. It weighed on her, that sadness. But he’d been loved once and he remembered that affection. If the memory was stronger than the mishandling, she stood a chance with him. She suspected he’d been mistreated more from ignorance than from cruelty. His handlers had lacked the knowledge and the skill—and perhaps the patience—so necessary in dealing with animals in general and young animals in particular. There was no rage in him, no desire to strike back except in self-defense of what might happen to him next. That wasn’t just something. At this point, that was everything.

  She climbed the iron rail fence with easy movements. Liz wasn’t surpr
ised when the animal scooted away to the far side. She stopped at the top rail where she threw her legs over and sat, quiet and still, studying him. The vet, Tucker, said he hadn’t been able to determine the horse’s age. Any attempt to open his mouth had met with a fight. Liz suspected he was little more than a youngster…three or four, perhaps.

  “I’m told they call you Owen.” He blew softly at the sound of her voice. “That’s a good, solid name. A strong name.” Welsh, she thought. The meaning eluded her at the moment but she’d take time to look it up later. Things like that mattered. Names mattered.

  He was beautiful. A dark brown bay, one of the colors she liked best. He wasn’t all that large. Somewhere between fourteen and fifteen hands, but wide and muscular through the chest. His eyes were large and as dark a brown as his coat. Liz reminded herself not to fall in love but she knew she wouldn’t heed her own warning. She fell in love with all of them. Every time.

  After longer than she thought it would take, he flicked his ears in a different direction, acknowledging her to be no threat. At least not from her current position. Liz eased down from the fence and into the round pen. The horse lifted his head in quick alarm but didn’t bolt. That would have created the type of hazard Tucker had feared. If the colt bolted, there was no place to run but around the pen and over her. He didn’t seem so inclined.

  She turned her back to him and studied the beautiful cat that had been with them since her arrival. His fur gleamed black in the morning sun. His green eyes blinked lazily when they moved at all. For the most part, they simply watched her from the other side of the fence.

  Behind her the horse stirred. She forced herself not to look over her shoulder as he took a single step toward her. It was a beginning but a very small one. Patience was everything.

  She was waiting for that next step when she heard voices moving towards her. Forcing herself not to frown at the disruption, she watched as Tucker and a second man—taller and broader of shoulder—came through the trees that shaded the round pen.

  “The stallion may have been taken from Italy.” The second man spoke to Tucker in quiet tones in deference to the skittish horse but Liz heard all too well. “If so, I’ve been sent to take him home.” And everything inside of Liz bristled at the words.

  * * *

  The first thing Will noticed about the woman was the dusting of freckles across her nose and cheeks. The second was the suspicion in her eyes. Wide and expressive, those eyes tugged at him even as they warned him away.

  As he walked toward the fence, the horse snorted and shifted, pinning his ears. Will glanced at the woman. “Might be wise for you to climb out until he resettles.”

  “Thank you for sharing your opinion with me.”

  He hadn’t meant to offend and she spoke the words with no inflection whatsoever—which he kind of admired—but damned if he couldn’t hear ice water dripping from the words. But he got it. Tucker, the on-staff veterinarian for the ranch, had already explained that Liz O’Neal was an expert and at the top of her field. Few understood what she did, much less how she did it. Will would prefer not to see the woman trampled, but the choice and the risk were hers.

  Next to the fence, a black cat, large and sleek, stood, stretched, and pinned Will with a mesmerizing stare. His eyes were the glittering green of an emerald.

  Will pulled his gaze away and turned his attention to the horse who matched him look for look. He felt Tucker watching him as well. Despite their short acquaintance, he’d found the vet to be a very focused professional.

  “What do you think, Mr. Chandler?” Tucker asked at last.

  “Please, just Will is fine. He could be the Catria.” He pulled a photograph from his pocket, refreshing his memory with a quick look before handing it to Tucker. It was the stance of the horse in the picture that Will had noticed first, legs straight and squared with each other, like a statue. The stallion in the pen with the woman had been standing just that way as Will walked up. “The build and the color are right. It will take DNA testing to prove or disprove.”

  Tucker studied the photo but looked dubious. “DNA testing can’t verify a particular breed.”

  “True. It can’t. But if this is the young stallion in that photo, his DNA is on file. With some of the others that may not be the case but I’ve requested DNA from each dam and sire in order to match to those.”

  “You’ll need hair follicle.”

  “From the mane above the withers.” Will had done his homework. “You’ll need to sedate him for that.”

  “No!” The word was low but emphatic. He hadn’t realized Ms. O’Neal had moved closer, apparently to better hear their conversation about the horse. “Don’t do that. Give me some time with him. I’ll get the samples.”

  “Time is what I don’t have. If he’s the Catria, he’s one of four missing stallions I’ve been charged to locate and return. Each of their breeds is native to Italy with few of them left. The government is anxious for their return. The longer the delay, the harder it will be for me to pick up the trails of the others.” Some of those trails grew colder by the hour.

  Her lips tightened with a hint of anger but she took a deep breath before answering. “Six hours. That’s all I need.”

  Her voice was firm, not the least pleading, but he felt himself relenting.

  Still reluctant, he forced some of the tension from his shoulders. “Six hours,” he agreed. Only because it would be fascinating to watch her work. Or so he told himself.

  Grabbing victory, she turned from him without another word and took a quiet step toward the horse. Clearly, she intended to use every minute of that time.

  “I’ll keep an eye on her,” Tucker said.

  “I’m not going anywhere and I’m sure you’ve things to do. I don’t need more than five minutes to grab some things from my truck.” He had way more than six hours’ work waiting on his computer and there was an external charger in his briefcase. “At some point, I’ll want to talk with the girl who brought him to you.”

  Tucker hesitated. “She’s…skittish.”

  Will raised a brow, waiting.

  “I believe she’ll want to help though. I’d need to talk with her first.”

  Will thought that interesting, all things considered. For the moment, however, all he said was, “I need all the information I can gather so I’d appreciate that.”

  Tucker and the cat waited until he came back with his laptop and a folding chair. When the vet left, the cat stayed and watched him watch Liz O’Neal.

  * * *

  Reading between the lines, I suspect I’m about to involve myself in an international horse smuggling case. A first for me. The very idea fills me with a tad of excitement, gets the old investigative juices flowing.

  Will Chandler has made himself comfortable with his laptop but he cannot be making much progress. His eyes are too often upon the horse whisperer. Things are uneventful, even boring, in that regard. The young stallion has engaged in a game of one step forward and two steps back with her. She is patience personified although I’m not supposing it’s her patience that holds Will’s attention.

  To be honest, I’m a bit stroppy that I can’t see the screen he has pulled up. Oh, for a good table top to perch upon. I deem it unlikely that one will materialize, more’s the pity.

  Hmph, perhaps a wee snooze in this nice October sunshine will suffice to soothe my irritation.

  * * *

  As engrossed as he was in work, Will remained aware of the passing of hours as the afternoon faded. He looked up from his computer in time to see the horse rest his head on the woman’s shoulder. His breath caught as her arms, tanned and slender, encircled the sleek, dark neck. Her hands slid in a caress along the base of his mane. Will recognized the enormity of trust the animal had placed in her and that she, in turn, had placed in the stallion.

  She was a good half hour short of the six he’d promised her. He was wise enough, cautious enough to stay silent and still. Throughout the time she’d been wor
king to gain the horse’s trust, the only sounds had been the winds through the pines that surrounded them and the occasional, gentle murmur of the woman’s voice.

  The horse lifted his nose, sniffing the wind, but he didn’t pull away from the arms looped around him or the hands that played in his mane, as Liz pushed her fingers against the muscles of his neck, tugging and smoothing by turns, mimicking the actions of horses scratching and nuzzling one another at the withers. When at last he grew restive and stepped away, Liz held a handful of hair in one hand. She stood and watched as the young horse circled the pen then came back for another touch from her.

  Will knew she had to be exhausted. Not once had she taken a break or asked for water although the horse drank several times from the bucket hung upon the railing and even rattled the empty bucket next to it to check the possibility of oats.

  Not until she walked to the fence and began climbing over, did he risk getting to his feet to meet her. Sure enough, the horse startled and snorted at his movement.

  Liz cast a smile over her shoulder and Will’s heart tripped. He hadn’t appreciated the depth of her beauty until she smiled.

  She held out the handful of strands. “Your DNA.”

  He studied her eyes, her face, then took the hair strands from her. “They call you a horse whisperer.” He’d done some side research while she worked her magic.