smile. “I doubt it. I suspect you run this ranch more behind the scenes than Dan or Jake.”
Warming to his praise, she hid a smile. Very perceptive of him.
“When did the losses start?” he asked.
“We started losing boarders about eight months ago, right after three Realtors first approached Silas about selling some of the land to him for development. This section of Tennessee, with its main artery only forty-five minutes to Nashville, is prime real estate for those wishing to commute to the city.”
“The ranch has a solid rep. What happened to Jack?”
At the mention of the ranch’s top-notch trainer, she shook her head. “He moved back to Kentucky. Someone made him a lucrative offer at a very big stable. And then the social-media posts began.”
She fetched her laptop from the bedroom and opened it on the kitchen table, then navigated to the ranch’s business page on social media.
Nick narrowed his eyes as he scanned the posts. She winced as he came across the most recent, virulent posting.
Don’t board yer horses here. They kill them for dog food.
“I don’t need to see more.”
She shut the lid, glad to switch off the ugliness of the words. That posting had been mild compared to others that accused them of stealing money.
“The posters create anonymous social-media accounts and then shut them down by the time we notify Facebook. No one seems to be able to track them down.”
“I can.”
Hardness filled his gaze, making her shiver. She’d never seen this side of Nick before, dangerous and purposeful. Small wonder he’d been a SEAL. Pity the enemy who ran into him.
Maybe Nick was exactly what the Belle Creek needed to pull through this mess.
“Someone hacked into our social-media sites and said that Belle Creek was letting its horses starve. There were horrible photos of starving horses, probably photos stolen from animal-rescue sites. Rumors spread, and soon no one wanted to board their horses here. The reviews on travel sites have been much, much worse. Anonymous posters saying that we deliberately beat the horses and never muck out the stalls. Business was starting to taper off before, and now it’s positively at a standstill. The only two boarders we have left are Chuck Beaufort’s daughter Natalie’s mare, Fancy, and my friend Ann’s horse.
He studied the liquid in his cup, the dusting of spice floating on the top. “Someone was trying to make Silas sell. Small wonder the old man didn’t capitulate.”
Loyalty to his father surfaced. “It would take more than vulgarities on social media and a few threats to bring him down when he was alive.”
“No, it took his own damn stubbornness. Why the hell didn’t he see a doctor when he was that sick?” A pulse ticked at the side of his neck.
Fresh tears threatened. She sipped her coffee, ducking her head to hide them. “Doctors are expensive and he said home remedies worked fine for him. He said that up until the EMS came to take him to the hospital.”
He slid his hand across the table as if to comfort her, but she drew back. The less skin contact they shared, the better. Nick gave a rough nod.
“I’ll stay, for now. If you agree to work with me on finding out who the hell is doing all this.”
His voice lowered. “It means working close with me, Shel. Can you manage?”
At her little nod, the tension left his broad shoulders.
“I’ll find whoever is doing this. And they’ll pay.” He lifted his mug in a salute. “To you, Silas. Wherever the hell you are, I hope you know you roped me into this place good.”
Tipping back his mug, he took a large swig of coffee.
And coughed violently. Liquid sloshed over the cup’s side as he slammed it down.
“Sweet Jesus,” he gasped, still choking.
Nick raced to the sink, twisted the tap and grabbed a glass from the dish drainer. He chugged the water and then set down the glass.
“It’s cinnamon, just as you used to like in your coffee.” Bewildered, she stared at him.
“That’s not cinnamon,” he muttered. Nick strode straight to the small spice rack on the counter and began pawing through the bottles. He found the cinnamon, uncapped it and sniffed.
“Someone isn’t just messing around with Dan and his wife, Shel.” He held out the bottle.
Her eyes watered and her throat closed up as she inhaled a whiff. Shelby coughed violently. Nick fetched her a glass of water.
“Drink,” he ordered.
She did, and the tightness eased in her throat a little. “What is that?”
“Cayenne pepper.” He studied the little glass container clearly labeled Cinnamon. Shelby’s heart dropped to her stomach, and her pulse raced.
Whoever was threatening her at the restaurant had followed her here as well.
The implications slowly dawned on her. “I don’t have cayenne pepper in the house. I threw out that bottle that came with the spice rack. I was going to make Timmy a cake for his birthday. With cinnamon frosting.”
“Who knew this?”
Her shoulders sagged. “I don’t know. I asked at the restaurant if someone had a recipe...”
And Natalie had been there, in the kitchen, looking things over, claiming that her father wanted to make sure everything was up to par. Natalie, who must have overheard Shelby talking about Timmy’s allergies and how cayenne pepper was dangerous to him. Shelby shivered, remembering how Timmy liked to lick the frosting off the spoon...
“Timmy’s allergic to cayenne pepper. It could have sent him to the hospital.”
Nick settled his hands on her trembling shoulders. “That’s it. I’m moving in with you until we clear this up.”
Oh, hell no. She waved a hand. “I’ll have the locks changed.”
“And whoever did this will break inside again. No protests, Shel. I’ll sleep on that couch. It’s a foldout, right?”
“You can’t. What about Dan? You have your old room at the main house...”
Nick’s mouth twitched in a ghost of a smile. “Felicity turned it pink with flounces. If I stay there, I’ll start singing soprano and want to paint my nails.”
Not taking chances, she marched the spice out of the house and tossed it into the metal can by the garage door, making sure to clamp the lid down tight. As she trotted back up the stairs, her head pounded. Timmy could have been badly hurt with the cake she’d planned to make him. If he’d gone to the hospital, she had only catastrophic health insurance coverage. The bill would wipe her out.
Not to mention how sick her nephew would have been.
“C’mon, Shel. It’ll be okay. I promise.” Nick held her shoulders, his thumbs stroking in soothing circles. The caress sank through her wool sweater and suffused her entire body with heat.
It took her back to years ago, when he’d done much the same the night he saw her crying in the cabin over the loss of her dog. Silas had put him down because Rex had grown old and feeble and could barely walk. Silas had been gentle and compassionate, but firm.
And losing her pet, who had been her best friend, who had seen her through her parents leaving her, had crushed Shelby.
But no longer was she the softhearted teenager with stars in her eyes each time Nick Anderson drew near. Shelby jerked out of his embrace.
“I’ll be fine. If it means checking out all the spices, my refrigerator and packing a loaded