Death Rides Again (A Jocelyn Shore Mystery) Read Online Free PDF

not left her face.
    “Then we’re neighbors!” he said. “I own the Bar Double K. Our places meet up on the north side. Well, my north side. Kel’s south.”
    “I’ve seen your gates,” I said, remembering. “They’re beautiful.”
    This was no more than the truth. The gates were enormous, made of ornately scrolled wrought iron hung between massive stone pillars and topped with two distinctive Ks under a single bar. I’d noticed them yesterday as I drove by.
    He looked pleased. “I put those in myself a couple of months back. Cost a fortune, but they’ll last a lifetime. Or three.”
    Kyla wasn’t interested in gates or in my opinions. “What’s your story? You’re not in the rodeo, are you?”
    His eyes crinkled. “I’m in everything around here, or I try to be. Today, it’s horses. Come take a look.”
    He made an elaborate gesture and Kyla joined him instantly, leaving me to trail behind or not, as I chose. I glanced at my watch, then shrugged and followed. We recrossed the parking lot, this time in the direction of the racetrack rather than the rodeo stands. Beyond the oval track, the new grandstands gleamed in the sun: rows and rows of aluminum benches lined the concrete risers stretching up about three stories to end in a small glass-enclosed press box. Here, too, workmen were busy painting and hammering, giving an overall impression of frantic last-minute activity. I thought it was probably not a good sign to have this much construction occurring on the day before Thanksgiving, only two days before the big race.
    Stopping at the fence, we could see the starting gates on the opposite side, where two horsemen were just loping across the finish line at an easy pace.
    Raising fingers to lips, T.J. produced another painfully piercing whistle and one of the riders looked up. With a word to his companion, the two of them trotted to where we waited. I wondered if he always whistled to people as though they were dogs.
    “You know them?” Kyla asked, glancing up at T.J. She was standing close enough to him that her long hair brushed his shoulder. Somehow, I didn’t think he minded.
    “Sure do. You’re looking at the winner of Friday’s big race.”
    Up close, the horses were larger and the men smaller than they’d looked from a distance. The rider of the first horse stopped inches from the fence, a lean man in his fifties riding a patient gelding with a dull yellow coat and black mane and tail. T.J. leaned over the railing and caressed the velvet black nose, running an affectionate hand around the jaw and ending in a pat on the neck.
    Even my inexperienced eye could see the other horse was in a different class altogether. He danced to a stop beside his companion, a glossy rich bay with a single white forefoot and an aura of suppressed energy. His rider, too, was younger than the other man by twenty years, and at first glance seemed little more than a diminutive boy. Closer inspection, however, showed he was neither as young nor as fragile as he looked at a distance. The hands that gripped the reins were all sinew and muscle, and he had an intense, confident air.
    “Like you ladies to meet Glen Blackman and Travis Arledge. Glen’s my trainer and Travis here is the best jockey this side of … well, anywhere. Glen, Travis, want you to meet a couple of friends. Kyla Shore and…” T.J. frowned and turned to me, finally realizing he didn’t yet know my name.
    “Jocelyn Shore,” I supplied.
    “Her sister, Jocelyn,” T.J. finished.
    “We’re not sisters,” said Kyla quickly. “Cousins.”
    “You’re kidding. Really?” T.J. looked from Kyla to me and back again.
    I could see Kyla stiffening with irritation at being reminded of the resemblance between us.
    “So these are your horses?” I changed the subject.
    T.J. was easily diverted. “Yep. Well, Double is. Double Trouble, or rather Bar Double K Double Trouble, if you want to be formal.” He gestured to the bay with his chin. “How’s he