The Door at the Top of the Stairs

The Door at the Top of the Stairs

Alison Naomi Holt

Copyright © 2010 Alison Naomi Holt

Published by Alison Naomi Holt at Smashwords All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, recording or otherwise, without the prior written permission of the author.

The characters and events in this book are fictitious. Any similarity to real persons, living or dead, is coincidental and not intended by the author.

The psychological methodologies used in this book are purely fictional and are not intended to be used in any way in the mental health field. The symptoms of mental illness or psychological stress exhibited by the characters in this book are fictional and are not intended in any way by the author to represent actual symptoms of mental illness.

To order more copies of this book, visit
alisonholtbooks.com

2010

Chapter One

The horse bunched against the back wall as the rope slashed across his flank. Joe stepped forward to whip him again, but before he had a chance, Morgan lifted him off his feet and threw him from the stall onto the cement floor of the barn. She followed him, jerked him to his feet, rammed him against the wall and wrapped her hand tight around his throat. "I'll kill you if you ever touch one of my animals again!" She threw him toward the door of the barn.

"You're fired! Get out of my sight!
Now!
"

Joe pulled up his sleeve to show her a dark red welt on his forearm. "He bit me! What'd you expect me to do? ‘Sides, you owe me money and I ain't leaving 'till I get my paycheck."

Morgan started for him, eyes on fire, fists ready.

Joe turned and hurried for the exit, a rat scurrying for his hole.

Everyone knew Morgan's temper and he wanted no part of it. He looked over his shoulder as he pushed through the door. "Mail me my fuckin' check then! I quit!"

Morgan slowed and ran a hand through her salt and pepper hair. She watched the door slam shut, then returned to Rebel's stall.

White lines striped his flank, and she brushed him with her hand, wiping away all evidence of Joe's brutality. She moved up to his neck and spoke quietly, gently stroking his muzzle and forehead.

Ryland, her partner for more than ten years, walked up and leaned against the stall gate. "So now what are you going to do?

That's the second employee you've fired in the last two weeks. You can't take care of ten horses, thirty couple of hounds and run the farm with just two workers. You're fifty-seven years old."

Morgan had never been an easy employer. Over the last thirty years she'd exhausted the list of locals willing to work for her, and 1

itinerant workers tended to come in sporadic bursts. She continued to stroke Rebel and shrugged. "I'll do it if I have to until I can find somebody. The hunt staff'll help me if I get into a bind, and I've put out word I'm looking. Somebody'll come along."

Morgan rode as the Master of the Myrina Foxhunt Club and she had no doubt club members would pitch in if necessary. The tack room door was normally kept locked, but she pulled on the handle anyway as she and Ryland stepped past it out into the warm August evening and walked up the winding path that led to the main house. She slipped her arm around Ryland's shoulders.

"How's the book coming?"

"It's coming. The publisher wants it done yesterday. I keep telling them they'll get it when it's finished.” She grinned at Morgan. “You can imagine how well that goes over." Ryland had retired from psychotherapy five years earlier on her sixtieth birthday. With three controversial books on the New York Times Bestseller list, she couldn't finish them fast enough as far as her editor was concerned.

Dusk settled over the beechnut trees surrounding the farm, and as they neared their home, Morgan could barely make out the silhouette of a person leaning against the porch railing. As they walked closer, she realized she didn't recognize the woman, and hoped she wasn't there to sell horse equipment or magazines. "Can I help you?"

The woman pushed off the porch and crossed her arms. "Lady in town said you were hiring."

Morgan studied her. In her early to mid-twenties, she had short-cropped brown hair and a permanent scowl etched into her features. Morgan held out her hand. "I'm Morgan Davis."

The woman glanced at the hand, then back at Morgan. "Are you hiring or not?"

The color rose in Morgan's face. She lowered her hand and said in a quiet monotone, "If you think I'd—"

"Look Lady, it's a simple question: are you hiring or not?"

Morgan took a step closer. "You need a job?"

"It'd be stupid to ask if I didn't."

Morgan growled, "Then if you expect me to even
consider
hiring you, shake my goddamn hand and introduce yourself.

Otherwise, take your surly ass off my property." She rested her hands on her hips and figured that'd be the end of it
.

The woman surprised her by uncrossing one arm and holding out her hand, never breaking eye contact.

Morgan decided she'd be damned if she'd be the first to look away
.
She shook the woman's hand.

"Jesse."

"Jesse what?"

"Shaunessy."

"You ever work with horses before?"

The woman nodded.

"You have any references?"

She slowly shook her head.

”Look, I don't think—" Morgan stopped mid-sentence and frowned. Jesse had focused on Ryland who was standing nearby with an amused look on her face.

Ryland took Morgan's arm and propelled her toward the house. "Would you excuse us a minute, Jesse? We need to discuss something in private." The two women stepped into the house and Ryland closed the door behind them. She smiled at Morgan. "My dear, I think you have finally met your match."

"My match for what? I'm not hiring her. Are you crazy?"

Morgan walked over to the window and looked out at the woman.

Ryland stepped up beside her. "In answer to your first question, she's the perfect match for your temperament. I have an idea she'll put up with your temper as long as you put up with hers.

Besides, you really do need the help."

Morgan didn't deal well with problem employees. She'd always had a short fuse, and although Ryland had softened her over the last several years, she still expected her employees to at least exhibit a minimum amount of respect. "It wouldn't work, Ry.

I think we'd end up killing each other."

Ryland shrugged. "The farm's your business and it's up to you, but I think you should give her a chance. She might surprise you."

"She wouldn't even shake my hand. That's just basic good manners."

Ryland grinned. "As long as the horses don't want to shake hands, I think you'll be all right."

Ryland's affectionate grin was contagious. Morgan smiled as she walked to the door, then hesitated. "All right, I'll give her a chance. But I reserve the right to say 'I told you so' when things go to hell in a hand basket, probably in the next five minutes." She pulled open the door, crossed the porch and headed for the barn, Jesse in her wake. Morgan didn’t look back. "Minimum wage and you stay in a room we have set up in the barn for hired hands. You work six days a week. The workday starts at four-thirty in the morning and ends sometime in the evening."

When they reached the barn, Jesse's opinion of the farm rose several notches. The building looked turn of the century and had been fully restored to its original two-story design. The walls held a new coat of red paint with the trim a contrasting white. The four-sided hip roof sported new, brown shingles, and directly beneath the overhang, a double door opened onto a second-floor hay loft.

Two large wagon doors took up most of the front of the lower half of the barn, but Morgan led her through a smaller service door directly to the left of the larger ones.

The inside impressed her even more. Twenty horse stalls flanked a center aisle, ten stalls on either side of the walkway.

Cabinets hung on the front walls, and there wasn't a single tool out of place. Someone had painted the finished walls an eggshell white with a trim of red along the bottom and around the doors. A ladder extended down from a trapdoor in the floor of the loft, and a railing of hand-turned newel posts protected careless employees from accidentally stepping over the edge.

Morgan took out a set of keys and opened the door into the one-person bunkhouse that took up most of the front left side of the barn. Jesse stepped inside and waited for Morgan to finish with her instructions. She had her doubts about working for this woman, but she needed the job and she preferred horses to humans any day of the week. The bunkhouse was small: one room with a single bed, a small bathroom and closet, a refrigerator, and a microwave. It was all she needed.

She sized up her new boss as she watched her remove a key from the ring. The woman was a strong 5'9", with sinewy arms and legs and a not-too-pretty face. Gray liberally sprinkled her dark, short-cut hair and the sun had done its work on her tanned, weatherworn face, an interesting contrast to the feminine silver studs in her ears. The calluses on her hands had obviously been built up through years of hard physical labor, but her nails were neatly trimmed with a coat of clear nail polish. Jesse tuned back in as Morgan handed her the key and continued with the rules.

"No smoking anywhere on the farm. You want to smoke, you go out in the road to do it. You'll be taking care of the horses, feeding ‘em and cleaning the stalls twice a day. In between, you'll be grooming, oiling tack, cleaning the barn, and working in the fields as necessary. There are two other workers who work the farm and help with the hounds and the foxhunting. Any questions?"

Jesse turned away and walked over to the only window in the room. She didn't have any questions and wanted Morgan to leave so she could settle in.

Morgan waited for an answer. When none came, she reined in her temper. "Look Jesse, there are some basic things I expect from my employees, and it's only fair to you that we go over them. First, if I ask you a question, I expect an answer."

Jesse turned and glared at Morgan. "I heard you. I don't have any questions."

The muscles in Morgan's jaws rippled at the girl's surly tone.

She regretted hiring her already. "Second, when you speak to me or to Dr. Caldwell, you will refer to us as Ma'am. Yes Ma'am or no Ma'am."

"I reserve Ma'am for people I respect."

Morgan crossed the room in two steps. "You listen to me, and you listen good. You push one more time—just once—and you're out of here. You give me any excuse, and I'll throw you out on your butt so fast you won't know how you got there. Now let's try this again. Do you have any questions?"

Jesse broke eye contact and looked out the window. Her pulse pounded in her ears and she wanted to shove this woman against the wall and be done with her, but all the jobs she'd been fired from in the last year came to mind. She needed to stay in one place so she could get her head together. She snapped back, "No."

Morgan held her position longer than necessary, intending to make her point. When Jesse didn't move or say anything more, Morgan stalked out the door and back up to the house. Ryland was sitting in the living room when Morgan strode in and slammed the door. As Morgan headed for the kitchen, she said over her shoulder, "If I kill her, it'll be your fault!" She pushed through the swinging door and Ryland smiled as she continued with her evening reading.

At four-thirty the next morning, Jesse was waiting near the entrance to the barn. Morgan walked up and picked up a strand of bailing wire lying on the ground. "You see trash like this, you pick it up. I keep this place immaculate, and I expect my employees to do the same." She walked into the barn and threw the wire into a barrel next to the door.

Good morning to you, too
, Jesse thought as she followed her into the barn.

Morgan turned to her, hands on her hips. "I'm glad to see you can get up on time. You'd be amazed at how many people want work but can't seem to be here by four-thirty." When Jesse didn't respond, Morgan sighed. "Look, we got off on the wrong foot yesterday. Just follow me around this morning and if you have any questions, ask."

Morgan showed her a book listing the feed portions for each horse, whether a horse needed medicine or veterinary care, and whether the stable hand noticed anything Morgan needed to check.

She introduced her to each horse, describing their individual temperaments and warning about biters or kickers. “Now, I don’t care if a horse bites you or kicks you. If you
ever
lose your temper with any of the animals on this farm, I'll take your head off, then I’ll bodily throw you out into the middle of the road and drop kick your head out to you. Got it?" She smiled to soften her words, but she intended to get her point across.

Jesse remained silent.

Morgan nodded and stepped away. "All right then. I need to go work with the hounds. I expect you to groom each horse every day and check for injuries or sores. When you're finished with that, you can start oiling the tack." She walked over to the tack room and unlocked the door, then turned back around. "Oh, and at ten o'clock, you need to have two horses saddled—different horses every day." Jesse's continued silence irritated her. She ran a hand through her hair and left, happy to leave this surly woman to her job and move on to her hounds.