“A sight to behold,” Elizabeth said.
“You should see her dance,” Barry said, laughing. “It’s pretty weird. The docs fixed her legs, but they didn’t do anything for her rhythm.”
“Like you’re Michael Jackson.”
The five of them hung in silence, drawing energy from each other.
Finally, Elizabeth snaked Emily’s arm, and started off with Aubrey and Emily. “Follow me,” she said to Kent and Barry.
Kent turned to Lucinda, who was watching through the truck window.
“You stay extra alert, girl,” he said. “I think something fishy is going on here.”
Elizabeth chuckled. “You know, Kent, today I think we need to make an exception to the no dogs in the barn rule. I want Lucinda to be a part of this, too.”
Kent furrowed his brow in an exaggerated look of confusion. “Lucy, I changed my mind. Run for your life!”
“Come on, Lucy. You’re part of the team,” Aubrey said, as she opened the truck door.
Lucinda jumped out, giggling with excitement. She weaved between their legs, collecting pats on the head in honor of her new recognition.
Elizabeth led them to the white board fence that encircled a small grassy paddock next to the foaling barn. It was where newborn foals were first allowed to romp and explore without straying too far from their mothers. The group could easily see the whole of it. It was empty.
“Wait here,” Elizabeth said.
“What for?” Kent said.
Without answering him, she disappeared into the foaling barn.
Her friends braced their elbows on the fence. Lucinda stuck her head over the bottom board. They all gazed into the vacant paddock, and waited.
A few seconds later, Elizabeth returned. “Ready?”
Kent tried again. “For what?”
“Keep your eyes on that door.”
Elizabeth pointed at one of the Dutch doors that joined each stall to the paddock, as it magically swung open on hinges still stiff from winter. Kent made out Osvaldo moving surreptitiously in the shadows, and smiled as he saw what was happening.
Elizabeth, no doubt, had ordered Osvaldo to turn out a mare and foal, but remain hidden so as not to distract from her theatrical display. Unfortunately for Osvaldo, the mare, sensing something was odd, refused to take her baby from the security of the stall. She stood with her tail out the door, glaring at the little man, who was desperate trying to follow Elizabeth’s instructions. He flailed at the mare and tried to stay out of sight at the same time.
Finally, the mare made a break for daylight. Instinctively, the foal followed. Osvaldo’s relief was obvious.
Kent’s laughter stopped the instant he saw the foal. He had seen hundreds of foals over the years, but never, ever, one like this one. It was magnificent.
Aubrey’s trained eye recognized the mare instantly. “That’s Carnation Castle.”
“Correct,” Elizabeth said, with a nod, then looked at Kent. “Remember her? We bought her last year in California. I knew she’d do great things for us. And, do you know what? She did. Look at that guy.”
Kent’s eyes remained locked on the foal as he spoke. “He’s huge!”
“Yes. I think the reason he’s so big is he’s late. Castle went way over.”
“Really?” Kent admired the young horse. “How much over?”
“A month.”
“You’re kidding. How come you didn’t have me check her?”
“I’ve got to tell you, I almost did. Aubrey said I should. I kept talking her out of it. I wanted this foal to be a secret.”
“Risky.”
“It was worth it just to see your reaction. What do you think of him, Em?”
“He’s perfect. Look at his legs. He’s fantastic.”
Elizabeth nodded again. “Look at his eyes. They tell the story.”
As if enjoying the critique, the foal tore out ahead of the mare with the long strides of a racehorse. Lucinda, ears up and alert, let out a whine of approval.
“He moves well, too,” Kent said. He spoke softly, “He is something special, all right.”
At the far end of the paddock, the colt stopped, head up, chest out. He waited for his mother, who followed slower, still feeling the effects of foaling.
“Goes to show,” Kent said. “Hubris makes super foals.”
“Yes, he does. And, no thanks to Hector Figurante, he’ll be making them for a long time. But this guy is not by Hubris.”
“Too bad.”
“He’s the last foal by Simpatico.”
“Oh my God,” Kent said, and it came out like a prayer. “He’ll be an awesome racehorse.”
Elizabeth kept looking at the foal. “No. I don’t think so.”
Kent turned to his old friend. “I’m telling you, he’ll be great.”
“He’s not going to race,” Elizabeth said. “He’s going to be a jumper.”
“What?”
“The next Olympic games are in ‘92. That gives us five years for Emily to be ready.” She pointed at the foal. “And there is the horse that is going to get her there.” She reached into her pocket, pulled out a white legal-size envelope, and handed it to Emily. “I signed his papers over to you, Em. Happy birthday.”
For a moment, Emily seemed frozen. Then, she said, “Are you kidding me? For real?”
“For real.”
Emily attacked Elizabeth with a long, swaying embrace. Words would not come, but the tears that flowed from both women sealed the deal.
Finally they separated to arm’s length. Elizabeth held Emily’s cheeks in her palms and gently wiped away the tears.
“I’ll do my best to make you proud of me,” Emily said.
“I don’t doubt that for a second.”
Emily looked over at her father, who was watching, his arm around Aubrey.
“We have to name him,” she said.
“I already took care of that,” Elizabeth said, her eyes widening into a mischievous smile. She let the silence hang. Then, with theatrical flair, she said, “His name is Simpatico’s Gift.”
Not long after the others had left, Chalk-Eye snuck out of the foaling barn.
“Now, that’s more like it,” he said to himself.
At first, he’d panicked when he’d overslept, and was scared awake by people’s voices. Trapped in his cubby, he dreaded the thought of witnessing another horrible crime against the horses. But this time what he saw and heard had been wonderful. He drew a deep breath of spring air through his nose, then released it out his mouth. Maybe the world wasn’t such a bad place after all. He hopped the fence with more bounce than usual, jumped the ditch along the road, stuck out his thumb, and let the sun bathe his shoulders. As he waited for a ride, he thought of home.
About the Author
Frank Martorana grew up working with animals on several farms around Schenectady, New York, and at the veterinary hospital of Dr. Stanley E. Garrison in nearby Burnt Hills. In 1976, he graduated from the College of Veterinary Medicine at Cornell University. Since then he has been the “family doctor” for countless horses, cows, dogs, cats, and many other creatures around Cazenovia and Hamilton, New York. When he is not treating animals, he is hard at work readying the next book of the Kent Stephenson series.
Please visit his website at www.frankmartorana.com.
Don’t miss the next thriller in the Kent Stephenson Series.
THE COLOR OF WOUNDS
It’s been a dog’s age since Kent helped an old classmate expose inhumane animal testing at the research center of a prominent university. But now, after all that time, his good intentions are
coming back to haunt him. Ex-members of the US military-industrial complex have Kent in their cross hairs. When threats and blackmail don’t stop him, they bring on the bombs. But Kent
> brings on his coonhound, Lucinda.
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