Blades of Bluegrass

by D. Jackson Leigh

  Then she had to make plans for herself. Right after breakfast, she’d call her friend in Washington who was a JAG officer once and could help her get released from the army. Maybe she’d talk to her about her subpoena, too. But putting the army behind her had to be a priority so she could focus her life on horses again. She didn’t want anything from her life in the military. Almost nothing.

  She was undecided about Lucy, the bionic arm designed for her and already partially synched to her brain. Maybe she’d talk to Will about how much it would cost to buy it outright and participate in the program outside the army’s project. As long as she didn’t have to see Teddy.

  Teddy. Well. That was just a kick in the teeth. Oh, she believed Teddy did feel something for her—sympathy, friendship, even undeniable lust. But Britt had fallen for her. Fallen hard. She hadn’t realized Teddy didn’t, couldn’t love her back. She’ll always and forever love only Shannon. Best to let that filly go, with no buy-back clause.

  Britt pulled on her bathrobe and headed downstairs. She’d tossed and turned most of the night, then overslept. She’d miss breakfast if she showered and went through the exercise and preparation routine to wear her prosthetic arm. Getting a sore on her stump would land her right back in the rehab program and under Teddy’s care. She would not let that happen.

  Pop turned to her, spatula in his raised hand, when she shuffled into the kitchen and went straight for the coffee. “Ha. Now that you’re a fancy racehorse owner, you think you can just sleep in and lounge about the mansion until race time?”

  “I might get a little bored doing that for a whole year until Home has his first race, don’t you think?”

  “You reckon?”

  They both peered out the window, then shared a smile when Lynn’s truck skidded past them and slammed to a stop in her usual parking spot. Pop spooned grits onto a plate, then plopped two over-easy eggs next to them and handed the plate to Britt. “Bacon’s on the table.”

  Lynn stumbled into the house, coming through the door while still toeing off her muddy boots. “Hot damn! You’re gonna race the colt.”

  Pop cracked two more eggs into the frying pan. “Not me. Not Story Hill Farm.” Pop pointed the spatula at Britt. “Britt and Marianne bought him.”

  Lynn looked at Britt’s plate. “Fry me a couple of those, too, please. I was so excited when I heard the news this morning, I left before breakfast.”

  Pop shook his head. “I figured. That’s why I fixed extra bacon. These are your eggs in the pan now. You can make some toast for everyone.”

  This time, Britt and Lynn shared a smile. The plate of bacon on the table did indeed hold a third more strips than usual. Pop paid attention. Lynn went to work and had a plate of buttered toast ready by the time they were all seated at the table.

  “What are you thinking of doing with your colt?” Pop asked, cutting his bacon and eggs to mix with his grits, like they all were doing.

  “I’m going to let Marianne take the lead on his training. My first priority is to get free of the army and testify at this hearing I got a subpoena for. Marianne’s the expert on racing. Not me. I want to stay fully informed and see how he comes along, but I’m going to trust her to make the right decisions.”

  “You should spend some time down there. You can learn a lot from her and her son Jace.”

  “I plan to. I’ll also be spending time here, helping you.”

  Lynn nodded her approval. “It’s hard to find the extra help we need in the spring, during foaling season. The old man here nearly runs himself in the ground.”

  “What about long-term?” Pop asked.

  “Long-term?”

  “With the colt.”

  “If he races as good as we expect, I expect we’ll keep him for stud service.”

  “Good racer doesn’t mean he’ll pass those genes along.”

  Britt held her grandfather’s gaze. “I know the gamble, Pop. You’ve had me studying bloodlines ever since I was old enough to read. If he doesn’t pass along his good genes, he’ll be the first in his line to fall short.”

  Britt tilted her chair back to see the source of a growl and hiss from near the pantry door. Mama Cat was munching some bacon scraps in a bowl next to a water dish obviously set out for the cats. A swat of her gray paw sent the orange kitten scampering away. Mamma Cat apparently didn’t intend to share her bacon.

  Lynn started breaking up her last piece of bacon, glancing around the kitchen as if finally taking notice of something. “Hey, where’s Teddy?” She put her plate on the floor next to her chair, and the kitten immediately appeared and began scarfing down the bacon bits.

  Pop looked to Britt for an answer.

  “We’re done.”

  The others still stared.

  “With my rehab. I’ve met all the army’s check marks. I still have a month of medical leave, but I also have to have an army psychiatrist clear me to be ordered back to duty. I’m calling a lawyer friend this morning to see if I can get free of the army before that happens.”

  “Teddy’s coming back to get this kitten and all her equipment that’s still upstairs, isn’t she?” Lynn asked.

  “Actually, I’m going to ask Jill if she’ll take everything to the hospital today, so Teddy won’t have to drive out.”

  Lynn looked at Pop, who shook his head. He made a shooing gesture at Britt. “Go do what you need, then holler if you want any help bringing her stuff downstairs. I’ll be in the office, checking the accounts to see what’s come through from the auction so far.” He rose from the table. “Lynn, the kitchen is all yours.”

  One of the many things Britt loved about Pop was he knew when to stop asking questions. She trudged up the stairs and showered quickly and went into the room they’d used for rehabbing. She dragged the weight bench into her spacious bedroom, which gave her plenty of room to complete her light weight-lifting and stretching routines. Then she inspected her stump—not residual limb, she stubbornly thought—for any signs of redness, massaged it with cocoa butter to soften the scar, and covered it with the compression sock. Slipping on the harness, then attaching the prosthesis, was easy now. On to the next task.

  Britt smoothed her hand over the portable massage table. She closed her eyes and could almost feel Teddy’s strong hands gliding over her skin, firmly kneading the tight muscles in her shoulders, digging into stiff back muscles. She could feel Teddy’s gentle fingers massaging cocoa butter into her incision scar and carefully applying antibiotic ointment to irritated areas of her residual limb. She jerked her hand off the table. Stump. Not residual limb. Britt flipped the table onto its side and released the latches on the legs, then folded the table in half. She transferred a few tubes of antibiotic ointment, a jar of cocoa butter, and several compression sleeves to her bathroom. Then she shoved the bandages, medicines, and the small TENS unit into the black duffel. She still needed the TENS unit occasionally, but she could order one online. And she had her own prescriptions.

  She moved the duffel and table to the bottom of the stairs, then took a deep breath and rubbed the heel of her hand against the pounding inside her forehead.

  “Hey, kiddo. I can do that for you.” Lynn’s hand squeezed Britt’s shoulder. True to the military way, Lynn didn’t ask questions or suggest they talk about the problem. She simply offered support.

  “Thanks, but I need to do this,” Britt said. “Can you ask Jill to come up to the house?”

  “Sure. I can do that.”

  “Thanks.”

  Stepping into Teddy’s bedroom nearly broke her. The scent of Teddy was everywhere. Britt opened the closet and grabbed the army-green duffel that sat in the corner, still filled with the uniforms Teddy never wore. Britt pulled blouses and a couple of dresses from the hangers to stuff them inside the duffel with the rest. She shoved the shoes and boots into one of several cloth grocery bags she found on the closet shelf. Once the closet was empty, she moved to the dresser. One drawer contained several pairs of jeans. Another had a couple of
sweatshirts. The top drawer was full of underwear and socks. Britt fingered the silk panties and smiled despite the pain squeezing her heart. Not exactly army issue. Footsteps clomped up the stairway, and Britt quickly scooped up the underwear and stuffed it into the duffel, followed by the socks and sweatshirts. She was folding the jeans to add on top when Jill stepped into the room.

  “Hey, pal. You summoned? Whatever you need, I’m your wingman, uh, woman,” Jill said. “As long as I don’t have to go to prison for it. I hear the food is really bad and the women aren’t very pretty.”

  Britt snorted and shook her head. “Same thing I’ve done for you a couple of times, and I haven’t gone to prison yet.” She narrowed her eyes at Jill. “Although I remember one chick I thought was going to cut me with a fillet knife.”

  “Ah. The chef. I should have warned you to make sure she wasn’t cooking at the time. It could have been worse. She might have been holding a pan of hot grease.”

  Britt stuffed the last pair of jeans into the duffel. When she finished closing it, Jill wrapped her arms around Britt from behind and rested her chin on Britt’s shoulder.

  “Maybe we should just quit this futile hunt for perfect women and settle down with each other,” Jill said.

  They stared at their reflection in the dresser’s mirror, then spoke in unison. “Not!” They burst into laughter as Britt turned and snapped the hook device several times at Jill, who slapped at it to fend off the threatened pinch.

  “Shit. I didn’t realize they’d armed you permanently with that thing,” Jill said, her tone joking.

  Britt stopped, the reality of the army’s true intention crashing back. “That’s exactly what they intended.”

  Jill stiffened, all efforts to lighten Britt’s mood gone. “What do you mean?”

  Britt pointed to the duffel. “Can you take that down?” She held up the remaining cloth grocery bag. “I’m going to check the bedside table, under the bed, and the bathroom for anything else. Then I’ll meet you, Lynn, and Pop downstairs. I’ll tell you what I can.”

  Jill hefted the packed duffel, then put it down and went to the bed. She lifted the mattress off the box springs.

  “What are you doing?” Britt asked.

  “Just checking,” Jill said. “She might have had nudie pictures of you under there that she jerked off to at night. You wouldn’t want Lynn finding them when she changed the sheets, would you?”

  “What makes you think Teddy would have nude photos of me?”

  Jill shrugged. “If she did, you’d never tell me, so I figured I’d just better go ahead and check. Not even a dust bunny there.” Jill picked up the duffel again. “Always looking out for my best buddy.”

  After Jill left, Britt rummaged through the bedside table and found a bottle of eyedrops and the copy of Seabiscuit she’d loaned Teddy. She almost put it in the bag until she remembered it was the last birthday gift her grandmother had personally inscribed and given her, so she laid it on the bed. If Teddy wanted to finish it, she’d have to buy her own copy.

  Jill, Lynn, and Pop were waiting for her in the living room. She was ready and cleared her throat.

  “The army won’t let me tell you everything, but I’ll share what I can. Something happened in Afghanistan that cost a young soldier’s life. I was injured trying to prevent it. Army command had been advised there was a problem but refused to respond. Their negligence apparently has been widespread enough that a Senate hearing is being held on the issue. I’ve been subpoenaed to testify. The army won’t release me even though my enlistment is up because I’ve been ordered not to speak about the incident. Once I’m a civilian, they have no authority to stop me.”

  Pop swore under his breath, and Lynn’s expression was grim. Britt held her hand up to forestall questions or comments.

  “The next thing I’m going to tell you is all I’m going to say about this matter. Then I’m taking Mysty out for a ride…alone. I’m sorry, Pop, but I need some horse therapy today. I’ll be ready to work first thing tomorrow.”

  Pop nodded but said nothing. Britt opened her mouth to continue but paused when her throat tightened. She closed her eyes to gather her thoughts and harden her heart.

  “Teddy and her assignment as an in-residence therapist are part of the army’s plot to keep me from testifying. General Banks and Dad hoped she and the offer of an advanced bionic prosthesis would persuade me to stay away from Washington. I don’t agree with their tactics or their hidden intent to create a squad of bionic soldiers. So, any further relationship between Teddy and me, personal or professional, would be detrimental to her career, her prosthesis project, and the lawsuit I’ll be filing to force the army to release me from service.”

  They were all quiet for a long minute, grim faces all around.

  “No worries,” Jill said. “You sure we got everything of hers out. No coffee mug in the kitchen, boots on the porch, clothes in the laundry room. Anything like that?”

  “I’ll double-check,” Lynn said, and hurried off to the kitchen.

  “Take your phone with you,” Pop said. “Call that lawyer while you’re out communing with nature.” He started toward the office, then stopped. “And ask her about getting restraining orders against your father and that general.” He hesitated, his tone changing from strident to resigned. “And get one for Teddy. Then General Asshole can’t blame her for not swaying you.” He cupped her jaw and brushed his callused thumb over her cheek. “Just until you testify.”

  The very thought made Britt sick, but he was right. “Okay, Pop.”

  * * *

  Teddy glanced up at the pitiful caterwaul coming from the group crowded together a short distance from her office door. She straightened, rolled her stiff shoulders, and stared up at the ceiling. The sound definitely came from an animal, which was not permitted in the hospital unless certified as a therapy animal. Colonel Winstead could handle it. He was the boss, so it was his job to enforce the rules in that department.

  Her blinds had been drawn and her door closed all day because she didn’t want to be bothered. She had put in a call to the lawyer who had helped her win survivor benefits after Shannon was killed. She hadn’t told anyone in her chain of command that she’d been subpoenaed. She knew her friend Tom would stay quiet and have her back, but Colonel Winstead’s career would suffer if General Banks found out that he knew beforehand and still let her testify.

  She hunched again over the spreadsheet she was slowly working her way through, searching for possible candidates for their program. The yowl sounded again, but closer and accompanied by a sharp knock on her door. She scowled, looked up, and blinked, surprised to see Jill through the window in the door. She rose and quickly opened the door.

  “Hey.” She smiled. Maybe Britt had sent Jill because she was so tied up giving interviews. Her smile faltered when Jill didn’t offer one. Her brain instantly flashed through a hundred scenarios—Britt hurt, Britt devastated because Pop was hurt, barns burning and horses dying at the farm. “What’s wrong? Is Britt okay?”

  “She’s fine. I’m not.” Another cry sounded from the pet carrier Jill held next to her leg. “I’ve had to listen to this Satan’s spawn howl like someone’s removing his tiny little balls with a dull knife all the way from the farm.” She plunked the carrier down on Teddy’s desk. “He’s all yours now. I’ve got the rest of your stuff in my truck. Do you want it in your car, or should I haul it all in here?”

  Teddy realized her mouth was hanging open, and she closed it with a snap. “My stuff?”

  “That you left at the farm.”

  “I was coming out to pick it up later.” She peered into the pet carrier and saw the orange kitten, who mewed pitifully and thrust his paw through the wire door in an imploring gesture.

  “No need now. I’ve got it here.”

  “I need to talk to Britt.” The kitten’s caterwauling was growing so insistent, Teddy had to raise her voice to be heard.

  “She said she’s fulfilled the therapy requ
ired for amputees. She only has to see the army shrink now. I don’t suppose you have that certification, too?”

  Teddy didn’t like this cold, snippy side of Jill. Not at all. “It has nothing to do with her therapy.” She opened the carrier, and the kitten ran up Teddy’s uniform to snuggle as close as possible against Teddy’s neck, trembling and glaring at Jill.

  “What then?” Jill glared back at the kitten.

  “It’s personal and none of your business.”

  Jill stepped closer, so close that Teddy had to force herself not to back away. “That’s where you’re wrong. Britt Story has been my best friend since we were kids. I can list on one hand the number of people she’s let get close to her. But somehow you wormed through her defenses. Then she finds out yesterday that you’re just an enemy spy, part of the army’s plot to manipulate her in a cover-up. She doesn’t want to talk to you.”

  Teddy’s heart dropped into her stomach. Somebody must have said something. Had General Banks caught Britt in her office before Teddy returned? Is that why Britt was gone when she got back? She grabbed Jill’s arm. “No. I have to talk to her. I didn’t know myself. Not until yesterday.”

  “She said it didn’t matter if you knew or not. She’s talking to a lawyer today to get a restraining order against you, General Banks, and her own father until after the hearing. E.B.’s getting a judge to ban the three of you from the farm property. Delete her number from your phone. Forget how to get to the farm. Forget you ever knew her.”

  Teddy covered her mouth but couldn’t stop the sob that escaped.

  The office door swung open, and Rachel entered. She was wearing her bionic hand, which was clenching and unclenching as she moved to stand between Jill and Teddy. “Do you need some help in here, Captain?”

  Jill raised an eyebrow and stared down at this intruder. Rachel stood about five-four, and Jill was approximately six feet tall. Except Teddy knew Rachel was a trained killer and had calmly claimed many lives as a top army sniper before losing her left hand.