Take a Chance

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Take a Chance Page 4

by D. Jackson Leigh


  * * *

  “Glad you found it okay,” Grace said.

  “I wasn’t far away,” Jamie said, scanning the crowd for Trip.

  Grace handed Jamie the clipboard, the report having a few items already filled in, then pointed to an attractive woman sitting on the back of a one-antlered lawn ornament and waved for Jamie to follow. Clay and the woman were staring at each other, oblivious to their approach until Grace cleared her throat.

  “Ms. Hemsworth, this is Deputy Grant. She’ll get your information for the report while Clay gets your car ready to tow.”

  “I’ll need your driver’s license and vehicle registration, please.” Jamie turned toward the sound of a diesel engine firing up while the woman gathered the requested information. The vise gripping her insides loosened as she watched the truck and trailer pull away. She wasn’t sure how they missed each other, but she was relieved the inevitable confrontation with her old college basketball teammate wasn’t going to happen today.

  Chapter Three

  Trip drove slowly along the wide main drive of the sprawling farm carved out by her grandfather. He’d raised warmbloods for the steeplechase and eventing circuits, and planted a little tobacco on the back forty as insurance for when the economy went sour and the horse business—a luxury item—periodically slacked off. When he died, he willed the entire estate to Trip, the only one of his grandchildren who shared both his passion for horses and his commitment to land conservation. She planted the tobacco fields with peanuts and soybeans. The profit wasn’t as high, but her conscience was lighter. And she converted the farm manager’s cottage into a small animal clinic, kennel, and surgery. Behind the clinic, a hundred-stall, U-shaped stable was dedicated to equine patients and her own stock.

  Trip pulled around the stables to unload the mares and was reaching for the latch securing the trailer’s rear exit when Jerome, her farm manager, showed up to unlatch the opposite side and help lower the heavy ramp.

  “How many today?”

  “What makes you think I got any tickets today?”

  “That scowl on your face.” He grabbed a manure shovel when one of the mares lifted her tail and produced her opinion of the overlong stay in a hot trailer.

  Trip slipped between the mares, murmuring softly to them. The scent of horse sweat and hay filled the trailer as she untied the irritated mare’s lead and tugged gently to encourage her to back out. Well trained, the horse exited the trailer, then shook like a dog as soon as she was free of the confined space.

  “Grab the other one and let’s turn them out in number two.” Trip hadn’t just changed the stable when she took over the farm, she instituted strict business protocols. The paddocks had been referred to by an oak tree that grew in one, the stallion who once lived in another, or the dogleg shape of another. But Trip kept thorough records on each horse and each pasture and paddock, right down to which type of grass was planted in it and how often it was fertilized and mowed. For record-keeping purposes, each was assigned a number.

  Jerome nodded.

  “Two,” Trip said as they walked the mares toward the three-acre paddock behind the stables.

  “Heard you.”

  “No, two tickets.”

  Jerome grinned. “In one morning? Lord, it’s a good thing you’re a white girl. If you were black like me, you’d be so far under the jail by now, there’d be no finding you.”

  Trip glared at him. “That’s not funny, Jerome. You know I don’t think that’s something to joke about.”

  Jerome’s grandmother had been her grandfather’s housekeeper-in-residence for years at “the big house” which was now Trip’s residence. Although a younger relative managed the household now, Essie still lived in the rooms that had been her home for decades. Trip would have insisted, even if it hadn’t been a stipulation of Grandpa’s will, because Essie was like an old aunt to her. She’d grown up fishing and skipping stones with Jerome, Essie’s grandson, and she trusted him like a brother, actually way more than she’d ever trust her biological brother. That’s why Trip turned the farm part of the estate over to him while she ran her four-county veterinary practice.

  He opened the gate and they slipped the halters from the mares’ heads, releasing them to roll in the grass to relieve the itch of the sweat drying on their hides. “Lighten up. I thought you’d be in a good mood, nice and relaxed after a visit with Hot Mama Hathaway.”

  Trip laughed, despite her irritation. “Don’t let anyone else hear you call her that.” She swatted at him with the lead rope in her hand. He neatly dodged, laughing with her. “She was particularly wild today.” She rubbed her sore butt. “Next time, I’ll make sure no riding crop is within reach when she’s yelling ‘faster, harder.’”

  Jerome’s eyebrows shot up. “No shit?”

  “Yeah. Hasn’t been my day.” They walked back to the trailer and Trip grabbed the bagged lunch, now cold, from the seat of the truck. “Jolene caught me swiping a doughnut in the diner—that’s where I got the first ticket because I parked in front of the hydrant to keep the trailer under the shade trees across the street—and some babe in a Mercedes nearly rear-ended my trailer on my way here. That’s where I got the second ticket because I left the rig in the street while I checked on the other driver.”

  “She hit your trailer?”

  “Nope. Swerved and ran right into the Clip ’n Curl.”

  “Dang. I’ll bet that was something to see.”

  “Yeah. She sure was. Long dark hair, blue eyes. A real looker.”

  He laughed again. “I meant the car crashed into the beauty shop.”

  She grinned. “I know.”

  “You got a date tonight, then?”

  Trip shook her head. “That’s what I’m saying. My whole day’s been off. I was working it, ya know, but this was no country girl. She had big city written all over her and was hard to impress.”

  Jerome stared at the ground, his lips quirked in a small smile. “Yeah, Tonya was the same way. She made me really work to get her to look my way.” While Jerome loved living vicariously through Trip’s exploits, he was totally devoted to his wife who he’d met while getting his degree in agricultural science and animal husbandry at the University of Georgia.

  “Then Clay comes up to tow the car off, and this woman is suddenly captivated.” Trip threw her hands up. “She wants nothing to do with a gallant doctor but practically drools when the tow truck driver with grease all over her hands arrives.”

  Jerome slapped his leg and laughed deep and long. “You guys kill me. If somebody else said something like that about Clay, you’d be all over them.”

  Trip ignored the truth of his words and made a show of folding her arms over her chest and huffing. “What’s Clay got that I don’t?”

  “Maybe it’s what you have that Clay doesn’t…your scent-of-horse-sweat perfume.”

  “It’s better than Clay’s oil-and-gasoline odor.”

  He chuckled. “Then I reckon it’s that sultry artist mystique. Sucks them in every time. I would have had a lot more dates in college if I’d been able to play a musical instrument or rap.”

  “You would have flunked out because you’d have hung out in bars and never gone to class.”

  Jerome was quiet, their teasing suddenly turned serious.

  “Sorry, man. I really wasn’t thinking about Jo-Jo or anybody specific when I said that.” Jo-Jo was Jerome’s younger cousin who was lost to the family, having disappeared several years before while playing a string of seedy clubs up north to feed his heroin addiction.

  “I know, Trip. We’ve all got skeletons, right?”

  “You know it.” She smiled and slapped his shoulder to lighten the mood again. “And keep your shovel handy. There’s going to be a new one to bury as soon as I catch up with that rookie cop who’s putting all those parking tickets on my truck.”

  “Obviously, this rookie doesn’t recognize Pine Cone royalty yet.”

  Trip drew her shoulders back and gave him a hau
ghty look. “Obviously.”

  He snapped to attention with a click of his heels and swept his arm toward the clinic area of the stables. “I believe your newest servant awaits her lunch, Princess Beaumont. Permit me to clean and secure the royal trailer for you.”

  Trip lifted her chin, affecting a snobbish air. “Why thank you, Jerome. Your assistance is appreciated. Carry on.” She chuckled at his hearty laugh that rang out as she headed for the back door to the clinic.

  * * *

  The veterinary technician struggled to hold Churchill in a headlock while Dr. Dani Wingate bent over the squirming massive English bulldog with her finger in his anus in an attempt to force his backed-up anal glands to drain. Trip watched from the doorway as the dog’s claws scrabbled against the metal table and he dragged them both to the edge.

  “Hold him still, Cindy,” Dani said through clenched teeth. “I can’t do this with him moving.”

  “I’m trying, Dr. Wingate. He’s just too big. I don’t know how Dr. Beaumont does this without help.”

  Trip decided to give Dani a hand. She ducked into her office across the hall from the treatment center, returning in time to see Churchill leap from the table, scattering medical supplies and taking both Cindy and Dani to the floor with him. Ouch. That had to hurt. “Is Churchill giving you guys a hard time?”

  “Is it true that you handle this dog by yourself?” It sounded more like a challenge than a question, and Dani’s grim expression told Trip she’d better do something fast or Dani was going to be headed back to the city as soon as she could pack her car.

  “Actually, I always call out the troops to help.” She revealed the orange tabby cat she’d been hiding behind her back and set him on the floor at her feet. The battle-scarred old tom bowed his back and growled when he saw the dog. Churchill, who was about to lift his leg on a box of cleaning supplies, froze then cowered. “Churchill’s scared to death of Otis. Put him back on the table. He won’t give you any trouble.”

  Dani and Cindy lifted the heavy dog onto the table where he remained still as a statue, his eyes never leaving Otis. Dani quickly performed the required procedure, then wrote a few notes on his chart. She looked up at Trip. “Looks like his infection is all cleared up.”

  Trip smiled. “Excellent.” She scooped up the cat. “Another battle won, Otis.” She hoped she’d also won Dani over a little. She’d been searching a long time for the right associate to hire, and Dani was the best fit for her unique client list. “Cindy can return Churchill to Mrs. Swenson. Come on back to my office. I picked up some lunch for us.”

  Dani’s face reddened when her stomach growled loudly. “Thanks. I didn’t have time for breakfast and I’m starving, but the waiting room is full of patients.”

  Trip shrugged. “The longer they wait, the more they can complain when they see their friends in the grocery aisle tomorrow. Besides, I’ll bet if you walk out there right now, they’ll all be on their cell phones gathering gossip about the woman who drove her Mercedes into the side of the local beauty shop this morning. You’ll just interrupt them.”

  Dani chuckled and shook her head. “I am hungry.”

  Brenda, the receptionist, popped into the office. “Here you go, Doc. All reheated.” She placed two plates on the desk between them. Each plate held an oversized bun stuffed with pulled pork dripping barbecue sauce and surrounded by finger-sized corn fritters. Trip added two Styrofoam containers of potato salad and extra-large cups of sweet tea.

  “Eat up,” Trip said. “It’s the best barbecue in this half of the state. The only thing better is Friday’s special—Bud’s fried flounder sandwich.”

  They ate in silence for a while. Trip knew Dani had taken the job because she felt she had few immediate choices after being unexpectedly laid off at the zoo where she worked with exotic animals. She knew squeezing anal glands on a dog must feel like a huge step down from zoo work. But she hoped Dani would give Pine Cone a chance, because the tiny Southern town truly was a gem in the lush lowlands of southern Georgia. Maybe Trip needed to help her see that.

  “I need to clear an afternoon soon to take you around to check on some of my special clients.”

  Dani hesitated. “What if there’s an emergency—an animal hit by a car or something?”

  Trip waved her hand dismissively. “Until I hired you, the clinic was always without a vet on the afternoons I had to make farm calls. Cindy’s a licensed vet tech and she handles routine things like removing stitches, drawing blood for lab tests, ultrasound treatments for orthopedic injuries and administering vaccinations that I draw up for scheduled appointments in advance. She’ll triage and call if anything serious comes in.”

  “Okay.” Dani nodded, then her expression turned wary. “Special animals or special clients?”

  Trip licked barbecue sauce from her fingers and stuffed her lunch trash back into the plastic takeout bag. She held out her hand for Dani’s trash, too. “Got a mastitis case to check and a mare to ultrasound, so I’ll throw this in the dumpster on my way out. Ants love Bud’s barbecue sauce as much as I do.” She paused in the doorway to look back at Dani. “Special? Both the animals and their owners. But don’t worry. I’m not shoving my difficult customers on you, just my unusual ones.”

  * * *

  Trip parked in the wide dirt pullout. She was the first to arrive since neither Clay’s vintage Ford pickup nor Grace’s Corolla were here yet. She smiled. The Glitter Girl and Paintball to her Fast Break. That’d been their CB handles since high school, and they all still kept the radios in their vehicles—partly because of spotty cell coverage in the area, but mostly because the radios reminded them of more carefree times before adulthood saddled them with work and responsibilities.

  She got out of the truck and narrowed her eyes to stare down the road both ways. There was nothing illegal about parking on the side of the road, was there? She wouldn’t be surprised if that stinking new deputy was lurking down a side road, just to write her another ticket. Since no vehicles were in sight, she ambled down the path to the secret swimming spot on the Altamaha River where they had shared hurts and successes, opined about women, and puzzled out the path to world peace…or just drank and shared gossip…since their high school glory days.

  The river’s source was somewhere in the mountains of the Cherokee Nation, and by the time it reached the pine-forested plain of southeastern Georgia, it had become a wide, majestic river, flowing with gentle windings through a vast green patchwork of field and forest, nearly a hundred miles, until it completed its journey to the Atlantic. A variety of trees and bushes crowded the river’s edge—wax myrtle, sweet bay magnolia, spicebush, and red bay. Their spot was a small patch of beach ringed by a slim strip of grass and equipped with a tire swing hung from an ancient oak that stretched out over a recess that cut deep into the riverbank. It was a perfect swimming hole because the Altamaha’s current had lined it with sandy silt, rather than the slimy mud usually coating a river bottom.

  Trip sat in the grass and pulled a beer and a pint of Fireball from her six-pack-sized cooler. She alternated sips between the two and stared at the ebb and flow of the river while she waited. She’d felt oddly restless lately. Business was better than good, but her wild rides with Virginia Hathaway and sleepovers with Shayla didn’t hold much interest lately. Even a weekend in Savannah to prowl for a new hookup didn’t appeal. Was her libido dying on her already? She was only in her mid-thirties. No. Her libido was fully operational at the Clip ’n Curl earlier that day. She sighed. It depressed her to think this was all life held for her. She wanted more, but she couldn’t put her finger on what “more” meant.

  “Those must be some deep thoughts, pal.”

  Trip shrugged and dug into her Playmate for a wine cooler. She opened the bottle before handing it to Grace.

  “Thanks. I didn’t bother with a cooler because I knew you guys would have extras.” Grace had pulled her hair back and tamed it with a hair tie. She’d obviously taken time to stop by her place fi
rst to change out of her uniform into shorts and a scooped-neck T-shirt.

  “Always for you, Grace.”

  “So, what was the big sigh about?”

  “I dunno.” Trip shrugged again and changed the subject. “Clay’s coming, right?”

  “Said she was.”

  They both turned toward the path at the sound of footsteps.

  “You’re late.” Trip reclined on one elbow and took another swig of her beer, then followed it with a sip of Fireball. She liked the cold ale, then hot, sweet cinnamon combination.

  “It’s that damn Bo Mathis. He kept skulking around the garage and I couldn’t lock up until he left.” Clay took a bottle from her cooler, popped the cap, and then used the red-topped cooler for a seat.

  “I thought your granddad let him go after he almost set the place on fire,” Grace said.

  Clay took off her boots and socks and left her seat on the cooler to walk past them. She rolled up the legs of her jeans and sat on the bank’s grassy ledge to sink her feet where the river water continually spat cool, damp sand. Clay seemed as restless and moody as Trip felt.

  “I talked to him again today about cutting Bo loose, but he’s decided to give him a second chance,” Clay said.

  “Wouldn’t this be more like his twelfth chance?” Trip snorted. It irritated her that Clay’s grandfather didn’t take her advice to get rid of the unreliable guy he hired to change tires and run errands for the shop. Clay practically ran the garage for him, transferring his handwritten receipts and orders into a business software compatible with insurance filing. The old man had been shocked when Clay showed him that he could simply file for an insurance adjustment rather than call up and argue with a clueless customer service agent when the damage was more than their adjuster estimated.

 

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