by Lisa Jackson
With her final remark Tiffany stormed out of the kitchen, tugged on her boots and went off to make amends with Mac. Why did Dustin have to provoke the trainer now when she needed Mac’s expertise the most?
* * *
MAC WAS ALREADY at his pickup when Tiffany caught up with him. “I’m sorry,” she apologized. She was out of breath from her sprint across the back lawn and parking lot.
“No need for that, Missy,” Mac said with a kindly smile as he reached for the door handle on the old Dodge. “What Dustin said was the truth.”
“No, it wasn’t. Even with his regular jockey, there was no assurance that Moon Shadow would win.”
“He was the odds-on favorite.”
“And we all know how many long shots have won when it counted. Besides, it’s all water under the bridge now,” she assured him. “We’ll just pin our hopes on Journey’s End. And maybe this time, we’ll win the Derby.”
“I hope so,” Mac said, pursing his lips together thoughtfully as he studied the lush Northern California countryside that made up the pastures of Rhodes Breeding Farm. “It’s time you got a break.” He opened the door to the truck. “I’ll be back after dinner to check on Alexander’s Lady. My guess is she’ll foal around midnight.”
“See you then.” Tiffany stepped away from the old truck and Mac started the engine before shoving it into gear. Tiffany felt her teeth sink into her lower lip as she watched the battered old pickup rumble down the long driveway.
* * *
THREE HOURS LATER Tiffany was in the foaling shed, watching, praying while the glistening chestnut mare labored. The air was heavy with the smell of sweat mingled with ammonia and antiseptic.
Vance and Mac were inside the stall with the horse while Tiffany and Dustin stood on the other side of the gate. Alexander’s Lady was lying on her side in the thick mat of straw, her swollen sides heaving with her efforts.
“Here we go,” Vance said as the mare’s abdomen contracted and the foal’s head and shoulders emerged. A few minutes later, the rest of the tiny body was lying beside the mare.
Vance worked quickly over the newborn, clearing the foal’s nose. As Tiffany watched she noticed the small ribs begin to move.
Tiffany reached for the switch that turned on the white heat lamps to keep the precious animal from catching cold.
“Let’s leave the lamps on for two or three days,” Vance suggested, his round face filled with relief as the filly tested her new legs and attempted to stand. “I don’t want to take any chances.”
“Neither do I,” Tiffany agreed, her heart warming at the sight of the struggling filly. She was a perfect dark bay, with only the hint of a white star on her forehead.
Tiffany slipped into the stall and began to rub the wet filly with a thick towel, to promote the filly’s circulation. At that moment, the mare snorted.
“I think it’s time for Mom to take over,” Vance suggested, as he carefully moved the foal to the mare’s head. Alexander’s Lady, while still lying on the straw, began to nuzzle and lick her new offspring.
“Atta girl,” Mac said with the hint of a smile. “’Bout time you showed some interest in the young-un.” He stepped out of the stall to let mother and daughter get acquainted.
Vance stayed in the stall, watching the foal with concerned eyes. He leaned against the wall, removed his glasses and began cleaning them with the tail of his coat, but his thoughtful gaze remained on the horses, and deep furrows lined his brow.
“Is she all right?” Tiffany asked, her heart beating irregularly. Such a beautiful filly. She couldn’t die!
“So far so good.” But his lips remained pressed together in an uneasy scowl as he attended to the mare. Alexander’s Lady groaned and stood up. She nickered softly to the filly.
As if on cue, the little newborn horse opened her eyes and tried futilely to stand.
“Come on, girl. You can do it,” Tiffany whispered in encouragement. The filly managed to stand on her spindly, unsteady legs before she fell back into the straw. “Come on...”
“Good lookin’ filly,” Mac decided as the little horse finally forced herself upright and managed the few steps to the mare’s side. “Nice straight front legs...good bone, like her dad.” Mac rubbed his hand over the stubble on his chin.
Tiffany’s heart swelled with pride.
“She looks fine,” Vance agreed as he watched the filly nuzzle the mare’s flanks and search for her first meal.
“So did Charlatan,” Tiffany reminded him, trying her best not to get her hopes up. The filly looked strong, but so had Felicity’s colt. And he had died. A lump formed in Tiffany’s throat. She couldn’t imagine that the beautiful little filly might not live through the night.
“Keep watch on her,” Vance stated, his lips thinning.
“Round the clock,” Tiffany agreed. “We’re not going to lose this one,” she vowed, oblivious to the worried glances being exchanged between the veterinarian and the trainer.
“What have you decided to name her?” Dustin asked, seemingly entranced by the healthy young horse.
“How about Survivor?” Tiffany replied. “Better yet, how about Shadow’s Survivor?”
“As in Moon Shadow?” Dustin inquired.
“Yes.” Tiffany glanced at the suckling baby horse. The fluffy stub of a tail twitched happily. “I like it.”
“Isn’t it a little premature for a name like that?”
“I hope not,” Tiffany whispered. “I hope to God, it’s not.”
“Missy,” Mac said gently, touching her sleeve.
“Don’t say it, Mac,” Tiffany said, holding up her hand. “This little filly is going to make it. She’s got to!” Tiffany’s lips pressed together in determination, as if she could will her strength into the little horse.
“I just don’t want you to be too disappointed.”
“I won’t be.” Tiffany’s jaw tensed, and her blue eyes took on the hue of newly forged steel. “This horse is going to live.”
“I’ll stay overnight in the sitting-up room, watching the monitor. If anything goes wrong, I’ll call,” Mac volunteered.
“Good.” Vance washed his hands and removed his bloodied white jacket. “I want this filly babied. I want her to stay inside for a full three days, under the lamps. We’re not out of the woods yet, not by a long shot. And as for the mare, make sure she gets bran mash for three days.”
“You got it,” Mac agreed, casting one last worried glance at the filly. “Now, Missy, why don’t you go up to the house and get some sleep? You can take over in the morning.”
Tiffany glanced at the two horses. “Gladly,” she whispered.
As she walked out of the foaling shed and into the windy night, Tiffany felt the sting of grateful tears in her eyes. Large crystalline drops began to run down her cheeks and catch the moon glow. Everything would be perfect, she thought to herself as she shoved her hands into the pockets of her jacket and started walking on the path to the house, if only Zane were here to see for himself the strong little daughter of Moon Shadow.
CHAPTER NINE
ZANE CRADLED HIS drink in his hands as he stared at the two other men in the office. His attorney, John Morris, sat behind the oiled teak desk. The other fellow, a great bear of a man, had been introduced by John as Walt Griffith. He was staring out the window at the black San Francisco night.
Walt Griffith wasn’t what Zane had expected. When Zane had asked John to hire the best private investigator in California, he’d expected to meet a slick L.A. detective, a man who was street smart as well as college educated. Instead, John had come up with Griffith, a semiretired investigator nearly seventy years old, with thick, gray hair, rotund waistline, clean-shaven jowls and an eye-catching diamond ring on his right hand.
Griffith made Zane slightly uneasy, but he managed to hide his restlessness by quietly sipping his bourbon and water.
“So you want to locate your ex-wife,” Griffith said at last while frowning at the city lights illuminatin
g that particular section of Jackson Square.
“That’s right.” Zane shifted uncomfortably in his chair, and his lips tightened at the corners.
“Maybe she doesn’t want you to know where she is.”
“She probably doesn’t.” Zane cocked his head and studied the large man. What was he getting at?
Griffith clasped his hands behind his back. “I wouldn’t do this for anyone, you know, but John and I—” he looked at the worried attorney “—we go way back. He says you’re straight.”
“Straight?” Zane repeated, turning his eyes to the attorney. John took off his reading glasses and frowned.
“I assume that John knows you well enough,” Griffith continued. “He told me you weren’t a wife-beater or some other kind of psycho.”
Zane cocked a dubious dark brow at his friend. “Thanks,” he said with a trace of sarcasm.
Griffith turned and leaned against a bookcase filled with leather-bound law books. He withdrew an imported cigar from the inside pocket of his suit coat and studied the tip. “Let me tell you, boy,” he said, pointing the cigar in Zane’s direction. “I’ve seen it all, and I’m not about to do anything that smacks of brutality.” His small, brown eyes glittered from deep in their sockets, and Zane had the distinct impression that Griffith had gotten himself into trouble more than once from something “smacking of brutality.” “If I didn’t owe John a favor, I wouldn’t have bothered to take your case at all. You seem to have somewhat of a checkered past yourself.”
Zane forced a severe smile and his gray eyes met Griffith’s intense stare. “I wouldn’t physically abuse a woman, any woman. Including Stasia.”
“Abuse doesn’t have to be physical.”
Zane’s anger got the better of him, and his fingers tightened around his drink. “There’s no love lost between Stasia and me,” he admitted, his eyes sparking furiously. “But I have no intention of hurting her. Actually, the less I have to do with her, the better. The only reason I want to locate her is because I think she’ll be able to help me with some answers I need.” Zane smiled at the irony of it all. “Believe me, Griffith, if there was another way to deal with this problem, I’d be glad to hear it. I don’t relish the thought of confronting my ex-wife any more than you want this assignment.”
Griffith struck a match and lit his cigar. As he puffed, a thick cloud of pungent smoke rose to the ceiling. “Answers?” he asked, rolling Zane’s words over in his mind. “About the other woman?”
Zane nodded.
Griffith’s thick gray brows rose questioningly as he became interested in the Irishman’s case. “Does she know you’re checking up on her?”
Zane was cautious. He had to be with this man. “Tiffany?”
“Right.”
Zane shook his head and scowled into his drink. “No.”
“Humph.” Griffith drew in on the cigar until the tip glowed red. “This other woman—this Rhodes lady, what’s she to you?” he demanded.
“A friend.”
Griffith shook his great head, and his eyes moved from Zane to John. “I thought you said he’d put all his cards on the table.”
“He will.” John glared severely at Zane. “You wanted the man.” He motioned to indicate the investigator. “So help him.”
At that moment, Zane realized he’d run out of options. He hesitated only slightly, and the smile that curved his lips appeared more dangerous than friendly. “All right, counselor, I’ll level with Griffith, if he promises that everything I tell him will be kept in the strictest confidence.”
“Goes without saying,” Griffith grumbled, lowering himself into the chair next to Zane and folding his hands over his round abdomen. “Now, Mr. Sheridan, kindly explain why you’re so interested in these two women, your wife and your...‘friend.’”
* * *
AS SHE CAME downstairs the morning after Alexander’s Lady had foaled, Tiffany felt as if a great weight had been lifted from her shoulders. She had slept soundly, and only once, at about four, had she woken up. After turning on the monitor in the den and assuring herself that both the mare and the filly were alive and resting as well as could be expected, she trudged back up the stairs and fell into her bed. She had gone to sleep again instantly and had awakened refreshed.
“Good morning,” Tiffany said with a cheery smile as Louise entered the kitchen and placed her purse on the table.
Louise’s eyes sparkled. “It must be, from the looks of you,” she decided. “Don’t tell me—that Sheridan fella is back again.”
“No,” Tiffany quickly replied. She avoided the housekeeper’s stare by pulling a thermos out of the cupboard near the pantry, and managed to hide the disappointment she felt whenever she thought about Zane. “Alexander’s Lady is now the mother of a healthy filly,” Tiffany stated, forcing a smile.
“Thank God!” Louise removed her coat and hung it in the closet. “This calls for a celebration!”
“Champagne brunch maybe?” Tiffany suggested.
Louise thought for a moment and then nodded. “Why not? It’s about time we had some good news around here.” She pulled her favorite apron out of the closet, tied it loosely around her waist and began rummaging through the drawers looking for the utensils she needed. After grabbing a wooden spoon, she tapped it thoughtfully against her chin and said, “I can fix something for when? Say around noon?”
“That would be perfect,” Tiffany agreed. “Vance should be back by then and maybe we can persuade him to stay.”
At that moment the telephone rang, and without thinking Tiffany reached for the receiver and settled it against her ear. “Hello?” she said into the phone, hoping for a fleeting second that the caller would be Zane.
“Tiffany? Hal Reece, here.”
Tiffany’s heart fell to the floor, and her stomach tightened painfully. Obviously his mare had foaled. Her fingers tightened around the receiver. “Yes?”
“I just wanted to report that Mile High delivered.”
Tiffany braced herself for the worst. She was already imagining how she would deal with the press, the lawsuit, the other owners.... “When?”
“Three nights ago.”
“And?” Tiffany’s heart was thudding so loudly she was sure Hal could hear it.
Louise stopped rattling in the cupboards; the serious tone of Tiffany’s voice warned her of impending doom. Usually she wouldn’t eavesdrop, but this time, under the circumstances, the kindly housekeeper couldn’t hide her interest in the strained conversation.
“And, I’m glad to say, we have three-day-old colts—healthy ones,” Hal announced.
“Colts? Plural?”
“That’s right, Tiffany,” Hal said, his voice nearly bursting with pride. “Can you believe it? After everything we worried about, I end up with twins—and beauties at that.”
“Wonderful,” Tiffany replied as she sagged against the pantry doors and tried desperately to keep her voice professional. Louise’s worried face broke into a wide grin.
“I knew it all along, you know,” the proud owner went on, “but we did have a few tense moments during the labor. From the look on the trainer’s face while Mile High was delivering, I thought the colt was stillborn, but that wasn’t his concern at all! He just hadn’t expected number two.” Hal went on to describe in minute detail all the physical characteristics of each of his new horses and ended by saying, “Look, Tiffany, I would have called you a couple of days ago, but, well, I wanted to be sure that...you know, we didn’t have any problems.”
“I understand,” Tiffany replied, remembering Charlatan’s short life. “I’m just pleased that it turned out so well.”
“Yes, yes. And, uh, look, I’m sorry about the things I said the other night. I was...well, there’s just no excuse for my behavior.”
“It’s okay,” Tiffany said with a sigh.
“Have you heard from any of the other owners?” Hal asked.
“You’re the first.”
“Well, good luck. And mind you,
if anyone tries to give you any trouble, let me know. Maybe I’ll be able to help.”
“Thank you.”
He was about to ring off, but changed his mind. “One other thing, Tiffany.”
“Yes?”
“As soon as all this...ballyhoo over Moon Shadow passes, I’d like to breed a couple of mares to him again.”
Tiffany smiled. Hal Reece’s words were the final olive branch offered to bridge the rift between them. “Thank you,” she said gratefully, “I’ll be in touch.”
Tiffany hung up the phone and grinned at Louise.
“Good news?” Louise guessed with a knowing smile.
“The best. Hal Reece’s mare gave birth to twins. Healthy twin colts. Three nights ago. They’ve been examined by a vet, given a clean bill of health and even insured by the insurance company.”
“That does it,” Louise said with a toss of her head. “We’ll have that celebration brunch after all.”
“Hal is only one owner,” Tiffany murmured as if to herself, “but at least it’s a start.” After pouring herself a hot cup of coffee, she filled the thermos, pushed open the door with her shoulder and started down the steps of the back porch. Wolverine, who had been lying beneath a favorite juniper bush near the brick stairs, trotted over to greet her.
“How’s it going, boy?” Tiffany asked, checking to see that he had food and fresh water in the appropriate dishes. The collie tilted his head to the side, and his tail wagged slowly as she spoke. Tiffany set the thermos on the top step, took a sip from her coffee and scratched the old dog behind the ears. “Haven’t you been getting enough attention lately?” she asked in an understanding voice. “All those horses are kind of stealing the show right now, aren’t they?”
Wolverine whined and placed a furry paw on her bent knee.
Tiffany laughed and shook her head. “You’re still the boss, though, aren’t you?” As she picked up her things and turned toward the foaling shed, Wolverine trotted behind her, content with the little bit of attention he’d received.
The hinges on the door creaked as Tiffany entered the whitewashed building. Mac was standing at Alexander’s Lady’s stall and writing on a white card that Tiffany recognized as the foaling record.