A Moment in Time

by Judith Gould

  "I'm on my way," he called. He appeared in the stall a moment later, lantern held high in one hand.

  "Is there some place to hang that?" she asked.

  He hooked it over an iron hanger in the wall. "Right there."

  "Good," she said. "If you don't mind, there's a box of supplies in the back of my Jeep. It's on the left-hand side, right inside the door. Could you get it for me, and another lantern, if you've got it?"

  "Right away," he replied. He sensed that she knew what she was doing and turned to go, carrying a flashlight to light his way.

  In the halo of light cast by the lantern, Valerie rummaged around in her medical bag until she found what she was looking for. Then she proceeded to work on Storm Warning. First, she felt his neck, ascertaining where his jugular vein was. Then she injected him with Rompun. The sedative worked quickly, putting the horse at some ease, as well as making the rest of her work less difficult. Ducci returned and stood in the doorway with the box and another lantern.

  "Is there another hanger for the lantern?" she asked without looking up.

  "Right over here," he said, indicating the wall to the left of the door.

  "Hang it there if you would, please," she said. "And you can set the box down next to my medical bag."

  "I can hold the lantern for you."

  "That won't be necessary," she replied. "I think Storm Warning and I will be better off alone."

  "Whatever you say." He set the box down and hung the lantern up, then turned to leave. "You want me to wait for you?"

  "It's okay," she said. "If you have something to do, go ahead."

  "I'll be in the office for a minute," he said. "Need to check on things at the house."

  She didn't reply but resumed her running whispers, trying to soothe the nervous animal, readying him for another injection. This one was a painkiller, Banamine, and it was injected, like the Rompun, in the jugular vein. She would wait a bit and give the sedative and painkiller time to ease the magnificent horse even more before she performed the next procedure.

  The storm ended almost as quickly as it had begun. The stable fell silent as the thunder died out and the animals resettled themselves for the night. She didn't stop stroking Storm Warning or whispering her litany of soothing words until he seemed to be in less pain and somewhat lethargic. Then she retrieved the supplies she needed from the medical box and got busy again. She passed a nasogastric tube through one of his nostrils and down toward his stomach. Through the tube she poured mineral oil. It would act as a laxative, relieving the horse's painful cramps. She focused on her work in the quiet, losing track of the time. She was almost finished when suddenly the hair at the nape of her neck stood on end, and she felt a chill clutch at her heart.

  Somebody's watching me, she thought.

  Jerking her head up, she looked behind her into the pitch black of the stable. She could have sworn that she saw a figure suddenly step back into the darkness, but she couldn't be certain.

  "Ducci?" she asked. "Is that you?"

  There was no reply, and after a moment she shook her head as if to clear it and turned her attention back to the horse. I guess the stormy night and the power failure have me spooked, she thought. Just like the horses. She felt silly because ordinarily mere power failures and storms didn't affect her in the least. They were common in the country.

  Maybe it's simply the situation, she thought. My first time at Stonelair. All of the crazy rumors about the owner. And the giant, Ducci himself, though he seems harmless enough. I wonder what happened to him anyway? Then it occurred to her that an estate like Stonelair, as lavish as it must be from the look of the stables, surely had a backup generator system.

  She quickly finished her work on Storm Warning, giving him the last of the mineral oil, then easing the nasogastric tube back out of his nostril. She sat for a few minutes more, whispering to him and rubbing him with long, patient strokes. Satisfied that he was resting comfortably, she got to her feet. Taking first one lantern, then the other, she set them down outside the stall. Finally she repacked her medical bag and carryall and box of supplies.

  At the end of the brick walk between the stalls, the glow of a flashlight appeared, and Ducci hurried toward her. "Sorry," he said, "I've been trying to get the backup generators going, but didn't have any luck yet."

  "That's okay," she said. "I'm done here."

  "What's the problem seem to be?" he asked.

  "Severe colic," she replied. "I've given him a sedative and painkiller and mineral oil as a laxative. Let me know if there's no improvement overnight."

  "Okay," Ducci said.

  "And if you don't mind, could you help me get my things back out to the Jeep?" Valerie asked. She shouldered her carryall and picked up her medical bag.

  "No problem," he replied. He leaned down and turned off the lanterns, then picked them up along with the heavy box of supplies.

  "Just follow me," he said, leading the way with the flashlight.

  When they reached the office, he held the door open for her, and she saw that several candles had been lit. But Valerie didn't linger. She headed toward the door that led out to the parking area.

  "Dr. Rochelle?" Ducci called from behind her.

  She turned to face him, her eyebrows raised in a question. "Yes?"

  "Should I give you a check now or—?" he began.

  "That's not necessary," she said, shaking her head. "The clinic will send a bill. If you've got a business card with the billing address, let me have one. I'll call tomorrow to check up on Storm Warning, by the way."

  "Great," he said. He went over to the big desk, where he set down the lanterns, then flipped open a small wooden box and extracted a card. He handed it to her, and Valerie took it and tossed it into her carryall.

  "Thanks," she said.

  He walked her out to the Jeep and opened the cargo door for her. She shoved her medical bag in, then Ducci set the box down in its corner and closed the door.

  "Thanks a lot, Dr. Rochelle," he said.

  "It's okay," Valerie said. "Keep an eye on Storm Warning, but I think he'll be fine."

  She went around to the door on the driver's side, tossed her carryall in, then climbed in after it. As she glanced down toward the stable, a light caught her eye, visible through the outside stall doors. It moved slowly from the end near the tack room, down to the middle of the stable, and stopped in the area where Storm Warning was housed.

  Weird, she thought. Maybe Ducci and I weren't alone in there.

  She started the Jeep and nodded at Ducci, who stood watching her leave. Going back down the drive the way she'd come in, she wondered if that had been Stonelair's new occupant who'd been going to visit the horse.

  But why so mysterious? she asked herself. For that matter, why didn't he come down and introduce himself to me? Why wasn't he hovering around, like most horse owners would, while I was working on Storm Warning? She decided she didn't have a particularly high opinion of an owner who would have an underling deal with a sick animal and not participate in its treatment himself.

  Her headlights shone off the huge gates that guarded the entrance to the estate, and before she could wonder how to open them, they began to slowly glide apart as the car approached.

  "Open sesame!" she said aloud. She drove through and on toward the country lane that passed the entrance to Stonelair.

  What a weird place, she thought as she pulled out onto the road. Mr. Clean, the giant who'd give anybody the creeps. The storm and then the darkness. The feeling that she was being watched.

  She reached over to twirl on the radio. "I could use some music after that," she said. "Maybe some loud rock and roll." Anything, she thought, to shake away this creepy feeling.

  The man had watched Santo take her to the office. Then he'd stepped out of the empty stall across from Storm Warning's and gone across the brick walk to the sick horse's stall. He'd stood staring into it, unable to see the horse in the darkness. When he'd heard them leave the office and go
to her car, he'd gone to the office and gotten one of the lanterns, lighting it and returning to Storm Warning's stall.

  He opened the door and hung up the lantern. Then, much as he'd heard her do, he got down on his knees and whispered soothingly to the enormous animal, stroking him lovingly all the while. He'd always treated his animals with such affection—who didn't?—but he'd never seen anyone with her ability to calm an animal. Certainly not a high-strung horse like Storm Warning.

  It's as if she could really communicate with the animal, he told himself. Well, that's not so unusual, is it? But it's almost like she's got some kind of weird magic touch. Then he smiled. Maybe it's that whopping big sparkler of a ring she was wearing, he thought. It had picked up the lantern light and flashed it all around the stables. "Maybe that whopper has healing powers," he whispered to Storm Warning.

  Chapter Three

  Valerie turned off the highway and began the drive up to the veterinarian clinic, perched on top of a hill, overlooking summer fields of green and verdant woods. It was a cool morning, and a mist still hovered over the ground. The grass was soaking wet with dew, but she knew that the mist would soon burn off, and the ground would be quickly dried by a scorcher of a summer day.

  She pulled into her customary parking spot in the back of the clinic and killed the engine. She was tired for a Monday morning, and that did not sit well with her. She was usually bright-eyed and bushy-tailed when she went into the clinic, eager to get to work. But not today:

  It wasn't because she'd been on call this weekend. There'd been only the one emergency at Stonelair and five or six telephone consultations on Sunday, an easy weekend. It was spending the weekend with Teddy that had been exhausting, she decided. And not because of their vigorous physical activities, either. No, it was the emotional toll that dealing with Teddy had taken out of her that had left her feeling wrung out, limp, and ineffectual. That and her own weakness in handling the situation. She had come to realize that she and she alone was responsible for her actions, and she felt that she had failed herself this weekend. In spades.

  "Elvis," she said, turning to look at the mutt in the passenger seat, "I've got to snap out of it. I've got a busy week ahead, and I've got to be on my toes." Elvis turned and looked at her, wagging his tail sluggishly.

  Valerie smiled and patted him, then put her car keys in her carryall and got out of the Jeep. She held the door open, allowing Elvis to jump out behind her. Letting herself in by the staff door, she headed down the hallway toward the reception area, where the door to her office was located. Elvis bounced along beside her, exhilarated as usual by being here in one of his favorite domains.

  When she stepped into the reception area, the chatter she'd heard in the hallway suddenly stopped, and there was complete silence as four heads turned to stare at her: Daphne Collins and Charles Bradford, fellow vets, and Tami Reeves and Annie Wolsky, who doubled as secretaries and receptionists.

  "Well, well, well," said Charles Bradford, who was also the owner of the clinic, in a hostile voice, finally breaking the silence, "we hear you've been out to the infamous Stonelair."

  Valerie nodded in response.

  "So it's true?" Daphne chimed in. "Our little Valerie has met the mysterious Mr. Conrad."

  Valerie smiled brightly even though she was puzzled by Daphne's obvious sarcasm. It was an unusual tone for the very pretty, very blond Daphne to take with her. Valerie had always liked her and assumed that the feeling was mutual. They weren't best friends, but their relationship had been amicable from the start.

  "Yes," she replied evenly, "I had to go out to Stonelair Saturday night. A horse—"

  "What was he like?" interrupted Charles in a clipped, imperious manner.

  "Oh, yes, Val," Daphne said, "tell us all about him." She ran her fingers through her hair in a nervous gesture and shifted her weight on her feet. She appeared to be waiting anxiously to hear what Valerie had to say.

  "This Arabian stallion—" Valerie began.

  "No-body cares about the horse, Val," Daphne said. "Tell us about Conrad!"

  Everyone laughed, including the dapper Dr. Charles Bradford, who seldom ventured so enthusiastic a response.

  "I didn't meet him," Valerie replied.

  "What?" the three women cried in unison.

  Valerie noticed that even Charles appeared to be perplexed by her response. He took off his glasses and began to clean them on a handkerchief, as if his hearing had been affected by dirty lenses.

  "Sorry," she said. She smiled and shrugged apologetically.

  "Damn," Daphne swore. "You mean you didn't even get a glimpse of Conrad himself?"

  "No," Valerie said. "Some guy who works for him met me at the stable, and I never saw him."

  "Was it the big muscley one we hear so much about?" Daphne asked.

  Valerie nodded, looking at her. "Yes," she said. "He looks sort of like Mr. Clean."

  "You didn't see anybody else?" Charles asked. "Nobody at all?"

  "No," Valerie answered, shaking her head. "He was the only person around."

  "What was he like?" Daphne asked. "Is he . . . well, I've heard he's really kind of creepy."

  "He was strictly business," Valerie replied. "I didn't really get to know him. You know, I was dealing with the horse, and—"

  "Oh, hell," Daphne said. "You're worthless, Val. No useful information at all."

  The telephone rang, and Tami picked up. "Animal Clinic," she said in her pleasant professional voice. She listened for a moment, then said: "Hold, please."

  She looked up at Valerie and held the telephone out over the top of the reception counter, a triumphant gleam in her eyes. Everyone looked over at her.

  "It's for you, Dr. Rochelle," Tami said. "It's Mr. Santo Ducci at Stonelair. Line one."

  "I'll take it here," Valerie said. She reached for the receiver at once rather than retreating to the privacy of her office to take the call. She wondered if Storm Warning might have taken a turn for the worse.

  "Dr. Rochelle," she said.

  "Good morning, Dr. Rochelle," the giant said. "This is Santo Ducci at Stonelair."

  "Yes, Mr. Ducci," she replied. "Is there a problem with Storm Warning? Is he okay?"

  "He's doing great," Ducci said. "Really great. There's no problem there."

  "Good," she said, relieved.

  "The reason I called," Ducci continued, "is that Mr. Conrad would like for you to take care of all the animals here at Stonelair. I mean you personally."

  Suddenly Valerie noticed the four pairs of eyes on her. Now she wished that she'd taken the call in her office. "I appreciate that, Mr. Ducci," she said, "but that's not clinic policy. Generally speaking, we have a share-and-share-alike rule here. It depends on who's on duty. We do make exceptions, but I'd have to discuss it with the other veterinarians."

  "I see," he said. "Well, I'm sure Mr. Conrad would make it worth your time if you agreed to see to his animals personally," Ducci went on. "He likes the way you handled Storm Warning, and there are a lot of animals out here to take care of."

  Valerie could see that Ducci—or Conrad—was not to be easily rebuffed. "I'll see what I can do, Mr. Ducci."

  "I'd appreciate that," he said. "I mean, surely the other vets there would understand if somebody wanted your services."

  "I'll have to discuss it with my colleagues and get back to you," Valerie said.

  "Good," Ducci said. "We'll be waiting to hear from you."

  "Okay."

  "And thanks again, Doc."

  "You're welcome," Valerie said. When she was certain he'd hung up, she handed the receiver back over the reception counter to Tami. "Thanks, Tami."

  Valerie saw the questioning looks from everyone in the reception area. Charles Bradford broke the silence once again. "That's the guy who works for Conrad, I take it?"

  Valerie nodded.

  "So, what did he want?" he asked, his cold gray eyes boring into hers.

  Valerie hesitated before answering, then plunged ahea
d. "He said they'd like for me to take care of the animals out at Stonelair," she said.

  "You mean you personally?" Daphne said. "Not the clinic?"

  "That's what he said."

  "He must've liked your looks," Charles Bradford snapped, his tone burning with scorn. He slapped a medical chart against his thigh and strode out of the reception area toward his office, his slightly long gray hair flipping up in the breeze he created as he walked.

  Valerie felt her face flush with embarrassment.

  "What's wrong, Val?" Daphne asked, seeing the look on Valerie's face. "Did Charles hit a sore spot?" Without waiting for an answer, she turned and, like Charles, headed for her office.

  Annie suddenly looked very busy behind the reception counter, but Tami gave Valerie a look of understanding and concern.

  Valerie felt like screaming, but instead, ears burning with indignation, she quickly got a cup of coffee from the communal coffeemaker, then went to her office, Elvis trailing along behind her. She closed the door, and Elvis immediately went to his bed under her desk, where he curled up to nap. She heaved her carryall onto the desktop, then sat down heavily.

  She had become accustomed to Charles's behavior, but she couldn't fathom this sudden sarcasm in Daphne. Jeez! she thought. How much longer can I take this crap? She knew that Charles was miffed because time and again clients asked for her to see to their animals rather than anyone else at the clinic. And time and again, she'd had to endure Charles's resentful, jealous remarks.

  Charles had singlehandedly established the clinic and built it up into the very successful practice that it had become. Valerie realized that he had a right to feel proud of his accomplishments, but did he have the right to be so demeaning toward others? He relished his role as the boss and treated her as a Johnny-come- lately underling who should always defer to him. Perhaps he felt threatened by her in some way, particularly by her popularity with patients. He had always been the "face" of the clinic, and he wanted to keep it that way.

  Daphne was another matter. She had moved up from the south only three years ago, her arrival surrounded with rumors of a torrid affair gone bad. Valerie had never learned if there was any truth to these stories, but they had gradually died down anyway and were replaced by gossip about the obvious sexual interest that Charles had in Daphne. She had quickly become the clinic's most valued employee since Charles was determined to get in her pants. As Valerie and Daphne became friendly, she'd had several opportunities to see Daphne fend off Charles's advances. She naturally assumed that Daphne had no feelings for Charles and was perhaps still stinging from the wounds of her last relationship. But she didn't really know. For as friendly as they became, Daphne never revealed much of her personal life. Theirs was an easy friendship that had grown over the past three years. Or at least that's what Valerie had thought. Today made her wonder.