Stalking Ground

by Margaret Mizushima

  Hackles rose on her dog’s neck as he ran. Trees limited her view. Where’s Brody?

  Robo started to bark. Pulling at the end of the leash, he broke through the trees with Mattie close behind. She saw Brody ahead of her. He tackled a guy that was running in front of him, bringing him down and falling on top of him.

  Mattie struggled to hold Robo, not wanting him to bite the fugitive if he was under Brody’s control. And she certainly didn’t want him to bite Brody by accident.

  Brody must have outweighed the man by thirty pounds. It looked like he didn’t need assistance, so she stood back for a moment. Robo continued to bark and pull against her. Brody straddled the guy and turned him face up.

  Then Brody reared back, his right hand raised in a fist, and he punched the guy square in the face.

  Shocked, Mattie commanded Robo to guard. He settled and crouched into guard mode as she dropped his leash and leaped onto Brody’s back. His elbow came at her and popped her in the eye.

  Seeing stars, Mattie grabbed Brody’s arm and held on. She heard Stella shout, “Stand down, Deputy!”

  Robo rushed in, snarling at Brody. “Out, Robo!” she shouted, hoping to divert an attack. Brody tried to throw her off, but Mattie hung on.

  “Vasquez, freeze!” Stella shouted. “That’s enough, Deputy.”

  Something got through to Brody, and Mattie felt the fight go out of him. Releasing his arm, she told Robo to guard and moved away. “Ramon Vasquez, don’t move,” she said, her voice gruff. “Don’t move or this dog will attack.”

  Robo hovered as if on springs, growling. Any movement might set him off.

  Remaining still, the man on the ground shielded his face with his arms. “Jesus,” he muttered, “don’t let him bite me.”

  “Stay still, Vasquez, and I’ll call off the dog.” After making sure that the man complied, she called Robo off.

  Robo remained crouched and alert, suspicious glances darting between Vasquez and Brody.

  Vasquez lowered his hands and looked up at Mattie. “What the hell’s going on?”

  Stunned speechless, Mattie couldn’t give him an answer.

  The man on the ground was a dead ringer for Roger Howard.

  Chapter 21

  Cole said good-bye to his last morning client, glancing at the clock as he held open the door. The girls would get home from school around three. He’d better whip and spur if he was going to make it up to Dark Horse and get back home to greet them.

  “Tess, did we get those lab results on Diablo?” he called through the pass through as he cleaned up.

  “Yes, I printed them for you.” She handed them to him through the opening.

  He paused his cleaning and scanned the results. No improvement from the initial blood-work. “I’m going to leave now for Dark Horse Stable. Did you get the schedule set up for me?”

  “Yes, but I’m afraid I had to schedule several appointments starting at four o’clock this afternoon. I’ve got you booked until six, and you’ll have to start at seven thirty in the morning.”

  This isolated stable was wreaking havoc with his schedule. “That’s fine. I just need a little time with the kids when they get home from school. I can make the rest of it work.”

  Cole grabbed some medications out of the refrigerator and headed out the back door to his truck. After putting the meds inside the fridge in his mobile vet unit, he climbed into the cab and fired up the engine. When he drove past his house, he wished he could stop and grab a sandwich. But he didn’t have time for a conversation with Mrs. Gibbs about Angela. Or maybe he just didn’t want to take the time. He’d rather stop at the grocery store and pick up something on his way out of town.

  After stopping at Crane’s Market to do exactly that, he unwrapped his store-bought ham and cheese sandwich, opened his bag of chips, and ate while he drove. The morning breakfast routine hadn’t gone as well as he would have liked. When he’d come downstairs, everything seemed normal. Mrs. Gibbs was at the stove cooking scrambled eggs, and Sophie was perched at the table with her hair braided and drinking orange juice. Belle sat beside Sophie patiently waiting for her to drop a bite of something to eat.

  “Where’s your sister?” he’d asked.

  Sophie shrugged as she raised her toast to her mouth to take a bite and then followed up by poising her juice glass in front of her lips while she chewed. Clearly she didn’t want to reply.

  “Has Angie been down yet?” he asked Mrs. Gibbs.

  “No, sir. I haven’t seen the young lady yet this mornin’.” She set a plate filled with toast and eggs on the table for him while he poured his own coffee.

  Carrying his coffee with him, he went to the bottom of the staircase and called up. “Angela. Come on down and have some breakfast.”

  “I’ll be there in a minute, Dad,” she called back.

  Believing that she would be down soon, Cole went back to the kitchen, thanked Mrs. Gibbs for his breakfast, and dove in. Things went smoothly for the next ten minutes.

  “I’m afraid the bus will be coming soon,” Mrs. Gibbs said. “Angela is going to miss her breakfast. Sophie, you need to go get on your coat and hat, and be sure to put on your mittens. It’s frightful cold out this morning.”

  When Cole went to see what was taking Angela so long, she barreled down the stairway, planting a kiss on his cheek as she passed by on her way out the front door. She was already wearing her coat and had it zipped up to her chin.

  “Angie, slow down for a minute. I don’t like you missing breakfast. You need to grab some fruit or something to eat,” he said.

  “Don’t worry, Dad. I’ve got a granola bar and apple in my backpack. I’ll be fine. C’mon, Sophie, we’d better run or we’ll miss the bus.”

  He watched the flurry of Angela helping her sister with hat and backpack as she pushed her out the door, and it dawned on him that this had all been planned. He might be slow, but he wasn’t stupid. His daughter’s eyelids had been darkened with more makeup than usual, and he wondered what she was wearing under that coat.

  He’d turned to find Mrs. Gibbs standing in the kitchen doorway, holding a small paper bag and wearing a frown of disapproval.

  “I packed some food for Angela to take, but she was in fine hurry this morning, she was.”

  “I’m afraid so,” he said. “She’ll be all right without it.”

  The frown on Mrs. Gibbs’s face deepened. “I wonder why she had such a bee in her bustle.”

  “I’d hate to guess. I’ll talk to her about it when she gets home from school.”

  He’d pick a tussle with a longhorn bull over that conversation any day.

  He turned his thoughts from his kids to the horse that he was headed up to treat, hoping that he’d find it better after starting insulin yesterday. He finished his lunch about the same time he turned off the highway, and he headed up the rough county road toward his destination with both hands free to steer around the potholes.

  When he pulled into the stable yard, he saw the red chestnut horse out on the racetrack, streaking around the turn with Carmen on its back. He left his truck and walked over to join the groom named Juan at the guardrail. Juan tipped his head in greeting, shielding his eyes with his cowboy hat for a second. When he raised his eyes, Cole smiled at him, but the man’s dour expression didn’t change.

  “He’s fast,” Cole observed aloud.

  Juan shrugged with a slight shake of his head, signaling that he didn’t comprehend.

  With a hard tug on the reins, Carmen tried to slow the horse as it pounded past. When she finally got it under control, she turned to come back to them, the horse snorting and tossing its head as it pulled on the bit. Juan ducked under the rail to take the horse’s reins, allowing Carmen to slip off. From the looks of it, she must have given the horse quite a workout. Sweat saturated its red coat and it was all lathered up. Still, the big animal danced at the end of its reins as Juan led it down the track to cool off.

  Carmen pulled off her riding gloves. “Th
ank you for coming,” she said. “I’m afraid Diablo is losing ground.”

  Not the news he wanted to hear. After passing the Doberman, who kicked up his usual vicious fuss, Cole followed her inside the barn to look at the stallion, dreading what he might find. The horse was lying down, stretched out flat, his black coat dull and lifeless. He looked thinner even than yesterday. Cole could count every rib.

  Pulling his stethoscope from his pocket, he let himself into the stall and squatted next to the sick horse. Cole listened to his heart, counting the beats—not as rapid as it had been the day before, but still faster than it should be. He examined the mucous membrane in his mouth, pressing the gum above the top teeth. Delayed capillary refill time.

  He crabbed his way toward the horse’s back end, palpating the muscles of his back, haunch, and stifle as he went. As his hand traveled down the leg near the rear hoof, he could feel heat radiate from the hoof wall. He placed his palm flat on the bottom of it, well aware of what this level of warmth meant. Inflammation.

  “I think his muscles are less bound up, but now he’s got laminitis,” he told Carmen. “He’s down because his hooves are too sore for him to stand on.”

  “How can that be?”

  Cole knew what she meant. This horse was barely eating anything, and the typical cause of laminitis was overeating rich foodstuffs, like grain or lush green grass. “I’m not sure I know the answer to that. You stopped the grain, right?”

  “We did.”

  “How much is he eating?”

  “A few bites of hay per day. We give him more than that, but he doesn’t want it.”

  Cole took a thermometer from his pocket and took Diablo’s temperature. The horse didn’t budge. He appeared to have reached a level of discomfort that couldn’t be surpassed; he would allow this human to do whatever he wanted. Even though it made it much easier to work on these high-strung thoroughbreds, Cole hated to see a horse reach this point. It was usually just one step away from the animal giving up altogether. And once a horse gave up, death often followed.

  “His temp is elevated slightly today. Probably a result of the laminitis,” Cole said.

  “What can we do to help him?” Her distress was evident.

  Cole rocked back on his heels and studied Diablo. What the hell is wrong with this horse? Well . . . in lieu of a diagnosis, support the horse and treat the symptoms.

  “Do you have a set of easy boots?” he asked, referring to padded hoof covers that could be placed on a horse’s hooves if its feet were sore.

  “I do.”

  “Let’s put those on him and see if we can get him to stand up and move around. His blood work from yesterday still shows the elevated blood sugar, but that was before we started the insulin. We need to take another blood sample today to see if we’ve improved any on that. Otherwise, we’re still getting the elevated readings that show liver and muscle damage. This isn’t like any other case of tying up I’ve seen. I’m afraid we’re dealing with something different, but I’m just not sure what it is.” Cole hated to admit that he didn’t know Diablo’s diagnosis, but in his years of practice he’d found it best to come clean when he didn’t know the answers.

  Carmen frowned, telling Cole he’d not boosted her confidence any.

  “Was Diablo getting any other type of supplement?” he asked. “Before this all started?”

  “Hay and grain, that’s all.”

  “All right. Go get the easy boots and we’ll put them on him.”

  Cole observed Diablo while the trainer was gone. He lay quiet and still; the muscle tremors had stopped. Respirations were shallow and rapid. When Carmen opened the door to reenter, Diablo didn’t move or look up.

  He helped Carmen strap on the boots. It took maximum effort combined with pushing, pulling, and cajoling on both their parts to get the horse to stand, but eventually they had him back on his feet. “See if he’ll take a few steps for you,” Cole said.

  The horse picked his way gingerly across the stall.

  “That’s enough,” Cole said, moving forward to palpate the horse’s back and leg muscles while he was standing. “We do seem to have made some slight progress on the muscle spasm. Let’s continue the insulin and IV hydration with electrolytes like we did yesterday. You’ll need to watch him closely. It’s okay if he lies down, but we shouldn’t let him do that for more than a couple hours without getting him up to move around a little.”

  “Why do you think this is happening? Is it sugar diabetes?”

  Cole studied Diablo for a few moments. “That’s not likely the cause. I think his blood sugar is elevated because of some inflammatory process going on.”

  “What process?”

  “I’m not sure. But for now, we’ll treat the symptoms and run the blood work to see if his enzymes are coming back into line. I’ll do some research and see if there’s anything else I should test for.”

  Carmen was searching his face while he spoke, her eyes dark with concern. “But it looks like he’s starting to get better?”

  “I’m going to increase the anti-inflammatory to counteract the laminitis. Our main concern with that—as you probably know—is to keep the third phalanx from rotating and coming through the sole of the hoof. That shouldn’t happen, since he doesn’t have a lot of calories in his system, and he’s already been on the right feed.” At this point, Cole was winging it and he knew it.

  He reviewed the treatment plan one more time with Carmen and took a last look at Diablo. The horse stood with his head lowered and his eyes seemingly focused on something within himself. He was clearly miserable but hanging in there. “I don’t think we have to put him down yet,” Cole said, needing to express the worst to his client. He wouldn’t want Diablo to suffer unnecessarily if there was no hope of saving him. “Even with this new symptom, we’ve made a little progress. Maybe we’ll get him turned around soon.”

  “I don’t want him put down,” Carmen said, using an adamant tone.

  Cole took in the hard set of her jaw and decided not to argue the point—yet. “I’ll need to see him again tomorrow, but I have to work you into the schedule. It will probably be later in the afternoon before I can get up here.”

  She walked with him toward his truck. “Stay for dinner with me tomorrow?”

  “Thanks, but no. I’ll need to get home to have dinner with the kids.”

  “You’re quite the family man.”

  Cole noticed her face had softened, and she was giving him a teasing smile. He offered a small one in return, wanting to keep it light. “I am that. Being a good dad is my main goal these days.”

  “And your daughters are special, I can see that.” Carmen tilted her head and gave him a sidelong gaze. “But how do they say it? ‘All work and no play makes Jack a dull boy’?”

  “I think it just keeps Jack out of trouble.” They’d arrived at the truck. “Call me if Diablo gets worse or if you have any questions. Otherwise, I’ll have Tess give you a call to let you know what time to expect me tomorrow. It might be morning before we get the schedule worked out.”

  She placed a hand on his arm as he opened the truck door, keeping him from climbing inside. “I’m interested.”

  “Interested?”

  “Yes, interested . . . in you.” She’d moved close enough that Cole could feel the heat from her body. Embarrassment made him step up into his truck. But then he felt foolish and knew he needed to exit this situation with more grace than that. “Ms. Carmen, I’m flattered that you’re interested. But my life is pretty complicated right now, and I don’t want to add a new relationship with anyone into the mix. Let’s keep our friendship purely professional.”

  Her smile reminded him of a cat toying with a mouse. “Just think about it.” She stepped back, lifted one hand in farewell, and turned to stride back toward the barn, her movements lithe and feline. She glanced back over her shoulder to throw him a sly smile and caught him watching.

  His face warmed as he started his truck. When he put it int
o gear, the click of the automatic door locks reassured him, making him feel silly.

  Thinking about it, he started driving down the lane toward the county road. He’d married Olivia right before starting vet school, and Angela had been born about a year later. His married-with-children status had seemed to shield him from flirtations in the past. Everyone knew he was a one-woman man; no client had ever made a pass at him before.

  He squirmed in his seat and stopped the truck so he could pull off his jacket. He found himself grinning as he took his foot off the brake and started driving again. Sheesh! This would make one hell of a bar story, but he’d grown up and away from that scene and didn’t really have a friend he could tell it to. Maybe Mattie? Nah—she usually took things too seriously. She probably wouldn’t see the humor in it.

  Then he thought of one of his classmates from vet school, Trace Dempsey. Trace had been a great friend to both Cole and Olivia. She’d cooked a spaghetti dinner every Friday night, and they’d invited Trace over so the three of them could celebrate getting through another tough week.

  Trace had moved to New Mexico after graduation and established an equine practice near Albuquerque, and he had several racing stables among his clientele. Maybe it was time to give Trace a call. Not to tell his bar story but to see if he had any ideas about Diablo. He decided to try to reach out to his old friend that very evening—after he spent some time with the kids.

  What was it that Carmen Santiago said? “Quite the family man.” He grimaced and allowed himself a sheepish smile. He guessed that would be the best way to describe himself. Even so, a man couldn’t help but wonder where the interest of a pretty woman like Carmen might lead.

  Chapter 22

  Mattie and Stella were conferring in the staff office while Mattie held an icepack against her eye. Sheriff McCoy was meeting with Brody in his office, and Ramon Vasquez waited in the interrogation room. Mattie had taken an icepack to him earlier to use on his own face.