Deadly Heritage: a horse mystery: a horse mystery

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Deadly Heritage: a horse mystery: a horse mystery Page 8

by Toni Leland


  He threw her a lecherous grin, then waved two fingers at the bartender. Tina's throaty laugh intensified the growing pressure in his crotch.

  She drained the last of her beer. “Have you seen the news? Someone tried to kill a couple of champion horses where I used to work.”

  Travis raised an eyebrow. “Really? Where'd you see that?”

  “Channel 5, and if you can stand it, the owner thinks I had something to do with it!”

  A thought grew in his head. “How do you know?”

  “'Cause she came to see me today! Since she fired me, I've bitched to anyone who'd listen, and she just automatically assumed I was looking for revenge.”

  Damn. I didn't think of that. He glanced at Tina in the mirror. “Long as you have an alibi for that night, you're in the clear.”

  “What night?”

  Caution crept into his head and he took a long drink. “Any night. Whatever.”

  She nodded, then trailed a finger over his forearm. “Travis, we've been seein' each other for almost three weeks now, and I don't know hardly nothin' about you.”

  “Mystery Man, that's me.”

  Two new frosty mugs appeared on the bar, and Tina's warm hand moved to his thigh. He took another swig of beer and savored the power of the erection straining against his tight jeans. Yes, indeed. I'm gonna get very lucky.

  Her round eyes were intense. “C'mon, baby, tell me something about yourself. I'll bet you were the cutest little kid.”

  Oh yeah, I was real cute. His thoughts drifted briefly back to the childhood that haunted him. He glanced at his companion, wondering why she wanted to know. What the hell.

  “I spent my teen years in Texas, moving from one ranch to the next. I worked my way up from cleaning barns to riding fence, then one of the wranglers broke his leg and the boss let me ride in one of the roundups.”

  “How come you were driftin' when you were just a kid? Don't you have no family?”

  A band tightened around his chest and his gaze followed a rivulet of moisture drooling down the side of the mug. He thumbed it away, then downed his beer in one gulp.

  “Trav?”

  Her hand touched his shoulder and he jerked back to the present. His chest felt as though it would implode and his hand shook as he picked up a crumpled pack of cigarettes. Pulling out the last one, he motioned the barkeep for another round, then looked at Tina.

  “My old man died when I was fifteen.”

  Her sympathetic expression bolstered the simmering rage in his chest. He'd never talked about it, just lived that day over and over in his own head. He drank some beer and wrapped his mind around the past.

  “The bitch of the thing is, he didn't have to die.” Travis stared at the glowing bud on the end of the cigarette, transported back to the rubble of his father's sorry life. “He should've been stronger, been a real man, stood up for himself.”

  Tina exhaled softly and laid her hand on his. The personal touch unleashed the anger caged inside for so many years. He stared at his reflection in the mirror behind the bar, seeing the hatred that empowered him.

  “After the old man shattered both knees in a bull ride, his rodeo career and jock status were in the toilet. He started drinking and let the ranch go to hell.”

  “What about your mom?”

  “She was a slut.” His words came out as a snarl. “And my dad didn't do nothin' about it.” The familiar rage grew. “She fucked everyone in town, then just ran off one night and never came back.”

  Tina slipped off the barstool and wrapped her arms around his shoulders, pressing her large breasts against him.

  “C'mon, honey. Let's go home. I'll make it all better, I promise.”

  Chapter 7

  Kellie leaned against the back porch rail and soaked up the silence of dawn. A pale aura of peach stretched across the sky at the horizon and, while she watched, the dark fields crystallized into discernible features. The fence line, a clump of mesquite, the faint outline of a tractor waiting for the day's work to begin. Shadowy horse silhouettes ambled across the pasture. Something about mornings filled her with optimism. A new start, second chances for almost everything. Her gaze drifted to the main barn and uncertainty trod on her serenity. Tina's bold defiance wasn't the reaction she'd expected. Vehement denial, fear-anything but smug confidence.

  Sara's voice came from the kitchen. “Mama, Sheriff Campbell's on the phone.”

  Kellie's pulse quickened as she took the receiver. Should she tell him about her visit to the city, or leave it alone?

  His voice held no friendly overtones. “I understand you called Tina Brown's mother. Why?”

  “To find out where Tina is.”

  “That's our job. I don't want you getting involved.”

  Someone rapped loudly on the back door, and Kellie turned as Frank stepped into the kitchen and tweaked Sara's ponytail. “Fine, Sheriff, I'll be there.” She hung up, praying he wouldn't call back.

  “They've located Tina. I'm going into town in a while to give a statement.”

  “You really think Tina's smart enough to pull off something like this?”

  Kellie snorted. “Dumb enough is more like it. They're going to question her after they talk to me.”

  “Where is she?”

  “Oklahoma City. She's working as a vet assistant, if you can imagine.”

  Sara piped up. “I didn't like her. Neither did Dancer. One time she was in his stall and he wouldn't let her touch his feed bucket. He pinned his ears and pawed the ground, and she backed out the door.” Sara laughed gleefully. “And she said the F-word. It was so funny.”

  Hyde's comments sprang to mind and Kellie glanced at Frank. This mess had to be Tina's doing. No way would Frank purposely harm the horses.

  As she headed to the barn, she thought about her impending meeting with Ed. He was clearly annoyed, and she'd need to be careful not to antagonize him. His call had taken her by surprise, but now that she had time to think about it, she prickled with irritation. I was only trying to help. She stared at her boots as she walked, musing about how she should start the conversation. Maybe she'd begin by showing him the photographs. A ripple of anticipation cooled her ire, and she smiled. She could handle this-she'd always been able to get him to do what she wanted.

  Her step slowed and she squinted at something hanging on the fence, then covered the short distance quickly. Another photograph was nailed to the post. She snatched it off and gaped at a picture of the new palomino foal, asleep in the straw. The full meaning of the mysterious snapshots hit her like a mule kick. The attacks on her horses were a warning-but, of what?

  A silver truck and matching four-horse trailer turned into the lane, and she blew out a long breath. “Oh great.”

  Tucking the picture into her pocket, she hurried toward the road to direct the driver to the mare barn. She took a shortcut through the main barn, picked up a file folder, and reached the mare barn as a burly redheaded man stepped down from the duallie.

  “Morning Darrell. You made good time.”

  “Yep, gotta pick up a load of grain in El Reno before headin' back. How's my girl this morning?”

  Kellie grinned. “Barefoot and pregnant.”

  While Darrell haltered the mare, Kellie checked the breeding certificate and health sheets. “Final balance through yesterday is $3,000. That includes the second payment on the stud fee, the vet, and a week's board.”

  “Checkbook's in the cab.” He led the mare out of the stall and stood her up, then walked all the way around her, stopping only to check a spot on her hock. “She looks good.”

  Kellie's smile felt wooden as she followed him to the trailer. Lucky is more like it.

  He held out the lead rope. “Here, hold her a minute while I get the ramp down.” He pulled the latch pins on the trailer doors. “How's the situation in your barn? Any leads?”

  Caution moved into Kellie's head. Don't offer any suppositions or opinions. Just facts. “The investigation is in full swing.”

/>   Darrell reached for the lead rope and gave Kellie a wry grin. “That's your story and you're stickin' to it?”

  She opened her mouth to reply, then frowned as another truck and horse trailer pulled into the drive. “Uh huh. Here's your invoice. Make the check out to Rocking S Ranch.”

  Five minutes later, Darrell's truck pulled away, and Kellie braced herself for an unpleasant conversation with another mare owner. The rats were jumping ship and she could offer no assurances that it was unnecessary.

  A sharp-faced woman climbed out of the truck and glowered. “Why don't you return phone calls?”

  Stay calm. “We've had our hands full and I'm behind in a lot of things. I'm really sorry.”

  “I'm here to collect my mares.”

  ~ ~

  Forty minutes later, with close to ten thousand dollars in her pocket, but a huge dent in her business plan, Kellie walked toward Dancer's stall. The horrid odor grew stronger as she approached and fear clutched her heart. The nightmare she danced through seemed only to get deeper and darker with each passing day, and the strength she'd always drawn upon had evaporated somewhere along the rocky path at the edge of a cliff.

  Then Hyde's phone call nudged her over.

  “The x-rays show the coffin bone severely rotated...I wish I had better news.”

  A battering ram slammed into her chest and her throat closed, thickening her words.

  “You said the corrective pads would prevent that.”

  “I'm afraid we were a little too late. I'll come out this afternoon to flush the abscess. We can make some decisions then...”

  “What about the oxygen thing you were talking about? Wouldn't that help?”

  “Kellie, I think we're out of time. The closest hyperbaric chamber is in Kentucky and I honestly don't think Dancer could survive the drive up there.”

  “I can fly him.”

  “Let's wait and see how he is later today.”

  Kellie held the phone for a long time after he hung up. She couldn't give up-she wouldn't give up. If a slim chance existed that the oxygen therapy would save Dancer, she'd do it. And she wasn't waiting until later to decide.

  She scanned a list of telephone numbers, then dialed.

  “Ferris Air Bus. Jeff here.”

  “It's Kellie Sutton. I need an emergency flight for three horses to Lexington, Kentucky.”

  The sounds of shuffling papers and the charter pilot's mumbled calculating seemed to take an inordinate amount of time. Frank walked into the room and stood next to the desk, a frown creasing his forehead. A quiver of concern ran through Kellie's head-another argument in the offing if he'd overheard her.

  The pilot came back on the line. “On short notice, it'll be twenty-eight hundred bucks each horse, one way. When do you want to go?”

  She glanced at Frank again and cleared her throat. “As soon as possible, but I'll have to get back to you. Thanks a lot.”

  Frank crossed his arms and pinned her with a hard stare. “What do you think you're doing?”

  A defensive retort sprang up, but she bit it back. “Hyde thinks some type of oxygen therapy will save Dancer, but the closest facility is in Lexington. We'll have to fly him up there.”

  “And you were planning to tell me about this when? I know he's your favorite horse, but at some point, we need to be realistic about how much money you spend on a lost cause.”

  Kellie leaped out of her chair, anger and adrenaline exploding through her body. “No! These are my horses and my life, and I'll spend as much goddamned money as I damned well please to protect them!” She pulled the crumpled checks from her pocket and threw them on the desk. “What's more, four mares went home early this morning, and we are still legally and financially responsible for the mare that was attacked yesterday. I'm doing this!”

  Frank's features hardened and his eyes darkened. “Suit yourself, Miss Sutton.”

  He scooped up the checks, then turned on his heel and strode out of the room, leaving Kellie drained and confused. Why was it so hard to communicate with him lately? What should have been a joint discussion about financial and management decisions had turned into a personal feud. And surprisingly, after all these years, Frank still resented that she'd kept her maiden name. She shook her head. He'd originally agreed that the Sutton name generated benefits and recognition that couldn't be bought. In a small town, heritage played an important role in business success.

  A lot of good it did her now-all the prestige and money in the world might not save Dancer and Boots. Or the young chestnut mare.

  Kellie slowly reached for the phone. She couldn't procrastinate any longer-she had to call the mare's owner.

  An answering machine drawled the fact that they were away at a show, and relief surged through her head. She focused on a yellow sticky note with Hyde's scribbled handwriting, then dialed the Kentucky phone number.

  “Bluegrass Equine Clinic. Mason speaking.”

  “This is Kellie Sutton in Oklahoma. I have some horses that are-”

  “Hold on, let me transfer you.”

  Recorded Lexington weather information filled the brief void, then a friendly female voice came on the line.

  “Ms. Sutton? This is Dr. Charles. What can I do for you?”

  “I have three horses that were injected with something caustic, and-”

  “Oh my, the ones in Oklahoma?”

  “Yes. Can you help?”

  Compassion rounded the woman's tone. “Do you know anything about hyberbaric oxygen therapy?”

  “Only that it is relatively new.”

  “If you took physics in school, you'll remember that normal atmospheric pressure is about 14.7 pounds per square inch, and air is 79% nitrogen and 21% oxygen. Under normal atmospheric pressure, hemoglobin is saturated with approximately 97% oxygen, and those hemoglobin molecules are the primary delivery system to the tissues. Several other calculations and issues go into the process, but the end result of hyperbaric oxygen therapy is the ability to dramatically increase breathed oxygen, and that increases the amount of dissolved oxygen in the plasma...Still with me?”

  “Hanging on for dear life.”

  Dr. Charles chuckled. “Sorry-this is such exciting stuff, I tend to get carried away. Anyway, all tissue damage injuries have swelling and some necrosis. Tissue swelling compromises oxygen delivery to the site, which inhibits the body's ability to repair and reconstruct. Hyperbaric oxygen therapy decreases the swelling and allows improved oxygen and nutrient delivery to the area, while stimulating the production of collagen.”

  Kellie shuddered at the reminder of how horrible Dancer's wound looked. “Even when the horse's foot is almost eaten away?”

  “First, we clean out the dead tissue and flush the wound. The horse spends time in the chamber two to three times a day, then we utilize stem cell therapy to accelerate re-growth of the cartilage.”

  “Stem cells?”

  “I know-this is a tremendous amount of new information I'm serving up. Veterinary medicine has come a long way in the past ten years. I'll send some literature to your vet, but to simplify the explanation, researchers have found that body fat contains large numbers of stem cells that will re-grow whatever substance we mix with them. Put them with bone, they make bone. Put them with nerve tissue, they grow nerve tissue. It's phenomenal-almost like magic-but it works.”

  “Isn't stem cell research illegal?”

  “This is different from embryonic brain stem cell research, where the embryo must be killed in order to acquire the cells. In this procedure, the collection of the fat doesn't even cause pain for the animal.”

  Kellie was silent for a moment, allowing a glimmer of hope to grow. “As long as it works.”

  ~ ~

  Travis groaned and rolled out of bed, fireworks going off in his head. His mouth tasted like crap, and his eyeballs felt as though they hung out of the sockets like gag eyeglasses. He squinted at the dim light coming through the window, listening to the voices outside-the crew was already up
.

  He pulled on his boots and shuffled across the rough wooden floor to the kitchenette. The light in the refrigerator sent a barb of pain blasting through his eyes and he closed them for a minute before reaching for a soda. He hesitated, tempted to grab a beer instead. Hair of the dog...nah, I'd get my ass kicked for drinking on the job. Another throb of pain slashed through his temple. Fuck it-who cares?

  The beer fizz burned down his raw throat, and he leaned against the counter and grinned, thinking about his night of debauchery. Tina was some piece of work. Man, that girl knew tricks he'd only dreamed about. He downed the last of the beer, and wiped his mouth with his sleeve. Women were such suckers for a sob story. Then he frowned. What exactly had he said the night before? He shook his head slowly. No clue.

  Putting Tina out of his mind, he opened a cupboard door and lifted out the jar of specimens. The curved glass distorted and magnified the creatures inside, making them look like the figment of a horror movie producer's imagination. They were lethargic now that they'd been captive for over two weeks. If he didn't hurry up, they'd start eating each other.

  He arranged everything on the counter, then unscrewed the metal lid. His heartbeat accelerated and pain thumped through the base of his skull. Holding a spoon in one hand, he tipped the jar over a cereal bowl. Four of the small bodies tumbled into the dish and he immediately started crushing them.

  Before he could react, another one jumped from the lip of the jar onto his right hand, and pain seared through his flesh.

  “Shit!” He slammed the jar down on the counter, and shook his burning hand. “Goddammit! Fuck!”

  A surge of adrenaline screamed through his body as he scrambled to twist the lid back onto the container. He searched the floor for the escapee, but the rogue had disappeared.

  A minute later, he stared at a white blister rising in the center of a small red circle. Calm down. This is not lethal. He squeezed his eyes shut. But it hurts like fucking hell.

 

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