“She’s in the feed room. She got hers done too.”
“What?” Randy stared, then buried his face in his hands. If she cut her hair, I’m going to die. “Right here and now,” he said to himself.
“Randy...” Dawn called to him.
“No.” He couldn’t bear to look.
Dawn laughed. “Randy, come on.”
He shook his head.
“It’s really pretty,” Ginney said.
“Oh, and do you think yours is pretty?” Randy asked, still refusing to uncover his eyes.
“Yes.”
“Then I really don’t want to look.”
Dawn shook her head. “Randy, you’re being silly. You’re going to have to look sooner or later. Come on, you’re going to like it, I promise. Aren’t you the one always complaining about my braid?”
Randy sighed. He’d obviously complained once too often. “Go in the tack room and I’ll walk in and see it. I need to prepare myself,” he said, laughing now as well. “Go on.”
Dawn played along, but no sooner had she and Ginney gone into the tack room, Randy started his truck and drove away. “He’s crazy,” Ginney said, and Dawn agreed.
“Totally.”
Randy had every intention of going back after a few minutes, but it didn’t work out that way. Chapman waved him down. “I got a horse that was cast,” he said, in that way of his. “He needs attending.”
Randy sighed and headed in that direction. Though not an emergency in itself, a horse cast means that either when rolling or lying down in its stall, it ended up too close to the wall and unable to get back up. Most horses right themselves without harm, aside from a momentary panic. But some wind up injuring themselves in the process.
Chapman’s horse proved the latter. He required stitches on the outside of his right knee and some preventive measures to head off infection and swelling. By the time Randy made his way back to the Miller barn, it was after five. He knew Dawn would be gone already, but checked anyway just in case, and was about to head over to her apartment for a few minutes, when he was paged to the stable gate.
The message was from the Durans. Randy phoned them from the pay phone at the guard shack.
“Oh, Dr. Iredell, we’re just frantic. It’s the foal. He won’t nurse, and his manure just runs out of him.”
Randy assured Mrs. Duran he’d be there within half an hour. He hung up and damned himself for repeatedly forgetting once again to get Dawn’s unlisted number and then for not being able to remember it in the first place, and wondered if it was a Freudian thing, as he started out.
Meanwhile, Dawn ordered Chinese food, went down to get it, and returned in the doldrums to her apartment. How could Randy get angry with her for having her hair done, when her changing it was entirely for him? To think, she’d subjected herself to the whole smelly two-hour process for him, for this. She looked in the mirror. Damn him. I was perfectly happy with my hair the way it was.
Randy finished up at the Durans’ and again was making his way to Dawn’s apartment, when his pager went off. He stopped at the first pay phone he came to, got the number and dialed. The call was from an elderly man whose horse he said was, “In a mighty bad way. Colic, I suspect.”
“Can you keep him walking till I get there?”
“No, I can’t get him up, and I’ve no strength.”
Randy feared as much from the sound of his voice. “I’ll be there in about twenty minutes.”
Upon arriving at the farm, Randy estimated Mr. Turner to be at least seventy-five years old, if a day, weathered and kind, and frail.
“This way,” he said, shaking Randy’s hand before leading him down the aisle of the barn. “I appreciate you coming out so soon.”
Randy smiled and followed. The barn was empty, except for one cow and the horse, who lay lathered and failing. Looking in at him, Randy thought about the old vet-school adage, “As long as they’re breathing, there’s still hope.” It didn’t apply here. This horse was a goner.
Though there was no real reason to examine him, Randy went through the motions anyway for Mr. Turner’s sake, then stood back and shook his head.
“Give it to me plain and simple.”
Randy nodded. “There’s nothing we can do for him, except maybe help him along.”
The old man paused. “Let’s do it then.”
Randy went to the truck and came back with the lethal injection. Mr. Turner was crouched by the horse, tenderly wiping the green mucous from the horse’s nostrils with a worn handkerchief.
Randy drew a deep breath, hesitated, and walked in and stood next to them. “Why don’t we try and get him up, outside maybe. At least in the aisle.”
Mr. Turner shook his head. “No, I’d like it done here.” He stroked the horse’s face, his voice quivering. “This has been his stall now for more’n nineteen years.”
Randy nodded and knelt down beside them. The horse blinked twice, once when Randy inserted the needle, and again when he removed it. He drew his last breath a moment later. Peacefully. “His name was Rudy,” the old man said, with a catch in his throat. “I won’t have any more.”
He followed Randy to the truck. “I do appreciate you coming out so quick.” He glanced back at the barn. “I don’t get out as often as I used to, or I maybe could’ve caught him sooner today. When I came out to feed, that’s how I found him. I’ll bury him in the morning.”
Randy nodded sympathetically and closed the back of his truck.
“What do I owe you, Doc?” Mr. Turner pulled out a leather change purse attached to a chain hanging from his belt.
“Twenty eight for the injection. I’ve got another call in the area...a mare foaling,” Randy said, which was a lie. “So I’ll waive the farm call.”
While Mr. Turner counted out the money, Randy glanced around the farm again. Though well-kept, it had the tell-tale signs of hardship, all too familiar to him. A battery charger next to a tractor. The chicken coop empty, the barn siding painted but rotting, that one cow, a meager corncrib. He glanced at Mr. Turner, the old man’s dungarees looking as though they’d been washed a thousand times.
“Here.” Randy really didn’t even want to charge for the injection, but knew better than to insult a proud farmer. Mr. Turner handed him the twenty-eight dollars, then reached in for two more. “This is for some coffee and a sandwich. I feel bad you coming out at this hour.”
Randy smiled. “Thank you. A sandwich sounds pretty good right about now. I appreciate it.” He shook the old man’s trembling hand and left, saddened and depressed. On the way to his apartment, he thought about the farms back home, his parents, Cindy’s wedding, and Dawn’s hair...lying on a floor in some beauty shop.
Morning chores at the Miller barn were done by nine, but it would be a long day for them. Son of Royalty was in the fifth race and Too Cajun the last. Shortly after ten, Ben asked Dawn if she wanted to go for breakfast.
“Breakfast?” This was a first.
“Come on,” he said. “I’m buying.”
Dawn frowned, wiping her hands on her jeans as she walked along with him. When they were almost to the stable gate, she gave in and looked down the road between the barns for Randy’s truck. “Do you want me to drive?” she asked Ben.
He shook his head. “I could probably get in that car of yours, but I don’t think I could get out.”
Dawn laughed. They both waved to Charlie, and at the restaurant, scanned the menu.
“Just coffee,” Ben said, handing his to the waitress.
Dawn stared. “I thought you were hungry.”
“I never said that.”
Dawn opted for coffee as well. “Okay, so what are we here for?”
Ben drew a breath and sighed, scratched the back of his neck. “It’s time for my typical trainer-owner speech.” He hesitated, fretted. “Only it’s tough with you, because I think of you like family, the daughter Meg and I never had.”
Dawn smiled. “I love you like a second father.”
Ben nodded, then cleared his throat, not knowing where to begin.
“Ben, just say it.”
“All right. You’ve seen the way I am. When I train, I call all the shots. Which is why I don’t run a big public stable. I’m not good at doing things any other way than my own.”
“And?”
“And, we’ll be running the filly soon. You have to trust my judgment.”
“You know I do.”
“No matter what?” he emphasized. “It’s a business, Dawn. It takes business decisions from the head, not from the heart.”
She nodded. “I know.”
“If I decide she’s a pig, then she’s a pig.”
“Okay.” Dawn shrugged. “But she’s not. Is she?”
“No.” Perspiration dotted Ben’s forehead. “But promise me. You understand? I don’t want any problems later.” He looked into her eyes. “All right?”
Dawn nodded.
“Good,” he said, reaching into his pocket for some change. “Let’s get back to the barn.”
Dawn stared. “We haven’t had our coffee.”
“We can have coffee back at the barn.”
Randy left his truck running and walked down the shedrow calling out for Dawn.
“She ain’t here,” Tom yelled from the feed room.
Randy followed the sound of his voice and found him in the corner, his back to the door and his hand in his pants, scratching himself.
“Jesus Christ! What the hell are you doing?”
“Know anything about itches, Doc?” Tom asked. “It’s driving me nuts. You know, around the balls.”
“It’s probably crabs,” Randy said, laughing. “But you’d better stop scratching like that, you look like a goddamned pervert.”
“Go ahead and laugh, but this ain’t funny.” Tom rubbed an irritated area under his armpit. “I got this stuff everywhere now.”
Randy raised an eyebrow. “We could put a good sweat on you; that may take care of it. Course, I’m not sure what size your pecker would be afterwards.” He ducked when Tom swung at him, and started back down the shedrow. “Seriously, stop scratching it. You’re only going to make it worse.”
Dawn and Ben returned to the barn area shortly after Randy left, and ran into Miguel and his agent making their rounds. Dawn walked on when Ben stopped to talk to them.
When she reached the tack room, Tom was sitting at Ben’s desk, staring helplessly at Ginney, who was in tears.
“What happened?”
Tom held his hands out. “I don’t know. She was waiting for you...and then just started to cry.”
Ben appeared at the door, took one look, mumbled something about going to the secretary’s office, and Tom tagged along after him.
Dawn sat down next to Ginney. “What’s wrong?”
Ginney shrugged, tried to swallow her tears. “My dad and I had a fight. He threw me out. He said he never wants to see me again.”
“He probably didn’t mean it. You know how people say things they don’t mean when they’re fighting.”
“No, he really meant it this time,” Ginney cried, too emotional to realize how contradictory that sounded. “He really did.”
Dawn stared, pausing for a moment. In her opinion, Ginney might actually be better off without her father in her life, judging from what she’d told her about the man. “What did you fight about? Not the trial, I hope?”
“No.” Ginney sniffed and wiped her nose with the back of her hand. “He wanted me to clock a horse you’re running today.”
“Son of Royalty?”
“No, the Cajun one. Too Cajun.”
Dawn lowered her eyes, staring. “Gloria would die.”
“No, he won’t claim him. Not now. I told him he was a dink, the son of a bitch.” She wiped her face again. “I hate him!”
Dawn sighed. “No, you don’t.”
“He hates me.”
Dawn shook her head. “I can’t believe any father would hate his daughter.”
Ginney chewed hard on her trembling bottom lip. “I’ll bet he hates me even more for taking this rape thing to trial.”
Dawn shook her head. “He took you to the police station, didn’t he?”
“Yes, but...” Tears flooded Ginney’s eyes. “Oh God, I’m such a fuck up.”
“No, you’re not. Listen to me. Ginney...”
Ginney sniffed and swallowed.
“You’re not. Now come on. Let’s figure out what you’re going to do.”
Ginney sat back in an attempt to compose herself, and drew a deep breath. “I can get a room at the Horsemen’s Efficiencies up the block tomorrow. I called them. Can I stay with you tonight?”
Dawn stared, thinking of Randy, the quiet apartment, no Linda. “Maybe you can stay at Randy’s till then. I haven’t seen him yet today, but we can ask him.”
“What?” Astonishment flashed across Ginney’s face.
“Oh no,” Dawn said. And from the way she said it, they both laughed. “That’s not what I meant. Randy will be with me.”
Randy turned down Mr. Turner’s driveway for the second time in as many days, and parked by the barn. He hoped he wouldn’t offend the old man, but he just couldn’t see him tearing down that stall himself. He could hear the pounding of a hammer. It stopped as he walked inside. Mr. Turner straightened up slowly and looked at him.
“Doc?”
Randy smiled. “Hope you don’t mind me stopping by, but I need a favor.”
The old man braced himself against the stall wall, a faint smile etching his face. “Oh? What can I do for you?”
Randy swallowed, hesitating. “Well, you can let me help you tear that stall down and get your horse out for burying.”
“You don’t say.” Mr. Turner pulled a handkerchief out of his back pocket and mopped his brow. “And how will that help you?”
Randy tried to think fast. He’d come up with a few plausible reasons on the way, but something about the wisdom in the old man’s eyes made them seem ridiculous now. “Uh...I just came from a call.” He sighed dramatically upon saying this, trying to imitate his father. “This guy was a real ass. You know, the kind you’d like to deck.” When Mr. Turner nodded, as if he knew the type, Randy gathered momentum. “So I figure, seeing as I was in your area and knew you had this job to do, I might work off some of my anger. Put it to good use, so to speak. It beats kicking my truck door.”
Mr. Turner smiled. “Now I don’t believe any of that horse shit for one minute. You came back here to help an old man because you didn’t think he could handle the task.”
Randy stood quiet, unable to think of anything to say to the contrary, and finally just nodded.
Old man Turner shook his head. “Well, if you’re hell bent on helping, there’s a crowbar over there.” He motioned. “Just don’t be getting in my way.”
Randy smiled, pushing up his shirt sleeves as he walked over to get it.
“And, Doc...?”
Randy turned.
“Thanks.”
Randy nodded, sized up the crowbar, and went to work.
Chapter Twenty-One
As soon as Ben returned from the secretary’s office, Dawn reported what Ginney had said about Bud Meyers’ interest in Too Cajun. Gloria arrived no less than five minutes later, enveloped in lilac, and oozing praise for her baby, who twitched and nodded in agreement with everything she had to say.
Dawn stood at her side, smiling, an equally appropriate response for whatever Gloria said, but was concerned. Ben had assured her that if Ginney told her father Cajun was a dink, he probably wouldn’t go for him. Still...
“Just don’t say a word of this to Gloria. God almighty.”
The next few hours passed quickly. At the running of the fourth race, Tom started over with Son of Royalty. Dawn stayed at the barn with Cajun. A sweat had already been applied to his shoulders and back, and he was covered with a plastic sheet and shoulder blanket.
Randy stopped by, glanced into the tack room, and calle
d out for her.
“Down here,” Dawn said, poking her head out Son of Royalty’s stall. She was just finishing bedding it down.
Randy jogged to where she was, and couldn’t believe his eyes. “You didn’t cut your hair!” He ran his fingers through it. “It’s beautiful. Why did you tell me you cut it?”
“I didn’t.” Dawn laughed. “Though they did cut some of it. I had it permed. It’s called a lioness.”
Randy turned her completely around, fluffed it, and kissed her. “I love it!” He pulled her close and kissed her again. “Boy, am I glad I didn’t shave off my beard now.”
“You wouldn’t?”
“I was going to, just to spite you. Sort of my version of The Gift of the Magi.”
Dawn shook her head and smiled. “Why didn’t you come back yesterday? I missed you.”
“I’m sorry. I tried. Several times in fact. But I just kept going round in circles. One farm call after another.”
Dawn stepped back and crossed her arms. “Was one of them the Richmond’s?”
“No.” She’s jealous, really this time, he told himself. I can see it in her eyes. “I did have to go to the Durans’ though. The foal had the scours.”
“Is he all right?”
Randy nodded. “I had to put a horse down too. It was sad. It was the old man’s only horse.”
Dawn gazed into his eyes. “Bad night, huh?”
Randy shrugged. “I could’ve used a woman’s soothing touch in the end.”
Dawn raised an eyebrow. “Any woman?”
Jealous again. Randy loved it. “I didn’t mean it that way. And please, give me your phone number again. I had no way to get a hold of you.”
Dawn found comfort in how he’d said that, and smiled. “Can Ginney stay at your apartment tonight?”
“What?” Jealous...? Yeah, sure. “You want me to screw her too?”
Dawn frowned. “No, I wanted you to stay with me.”
Randy shook his head, about to say something, but Dawn shushed him and walked down to the end of the shedrow to listen for the ten-minute call.
Randy followed her. “Why does she need a place to stay?”
Dawn heard the announcement and turned to face him. “Her dad kicked her out.”
Winning Odds Trilogy Page 26