by Leigh Hearon
“She looks like she walked off the set of Downton Abbey,” Jessica whispered to Annie.
“What’s that?”
There was no time to talk, as Patricia had now reached them. After introductions and handshakes were over, Patricia led them into a large conference room inside the front office building. A large walnut table stood in the middle with plush chairs all around. The walls held photos of horses and riders jumping in competition and performing other equestrian feats. Annie was sure she recognized Patricia in one of the photos. Her body was elongated at the same angle as that of her horse as they prepared to make a jump that looked at least six feet high. They looked magnificent together, Annie thought. She was sure the two had cleared the fence with several feet to spare.
“We’ve so enjoyed having Mr. Colbert’s equines with us,” Patricia began. “I know you’ll want to meet with our veterinarians, and of course see the horses themselves. To save time, I’ve created a brief dossier on each horse, so you can review its progress and see where we are now.”
She passed out a large pile of folders, each labeled with the name of the horse on the front, as well as the name of the attending veterinarian.
“This is incredible,” murmured Jessica, as she opened the first file. “I’d love to implement something like this at our clinic.”
Fat chance, Annie thought. Jessica’s staff consisted of one other veterinarian, fresh out of vet school at Pullman; two vet techs; one receptionist; and three part-time helpers who cleaned clinic stalls, fetched and carried, and did anything else that needed to be done. Annie knew that Jessica alone worked an average of twenty-eight days a month. She suspected she barely had enough time to pay her bills, let alone create executive reports on each farm visit. But it was a nice thought.
From the head of the table, Patricia smiled. “We didn’t have much time to pull these together, so they’re not quite as complete as I would like. But I was able to download much of the information from our computer. Every task performed on behalf of an individual horse, no matter how small, is entered into the system, so it’s not difficult to create a chronological history of its treatment.”
She opened the first file, which documented the recent life of Knight in Armor, a 17.2-hand Danish Warm-blood. As Annie recalled, Kim Williams had transported this massive horse down to safety in Hilda’s lower pastures. Later, she learned that it was the first time Kim had ever been around a horse. Annie still could not fathom the courage she’d shown that night as she navigated a terrified horse out of its stall, down a hill, and into a paddock, with nothing more than a lead rope slung around its neck.
“Knight in Armor is one of our biggest success stories,” Patricia said with pride. “He suffered the least smoke inhalation, so his lungs had fewer smoke particulates than some of the other horses. We’ve detected no thermal damage to the upper airway or burn damage to the nasal passages or throat.”
“Excellent!” exclaimed Jessica. “Was there a specific kind of treatment that worked best?”
“Hyperbaric oxygen therapy, after intravenous fluids had stabilized the horse’s blood pressure,” Patricia responded. “The treatment’s still a bit controversial, but we are firm believers in its efficacy. In fact, most of Mr. Colbert’s horses received hyperbaric oxygen therapy at some point, and we think it’s the reason most escaped without any scar tissue or other lasting symptoms that might pose problems down the road. It simply speeds up the healing process.”
Annie could see that Jessica’s brain was practically on fire; she was so enthralled with the innovative treatments used here that she looked as if she would implode if she weren’t able to soon see them for herself.
Patricia must have sensed this, too, because she said, “Why don’t I introduce you to the veterinarian staff now? You can take the dossiers with you and read them at your leisure. When you’re done chatting, let the medical staff know, and I’ll meet you at the dressage court. We’ve reserved it this afternoon so you can see each horse perform. Of course, all of the horses have been pretty much on bed rest since they arrived. But they’ve had access to the paddocks attached to their stalls, and they’ve been walked twice daily as soon as their health permitted. By now, I think everyone’s up to showing you a brisk walk, controlled trot, and light canter.”
“Wonderful. Thanks so much for setting this up. We can’t wait to see how the horses are doing. Can we, Jessica?”
But Jessica already was halfway out the door.
* * *
Six hours later, Annie and Jessica were back on the road again, heading south this time. Their conversation consisted of unusually short sentences, punctuated with short silences in between.
Annie started first.
“Wow.”
“Unbelievable.”
“Did you see the water treadmill?”
“Yup. In use.”
“Incredible.”
“And the cold saltwater spa?”
“Wish Bess could soak her tired bones in it.”
“I wish I could soak my tired bones in it.”
“Did you check out the solarium?”
“No! Where was it?”
“By the hyperbaric chamber.”
“Damn. I think I was watching the staff muck stalls when you were in there. Did you know that it takes a shovel, rake, broom, and two kinds of muck forks to clean a single stall there?”
“Why?”
“Dunno. But the stalls look like feather beds when they’ve finished.”
“Wow.”
“Patricia was pretty cool.”
“Very cool.”
“I wonder if the vet staff is hiring.”
“Forget it, Jessica! We need you here at home. Besides, I don’t think they let molly mules board there.”
“OK. Can’t go unless Molly comes, too.”
“Glad we got that settled.”
“Did you see how relaxed everyone was?”
“Hey, I’d be relaxed too, if I lived in a spa.”
“Horses look great.”
“Yup.”
“Wow.”
* * *
On their way out of town, Annie noticed a billboard with two familiar faces emblazoned on it—Ron Carr Junior and Ron Carr the Third, or Trey—shaking hands, Ron Junior’s hand on Trey’s shoulder, and standing in front of a McMansion with a “SOLD!” sign in front. The rest of the billboard repeated the same message as on the business card Ron had thrust into her hand a few days ago: “Three generations of real estate experience. Call for a free appraisal today!” The toll-free number took up the remaining space.
She said nothing to Jessica but made a mental note that the Carr family seemed to take their business very seriously. Maybe they could be helpful in Travis’s plan to rebuild Hilda’s facility, especially if there were zoning or construction issues that only locals knew about. She hoped she’d remembered where she’d put the card, and it wasn’t someplace where Sasha could chew it up.
“Oh! There’s the diner that you promised we’d stop in. Next exit. Annie, are you listening to me?”
“I’m on it. I’m just trying to figure out how I’m going to find homes for all those beautiful, rehabilitated horses.”
* * *
Once inside the diner, with massive hamburgers and vanilla shakes in front of them, the two women continued the conversation.
“Except for the Appy, it looks like the herd is all ready to go to their new homes,” Annie said, wiping her chin with her oversized napkin. “Wherever and whatever those are. Talk about having my work cut out for me.”
Jessica nodded thoughtfully. “It seems such a shame to separate them. But it’s inevitable, I suppose. Why not ask Patricia for help? She looks as if she knows her way around the elite horse world.”
“Good idea.” Annie felt a smidgeon better. She’d e-mail Patricia tomorrow.
“In fact, I think it’s worth a return visit just to get her take on each horse’s specific strengths in the eventing world. Face it, An
nie, we can recognize a good roper or barrel racer, but when it comes to jumping and dressage, we’re out of our league.”
“You don’t fool me, Ms. Flynn. You just want to go back to have another chance to drool over the medical equipment. But you’re right. If my pride hadn’t gotten in my way, I’d have already told Marcus that I’m simply not up to the job. But now I feel it’s a little too late.”
“Gotcha. Rely on Patricia; I’m sure she’ll help. And think of this as a tremendous learning experience. All the stuff you’ll learn about how other people use horses. Why, you might turn Trooper into an eventing equine yet.”
“Sure. I’ll build the dressage court right next to the sheep pasture. You can help me cut the cavaletti with my chain saw.”
“I’m serious, Annie! Wouldn’t it be great to have dressage lessons in our little hamlet?”
But Annie only smiled and picked up the check, swiping a day-old newspaper on her way out the door.
“I wonder how Luann’s getting on with my herd. It’s just about feeding time,” Annie mused a half hour later, as they made the exit toward Annie’s farm. Luann was Annie’s nearest neighbor and a good riding buddy, and the two women frequently subbed for the other on days when it was impossible to get home by twilight, the standard feeding time.
“I’m sure everyone’s fine. Just don’t tell them tomorrow morning about where you’ve been today.”
“Not on your life! If I ever install a whirlpool on my property, the first creature that’s going in it is me!”
CHAPTER 15
SATURDAY, MAY 14
Annie’s horses may have been in the dark as to where their mistress had been the previous day, but thanks to Jessica’s penchant for social media, word of her journey up north spread fast among the two-legged population. By ten o’clock the next morning, three of Annie’s riding pals had called and demanded full details of her adventures at Running Track Farms. One had even inquired if Marcus might be up for adopting adult women.
“My Morgan would benefit so much from that water treadmill Jessica described,” Sandy had told her. “And I’d be the perfect child—no expectations of college, and I’m done with marriage, so no weddings to cover. Just my horse.”
Sandy was older than Marcus by a good ten years.
Annie knew her friend was kidding, but she still issued a stern reply.
“Marcus has no desire to adopt another horse, let alone you. Don’t forget he expects me to find homes for his existing herd. You’ll simply have to find another millionaire.”
Annie realized that what she really was telling Sandy was that Marcus was off-limits. If she had to admit it, she did feel more than a tad possessive of him. Whatever their relationship entailed, at this point. It was hard to gauge when your new kind-of-boyfriend lived 850 miles away and you talked only by phone.
Tomorrow, that arrangement would marginally improve; on Sunday afternoon, the first formal meeting of the board overseeing Travis’s new nonprofit organization would take place, and everyone would be able to see each other. Marcus had hired a tech geek to install Skype on Travis’s computer. Of course, his own system was already set up for face-to-face conference calls.
Annie had balked when he suggested that she install the software as well.
“When we talk, I’m usually in my jammies with seven layers of moisturizer on,” she’d said, half-jokingly. “Only my animals get to see me in that state.”
Marcus’s response had brought a blush to her cheeks—which, fortunately, he was unable to see—but Annie refused to back down. She’d already set aside a full hour on Sunday morning to attend to her dress, hair, and makeup.
Today, however, her only scheduled appointment was in the evening, when she would meet with Lisa and friends at the Crossroads Bar, an upscale drinking establishment in Port Chester. That was hours away, so she settled down with a pot of tea and spent an enjoyable three hours perusing the files Patricia Winters had prepared for her and Jessica. She marveled at Patricia’s attention to detail and the careful labeling of each section. She was amazed at how much nutritional feed, not to mention hay, each horse had consumed over the past two months—but she now recalled Jessica talking earnestly with one of the staff vets on this very subject. Apparently, the more the horse consumed, the faster the healing process progressed. Too bad the same theory didn’t work with humans.
When she turned the last page of the last file, she got up and put her teapot and mug in the sink and her tea leaves in the inside compost bucket. It was time to ask for help—something Annie never liked to do. But she really had no choice. Annie had amassed her five horses by rescuing them. She had no idea how to go about telling the dressage and jumping world that eighteen selectively bred and enormously expensive equines were now for sale. She didn’t even know how to price them; Hilda had acquired most of them many years ago, and Annie had no idea how their value back then compared to their value now. She sighed and turned on her antiquated computer.
To her relief, Patricia responded almost immediately and with much enthusiasm.
“I’m happy to help, Annie,” she wrote. “Let me consult my calendar and I’ll provide you with some possible dates to consider. Frankly, it may take several weeks to properly evaluate all the horses, but I agree, we can get started with many of them. I’ll make sure their pedigree papers are all in order. In the meantime, you might want to take a look at the following magazines, which many people consult whilst searching for that perfect hunter jumper or dressage horse. This isn’t how Mr. Colbert’s horses will be sold, of course—word of mouth is more appropriate for this caliber of horse—but it will give you an idea of how second- and third-tier horses are often promoted.”
A long list of magazines, many of them published outside the United States, followed. Patricia had included the link to each of their websites. It looked daunting. But it was a start. Annie mentally patted herself on the back. She had reached out for help and received exactly what she needed. One thing she knew for certain. If word of mouth was the established way to sell outrageously expensive equines, Patricia was going to be front and center, not she. Annie knew that talking to her pals at the local grange and feed store wasn’t exactly what Patricia had in mind.
* * *
At eight o’clock, Annie pulled up in front of Crossroads Bar. It wasn’t quite time for the local band to start playing, but the noise level already was at a near earsplitting level. I really am getting too old for this, she thought, as she pulled open the main entrance door and got the full onslaught of what she’d heard inside her truck with the windows rolled up. She glanced around and eventually espied Lisa, sitting on a bar stool, surrounded by a group of women. Lisa saw her at the same time and raised her drink, inadvertently sloshing some of the liquid over the edge of the glass and down her arm.
“Whoops!” she yelled to Annie, then leaned back and laughed at her clumsiness. Lisa obviously had been parked there for a while.
Annie threaded her way through a series of packed tables and waitresses who looked as if they’d rather be anywhere else. Still, the staff was an attentive bunch. Annie had hardly sat down on the stool Lisa and one of her friends had snared for her when a young woman appeared at her side.
“What can I get for you?” Her tone hardly could have expressed less interest in hearing Annie’s reply.
“Um . . .” Annie stalled while she glanced at what Lisa and the others were drinking. “A gin and tonic, I guess.” She’d once heard a friend of a friend refer to it as “my summer drink; the only thing I’ll imbibe from May through September.”
“Bombay Tanqueray Beefeater Gordon’s Seagram’s or Hendrick’s.” The words reeled off the waitress’s tongue, and Annie stared at her until she realized she was naming different brands of gin.
“Um, Hendrick’s.” It was the only one she remembered.
“Good choice.” This was intoned with about as much enthusiasm as the last sentence. Annie had a feeling she could have said, “I’ll have what�
��s left in the bathtub,” and it would have elicited the same response.
Conversation proved nearly impossible at the bar—not because Ashley’s friends didn’t want to talk—in fact, their words spilled over one another’s in their eagerness to communicate. It was the noise level and proximity of everyone else in the crowd that made it impossible for Annie to catch more than a single sentence. She wasn’t even sure she’d caught all the women’s names. She decided to take charge; after all, she was the oldest in the group.
Grabbing her drink, she shouted into Lisa’s ear, “Let’s get out of here before the band starts. I think there’s a patio out back.”
“Good idea,” Lisa shouted back, and gestured with her drink to her friends. This time, the drink hit the glass of another patron and the contents of both went flying. Lisa and the man whose drink had just been emptied erupted into raucous laughter. In fact, their antics were received with great hilarity throughout the bar. But Annie felt unease rise within her. If Ashley’s friends were as intoxicated as they appeared, what possible help could they be to her now? And was their behavior indicative of how Ashley acted on a Saturday night out with the gang? She hadn’t seemed like a party girl, but then, what did Annie know? She’d never been one even when she hit the right age group. Getting drunk for the sake of getting drunk always had seemed stupid to her, not to mention a waste of good money.
Mercifully, the patio was relatively empty and certainly much quieter. It seemed most people were waiting for the band and didn’t want to give up their seats. But music was not on Annie’s agenda, and when the gaggle of women finally had arranged themselves around a table, and the ever-present waitress had received everyone’s next drink order, she began with the speech she’d practiced on the way over.
“I’m sorry we didn’t have a chance to talk more when we met at Ashley’s celebration,” she said, smiling at each woman and making deliberate eye contact. “As you know, I’ve got a ranch to tend to and I’m a one-woman show right now. I know Ashley would have been a tremendous help to me if she were alive today. I met her only the one time, you know, so don’t know much about her. What can you tell me that will help understand why she might have felt so depressed?”