by Toni Leland
"You'd better hope not. Twins are bad news."
Eve cocked her head, obviously puzzled. "What do you mean?"
Liz filled a syringe and snapped the air bubbles out of it. "Twins very seldom survive. If the mare doesn't abort, you can usually count on one of the foals being stillborn, or dying right after birth. Once in a while, the remaining twin will survive, but it's rare."
Eve didn't respond, clearly sobered by the harsh facts.
Liz went about her work quickly and efficiently, taking the mare's vital signs, checking the udder, and listening to the sounds within the mare's swollen belly.
"Everything's fine. I hear only one heartbeat, but we'll see what the ultrasound shows."
Twenty minutes later, Liz straightened up and switched off the machine.
"You can relax. One foal, but a big one. You'll need to be on hand for this delivery in case she gets into trouble."
Eve's face had been pinched with concern, but now relaxed into a relieved smile.
"We will. She's one of my best Polish mares. The sire is also pure Polish, so this foal is an important one." She thought for a moment, then grinned. "Big, huh? Good. These days, everyone is looking for the larger Arabians."
Liz kept her expression neutral. Does this woman ever think about her horses as anything other than dollar signs?
Eve gestured toward the end of the barn. "Listen, I'd like you to take a look at another horse before you leave."
She led the way to a stall in the corner, and Liz gulped as she recognized the filly she'd rescued from the hayrack.
Eve sounded disgusted. "She injured herself at a show a couple months ago, and I think the show vet botched the stitching. She's developing proud flesh across the coronary band. Really screws me for showing her at halter."
It was clear that Eve didn't know anything about Liz's involvement with the filly's injury, and Liz didn't intend to change that fact. She knelt down beside the horse, and gently lifted the delicate foot out of the bedding for a closer look. Sure enough, the wound had healed, but ugly pink scar tissue had ruffled up into a ridge across the front of the foot. I wish I'd had the chance to follow up on this injury.
She stood up, shaking her head. "It's still pretty fresh. Could be repaired." She looked directly at Eve. "How valuable is the horse? Is she worth spending money on cosmetics?"
Eve tossed her head. "She's very well-bred, but not as good as some of the others. I can sell her to someone who wants performance or a pleasure horse. She could be a good broodmare someday. Scars don't matter in any of that."
Twenty minutes later, Liz steered the truck toward home. Eve's ignorance really surprised her. She's been a breeder for a long time. How could she be so clueless about twins? Eve's apparent lack of knowledge bothered Liz. But worse than that, the woman simply had no personal feelings for her horses. They were, as Kurt had put it, commodities, assets, goods for sale.
Liz shook her head. Her own horses were her link with life, treasured friends and companions, always there for her no matter what garbage the rest of her life handed her.
Colleen's voice bubbled through the phone. "How'd your show go? Tell me everything."
"Reserve Champion Stallion sound okay?"
Colleen squealed like a teenager at a rock concert, and Liz told her the story, complete with Karma's bucking bronco act in front of the judge.
Colleen was equally impressed with Liz's other wins.
"You are cookin'! Are you taking all of them to the regional?"
Liz hadn't thought about the regional show for a couple of days, but she spoke without hesitation.
"I haven't decided yet. I'm definitely taking Karma and Ashiiqah, but I'm still on the fence about Amy."
The conversation eventually moved to other topics.
"While you were at the show, I sold two of Marilyn's mares."
"That's great, I'll bet she was thrilled."
Colleen's tone became serious. "She hasn't been answering the phone, and I guess she doesn't have a message machine."
"Uh-oh, I hope she's okay. I'll run over and see her in the morning."
"Good, let me know. Oh, and the same buyer wants to see the ones you're keeping. His name is Frank Jones."
After saying goodbye, Liz sat for a few minutes, again mulling over her indecision about the regional show. There'd never been any question in her mind about taking all three of the horses she'd worked so hard to qualify. Why did she question her decision now? Bill Benton had ruffled her feathers, made her feel stupid, but that shouldn't alter her plans. Maybe I should discuss it with Kurt. The thought jarred her. One night with him and you can't make up your own mind? I think not!
25
The next morning, Liz pulled up the driveway to Marilyn's house. The windows were dark, the porch light on. An uneasy thought came with the memory of Marilyn's dazed state on the night of the fire. What if she's unconscious in there? Knocking loudly, Liz tried the door and found it locked. She scribbled a note and stuck it in the screen. As she climbed back into her truck, she looked over at the black lump that had once been a working barn. Her throat tightened with pain at the flashback to that terrible night - and all the changes in her own life that had come of it.
At home, the answering machine message-light blinked insistently. Annie Brown, the woman from the exhibitor party, wanted pregnancy checks on seven mares. Liz smiled with anticipation. Continue getting calls like that, and she'd be able to turn her life around, if she put her mind to it. She returned the call and scheduled the farm visit for the end of the week. Infused with confidence, she picked up the phone again and called another of the farms on Colleen's list. Fifteen minutes later, she'd scheduled a farm call with a ranch in Placerville. She closed her appointment book with a satisfied snap. Finally. All the pieces are starting to fall into place.
Marilyn telephoned that afternoon, her voice bright and clear.
"Been visiting my sister in Stockton. Never could go anywhere overnight when I had the horses here. Haven't seen Sis in about a year. What's up?"
She sounded pleased by the news of the sale.
"I'll get on over to Colleen's right away and sign the registration transfer papers."
A short silence hummed through the line, and when she spoke again, her tone was timid.
"Uh, Liz? Listen, I know I haven't thanked you enough for what you did for me. I just want you to know, if you need help with anything - anything at all - I'm available. Just call."
"Thank you, Marilyn. I might just do that one of these times."
Over the next few days, Liz worked to get caught up at home and in the barn. Amy and Ashiiqah were crazy to get out into the pasture, so Liz gave them some time off.
"Only for a day or two, Ladies. We have serious work ahead of us."
Karma wasn't allowed the same treat - too risky. The colt was full of himself, and Liz figured, with her luck, he'd get rambunctious and hurt himself. He'd have to stay in the barn until after the regional show, maybe longer, if she took him to Nationals.
While she cleaned stalls, her bad boy whinnied and pawed the floor, trying his best to convince her to let him out.
She shook her finger at him. "You have to learn that women rule in this barn. You're outnumbered."
Karma rolled his eyes and snorted, and Liz laughed out loud. Where have I seen that body language before?
Fair Lady had made herself completely at home, and Liz looked forward to spending some time with her. Muscala, on the other hand, remained aloof. There'd been no more rude episodes in the stall, but Liz noted that the mare kept to herself in the pasture. Miss Marcy had gained weight on the high quality grain and alfalfa hay at Legacy, and hints of her former good body were beginning to emerge. Liz groomed her daily, and the old lady loved the attention. She really is a good mare. I'll have to look at her pedigree again - she might be an asset to my program.
As planned, Liz spent a quiet afternoon analyzing her show schedule for the regional. She eventually gravitated bac
k to her original plan to show all three horses, but it bothered her that she'd experienced the short period of indecision. She'd spent her life making things happen, and didn't like the concept of circumstances running her.
Kurt hadn't called, and Liz was old-fashioned enough to resist the urge to call him, now that they'd been intimate, believing that he should be the one to make the first contact after their night together. Besides, what would she say to him? How did one open the conversation under a new relationship? By the fourth day with no call, a cold lump formed in her stomach. Had she been a fool?
She vacillated, worrying about having been a one-night stand, then thinking up reasons for his silence. He's probably knee-deep in catch-up at the barn, since he was in Tahoe all weekend...He's showing at Stockton this coming week. I know he gets really serious before a show...Maybe he...Stop! You're driving yourself nuts - he'll call when he's ready.
She leaned her head on the handle of the manure rake, and took a deep breath, willing away the fear that was gathering in her chest.
Liz was impressed with the professional way in which Annie Brown's farm was run. Mr. Brown managed all the barn work and maintenance on the forty-acre spread, while Annie concentrated on her breeding program. The woman's attention to pedigree showed clearly in the mares Liz examined.
"You have terrific horses, Annie."
The tall horsewoman beamed with pleasure, her pink skin accentuating the freckles that danced across her cheeks.
"I've spent twelve years getting the right crosses on my Polish mares. I'm hoping this foal crop will be the one I've been working my butt off for."
Liz peeled off her elbow-length exam gloves, and reached for a syringe.
"I understand completely. Fine-tuning an Arabian herd isn't something that happens overnight."
A few minutes later, Annie wrote a check and beamed as she handed it over. "Such a deal. And I didn't have to wait forever to get this done. I'm sure glad you're around now."
"Thanks, Annie. So am I. Right now, I'm headed over to Beechwood Morgans. You know them?"
Annie's face lit up. "Oh, yeah, they're great people. I told them to call you."
"Thanks. Be sure you tell everyone else you know, too!"
As her truck moved out onto the highway, Liz smiled. If I can keep this up, I should be in good financial shape by the time I'm ready to go to the national show.
She chuckled. "Talk about optimism."
Late that afternoon, Liz stopped by the clinic. She hadn't talked to Doc Sams since he'd given her the okay to sift through the client files. He was just climbing out of his truck when she pulled in.
"Hi, Doc. Home for the day?"
The old man nodded and smiled grimly. "Seems like I'm never here anymore. I don't know why we got so busy all of a sudden."
Liz's skin prickled with annoyance, but she kept her tone civil. "Well, I'm available anytime. All anyone has to do is call me."
He didn't reply, but retrieved his jacket and bag from the cab. Liz brought him up to date on the work she'd been doing.
"That's good, Elizabeth. I think you'll eventually make out okay here. Just be patient."
Liz suddenly noticed how weary the elderly vet looked, and heard the deep wheeze that accompanied each breath. She felt shame for her own selfish worries and took hold of his arm.
"Doc, I'd really like to take some of the work load off your shoulders. That's why I moved out here."
"Yes, I'm going to have to slow down pretty soon. The old ticker isn't cooperating."
The words jarred her. It no longer mattered why the locals had avoided her, the only important thing was helping Doc Sams, so he could retire in peace, before he simply dropped dead of overwork.
"Why don't you let me take half your calls for awhile? It'll give you some relief, and I'll have a chance to meet some of the folks you've been caring for all these years. That way, when you decide to retire, it'll be a smooth transition."
He didn't say a word, just looked at her for a minute, then beckoned her to follow him into the house. An hour later, Liz's appointment book was filled for the next month.
26
After such an eventful week, Saturday and Sunday seemed too quiet. Liz started working her show horses again, and also made some inquiries about stallions to breed to Fair Lady in the spring. The high stud fees for the really popular sires stunned her. She'd have to make a lot of farm calls to pay for one breeding.
Fair Lady had settled in nicely and, true to herd behavior, had politely taken over the job of Boss Mare. Liz watched the regal white lady move about the pasture, her royal status evident as the others obediently followed her from a patch of grass to the watering trough, then back to a new grazing spot.
Liz's attention moved to Muscala - the only herd member who didn't play the game. When the group moved into her grazing area, she pinned her ears and moved to another spot. Liz began to worry about the young mare's attitude. This would be her first foal, and there was always the possibility that the new mother might inflict that nasty temper on her newborn. When foaling time arrived, Liz would need to keep a close watch on Muscala.
As Colleen had promised, Frank Jones called for an appointment to see Marilyn's horses. On Sunday, his truck and empty horse trailer rattled to a stop in front of the barn. Liz watched through the window, an uneasy feeling stealing over her. Why would he bring a trailer? To buy horses on the spot? A burly man crawled out of the truck and looked around for a minute, then pulled a cane from behind the seat, and started slowly toward the barn.
Liz caught up with him as he reached the entrance.
"Mr. Jones? I'm Liz Barnett."
He stopped and squinted at her through thick glasses, giving her a chance to look him over a little more closely. His clothes were dirty, his hair looked as though it hadn't been washed or combed in weeks, and he stank. Liz felt a sick quiver writhe through her stomach. A buyer for the slaughterhouse?
She swallowed hard. "You have a farm around here?"
He grinned, exposing rotten teeth. "Yeah, I got a place over by Camino. I got Arabs and Quarter Horses, coupla Morgans. I like 'em all."
Liz couldn't decide if he was telling the truth, so she kept a neutral expression while she made up her mind. They walked slowly up the hill, Jones relying heavily on the cane. He stopped abruptly when the pasture came into full view.
"Whoa! I want that one."
Liz followed his gesture. He was pointing at Fair Lady. Sure you do.
"Sorry, she's not one of the sale horses."
He grunted, then looked at the rest of the horses, who had ceased grazing and now watched their visitors with interest.
He pointed his cane at Miss Marcy. "How about that other white mare?"
Liz was stunned by the emotion that drove her deceptive reply. "Not for sale either. She belongs to me."
Liz pointed out the horses that were for sale, but Jones seemed to have lost interest. As they walked back to his truck, Liz pondered her negative reaction to him. Her first instinct about him had probably been wrong. He's nothing but a horse collector, probably a dealer, looking for a steal.
His gravely voice broke into her thoughts. "Well, I sure wasted my time here. You ain't sellin' any of the good stuff."
She scowled. "Mr. Jones, I only have four horses for sale - those that belong to Mrs. Cook. I never said any of my own stock were for sale."
"Well, I'll think about it. Maybe that one with the scar on its shoulder. I'll call ya."
The old truck and trailer creaked down the drive, and her thoughts reeled. I don't want to sell you that one either.
Liz spent the next several days in her truck, bumping along dusty back-roads. Her self-confidence faltered a little each time she met with stony silence or outright rudeness, but she went about her work efficiently, smiling bravely to camouflage her true feelings.
The appointments she'd taken over from Doc were all routine, mostly cattle ranches. As she rattled down yet another dirt lane in the middle of
nowhere, she felt the fatigue of the past week as a full-time country vet. For this I spent eight years becoming an equine specialist? The pompous thought jolted her harder than the potholes in the lane. C'mon, don't be a snob. If you want to practice out here, you'll have to take all comers.
By the weekend, she'd made farm calls to five cattle ranches, a chicken farmer, and a boarding stable. She'd performed an emergency cesarean section out in a pasture where a champion dairy cow's twins had tried to arrive simultaneously. Liz's efforts had saved the calves and the mother, and the old farmer had almost wept with relief. Liz had driven away from the farm with a three-hundred-dollar check in her pocket, and the old man's assurance that she would be his vet from then on.
In addition to her busy schedule, Liz worked her show horses every morning and night, leaving her little time to think about Kurt, or the widening silence between them. However, when she fell into bed at night, she wrestled with painful memories of Tahoe that robbed her of sleep. He still hadn't called, and sadness colored all the positive changes that had occurred in her life. Her practice was slowly coming together, and she felt confident that her horses would do well at the regional show, but it wasn't enough. Her adult life had been filled to overflowing with the needs of others, and she'd willingly taken on those responsibilities, never thinking about her own future. Never allowing herself to dream about a special someone. Now that she'd opened her heart a crack, taken a chance on Kurt, he seemed to have slipped through her fingers.
27
Doc Sams took his first vacation in years, and Liz was on call twenty-four/seven. On Saturday morning, she received a call from a sheep rancher in Camino.
"This is Jebediah Jameson. Doc Sams there?"
"No, he's on vacation, Mr. Jameson. This is Dr. Barnett."
Hesitation stretched through the line, and Liz felt sure he'd hang up.
"Uh, well, my best sheep dog is sick. I need a vet out here."
Liz willed herself to ignore his tone. "What seems to be wrong with him?"