by Toni Leland
Kurt glanced in the rearview mirror and smiled. "Bones, I think you're gonna be my ticket back to the real world."
Two hours later, he pulled through the front gate of the Cow Palace and started hunting for his barn, peeved because his stall assignment was in one of the farthest buildings from the arena. Eve insisted on handling the entries, always managed to be late mailing them, and Kurt paid the price with a rotten stall location. Straight ahead, he spotted a barn with a huge white "D", and started searching for a place big enough to park the truck and trailer. The hour was late, and the exhibitor parking lot was jammed.
The Legacy Arabians truck sat close to the cinderblock building, and his pulse skipped. Man, I'll bet she's in the same barn. I can just see us stalled near each other. The thought triggered another, more intimate vision and he closed his eyes tightly. Since she'd hung up on him, he'd wrestled with his emotions, wanting her even more, but still fearing the complications it would create.
Cool it. You have absolutely nothing to offer her. The way things stand right now, she can't be part of your life. He leaned his head back against the seat. Why am I even thinking like this?
Liz's face floated behind his closed eyes - looking up at him from her barn work, looking up at him in anger, looking up at him from the pillow beside him. He was haunted by the woman he didn't want to want.
Burying the images, he jumped out of the truck and entered the dimly lit barn. He walked the empty aisles, looking for the stalls that would be his.
A handsome bay face peered through iron bars.
"Hey, Karma, how ya doin'?"
The horse nickered and bobbed his head. Kurt reached through and scratched the colt's chin, then looked around. Liz had brought all three horses she'd qualified in Tahoe. An empty director chair sat by the tack stall, an open magazine on the seat, a thermos sitting on the floor beside it. Hmm, she must still be here. His heartbeat faltered for a second. Be strong. He turned back to the colt who begged for more attention.
"See you in the ring, little man."
The barn buzzed with activity when Liz woke at five-thirty the next morning. Opening day of a show generated lots of nervous excitement, and she loved the crackling atmosphere. She checked the class schedule to see that the starting time of Karma's class hadn't mysteriously changed during the night, then turned on the hose, and started filling water buckets.
Grabbing the latch on Karma's door, she peered through the bars. "Hey, you still sleeping, you lazy butt?"
The colt stood in the corner, head down, eyes closed. He didn't respond to her voice, and panic rose in her chest. Apathy at feeding time meant trouble. Deeply frightened, she dropped the hose and snatched open the stall door. Karma roused slightly at the sound, raising his head and looking at her with glazed eyes. With a leaden heart, Liz knew she was seeing the end of her dreams.
She moved quickly to the colt's side and ran her hands over his smooth neck. He didn't feel hot, but a fine layer of sweat glistened on his coat. Colic. She'd seen the symptoms so many times, but had never had the bad luck in her own barn. Fear wrapped a cold, clammy blanket around her. A horse with colic could recover quickly - or require surgery. Or die. She squatted down and placed her ear against the colt's flank, listening closely. His gut sounds were normal, strong and gurgling, not the ominous silence of a blocked or twisted intestine. She racked her brain for another diagnosis.
Show regulations required that any ill animal had to be examined by the show veterinarian. As the owner, she couldn't give him anything. He nickered softly and took a step toward her. His knees buckled and he went down. Struggling to his feet, he swayed a little, but stayed upright, trying to focus dull eyes. Liz thought her heart would break.
The lights were on in the show office.
"Is the vet in? I have a sick horse!" she gasped, breathless from her sprint.
The clerk behind the counter nodded and gestured toward an open door. "I think he just came in."
A short, balding man stood at a table, loading syringes into a large, black bag. Liz rapped her knuckles on the doorjamb as she entered.
The vet's voice had a crisp edge. "Good Morning. What can I do for you?"
"I have a sick colt this morning - of all mornings."
"What's the problem?"
"He's sweaty, dull-eyed - "
"Did you change his feed? Sounds like colic."
"No, it's not colic. I - "
"And how do you know it's not colic?"
His patronizing tone sparked Liz's frustration and fear. "Because I'm a licensed veterinarian, and I guess I'd know colic when I see it!"
"Oh, sorry." He smiled sheepishly. "Let me grab my bag."
He peered inside the medical kit, then snapped it shut. Liz stepped out into the main office and fidgeted while she waited for him. What could have caused Karma's problem? I didn't change his feed...maybe the different water...he might have eaten some of the wood shavings. The vet finally joined her, and they walked in silence toward the barn, Liz struggling to quell a sense of impending disaster.
Karma still stood in the corner with his head down. The vet left his bag in the aisle, and went in to examine the colt. Seconds later, he turned and leveled a solemn look at Liz.
"This colt entered in a class this morning?"
"Yes, the first one."
"You'd better scratch him."
He turned back to the colt and pulled back the eyelids, peering closely into the pupils.
Liz's anxiety tied her stomach into a hard knot.
"What's the matter? Is he going to be all right?"
The vet came out of the stall, throwing her a disgusted look.
"I don't know who you think you're fooling. What did you give him?"
She stared at the person who'd just destroyed her morning. The pitch of her voice rose higher than she'd intended.
"What are you talking about?"
"I mean, what did you give him? Something to calm him down a little before his class?"
Liz drew herself up to her full height and scowled.
"I'm a veterinarian. Do you think I'd accidentally overdose my own horse to the point that he couldn't even stand up, let alone show in a class? Does that make any sense to you?"
She became aware that people up and down the aisle had stopped their work, gathering in groups to watch. A minute later, the vet brushed past her, carrying a syringe filled with bright red blood. He stowed it in his bag, then turned and spoke in an even tone.
"I'll send these samples up to Sacramento today, but we won't have results back for at least twenty-four hours."
Liz heard, but barely digested his words. Her horse had been drugged right under her nose.
"Will he be okay?"
The man shook his head and his tone softened. "Whatever tranquilizer he got will probably wear off on its own, but you know how unpredictable some of these drugs can be." He threw her a knowing look. "And you'd better hope the U.S. Equestrian vet doesn't show up for a random drug check."
He turned and walked away, leaving Liz standing in the aisle with an audience that had witnessed the entire exchange.
Farther down the row, heads bobbed together, and snatches of speculative conversation drifted into Liz's anxiety.
A woman called out, "Everything okay? Need any help?"
Liz shook her head and retreated into Karma's stall. Shock ricocheted through her body and she started to tremble. She leaned against the wall, then slid down into the soft shavings, barely able to breathe, her stomach churning. Closing her eyes, she leaned her head against the rough wood, trying to think straight. My poor little boy. How could this happen? Who wants him out of the class?
She got to her feet and stepped up next to the colt, smoothing her skilled hands over his young body, feeling him tremble beneath her touch. Kurt's warning echoed in her head. "There are folks who would do bad things to keep a good horse from winning." The loudspeaker crackled through the barn. "Liz Barnett. Please come to the show office. Liz Barnett to
the show office."
Karma sighed deeply and cocked his hip, leaning heavily against the wall. Gone was the feisty glint in his eye, and the prancing arrogance. His ears drooped, his lower lip hung open, and his tail dangled like an old mop.
Leaving the stall, Liz stared with unseeing eyes at the cement beneath her feet, her thoughts tumbling over one another, searching for an answer. Shamefully, she remembered how she'd lashed out at Kurt's implication of skullduggery at important shows. And she'd slept through the attack. Her eyes burned. I might as well have turned him out with a pack of wolves.
The aisle was deserted, the curious onlookers having apparently returned to whatever they'd been doing earlier. She suddenly felt as though she'd suffocate, and moved toward the door, wanting to fill her lungs with fresh air, feel the sun, make the nightmare disappear. Outside, the real world settled around her, and she leaned against the building, still trying to comprehend the situation. Too many emotions rolled through her body, flooding her with a feeling of helplessness. How had life gotten so screwed up?
The loudspeaker barked in the background, and another idea came to mind. Bill Benton. His reference to the old lady's displeasure at her horse taking second place now took on a more ominous meaning. He's just ambitious enough to try to win by any means. Reinforcing her thoughts were Benton's comment about getting beaten by Karma again, plus his eagerness to have the colt under any circumstances. She latched onto him as the culprit. He was so smug yesterday, even referring to Kurt's horse as being serious competition. Oh God! What if Kurt's horses have been attacked, too? A chill raced across her shoulders as she headed for the show office, despair washing over her like rain.
32
Liz's hand moved slowly through her signature. The clerk handed over copies of the scratch form, then turned back to his business, seemingly unconcerned by her horrible predicament. Her thoughts moved back to the night intruder. When had all this happened? That was the mystery. She scowled, willing away the dull headache that was forming at the base of her skull. If she was going to protect her horses from whoever was out to ruin her, she'd have to stay awake.
The PA system crackled a welcome message across the show grounds. Pain tightened its grip on her throat. The entire year had been thrown away by the actions of one selfish person. Someone desperate. Someone with no conscience. Liz trudged along, looking at the dusty ground, lost in thought, no longer under any deadline.
"Whoa!"
Strong arms caught her as she collided with a solid body.
Kurt grinned. "Hello out there?" His eyes widened with concern. "Hon! What's the matter?"
Liz's distress disappeared briefly at the sight of his face and the warm brown eyes that had haunted her for weeks.
"Kurt! Is your colt all right?"
Confusion sharpened his features. "What? What colt? What are you talking about?"
He gently guided her over to the side of the building.
"Tell me what's going on."
He remained expressionless while Liz related the horror story.
She looked earnestly into his eyes. "I think someone was afraid I'd win the stallion class."
He didn't speak, but placed his hands on his hips and turned away. The puzzling reaction sent her thoughts reeling in a new, chilling direction. Could it have been him? Could he want his reputation back so badly that he'd sacrifice mine?...No, I won't believe that. Her heart ached with the terrible accusation she'd made in her mind, then logic took over. But why else would he have backed away from me so completely in the past few weeks? The pain of suspicion again knifed through her thoughts.
Kurt turned back to her, on the verge of speaking, and Liz attempted to mask her expression, not wanting him to see what had flashed through her thoughts. She wasn't quick enough. He took one look at her face, then silently turned and walked away.
Liz moved slowly down the aisle toward her stalls. A woman stepped out of a stall in the adjacent area.
"Is your horse all right? I couldn't help overhearing the vet."
Liz nodded numbly, not wanting to talk about it.
The woman offered her hand. "I'm Shelly Ireland. I own Kelly Green Farms in San Jose."
Liz shook the work-hardened hand. "Liz Barnett. I live in Garden Valley. Legacy Arabians." She sighed. "He's all right, I guess. It was a tranquilizer of some kind." She stared at the ground. "I can't imagine how this happened. He seemed fine when I left last night, then I found him all goofy this morning."
Shelly's tone was sympathetic. "I hope he'll be okay. Maybe you'll get lucky and find out who did it."
Liz said nothing, the recent conversation with Kurt still painfully sharp in her head.
A short, bow-legged old man came around the corner and walked up to Shelly.
"They'll deliver another four bags of shavings about two o'clock," he said, glancing curiously at Liz.
"This is Patrick. He's my barn manager, looks after everything at shows, and is basically indispensable."
Patrick colored at his boss's compliment. "Pleased ta meetcha. Ain't you the gal whose horse was drugged?"
She winced and nodded. "I'm really at a loss. When I left here last night around nine, he was eating his hay."
Patrick thought for a minute. "Well, le'ssee. I was here 'til about eleven. I did see some guy standing down there by your stalls, but I didn't think much about it. Thought he was with you."
"Do you remember what he looked like?"
She held her breath, waiting for a description of the intruder.
"Mmm. Tall. Uh, kinda dark, like he mighta been a foreigner or somethin'. Moustache...he had a moustache. That's about all I remember. Like I say, I thought he was supposed t' be there."
Liz's stomach rolled. Numb with pain, she nodded and mumbled her thanks, then turned and walked on to her stalls. Karma seemed to have regained some of his composure. His eyes had lost their dull glaze, and he'd moved to his water bucket. His muzzle glistened with the remnants of a drink.
"I'm so sorry, Baby. I'm going to get to the bottom of this if it takes me all year."
Kurt leaned against a post, watching Liz talk to some people in the aisle. Even from a distance, he saw her despair and his heart tightened with anger. He should never have told her about his past. He glanced at his watch and leapt forward. Ebony's class was in fifteen minutes.
Racing back to the stalls, he pulled the colt out into the aisle, and slipped on the fine, gold-chain show halter. He'd already groomed and blanketed the colt earlier, which would give him a little advantage, but it would be tight. Without bothering to change his shirt, he grabbed his jacket off the hanger and slipped it on, dusted off his pants, and grabbed his hat. He pulled the blanket from Ebony's back, and started toward the door at a dead run as the loudspeaker blared the last gate-call.
Kurt looked at the blue ribbon in his hand, and glanced at the bouncy black colt walking beside him. Thinking about everything that had happened in the last hour, he remembered his father's words, so many years ago, long before the trouble in New Mexico. "You'll reap what you sow." Kurt had sown some foolish seeds, and he had no one to blame but himself for the bumper crop. His ambition had screwed him up again, only this time, his heart was involved.
He toweled the sweat from Ebony's neck, and analyzed the line-up of possibilities for the fiasco. Maybe Benton wanted to protect his interest in Bones. Nah, he wouldn't risk his career on something like this. He'd just buy Karma instead of Ebony. Remembering Eve's cold confidence about winning the class, he felt the prickle of suspicion crawl across his shoulders. Protecting her own interest in the championship made more sense. He shook his head, a sick feeling crawling through his gut, as another painful reality intruded. Liz has every reason to think I might have been involved, since she knows about New Mexico.
He put the colt away and leaned on the stall door, lost in a barrage of thoughts as he examined each one again.
Through the barn door, Liz caught a familiar movement. Across the gravel road, Kurt led a g
orgeous black colt, a youngster almost twice the size of Karma. That must be the Egyptian horse Bill mentioned.
She focused on Kurt's uncharacteristic body language. A slow and shuffling step replaced his usually confident, almost swaggering stride. His shoulders drooped, de-emphasizing his height. The self-assured manner had disappeared, his bearing now one of defeat - despite the blue ribbon in his hand.
Seeing him so discouraged, Liz knew she'd judged him unfairly, jumped to conclusions without proof. The floodgates of an emotional dam opened, filling her with determination to learn the truth. She desperately wanted to believe that he had nothing to do with the drugging, and her thoughts returned to her original choice for bad guy - Bill Benton.
Amy ambled up to the bars to beg for treats, and Ashiiqah dozed quietly in the corner of her stall. Liz clenched her jaw. Whoever is out to get me isn't going to mess up any more of my horses.
33
At the fairgrounds security office, Liz approached a buxom black woman wearing a gray uniform. A wide belt sat on her ample hips, hung with gun holster, radio, billy club, and keys. Liz tried not to stare. How does she keep that thing up? It must weigh twenty pounds.
"Someone came into my stalls last night, and dosed my horse with a tranquilizer."
The security officer picked up a pad of paper. "Any idea who'd want to mess up your horse?"
Liz felt uneasy, not ready to name names. "No, but it's possible another exhibitor might have wanted my horse out of the halter class."
The implication of her own words jumped out at her. Someone thought Karma was so good he couldn't be beaten. A chill of the unknown followed the brief flush of pride.
"So, exactly what is it you want us to do, Miss...?"
"Barnett. Liz Barnett. I want you to call the police. This is a criminal act. I'm also worried about my other horses. What should I do if someone tries to tamper with them?"
The woman thought for a moment. "We have a security guard who patrols the barns from eleven at night until five in the morning. But he has four barns to cover, so he only gets to any one location about three times a night. Do you have a cell phone?"