A Moment in Time (23 page)

Strangle itself wasn't rare, Valerie knew.
She'd seen it many times. It was caused by a bacterium,
Streptococcus equip
, which caused abscesses in a horse's
neck. Layla's condition, however, was entirely new to her. She'd
never seen a horse that had been vaccinated for the disease
after
it had already had the disease. Apparently, this was
what had happened. Santo hadn't known the horse had once had the
disease and gave it the vaccination.

"I've got to call Dr. Kramer," she said to
Conrad. "Just to confirm that Layla's had strangle."

Conrad nodded. "You want some coffee?"

"That would be great," Valerie replied. "If
it's not too much trouble."

"Not at all," he said. "There's everything we
need right here. I can do that while you're on the telephone."

Valerie watched as he went over to the
bookcases that lined one wall of the office and opened two narrow
doors of "books," leather book spines that had been glued to the
doors, making them appear to be part of the bookshelves. The open
doors revealed a minibar, complete with a small refrigerator,
microwave, coffeemaker, sink, and cabinetry.

He started making coffee while Valerie held
for information. She jotted down Dr. Kramer's telephone number when
she got it, then dialed in his number. He surprised her by picking
up on the first ring.

"Hello?" he said.

"Dr. Kramer," she said, "it's Valerie
Rochelle."

"Hello, my dear," the veterinarian replied.
"How're you doing, or need I ask if you're calling an old man like
me at this time of night? An emergency, eh?"

She laughed. "You hit the nail on the
head."

She related the problems with Layla and her
conversation with Mrs. Hurley. Dr. Kramer confirmed what Mrs.
Hurley had told her. "It was right before I retired," he said.
"Last October. So I imagine with the vaccination, antibodies are
racing around in that horse's system, creating havoc."

"Exactly," Valerie said.

"Well," Kramer said, "I won't insult you by
asking if you know how to handle it because I know better."

"Yes," Valerie said, "I know what to do, but
I do appreciate your help. Thanks a lot."

"Anytime, Val," he replied. " 'Night."

"Good night," she said.

She hung up the telephone again and turned to
Wyn.

"Dr. Kramer confirmed what Mrs. Hurley told
me," she said to him.

He looked up from the minibar. "So how do you
proceed from here?" he asked.

"Massive doses of IV antibiotics and
steroids," she replied. "And keep our fingers crossed." She
smiled.

He returned her smile. "It'll only be a
minute till the coffee's made."

"Great," she said. "I'm going to run back to
the stall and see what I've got with me in the way of
medication."

"How do you like your coffee?" he asked.

"Two sugars and a little cream," she replied
on her way into the tack room.

"It'll be waiting," he said.

When she left the room, he poured their
coffees, stirred in her sugar and cream, then set hers on the desk
and sat down with his. He took a sip. It was hot and strong and
tasted especially good tonight.
In fact
, he thought,
it's
been a long time since anything has tasted this good.
But he
knew why. It was because Valerie Rochelle had so quickly recovered
from her shock. So she couldn't be that horrified by what she
saw.

Valerie came through the tack room door, her
carryall in hand. "Well," she said, "it looks like I'm going to
have to make a run to the clinic."

"Why don't you have some coffee first?" he
offered, indicating the cup on the desk.

She sat down on the desk chair, dropped her
carryall, and took a sip of the coffee. "Aw," she said, "this is
perfect. Thanks."

"Just what the doctor ordered," he joked.

She smiled. "Exactly," she replied. "A horse
doctor, anyway."

They sipped their coffee in silence for a
minute before Wyn broke it. "Do you think Layla's going to be
okay?" he asked.

"I can't promise anything, Mr. Conrad," she
said without hesitation.

"Hey," he said. "Back up there a minute. It's
Wyn to you, please."

Valerie felt herself redden slightly with a
blush that she hoped he didn't see. "Okay," she said, "Wyn it is.
And I'm Val, all right?"

He nodded. "Val," he said, drawing it out as
if testing the word on his palate. Then he smiled. "Sorry to
interrupt you," he said. "Go on."

"Well, I think Layla stands a very good
chance if I get her on the antibiotics and steroids right away."
She looked thoughtful for a moment, then asked: "I guess Mr. Ducci,
Santo, is going to be upset. Is he very attached to her?"

Wyn shook his head. "I don't really know," he
said. "I knew he'd picked up a horse for a bargain, but we never
did get a chance to discuss it. He's gone out tonight, so I won't
get the full story till later or tomorrow." He took a sip of
coffee, then looked her square in the eye.

"You know what surprises me the most about
you, especially being a doctor of sorts, is that you've shown the
restraint not to ask what happened to me."

Valerie didn't know how to respond to his
comment.

"Don't you want to know?" he asked.

"I want to know what you want to tell me,"
she said.

He nodded. "Good answer."

"But before you tell me what you want to,
if
you want to, I'd better run to the clinic and pick up
that medication," she said.

"Of course," he said.

"Want to come along?" she asked.

"No," he said emphatically, shaking his head.
"I'll stay here with the horse."

She rose to her feet and picked up her
carryall, then went to the door. "I'll hurry," she said.

Chapter Fifteen

Santo stood, his back leaning slightly
against the bar, his legs spread wide apart, his huge arms across
his massive chest, a beer clenched in one meaty paw. Even in the
dim light, his shaved head shone, his gold earrings twinkled, and
his tattoos—bands of barbed wire around his right biceps and chains
around the left— were real attention-getters, rippling with even
the slightest movement of the powerful muscles in his arms. His
T-shirt revealed only a hint, but a tantalizing one, he thought, of
the tribal tattoos that decorated his shoulders, chest, and
back.

He knew he wasn't flattering himself to think
that he'd attracted a lot of attention in the bar.
The women
have been coming on to me ever since I walked through the door
,
he thought.

He took a long swallow of his beer, emptying
it, then turned and put the bottle on the mahogany bar. The place
was packed, but the bartender immediately caught his eye and came
his way. Santo shoved his empty bottle of Heineken toward the
bartender and threw a five on the counter. The bartender nodded
wordlessly, retrieved another bottle from the cooler, opened it,
and placed it in front of Santo with a fresh napkin.

Santo turned back around, facing out toward
the crowd in the bar again. Everybody seemed to be having a great
time, but he knew better. Many of them were just as lonely as he
was, of that he was certain, eagle-eyed and on the make.

Nothing like a night of hot sex
, he
thought,
to drive that lone wolf feeling away.

He was definitely feeling it tonight. Working
for Wyn had been a lot easier in Palm Beach. The town, while so
very proper, immaculately clean, and morally upright on its
surface, had a filthy underbelly. There was a lot of money there,
and a lot of idle people.

He missed it, and although he understood why
Wyn had done it, he wished that his boss had never decided to make
the move up here to the hinterlands. He missed the glamour, the
flash, the constant stream of parties and clubbing, and that whole
underclass of servants like himself who often had very interesting
lives of their own, intertwining as they did with the rich and
powerful. He missed Arielle with her incessant teasing, her
unreasonable demands, and her spoiled bitchiness. She'd been a real
pain at times, but she flirted with him constantly.

Damn
, he thought
, if only all this
mess with Wyn and then the divorce hadn't happened.
He knew he
could've gotten another job in Palm Beach like the one he had now.
It would've taken all of about fifteen minutes with his experience.
But there was one drawback to that, and it was a major drawback.
Wyn Conrad had written him into his will—for his faithful service,
he'd told him—for sticking with him through thick and thin. Now the
son of a bitch had him hooked like a fish on a line.

What was he going to do? Walk away and give
it up? No way. When Wyn kicked, Santo would be able to buy a little
condo down on Lake Worth or someplace close by. He'd be set for
life. He didn't know how long that would be, but the way things
were going, Wyn might kick at any time. He might OD on drugs.
Stoned as he got, he might fall down the stairs or drown in the
swimming pool. He might even off himself. He wouldn't put it past
him or blame him if he did. Wyn was a very unhappy man, and living
up here, the way he did, it was hell.
Shit
, he thought,
I
might even accidentally give him too much one day. Or not be there
to drag his ass out of the pool. Or pick him up off the
floor.

He smiled to himself. He might be a fairly
well-off man sooner than he'd thought. In the meantime, he had to
do something to keep his sanity intact, to stay cool and bide his
time.

The blonde he'd been talking to earlier
sidled up to him. "Got a light?"

Santo shook his head. "Matches at the bar
though," he said. He twisted around and snagged a book of them,
then turned back around and struck a match.

The blonde looked at him, then took Santo's
big hand, stuck the cigarette into the flame, lighting the
cigarette, eyes never leaving his.

She was a real exception to the rule up here.
This number could even pass muster in the dens of iniquity down
in Palm Beach
, he thought. Up here, he hardly saw a soul,
except for Wyn, the Reinhardts, and Tiffani, the girl who helped
out in the office.

"You said you had a place to go, right?"
Santo asked.

"Yeah, I got a place. Not too far away,
either," the blonde said.

"Why don't we take a ride?" Santo said.

"Let's split."

The blonde took his great bear paw and led
the way out, through a throng of watchful eyes, some of them
registering surprise, many of them envious.

In the parking lot she put an arm around his
waist, and he let himself be guided toward what must be her car.
When they reached it, the blonde turned to him. "Get in."

"Shouldn't I follow you?" Santo asked.

"No. You ride with me," she said. "I'll bring
you back to get your car."

Santo nodded. "Okay."

The blonde unlocked a big Range Rover with a
remote and opened the passenger side door.

"Nice car," Santo said. "You must be
loaded
." Like I'm going to be someday before too long.

The Reinhardts had returned from the movie,
and they both became terribly upset and embarrassed when Wyn, alone
in the stable, had asked them why they hadn't answered his
telephone call.

"
Ach, Gott in Himmel!
" Gerda had
cried, her hands flying to her face. "The cell phone was in my
Beutel
."

She brandished the ancient vinyl drawstring
bag that she carried with her everywhere. "I left it in the car
when we went into the theater."

Wyn calmly assured them that it was okay, but
he made it clear that he didn't want it to happen again. Tonight,
he'd told them, it so happened that he hadn't needed their help
after all. The future might be another story.

They walked on to their cottage, Wyn
listening to their argumentative voices carrying on the wind.

Shortly afterward he heard Valerie drive in,
and they headed for Layla's stall immediately. Finally, after
Valerie reexamined the horse and started her on massive doses of
antibiotics and steroids, Valerie and Wyn sat down in the stable
office. He offered her a glass of wine from the minifridge, and she
accepted.

"I can't believe I'm doing this," Valerie
said with a laugh.

He smiled. "I'm glad you are."

"But I've got to be up early in the morning,"
she said. "I've got a lot to do."

"Stay for a glass," Wyn cajoled. "I haven't
gotten to talk to anybody on the outside in a long time." Then he
laughed. "I don't think I've ever gotten to talk to anybody like
you, for that matter."

"What's that supposed to mean?" Valerie
asked, her voice one of mock anger. "I'm some kind of freak or
something?"

"No," he said. "You're different, and in a
most delightful way, but you most definitely are not a freak." He
paused and looked down into his glass, then back up at her. "I'm
the freak. I've been one ever since I was in a polo accident and
got dragged across the field."

Valerie shook her head and then,
unbelievably, she let out a short laugh.

"What?" he asked, intrigued with her
reaction. He'd expected sympathy, assurance, pity, anything but a
laugh.

"No, Wyn," she said, finding it easier to use
his first name now, "you're not a freak at all. You're just a very
unlucky polo player who let a polo pony practically plow a field
with him. And now you look a little bit like the creature from the
black lagoon."

"Creature from the black lagoon, huh?" he
responded, smiling now. "That bad, eh?"

She nodded. "Only uglier."

"You . . . you . . . ," he began, but then he
laughed and didn't finish.

Valerie laughed again, too, then became more
serious. "At first I didn't know quite what to think," she said
honestly. "With that black mask covering all the bandages on your
face, it looked almost like you were wearing some kind of gruesome
S&M mask like you see in the movies. All I could see were your
eyes and your mouth peeking out."