Winning Ways (15 page)

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 back 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.

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.

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?"

"Lady, if I knew that, I wouldna called!"

Liz fought a nasty retort. "I'll be there in forty minutes."

"I sure hope you know what yer doin'. Dog's worth a lot of money."

The line went dead, and Liz clenched her jaw.

"Dammit! Will this job ever get easier?"

A dusty forty minutes later, a sinewy woman with tired eyes greeted Liz as she stepped down from the truck.

"Hullo. You Doc Barnett? Dog's up there." She pointed toward a low-roofed building.

Liz entered the dim interior of what looked like an old equipment shed. The only inhabitant was a black and white Border Collie curled up on a feed sack in the corner. His tail thumped once.

"What seems to be the problem?"

"Won't eat. Hasn't for two days. Jeb's real worried about him. Spunk's our lead sheepdog."

Liz offered her hand to the dog's nose, and received a tentative lick in return.

"Hey, Spunk. What's going on? Let me have a look, okay?"

Her singsong voice seemed to reassure the dog that she wouldn't hurt him, and he lay quietly while her skilled hands gently probed his belly. A minute later, she stood up.

"I suspect he ate something that didn't agree with him. You have any toads around here?"

The farmer's wife raised her eyebrows. "Toads? Yeah, tons of 'em!"

"That'll do it. There's something in their skin that makes them unattractive to natural predators, and it causes one heck of a stomach-ache for any animal that eats one."

She looked down at the dog, who rolled his blue eyes as though he understood she'd just exposed his folly.

"I'll give him something to clean him out, and he should be fine."

While she opened a tube of laxative paste, curiosity got the better of her. "Where's the Mister?"

The woman chuckled. "He's off up the hill, mutterin' to hisself. Don't have much confidence in young vets, much less women." She grinned and shrugged. "Men. What are ya gonna do?"