Winning Ways (16 page)

A shrill cry broke into the companionable moment.

"Mom! Mom!"

They looked up as a chubby girl burst through the door.

"Mom! Doc! Buck's hurt! He's up in the pasture and he's caught in some barbed-wire!"

Liz grabbed her wire cutters and followed the girl up the hill.

A buckskin horse was on its knees, a piece of barbed wire wrapped around its front legs. Another coil had hooked onto the halter buckle and snaked around his neck, holding him firmly in its wicked clutches. Blood trickled from dozens of small cuts.

Liz squatted beside the horse, trying to assess the damage, then turned to the girl.

"Hold his head while I cut the wire away."

The girl grasped the cheek straps on the horse's halter. Liz worked quickly and carefully, and the horse remained quiet. Once she'd freed his neck, she started on the legs. The rogue wire had wrapped itself around one leg twice, and three times around the other. Twenty minutes later, Buck was free, and Liz urged him onto his feet. The little girl wrapped her arms around the horse's neck and sobbed.

Back at the barn, Liz cleaned all the cuts and gave Buck a tetanus booster.

"He should spend the rest of the day in his stall. He's pretty worn out from his adventure."

She turned to Mrs. Jameson. "Do you use much barbed wire on the place?"

"Nope. We don't use any. I dunno where that came from."

"It looked pretty old, probably thrown into the brush when the board fences were put up. You should check Buck's pastures to see if there's more. Horses and barbed-wire don't mix."

The little girl returned, her tear-stained face glowing with gratitude.

"Thank you for rescuing Buck."

Liz smiled. "You're most welcome. I'm glad it wasn't serious." Her tone sobered. "You really shouldn't leave Buck's halter on when he's turned out...I think you can see why."

"But, sometimes he's hard to catch."

Liz hesitated, trying to decide what response would make the most sense to the farm girl.

"I know, but it would be much better if you trained him to come to you willingly. If he gets caught on something again, you might not find him in time to save his life."

The child's pink face paled, her round eyes brimmed with tears, and her lip quivered as she slowly nodded her head.

Liz caught a movement out of the corner of her eye and laughed, pointing toward the front of the barn. Spunk stood in the doorway, his feathered tail waving slowly from side to side.

Mrs. Jameson chuckled. "Well, look at you! Feel better?"

The dog hung his head and rolled his eyes, then came up to them. His cold, wet nose found Liz's hand, and her day was complete.

On Sunday morning, Liz stared at the neon green display on the bedside clock. Seven. Okay. I'm not spending any more time moping around. Swallowing her pride, she picked up the phone and dialed. A husky voice answered on the second ring.

"Aliqua Arabians. Kurt DeVallio."

Liz's chest tightened. She'd grown to love the sound of his voice, and missed hearing it. She snuggled down under the quilt, cradling the phone against the pillow.

"I haven't talked to you in awhile. How did Stockton go?"

"We did all right. Nothing spectacular. Picked up a couple of blues and a lot of reds." He chuckled. "Eve's favorite color is blue, so she isn't too happy with me right now. What's new with you?"

Dismay flooded her thoughts. Why are we discussing this?

"Liz? You all right? Kinda quiet on your end."

She felt a warm rush of anger. He's acting like I'm just a casual acquaintance.

"I'm all right. Just surprised I haven't heard from you since...since Tahoe."

His tone was even, held no trace of emotion. "I've been pretty busy. You know how it is this time of the year."

Liz was at a loss. Perhaps Eve was standing nearby, making it hard for him to talk freely.

"Listen, Liz, I hate to cut you off, but I've got to get back to work here. Boss lady is riding me pretty hard. I'll catch you later, okay?"

She mumbled goodbye and put the phone down, immobilized by the wave of emotions crashing over her. She'd let her guard down, followed her deepest feelings, trusted Kurt. A huge mistake. The tears started softly at first, rolling down her face onto the pillow, followed a minute later by body-wracking sobs. When the storm finally subsided, she burrowed under the quilt, and succumbed to blessed oblivion.

Kurt replaced the phone on the hook, and leaned his forehead against the wall. He felt sick. Dear God, please let me be strong. I just can't hurt her any more. The emptiness inside him had a familiar feel to it, flooding him with sadness. He pushed away from the wall.

Casting aside his melancholy, he started talking to a leggy black colt who nervously paced circles in a stall.

"Easy, Bones, easy."

Kurt stood by the door, waiting for the animal to quiet, then stepped inside. The colt stood still while Kurt buckled the halter and hooked up a lead rope. Stroking the beautiful horse's neck, Kurt's mind focused on his work, suppressing his pain. He was a master at his craft, and before him stood a rough specimen to polish for the future.

Moments later, Kurt was in his element as he lunged the black beauty at the end of the line. The rambunctious colt should qualify easily for the regional, but Kurt couldn't allow himself to become over-confident. Plenty could happen before then. He assessed the horse's excellent conformation, whistling softly at how perfectly the colt was put together. He would be a magnificent stallion when he matured. It's no wonder Bill Benton wants him.

He remembered how the trainer had nosed around Liz's horses. Benton would go for the top animal, and Kurt couldn't forget that. He'd better plan on a serious contest. The two colts were perfect, an exciting match. Though he'd originally tried to subtly undermine Liz's confidence about showing, his efforts had only seemed to encourage her. The cards were on the table.

Ebony was an early February foal. The registry ruled that a horse's birth date was January First, regardless of when the actual birth took place, so, even though the colt was entered in the yearling stallion class, he would technically be closer to two years old - a distinct advantage that Kurt hoped would make a difference.

Sensing Kurt's wandering attention, the colt started skipping and hopping at the end of the line. Kurt clucked and snapped the whip. The horse stepped back into a long-legged trot, and Kurt's thoughts returned to his own plans.

If Benton purchased Ebony, Kurt could walk away from Eve Aliqua and strike out on his own. The dreams of a lifetime just might come true, if nothing interfered.

The clock said nine-thirty when Liz awoke from a deep, numbing sleep. She sat on the side of the bed and stared at the numbers, knowing the horses waited to be fed. In the bathroom, her blotchy face and swollen eyes stared back at her from the mirror and, confronted with her misery, she started to cry again, silent tears of grief. Why am I surprised? Colleen warned me a long time ago.

Minutes later, impatient whinnies greeted her and beautiful heads appeared over stall doors, anxious for breakfast. Liz recognized her true wealth - a barn filled with some of the finest Arabs in the country. Her first season wins at Sacramento and Tahoe were proof. In this barn lay her dreams, the dreams she'd pursued on her own for so long. Legacy Arabians and her profession were her future, not Kurt DeVallio. I made a stupid mistake, but it's not the end of the world.

Her eyes burned, but whether from love lost, or simply fierce pride, she didn't know.

Fair Lady pranced along beside Liz as they walked over to a small paddock behind the barn. The mare kept straining her head to look at the field where her pasture mates waited. She firmly nudged Liz's arm with her soft muzzle.

"It's okay, girl. I want to see just how difficult you are to ride."

Each day for the past week, Liz had watched Fair Lady's fascinating gait as she made her rounds of the pasture. Liz had pictured herself riding the beautiful animal along the many trails that surrounded the farm. Eve had mentioned that Fair Lady didn't like to be ridden, but Liz wanted to try anyway. She'd make her first attempt bareback, just as she'd ridden as a youngster.

She positioned the mare next to the fence, and climbed up to straddle Fair Lady's narrow back. The sensation of sitting on a horse after so many years felt wonderful. The mare flicked an ear back, listening to Liz rustle as she got comfortable. Taking a deep breath, Liz gathered the reins and touched her heels lightly against the mare's sides. Fair Lady glided forward into a smooth, rhythmic walk. Liz barely moved the reins as the horse responded to Liz's subtle leg commands.

"Good girl!" Eve obviously doesn't know what she's talking about.

The mare walked around the paddock once, then Liz nudged her into a trot, and gasped with pleasure. The gait felt as wonderful as it looked from a distance. Even without a saddle, Liz was able to post to the amazing, floating gait. I'll pay for this tomorrow. In minutes, her thigh muscles tightened painfully, and she signaled the mare to return to the walk. Fair Lady moved to the center of the paddock and halted.

"Hey, I didn't ask you to stop! You telling me you're finished with the ride?"

Suddenly, the mare lowered her haunches and sat down. Caught off guard, Liz slid off the horse and landed flat on her back in the dust, smacking her head on the hard packed dirt. The pain of the impact produced whirling stars for a moment, followed by a dull headache that spread from the back of her head to behind her eyes.

She squinted up at the mare, who was now back on her feet and standing quietly.

"Well, I guess you let me know you don't want to be a saddle horse, huh?"

The magnificent, fine-boned head turned and contemplated Liz's sprawl with huge, dark eyes. Liz groaned and climbed to her feet, brushing the dust off her jeans, her head throbbing with each movement. Slowly, she led the mare up to the pasture where the other horses anxiously waited at the fence. She opened the gate and turned the mare loose, giving her a smack on the rump.

"Okay, you win. I won't bother you any more."

Fair Lady trotted toward the other horses, snaking her neck and tossing her head as though to say, "That ought to hold her!"

The phone rang while Liz was dozing on the couch. She jumped to her feet, staggering with the impact of the wrecking ball rolling around in her skull. She closed her eyes tightly and, while she waited for the pain to subside, the answering machine picked up. Colleen's anxious voice buzzed through the speaker. "Liz, when ya come in could ya call me right away? We have a foal that's limpin' real bad."

A pretty little chestnut filly stood forlornly in a corner of the stall, its mother nervously watching Liz.

Colleen's voice was tense. "She's been favoring her left front since yesterday morning, but we can't find anything wrong with her. I thought it might be a stone bruise, but her hoof looks normal."

Liz eyed the anxious mare, then stepped inside the door and walked slowly toward her, crooning softly. She stroked the mare's neck and felt the muscles relax a little, as the wary mother decided that Liz wouldn't hurt her, or her baby.

Still, Liz used caution as she approached the foal. The maternal instincts of a mare were incredibly strong, and if eight hundred pounds of horseflesh didn't want you touching her baby, you'd better have a plan.

The foal stood quietly, watching with huge eyes as Liz approached. Placing a hand on the filly's shoulder, Liz applied light pressure, urging the foal to walk. The tiny horse stepped forward, distinctly limping.

Liz gently grasped the slim foreleg, then moved her hand slowly toward the foot, searching for a clue.

"The leg bones are solid."

She picked up the tiny foot, and examined the soft flesh above the hoof. Nothing obvious. Moving her hand up the foreleg, her fingers located some swelling. The filly grunted and jerked her leg away. Above the knee joint, Liz found the cause of the filly's discomfort.

"She has epiphysitis."

"Epiphy-what?"

"The growth plate above the knee joint is swollen. It happens in fast-growing young horses, especially if they're overfed." She glanced up at Colleen. "The mare also passes on a lot of nutrition in her milk, so the kid gets a double dose."

Colleen looked dismayed. "Is it dangerous? Can you fix it?"

Liz nodded as she dug through her kit. "You caught it early. The condition is only debilitating if it has time to seriously affect the bone growth."

She slipped on a pair of latex gloves, then returned to the stall and began massaging something into the filly's leg.

"What's that you're putting on her?

"DMSO. It'll give us a jump-start on reducing the swelling."

Liz rose and peeled off the gloves. "I want you to reduce her grain by about thirty-percent. There's a supplement called MSM - add it to her feed. It contains sulfur. It'll work on the inflammation from within." She left the stall. "Keep her inside, apply moist heat three times a day, and rub some of this ointment on the affected area every other day. Be sure you wear gloves...DMSO can be dangerous stuff."