Chapter 5

 

The clinic parking lot was crowded with the day crew's personal vehicles. Several windshields had received only a cursory swipe or two with an ice scraper, and I wondered how the drivers had made it to work without running off the road. I nosed the Stone Manor truck right up to the aisle doors and left it running. The Spyder was back in its slot by the office. Another sports car sat beside it. I considered the pedigree charts I'd seen on the name plaques tacked to each stall door, bloodlines even I recognized, and decided that Virginia's thoroughbred industry was alive and kicking. As I lifted the buckets out of the truck's bed, I scanned the lot. An old Chrysler with plastic where the back window should have been, a pickup pockmarked with rust splotches, a panel station wagon. Hell, they'd quit making them years before I was born. As usual, the lucre didn't trickle down to the help.

I detoured around my boss's Spyder so I could get a better look at the new car, a silver Dodge Viper. The sharp edge of the barn roof above my head reflected off the tinted windshield, and the sleek finish and curve of the hood absorbed the weak sunlight and looked like liquid mercury. Between the two vehicles, their combined sticker prices added up to more than I could hope to make in a decade. Make that two decades. As I turned toward the doorway, I pictured the car I'd given up when I'd left my parents' house, a MX-5 Miata, and the irony of my life settled on my shoulders like a grin. I'd lived in both worlds but felt at home in neither.

I squeezed between the open doors and almost bumped into a little girl as she skipped across the aisle in a pair of black patent leather shoes and white tights. A purple nylon parka reached the hem of her skirt, and she was holding a half-eaten chocolate éclair in her right hand. Her eyes widened, and her pink lips formed a silent "O" as she took in the stainless steel buckets in my hand. A smudge of icing marred her upper lip.

She tilted her head and looked up at me with impossibly big brown eyes. "You had a foal last night? Which barn?"

"Six."

She pursed her lips. "You're new. What's your name?"

"Steve."

She twirled around and raced down the aisle. Her dress shoes smacked the asphalt, and the sound vibrated across the Plexiglass. A tall blond man who'd been standing at the office door, engaged in conversation with Dr. Nash, turned his head and watched her run toward them.

"Mom! Mom! Barn six had a foal last night. Can I go see? Please?"

Dr. Nash pursed her lips exactly as her daughter had done; then she glanced at me and frowned.

The little girl bounced on her toes. "Please, Mom?"

A pink translucent backpack hung from her shoulders, and the notebooks and pencil case inside rattled against the stiff plastic, and a clutch of beaded animals jangled from the zipper pull. I caught up with them as the blond man shifted his amused gaze between mother and daughter. A white paper bag dangled from his hand, and I suspected the contents were the source of the delicious aroma of fresh-brewed coffee and pastries that hung in the air around them.

When Dr. Nash lifted her head and locked her gaze with mine, her expression had softened to something bordering on benign, except for an unspoken warning that shone in her gray eyes like white light reflecting off a knife's blade. Or, more appropriately, a scalpel. Her look seemed to imply what she would do with that scalpel if any misfortune befell her daughter.

"Is Maddie still there?" she asked casually.

"Yes, ma'am."

She sighed, then squatted so that her face was level with her daughter's. "All right." She wiped off the chocolate with the pad of her thumb, then kissed the little girl's cheek "You have a good day, okay?"

"Okay, Mom."

"I love you."

"I love you, too."

Dr. Nash stood and automatically pressed her hands down the front of her hips, smoothing out nonexistent wrinkles. She'd ditched yesterday's leather duster and spike-heeled boots for a crisp navy coverall and tan Wolverines, yet I couldn't look at her without being conscious of an overpowering air of sophistication that hung around her like a shield.

"Please take Jenny over to see the foal, then have her back here by seven-thirty. She catches the bus at the entrance to the lot."

"Yes, ma'am," I said, and Dr. Nash thanked me as I turned toward the clinic door.

"Jenny. Wait for Steve in the office."

"Awh, Mom." Jenny watched me cross the aisle with a frown puckering the smooth skin between her brows.

As soon as I stepped through the doorway, I understood Dr. Nash's reasoning. As with any low-paying job, the crew consisted of men and women with varied and not necessarily desirable backgrounds. A few of the men, in particular, were a little rough around the edges. Sure, some of the employees worked the job because, like me, they loved working with horses, despite the low pay. Some because it was the only job they could get. And a few, because they'd simply fallen into it.

Michael Tiller had his backside propped against the countertop in front of the sink as he blew across a Styrofoam cup. Two day's worth of stubble darkened his jaw, and his hair looked as greasy as ever. He wore a pair of wraparound sunglasses. Even though I couldn't see his eyes, the sudden rigidity in his muscles told me my presence hadn't gone unnoticed. His head moved fractionally as he tracked my progress across the room.

"Hey, man." Ronnie placed his hand on my shoulder as I moved alongside him. "We got a foal last night?"

I nodded but kept my gaze on Tiller.

"Which barn?"

"Six."

"Ah. The Cozzene mare?"

"Uh-huh."

"We was taking bets and . . ." Ronnie's voice dropped off, and his gaze left the side of my face as he caught sight of Tiller, ". . . look like I won."

"Good, Ronnie."

"This your first?"

I nodded.

"Yeah, uh, well, congratulations."

"Thanks." I stepped in front of Tiller. "Excuse me."

"Huh?" He glanced over his shoulders like he hadn't realized he was in the way. "Oh. You need the sink?" Tiller pushed off the edge of the counter, and as he straightened, he knocked his coffee cup against my arm. The hot liquid seeped into my sweatshirt and spread across my skin, soaking into my long underwear like kerosene through a wick.

"Oh, man. I'm sorry." Tiller set the cup down and snatched a roll of paper towels off the counter. "Geez." An oily grin slid across his mouth as he yanked a couple of towels off the roll. "I'm such a klutz."

When he reached out to blot my shirt, I grabbed his wrist. "Don't."

Tiller glanced toward the door, then held up his hands and backed off. "Hey, come on, man. I didn't mean it." His voice rose in a melodramatic whine, and I realized he was trying to set me up. "Really, I didn't. It was just an accident."

"Problem?" The stud manager stepped to my side.

"No, sir."

Frank Wissel stared at me for a second or two, looked at Tiller, then back at me. He put his hands on his hips, and as he lowered his head and sighed, he noticed the buckets. "Who foaled?"

I turned away from Tiller. "The Cozzene mare, sir."

"You finish up yet?"

"No, sir."

"All right. Hook up with the crew in barn five when you're done."

"Yes, sir."

Wissel fastened his gaze on Tiller, and although the younger man didn't move, his bravado drained away like the sea at low tide. "You have anything to say, Tiller?"

Tiller flicked his gaze my way, then shook his head.

"Well move outta the way, then."

Wissel's crooked teeth, weathered skin, and calloused hands spoke of decades of hard labor and poor pay. Both could presume a lack of intelligence if you hadn't taken the time to look him in the eye.

Tiller stepped aside, and as the stud manager moved off, I set one of the buckets in the sink. When I cranked open the faucet, Tiller reached around, dropped the paper towels into the stream of water, and whispered, "Asshole." His stale breath hit the side of my face and smelled of cigarettes.

The light that angled through the window muscled its way behind his lenses and allowed me to see the contempt simmering in his eyes. "I wonder what Dr. Nash would think if she knew you smoked?" I said.

"Kiss my ass."

He joined the rest of the crew as Wissel handed out assignments. Steam rose from the sink and coated the lower edge of the window. The warmth felt wonderful on my face but had nothing to do with the heat spreading across the back of my neck or the pulse hammering in my ears. Tiller undoubtedly fell into the second group of crewmembers, the ones who couldn't get another job, partly because he was stupid and partly because he couldn't play well with others.

I shut off the water and lifted the bucket out of the sink. As I reached the door, it swung inward on its hinges. Paul hesitated in the doorway before brushing past me.

As soon as I stepped into the aisle, Jenny emerged from the office and joined me.

"How long since the foal was born?"

I glanced at my watch. "Hmm. About thirty minutes."

"Good. It hasn't stood up, then."

"No, I don't think so."

She peered up at me and frowned as we stepped into the sunlight. "Well, of course it hasn't. They never stand this soon," she said, and her tone clearly implied that I didn't know much. And as far as foaling was concerned, she wasn't far off. "What sex is it?"

I set the bucket in the bed and opened the Ford's passenger door. "A colt."

Jenny cocked her head and considered my answer with a healthy dose of skepticism before she stretched on tiptoe and brushed the roof handle with her fingertips. She gave it another go and this time latched onto the handle with both hands. She planted her left shoe on the running board and grunted as she pulled with all her might, but her foot slid out from under her. She lost her grip and dropped to the ground. The notebooks and pencil case rattled in her backpack, and the beaded animals jingled. She tried again with the right patent leather wedged on the running board while I stood awkwardly behind her with my hands bracing the air, ready to catch her if she fell but not comfortable enough to give her a boost. Not with the image of a well-honed scalpel hovering in the back of my mind. Jenny clambered onto the vinyl seat, and I breathed a sigh of relief.

When I slid behind the wheel, she'd already latched the seat belt across her waist. I shifted into reverse, and as I twisted around and rested my arm on the backrest, movement in the office window caught my eye. Dr. Nash stood behind the frost-edged glass, watching. I backed away from the building and swung the pickup into an empty space. She was still standing there when I jammed the gearshift into drive and turned toward the road.

Jenny bumped her calves on the front edge of her seat, and her feet dangled in space. "What color's the foal? Does it have any white?"

"A star, thin stripe, and a snip," I said. "As for the color, I'm not sure."

"Yeah. It's hard to tell when they're still wet. And lots of them change color when they shed out, you know? Especially if they're going to be gray."

I pulled into the curve around the lake's high bank, then turned into barn six's drive.

"Mom and Dad don't like grays, but it's my favorite color. They think they're too much work to keep clean."

"Hmm."

"You're not listening."

I glanced down at her as I pulled alongside Maddie's car. She studied me with those serious brown eyes of hers, and the effort creased the smooth skin between her eyebrows. They were as pale as her lashes and matched the color of her hair, a blend of red and blond that no doubt had a fancy name. "Yes, I am."

She shook her head. "No, you're not. When adults say 'hmm,' they're pretending that they're listening when they really aren't. They're thinking about work or bills or what they're going to make for dinner."

"Really?"

"Yep." She released her seat belt and wrestled with the door latch.

"Here, I'll get that." I walked around the hood, but she'd already slid to the ground. She pressed both hands on the door and shoved until it clicked shut. She'd splayed her fingers on the pickup's salt-spattered finish, and each tiny pink fingernail had pressed into the gritty film that coated the truck. When she dropped her arms and left behind smudges in the grime, I sighed.

"What?" Jenny said.

"Nothing."

"And when adults say 'nothing,' what they really mean is that they don't feel like telling you what they're thinking, or they think you won't understand if they did."

I frowned at her as she turned and strode toward the barn with her reddish blond curls bouncing in the sunlight. How old was this kid, anyway?

I grabbed the bucket of hot water and caught up with her in the doorway. Maddie was sitting on the hay bale with her legs stretched out in front of her and one ankle hooked over the other. Her shoulders and head rested against the stall front, and for a second, I thought she'd dozed off, but she turned her head when she heard Jenny's voice.

"Did you see the fire the other night?" Jenny asked me.

"Uh-huh. Did you?"

"Yep. The sirens woke me up. This is the third one, you know?"

"So I've heard."

"They make me nervous, especially now that my ponies are in barn ten instead of the bank barn."

"Barn ten?"

"Yeah, one of the training barns. I wish you guys checked those barns at night like you used to check the bank barn."

"We never checked the bank barn," Maddie said as she sat up and reached for the foal kit.

"Bruce did." Jenny grabbed the stall latch with both hands.

I looked at Maddie, raised my eyebrows, and gestured toward the little girl. "Can she go in there?"

Maddie rolled her eyes. "Sure. Mom lets her do whatever she wants." She tore open one of the Fleet boxes, and as she dropped the enema bottle into the hot water, she caught my eye and mouthed, "Spoiled brat."

Jenny worked the latch, and when she squeezed through the gap, I pushed the door farther along its track so I'd be in position to react if something went wrong. The mare simply looked at the little girl as if Jenny's presence in her stall was an everyday occurrence. She lowered her head and nosed a flake of hay. Since I'd left, she'd risen to her feet, and I was struck by the swell of her belly. Its profile hadn't changed as I'd expected. Straw clung to wide patches of sweat-soaked hair that spoiled her sleek winter coat, and the semi-translucent mass of afterbirth still hung between her legs.

"What am I supposed to do about the afterbirth?" I asked Maddie.

Jenny stepped cautiously toward the foal and said, "You have to get baling twine and tie it up so she doesn't step on it." I glanced over my shoulder and caught Maddie looking toward the rafters, shaking her head. "Then, when it comes all the way out, Mom has to check it to make sure the mare's healthy, so you need to get it out of the stall right away." Jenny crouched down, stretched out her arm, and placed one small hand on the foal's rump. He jerked his head at the strange stimulus. "Sometimes the mares eat it." She looked over her shoulder at me. "Did you know that?"

I shook my head.

Jenny crinkled her nose. "It's disgusting."

Maddie's voice drifted in from the aisle. "Maybe Jenny oughta be training you, Steve."

Jenny scowled at the empty doorway, then turned back to the foal.

Despite Maddie's comment, she hustled through the rest of the procedures. "After you drop little Miss Jenny off, muck out the stall a section at a time, and bed it down as you go."

"Is there a wheelbarrow I should use?" I asked since the tractors and wagons were in barns one and five.

"No. Just pile the old bedding in the aisle. The day crew will clean it up. Hey," Maddie said through a yawn, "what was the number on the tail tag?"

"Three two seven."

She scribbled on the index card and slipped it behind the stall's ID plaque. "Well, Steve. Congratulations. You're catching on quick. I don't see any reason for you to come in for training anymore."

"Thanks."

"I'm going home. Don't forget, though. I'm off tomorrow, so you need to be here at midnight."

"Right."

"If the colt doesn't nurse in an hour, get Dawn in barn five to give you a hand since our expert here will be in kindergarten by then."

"Huh." Jenny's voice drifted from the stall. "Third grade, you mean."

Maddie sighed as she smoothed the bangs off her forehead. She stepped closer and lowered her voice. "Next time, do yourself a favor and don't bring the kid."

I watched her walk down the aisle. Her bootlaces flicked languidly through the air and snapped the asphalt with a soft clicking noise that sounded like mice scurrying over concrete. It seemed that Maddie's energy had plummeted as quickly as the day had brightened. Maybe she was a vampire. I grinned as I checked the time. "Jenny, we gotta go."

"Already?" A little whine. She stepped out of the stall.

"'Fraid so." I slipped on my coat and latched the door behind her.

As we headed for the truck, she said, "Do you think they'll catch whoever's setting the fires?"

"I hope so."

"Me, too." She waited while I opened the passenger door; then she tilted her head back and peered into my face. "Could you check my ponies at night? They're in barn ten."

This time, I put my hands around her waist and hoisted her onto the seat. "Barn ten's not on my route, Jenny, but I'll ask your mom."

"Ask, Dad, instead. He's in charge of the training operation."

"I guess I'll have to ask both of them, then, won't I?"

"I suppose."

As I spun the truck around and headed for the clinic, I felt her staring at me. "What?"

"Do you like Maddie?"

"Uh, she's okay."

"I don't. I think she's mean."

I glanced at her. "Any reason in particular?"

"Uh-uh."

"What about Bruce? Did you like him?"

Jenny nodded. "He was real nice. He never talked down to me, like some people."

"Maddie, for instance?"

"Yeah, Maddie." She flexed her feet and pointed her toes toward the cab's ceiling. "Mom likes her, though. Mom says she knows her job real well. She must like you, too."

"Who? Your mom?" I said, thinking I'd misunderstood.

Jenny nodded, and the butterfly barrette that pinned back a section of her fine curls slid down a notch. "If she didn't, she wouldn't have let me go with you."

I thought about that for a moment. "Did she let you go with Bruce?"

"No. He didn't have any foals."

I nodded. "Do you know why Bruce left?"

"He just quit, is all I know. Dad was real mad, though."

"Do you know why?"

"Uh-uh. Except he said it was 'rotten bad luck.'"

I nosed the Ford up to the clinic doors. "'Bad luck,' huh?"

"Yep. Dad's always complaining about the crew. He says it's impossible to find good help these days, people who aren't afraid of a little hard work. Lots of them get bored and quit. Or he has to fire them. When I have a farm like this, I'll pay the good ones thousands of dollars, and then they'll stay."

"Was he talking to you when he said it was 'rotten bad luck'?"

"Not me." Jenny frowned. "Maddie, I think. Or Mr. Shane."

"Who's he?"

"You already met him. He brought the éclairs. He always brings something, but they're my favorite." She swiveled around on the seat and pointed to the Viper. "And he has the coolest car."

Since the crew had dispersed, I had Jenny wash her hands in the clinic. After she caught her bus, I rinsed and dried the stainless steel buckets. When I opened the cabinet door and crouched down to stow them under the sink, a stack of hand towels tipped over and fell to the floor. I rearranged them and pushed a long cylinder-shaped object to the side as I slipped the towels farther back into the cabinet. I frowned, then picked up the cylinder and turned it in my hands. A leather sleeve covered the central portion of the cylinder and included two leather grips. One end of the cylinder was made of hard plastic, and the other end was fitted with a large dome-shaped rubber cap. It measured about sixteen inches from end to end and reminded me of an oversized thermos. I looked up when the door opened.

Frank Wissel, the stud manager, crossed the room with a clipboard tucked under his arm. He glanced in my direction and paused. "What are you doing, Cline?"

"Cleaning up, sir." I held up the cylinder. "What's this?"

"Put it back and go check on that foal. Has he nursed yet?"

"No, sir."

"Well, go see that he does, and if you need help, ask one of the girls in five to give you a hand. Did Maddie tell you we like to see them nurse within the first two hours? Three at the latest?"

"Yes, sir. She did."

He nodded. "Get busy, then."

I put the buckets away and headed for the truck. When I stepped outside, Mr. Shane, the blond guy who'd brought the pastries and coffee, was standing on the sidewalk in front of his silver Viper, talking to Elaine Daniels, Stone Manor's receptionist. She worked in the office, the outer office, really, as Dr. Nash had the back room to herself. Tuesday morning, Elaine had given me an application to fill out. Only three days ago. Apparently, they'd been desperate to find a replacement for Bruce or, more likely, to get Ronnie off nightshift. As far as I knew, they hadn't bothered checking my references, either. I nodded to them as I walked around the pickup's hood.

"Hey, hold up." I paused, and the blond guy jerked his head for me to join them. "Shane Hadley." He held out his hand, and I shook it.

"Steve Cline." I glanced at Elaine and caught her gazing at Hadley. She must have grabbed her purse and slung her coat over her arm, anticipating a quick walk into the barn before she'd bumped into him. A gust of wind pressed her wool skirt hard against her thigh and lifted the flap of her tweed jacket, but judging from her expression, she wasn't feeling the cold.

Hadley reached into his pocket and withdrew a pack of Marlboro 100's and a gold lighter. "Elaine tells me you foal out along with Ms. O'Connell," he said, referring to Maddie.

"That's right."

As he tapped a cigarette out of the pack, the morning sunlight glinted off the cellophane and the edge of a ring on his right hand. He lit up and inhaled deeply before letting the smoke trickle from his nostrils. Hadley snapped the lighter closed and slipped it back in his pocket. His khaki jacket and pressed jeans were immaculate, and I imagined the most use he'd ever gotten out of his expensive leather work boots was depressing the Viper's clutch. They sure as hell hadn't seen the inside of a stall.

"I have a mare in barn two, Steve. Sumthingelse out of Summing. She isn't due to foal until the first week in March, but she's lost her last four foals because of detached placentas. I talked to Deirdre . . . Dr. Nash about it, and she'll want you or Ms. O'Connell to call her when the mare goes into labor."

I nodded.

Hadley slipped his wallet out of his back pocket, withdrew two business cards, and handed them to me. "I'd like to be notified, as well. Would you mind giving a card to Ms. O'Connell for me?"

"Sure. No problem."

He squinted at me through the smoke. "How long have you foaled out?"

"This morning's delivery was my first."

He'd been pulling on his cigarette, and the smoke seemed to catch in his throat. He swallowed. "Well, then, I expect you'll be getting some special instructions before long. As I recall, they kept an oxygen tank and emergency drugs in the barn when they thought she was getting close. Not that you'd be using them. They were there for Dr. Nash, I believe." He glanced at Elaine. "My point is, Steve, I'd just like you to pay a little extra attention to her for me. She's in foal to Elusive Quality this year, and I'll be damned if I'm going to lose that foal."

"I'll keep my eyes open," I said. "But you won't be relying strictly on my abilities, sir. Ms. O'Connell works the earlier shift and seems adept at predicting how close the mares are to foaling. I'm sure she'll give me a heads-up if she suspects anything. And Dr. Nash, of course."

Hadley grinned suddenly and clapped his hand on my shoulder. "You're in the wrong line of work. Management or sales. You'd be good at either. So, what are you wasting your time here for?"

"I'm doing what I like . . . while I have the chance."

Hadley had two dimples in his right cheek and the whitest, straightest teeth I've ever seen, and when he smiled, the network of lines that radiated outward from the corners of his eyes deepened. His smile faded as he contemplated my answer, and I was struck by the transformation.

He nodded. "Smart."

"If you don't mind, sir, I have to check on that foal."

"Of course."

I nodded to Elaine, then headed back to barn six and my first ever attempt at getting a newborn to nurse.