Winning Ways (18 page)

On Karma's far side, Bill Benton stepped out from behind a shed. The colt focused on the two men approaching him from the front. Benton was only two feet away when Karma realized he'd been ambushed. The trainer's hand whipped out and grabbed the halter, capturing the renegade colt.

Liz jogged over. "Whew! Thank you! He's the master of elusiveness when he gets away."

Benton handed her the lead rope, then cocked his head. "If you beat me with this horse again, I'll have no choice but to make you an offer you can't refuse."

Liz smiled, but said nothing. What part of "no" don't you understand?

Benton smoothed his hair back, and smiled engagingly. "Listen, come on up to the sky-box this afternoon. We're having a little pre-show party. I'll introduce you around." He turned to leave, then stopped. "And good luck tomorrow. We'll have some real competition out there. Ol' Kurt's bringin' that Egyptian colt. It's gonna be real interesting."

Liz watched him saunter off. As usual, I'm out of the loop. What Egyptian horse?

After his brief escape to freedom, Karma played the obedient student. Liz lunged him a little longer than usual to be sure his movements were good, and that he responded quickly to her commands. He went through his paces as though there'd never been any question about his performance.

At four o'clock, she checked the class schedule one last time, then glanced around at the spotless aisle and nodded, satisfied that everything was in order. Show halters were polished and ready. The horses had been exercised, and now quietly nibbled their hay. I'm as ready as I'll ever be. After combing her hair and swiping her mouth with lipstick, she headed across the road to see how the other half lived.

At the box office, she flashed her Exhibitor Pass and asked for directions to the skyboxes, located on the upper level. Security guards patrolled conspicuously up and down the corridors filled with bejeweled women and well-dressed men whose raucous laughter ricocheted off the tile walls. Liz knocked on Fire Stone's door and  a tall, handsome man with sharp blue eyes opened it immediately.

"Come on in. I'm Sean."

Liz shook his hand, aware of his light grip. "I'm looking for Bill."

Sean's slim fingers fluttered in the direction of the corner. "He's over there, with one of the customers. Can I get you something to drink?"

"No thanks, I'm fine."

He patted her arm. "If you need anything, just holler."

He walked across the room and coyly sidled up to another attractive young man, who was deep in conversation with an older woman. Liz studied the trio for a moment. Unworldly as she was, Liz recognized the scent of ambition.

The woman was dumpy with over-bleached hair, overly blue eye-shadow, and a red gash for a mouth. Her fingers glittered with diamonds and her sagging, wrinkled neck was wreathed in gold jewelry. She laughed coquettishly at her young companions' comments. The two men hovered over her as though she were a gorgeous twenty-something girl. Liz turned away, a bad taste forming in her mouth.

The large room was tastefully furnished with comfortable sofas and easy chairs awash with soft southwestern colors. Thick, lush carpet the color of French vanilla ice-cream covered the floor. Art Deco chrome and glass coffee tables held baskets of flowers, bowls of fruit, and trays of hors d'oeuvres. Soft lights cast faint-edged shadows on the pale cream walls, and airbrushed the edginess from the aging faces in the room. The front wall was floor to ceiling sliding glass panels, opening onto a private sitting area with a commanding view of the arena. The skybox was nothing like she'd expected. It must cost a fortune to rent something like this for a week.

"Hi, Liz. Glad you could make it."

Bill Benton smiled and took her hand. "Come on over and meet Celia."

Celia Franklin, rich heiress and owner of Fire Stone Farms, was nothing like the woman Liz had studied earlier. Celia's clothes were elegant, her jewelry minimal, but expensive, and her face and body well preserved. Liz felt completely out of place.

Celia's voice oozed curiosity. "Billy tells me you have outstanding horses. How long have you been in the business?"

Liz blanched. "This is my first year."

Celia's eyebrows lifted ever so slightly. "Oh. Are you enjoying it?"

Liz struggled to slow her racing pulse. "So far. I'm working to promote my farm name and bloodlines."

Condescension magnified the woman's response.

"Rea-lly."

Okay. Two can play this game. Liz looked Celia squarely in the eye.

"Yes, my father is Ben Barnett. I have the cream of his Double B herd as my foundation."

A smile of recognition changed Celia's face to a friendlier mask.

"Oh, I remember Ben! What a wonderful trainer!" She tilted head and looked sympathetic. "I was so sorry to hear of his death."

Liz couldn't believe how far south the conversation had gone, and desperately wanted to leave. Bill stepped in to save her.

"Let me introduce you to some of our other clients."

Celia took his cue and offered her hand.

"It was lovely to meet you, Liz. Come see us at the farm sometime."

In the space of the next half-hour, Liz met over a dozen people who were deeply involved in the Arabian industry, including Jane Van Wilten, the garish woman who'd been hanging on Sean earlier. The extent of the wealth and power in that room made Liz painfully aware that she viewed only the tip of the iceberg. What am I doing here? This isn't my world.

"So, are you going to sell me that colt, or not?"

Bill was grinning mischievously over the rim of his wine glass.

She laughed. "You never give up, do you?"

"My dear, in the horse business, ‘give up' is a dirty word." He glanced over at his boss holding court in the corner with Sean and his shadow. "Celia expects me to show the finest horses in the country, and win all the ribbons." He winked. "I do my best to keep her happy."

Liz nodded thoughtfully, briefly thinking of Kurt's past. Being at the top of the heap had its disadvantages: there was no place to go, but down. She couldn't begin to imagine the stress that went with such a life.

Bill called out across the room. "Sean, I'm taking Dr. Barnett down to the stalls. Keep an eye out for Broderick, tell him I'll be back in a while." He grinned. "Come on, I'll show you the horses."

The main show barn housed most of the larger farms, breeders who'd been showing at the facility for years, and had firmly acquired the right to particular blocks of stalls. The stall trappings were more luxurious, more expensive, more anything than Liz had seen in "D" barn. Fire Stone held a block of twenty stalls directly in front of the main entrance to the arena - a plum position.

Benton's manner was relaxed as he guided her along the aisle, stopping at each stall to introduce her to the occupant. Liz was overwhelmed - the horses were so perfect they were almost unreal.  Benton's pompous tone emphasized his words as he pointed at the bay mare that had placed second to Ashiiquah.

"Jane Van Wilten paid eighty-thousand for this mare as a yearling. The horse is worth twice that now." He shook his head. "She was not pleased about losing to your horse."

Liz stared at him, trying to comprehend the mind-boggling prices he'd just thrown out.

He continued. "That gray mare over there brought a hundred-thousand, and the colt you beat just sold for sixty.

He leaned against a stall door. "Arabians are big business, Liz. You should get with the program." He narrowed his eyes, a sly grin playing with the corners of his mouth. "If you won't sell, how about letting me show your horses for you? I can make them worth a fortune, if you'll let me."

She finally found her voice. "Thanks, Bill, but I'm not in it for the money."

He blinked. "What the hell else is there?"

Kurt expertly maneuvering the large rig through heavy traffic, and thinking about the colt in the trailer. Ebony had been in great form the day before, moving through his paces effortlessly, and attentive to each command, taking only seconds to assume a proper halter stance.

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.