Winning Ways (28 page)

She knelt beside one of the small brown bodies. The soft baby fur was ragged and crusted with dried blood in dozens of places across the calf's chest and neck. Liz leaned closer and lightly touched one of the larger areas. The calf opened its large dark eyes and struggled to get to its feet, without success. Liz continued examining the area, feeling the heat in the skin and observing the distribution of the wounds. Moving to the other calf, she noted that the sores and distribution pattern were identical.

"Where did you find them? Were they together?"

The skinny man answered. "Off in a grove of trees, away from the rest of the herd."

Liz thought for a minute. She rose to her feet and looked at the two silent men standing outside the pen, then took a deep breath and plunged in.

"I think they got tangled up in a hornet's nest."

The big cowboy threw his head back and guffawed loudly.

"Oh, brother! That's real good!" He pinned her with his ugly beady eyes and snarled, "Is that what they're teachin' vets these days?"

His response came as no surprise, but Liz'd had enough. She stepped up to within inches of his fat paunch and glowered up at him.

"Would you like to bet money that I'm wrong?"

He blinked with surprise at the confidence behind her words. She didn't give him a chance to answer.

"I'll tell you what. I'll give these calves a shot of antihistamine, and if they don't get better, you don't have to pay me."

The two men looked at each other as though they thought she'd lost her mind. She turned and strode out to the truck, muttering to herself and shaking her head. Most animal owners never considered the simple things like bee stings, poison ivy, toxic plants...toads. Those poor little babies don't yet have the immune system to tolerate a serious hornet attack.

The two ranchers were leaning on the rail when she returned. Neither of them said anything as Liz entered the pen, but their smirks infuriated her.

Twenty minutes later, both calves were on their feet, bawling and hungry. Liz entered the pen again and caught one of them. She moved her fingers over the sores, satisfied that the allergic reaction had almost dissipated. She gave the rancher a triumphant look.

He nodded and removed his hat. "Ma'am, I owe you an apology."

She grinned. "And ninety-eight dollars."

On Saturday, Liz was putting out the evening hay when Colleen showed up. She followed Liz into the feed room, a mischievous grin playing across her pert features.

"Hey, can I get a job at this-here fancy facility? You know, now that you're so busy with your practice?"

Liz raised an eyebrow. "How could you help me? What about Fairhill?"

"The Sharps're thinkin' about reducing their herd by half, and they're not breedin' any mares next season. Effie said they'd been worried about how their retirement plans would affect me, since they'd only need me half-days. So, I'm yours part-time, if you'll have me."

"Will I ever!"

Lately, one of Liz's biggest concerns had been how she'd be able to care for her horses and manage a full practice at the same time. She'd have to break down and hire someone, but disliked the thought of having a stranger in her barn.

"I can't pay you much right now. I'm still scraping the bottom of my financial barrel, but things are starting to pick up. Can you live with that?"

"Sure. Listen, I have those magazines you wanted."

Five minutes later, Colleen reached into the back of her truck and hauled out two large bundles of magazines tied with baling twine.

"Thanks, Colleen. This will help a lot."

Her friend climbed up, settled behind the wheel, and peered through the window, an impish grin brightening her face.

"Be sure an' let me know if you find out anything juicy about him."

As she pored through the stack of heavy magazines, Liz felt foolish at how transparent her charade must have seemed. At least she's quit nagging me about him. Turning the glossy pages filled with tales of success, she became lost again in the world of showing expensive Arabian horses.

An hour later, only two issues remained unread. Her disappointment was sharp. She'd been sure there'd be some professional information about Kurt in the magazines, but so far, there'd only been a show photo of him, posed with a blue-ribbon mare at a small show in Colorado. She dropped the magazine onto the pile and sighed.

If he was so good, why wasn't anything written about him? Suddenly, she grabbed up the magazine again and peered at the date.

"Well, no wonder! This is too old, maybe even when he was just starting out."

She picked up the remaining two issues and checked the dates, matching them with Kurt's story. Bingo! October and November of the last year he worked for Della.

On page twelve of the October magazine, Liz found a trainer interview with Kurt DeVallio, touted as the Arabian industry's "rising star." Barely breathing, she absorbed every word in the article.

Interviewer: "Can you tell us how you've achieved such success with the Arabian breed?"

DeVallio: "Training starts with attitude. Attitude involves understanding a few things about horses and the way they think. Horses have a short attention span, from about five minutes to a maximum of twenty. Working in that window is the key - and remembering that you're dealing with the mentality of a two- or three-year-old child."

Liz could hear his husky voice saying those words.

Interviewer: "Do you start training your horses very young?"

DeVallio: "Absolutely. I never let them get started with nipping and biting, especially the colts. They learn right away that I'm the boss, and they accept that. A horse has to respect you, or you can't teach him anything."

Interviewer: "What about horses that are already trained?"

DeVallio: "Same thing. Respect. If you're having a problem, you have to go back and figure out what happened before you got the horse. What kind of training has it had, and how can you reverse the bad habits. It all goes back to a trainer's attitude. The horse knows. He feels everything you think through the lead rope."

Liz grinned, remembering his skill with Karma.

Interviewer: "Anything else important to training?"

DeVallio: "Always let your horse know when he does it right. Praise him, pet him...He'll want to repeat it. You want the horse to respond because he wants to, not because he's afraid not to."

The end of the article listed Kurt's long list of important wins with Arabians, including several national championships the year before, and predictions for his future as one of the nation's top horse trainers. Anticipating the end of the story, she eagerly picked up the November issue. Six hundred pages glistened with lavish photographs, show results, and congratulatory advertisements for all the champions of the national show that year. Forty minutes later, Liz dropped the book back onto the pile. Not one word about Kurt, not even a small picture. It was as though he'd ceased to exist.

Liz's busy schedule had pushed her anxiety about Kurt's silence to the farthest recesses of her brain. However, in quiet moments, and at night when she wrestled with sleep, her misgivings muscled their way into the forefront. Researching his past didn't help her frame of mind, either, only reinforcing her admiration for his skill and his deep understanding of horses.

Recalling the look on his face before he'd left her, and the quick surge of panic she'd felt, a cold fear of abandonment crept into her heart.

Kurt lounged against the polished mahogany doorjamb of the office, watching a tall woman leaf through papers in a file cabinet in the corner.

"Hello, Della."

 She wheeled around, her tanned face wide with unpleasant surprise. "What are you doing here?"

He stepped into the familiar surroundings and offered a humorless smile.

"It's time to play truth or consequences."

She snapped the file drawer shut, then moved briskly to the desk to shuffle some papers.

"I can't imagine what you're talking about. What do you want?"

"I've been talking to some of the locals. There are a few who would like to see you go down in flames."

She said nothing, but her face tightened with tension.

Kurt continued. "I need you to clear my name with the show board, and let me pick up the pieces of my life. You're the only one who can do that, and I'm asking you politely."

He moved to the trophy case that housed only a third of the honors he'd won for the farm. The remaining trophies were lavishly displayed in the big house. His heart twanged at the thought of how close he'd come to real success as a professional trainer. He'd been within a few months of going out on his own, never again forced to answer to anyone but himself. His only crime had been wanting to have a normal life, a warm and loving relationship with Dottie.

Della's voice broke into the distant thoughts.

"You are kidding, of course? Your illegal activities nearly cost me my reputation."

He stepped up close, his eyes almost level with hers.

"Your reputation? Who do you think you're kidding?"

A curtain of apathy descended over Della's features. "I'm not kidding anyone. Now please leave my property."

He stepped back, keeping his tone level. "Okay. If you won't help me, I'll find someone who will."

He turned and left the room, walking down the aisle of the elegant, pretentious barn, through the open doors, and into the thin October sunshine.

After three weeks had passed with no word, Liz began to worry that Kurt wouldn't be coming back. She swallowed her pride and called Aliqua.

A male voice answered. "Hello, Aliqua."

"Is Kurt there?"

"Nope. Don't work here no more."

Her heart slammed against her ribs, her breath stilled.

The man spoke again. "Do ya wanna talk to the boss?"

She exhaled sharply. "No, that's all right. I - "

She quickly hung up the phone.

He'd left her.

For weeks after that call, Liz's sadness filled every waking minute. Finally, she'd accepted the reality, and plunged into her work with all her strength, keeping her innermost thoughts at bay, thinking of nothing but her work and her horses.

One afternoon, she received an envelope from the attorney's office. She'd almost forgotten her feeble attempt to compromise Eve.  Liz read quickly, hoping for positive news. The lawyer had contacted Aliqua, outlined the complaint, and described the consequences of being convicted of "intentional damage of property."

"...Unfortunately, Dr. Barnett, while your evidence is strong, it is purely circumstantial. Without an eyewitness to the crime, I don't hold much hope of bluffing Ms. Aliqua into clearing your record.

If you wish to pursue the matter, I'd suggest contacting everyone you can find who might have been in the barn area that night. Someone may have seen something you can use...."

The pain of the past few months welled up, fresh as it's beginnings, and Liz wept. 

The weather in Taos remained balmy in late fall, at least during the day. The sun warmed Kurt's back as he strolled along the sidewalk, taking in the familiar sights. The huge, annual art and pottery festival had kicked off that day, and the town was jammed with tourists. He'd loved living in the rustic old town that had survived the ravages of the modern age. Hundreds of artists made their homes in the area, inspired by the magnificent scenery and crisp, clean light.

Stopping in front of one of the galleries, Kurt admired a small clay Pueblo bowl, steeped with the magnificent colors of the native earth. I should buy that for Liz. He closed his eyes for a minute. She'd been on his mind almost constantly since he'd left California. The intimacy of the few days when he'd cared for her had awakened old memories - painful memories that he'd suppressed for almost ten years. Gradually, those memories had been replaced with fresh, vibrant experiences with Liz that gave new meaning to his life. I have to get myself straightened out. I can't drift around in Never-Never-Land forever.

He glanced at his watch. Only ten minutes to get to Leona's Café. His future depended on this meeting with Buddy Carroll, and he didn't want to chance missing it. He'd return to the gallery later. For the moment, he'd sideline thoughts of Liz so he could concentrate on his bold plan to expose Della's treachery.

As he'd nosed around his old stomping grounds over the previous two days, he'd learned from some of the locals that rumors had flown wildly after he'd left town. His instinct told him that if he pressed hard enough and looked long enough, he'd find answers. Sure enough, Buddy Carroll, a former assistant trainer at one of the big Arabian farms in the next town, had telephoned Kurt, promising to reveal critical information about the scandal.

As Kurt approached the door to the café, his heart thumped. The guy might be nothing more than another sleazy, wannabe trainer trying to act important.