Winning Ways (3 page)

The rising sun sparkled through the branches of the massive oaks towering over the exercise paddock. The air felt crisp and cool, but the promise of a sweltering day whispered on the breeze ruffling through Liz's hair. The muted, waking-up sounds of morning were a joyous melody to her ears. I'm so glad to be home.

The blacked-legged, chocolate brown colt at the end of the lunge-line slowed his pace, sensing that Liz's attention had wandered. Clucking her tongue, she snapped the whip and encouraged him to stay on the outer edges of the circle he trotted.

"Good boy, Karma."

Liz appreciated the horse's immediate obedience. In another six months, her little boy would start to mature into a breeding stallion and, when that happened, it would be difficult to keep his attention on such mundane things as trotting in a circle.

She considered her ambitious dreams. Qualifying her horses at a regional show meant they would be eligible for the national competition in Albuquerque, where she'd show them against some of the toughest trainers and fanciest horses in the industry. Walking back to the barn, she squared her shoulders and lifted her chin. Why not? My horses are as good as any out there.

A moment later, Kurt DeVallio's face wormed its way into her thoughts again. I don't need that kind of attention. I don't know who he thinks he is, but I'm not buying it. Lost in thoughts about the dark cowboy's intrusion into her life, Liz closed the stall door so hard the latch snapped loudly, startling Karma. The giddy colt leapt about his stall as though bogey-men were after him.

Liz stepped back inside, and reached for his shoulder. "Oh, Sweetie, I'm sorry."

She moved closer, stroking his neck, murmuring reassurances to him until his quivering nostrils and wild eyes returned to their normal state. A few minutes later, soothed by the familiar smells of fresh hay, sweet oats laced with molasses, and the unique odor of warm horseflesh, she turned her thoughts to the future and what she needed to do to salvage it.

Later that morning, Liz stood at her desk, looking around the office she'd set up in her study. The rambling old farmhouse had been added to over the decades, and that room had been one of the newer additions. Warm oak paneling absorbed the morning sun, casting a glow over the floor-to-ceiling bookshelves that filled one wall. The array of well-worn book-spines looked like a colorful miniature skyline on each shelf. Interspersed here and there were several photographs of her father with his champion horses. The wall behind her small desk was filled with framed diplomas, awards for excellence, and her veterinary licenses.

How excited she'd been, arranging furniture, organizing the filing cabinet, recording a crisp, professional message on the answering machine. Her dreams had seemed fulfilled - associate status with an established veterinary practice. How much better could it get? Her throat tightened and tears prickled her eyes. How much worse might it get?

The telephone jarred her from the clutch of dismal thoughts, and Colleen's bright voice chirped over the line.

"Hi, you busy? I thought I'd stop by."

Liz's mood brightened. "Hey, that'd be great. I want to talk to you about a couple of things."

While she waited, Liz made some notes. Colleen had lived in the area for a long time. Surely, she'd have some insights that would help solve Liz's problem.

A few minutes later, the crunch of tires on gravel was followed by the creak of the screen door. Colleen appeared at the study door, looking a little like a western Barbie doll in tight jeans and a denim shirt with fringe dangling saucily across her chest. Pristine red snakeskin cowboy boots looked as though they'd never seen a stirrup.

She dropped into a chair. "How's business?"

Liz grimaced. "Don't ask."

Colleen leaned forward, her tone sincere. "What's going on? Maybe I can help."

Liz plunged in, frustration coloring every word.

"I was such a fool to make this move without checking it out. Hell, I've researched vacations more thoroughly than I did this job!"

"What do you mean? You are an associate, aren't ya?"

Liz snorted. "Oh, yeah, but only on paper. I never get called. Doc Sams takes all the farm calls, and I end up writing prescriptions for Mrs. Long's neurotic parakeet."

Liz heard her own whiney, cry-baby tone, and shook her head.

"Colleen, in the last six months, I've been called on one emergency, and that was only because Doc Sams was already taking care of two others." She rose from her chair, and paced. "Lord knows, I have the credentials to handle anything that comes my way, but nobody will give me a chance and, since I don't know what the problem is, I can't fix it."

Colleen sat back in the chair, crossed her legs, and cocked her head. Her tone was sympathetic, but firm.

"I can't believe you haven't figured it out. The problem is, you haven't been in practice very long, and you're a woman - a young one, to boot...You're in ranchin' country, Honey, and these guys ain't gonna fall all over ya just 'cause you were a hotshot back East. In fact, that probably works against ya."

Liz's brief wave of self-pity disappeared. She'd already suspected that her problem might have something to do with her age and gender, but the idea that the locals considered her inexperienced and incapable really stung. Her own confidence in her skills had apparently blinded her to the essence of the problem.

Colleen's tone softened a little. "You'll just have to prove yourself, whatever it takes. Doc Sams is long past retirement, an' he knows it. He wouldn't have offered you the job if he didn't plan to step down at some point, but maybe he's startin' to resist the idea of retiring, so he's still tryin' to handle everything. His long-time clients want his attention as long as they can have it. And you're playin' the prima donna, waitin' to be invited. I think you'll need to do some active marketing if you want to get these old geezers on board."

Liz sighed. "You're right, of course. I just needed someone to kick me in the butt." She brightened. "Well, at least I've had plenty of time to work with my show horses."

Her optimism disappeared with the shadow that crossed Colleen's features.

"Liz, I hate to be the one to tell ya this, but you're gonna run into the same thing in the show ring. Not the small shows, but the big ones, the ones that count. I know you're trying for Nationals, but it's a long, political road to get there, and you ain't paid your dues yet."

Liz had finally had enough. "You know...this is the modern world. Women have been accomplishing wonderful things for a long time, and I don't intend to let a bunch of time-warped cowboys send me running!"

Colleen applauded, her face breaking into a sunny smile.

"All right! That's more like it. Now, tell me what I can do to help."

An hour later, Liz had a list of over a dozen potential clients within a thirty-mile radius - all women who owned horses.

Colleen's approach to the problem was a clever one.

"Why not fight fire with fire? Let Doc Sams take care of the tough old boys." She chuckled wickedly. "And you concentrate on the real horse people."

Liz had to admit the plan made sense. After all, if the men supported each other and stuck together, why wouldn't the women welcome the same option? At least it was a place to start her salvage operation.

Over lunch on the screen porch, the conversation moved to a more personal level. Colleen took a long swallow of iced tea, then thoughtfully set down her glass.

"You've never told me why you decided to move out here in the first place, other than the job."

Liz shook her head dejectedly. "I've wondered that myself lately." She sat back in the comfortable wicker chair. "My dad was a famous horse-trainer. My mother died when I was four, and Dad retired from the ring to raise me. We lived on a small farm in Kentucky, where he started breeding Arabians. He ended up with one of the most popular bloodlines in the industry, Double B."

"Oh, Lordy, I guess! That was your dad?"

Liz nodded, feeling the familiar pain begin in her chest. "I was in my last year at vet school when he suffered a mild stroke. By graduation, he'd mostly recovered, but couldn't continue working with the horses. He became very depressed. I took a job at a large Thoroughbred farm nearby, and things were fine for awhile. Then he had another stroke, and I had to juggle work and looking after him."

The painful memories flooded through Liz's head, images as clear as if they'd been yesterday.

"Then, one morning he didn't wake up..."

The pain in her chest was now so intense she couldn't breathe. Her father's death still affected her deeply, even after almost three years. She struggled on with her story.

"It took me over two years to settle the estate and disperse sixty head of horses. I'd been on emergency leave from the Thoroughbred farm, but they finally had to replace me."

Colleen's face reflected her regret at starting the conversation. "Liz, I'm so sorry. I didn't know - "

"No, it's okay. Anyway, I decided a change of scenery would do me good, and I thought I'd like to try my hand at showing horses, since I had some really good ones. Then this job jumped up and bit me." She smiled without mirth. "Figuratively speaking."

"Liz, you're gonna do fine. You just need to work at it."

The intense atmosphere began to dissipate, and Colleen took the opportunity to leave. On the way out to her truck, she snapped her fingers and stopped.

"Oh! Are you still interested in buyin' more mares?"

"Yeah, but with my current career slump, my bank account probably isn't."

Colleen climbed up into the driver's seat, then rolled down the window.

"Go see Marilyn Cook over in Placerville. She's on your new list of prospects. She's gettin' on, and has lots of horses. I think she has some pretty good lines, but I don't remember which ones." The truck engine coughed, then started. "And don't forget to give her a business card. Ya might get lucky."

As Colleen's taillights disappeared down the driveway, Liz's thoughts were skeptical. I need more than luck right now. Sadness crept into her heart, followed by an overwhelming urge to go home. Even if she did, would she be able to pick up the pieces, go on with her life as before? She blinked back the tears. No. That was then, and this is now. I can't look back.

The twenty-five-minute drive from Garden Valley to Placerville allowed Liz plenty of time to think about her precarious financial position. Colleen's right. I can't sit back and wait for something to happen. She flushed, embarrassed by Colleen's candid comment about over-confidence.

An instant later, she bristled. "Well, I am good! What's wrong with believing in yourself?"

Can't see the forest for the trees, that's what.

Another troubling thought intruded, and her shoulders slumped. She'd assumed that winning enough points at the regional show would assure her chances to compete at the Nationals. Apparently, she had another obstacle to worry about.

Ahead, a dilapidated wooden sign leaned at an angle, the white paint peeling, the black letters faded. Cook's Arabians. Liz left her problems behind and followed the dirt road, stopping in front of a small house flanked by an old barn. Three small, scruffy dogs barreled out from behind the building, barking wildly. A short, sturdy woman opened the screen door and hollered at them. The dogs quieted at once, and ran to sit at her feet.

Liz glanced down at three pair of watchful eyes.

"Quite the security crew you have there."

The older woman grinned. "Oh, them. They're harmless. I think they'd probably share the loot with a burglar. I'm Marilyn. C'mon in."

Liz stepped into the dim house, wrinkling her nose at the stale odor of cigarettes and animals permeating the air. Beyond the kitchen, a tiny sitting area overflowed with horse tack, magazines, dog beds, and a dingy overstuffed couch where several cats dozed.

Marilyn dropped into a worn recliner, and Liz eased onto a bare spot on the couch next to a fat tabby that angrily twitched its tail at being disturbed. While Marilyn sifted through large piles of papers on the coffee table, Liz's gaze moved around the room. One wall displayed dozens of photographs of horses at shows, horses in pastures, horses with riders or being driven. Dusty trophies, platters, bowls, and loving cups covered the surface of a card table in the corner - a lifetime of accomplishment.

"It looks like you were pretty successful in the ring."

Marilyn glanced up and waved her cigarette dismissively.

"Oh, that stuff. Did that when I was young and had some help. Now I don't even polish 'em." She shoved a folder across the table. "Here's some snapshots of the horses I have for sale. I hate to get rid of 'em, but I gotta...I'm too old, they're too much work."

Liz looked through the photographs, disappointment filling her thoughts as she glanced at the pedigrees. Good, but not spectacular. Nuts! How can I diplomatically tell her that the horses aren't good enough, then turn around and ask for her vet custom?

"Uh, Marilyn, they're very nice, but, you know, I don't think photographs do a horse justice. Could I take a look at the mares?" Dammit! Quit beating around the bush. The pedigrees won't improve by the time you get to the barn.

"Sure, honey. Mind the dogs, they'll go off again."

Following Marilyn, and trying to dodge the clouds of cigarette smoke that trailed behind, Liz pondered a way to get to the main reason for the visit. Maybe I can take a quick look to be polite, and then tell her I'm not quite ready, that I'm still in the browsing stage.

When they reached the barn door, Liz pulled out a business card and plunged in.

"How many horses do you have?"

"Nine...about eight too many."

Liz offered the card. "I'd like the chance to care for your stock."

Marilyn dropped the cigarette, and ground it out, then looked at the card.

"So you're the new doc. Nobody told me it was a gal, but that's even better. It's about time the old coot got some real help!"

The inside of the barn was as messy as the house. Neglect and carelessness. A disaster waiting to happen. The floor hadn't been swept in at least a week. Two broken bales of straw littered the aisle, aided by the draft that swirled through the barn from open doors and windows. Liz glimpsed masses of cobwebs draped through the rafters, frosted with dust and speckled with pieces of straw. A serious fire hazard. Her heart thudded and she pushed the horrible thought away.

Marilyn opened a stall door at the end of the aisle.

"Come on down here. This here's my pride and joy, Miss Marcy." Marilyn smiled proudly as she pointed at the animal. "She's half Egyptian an' half Polish. That's a very popular combination, y'know."

Liz stepped forward to get a better look into the dimly lit stall. Her heart sank. At least nineteen years old, Miss Marcy had seen better days. Significantly underweight, the mare's hip bones stuck out and her ribs were visible beneath a dull, white coat. Her eyes held no luster or fire, and her ears drooped. The poor old thing looked as though she hadn't been groomed in months. Liz's eyes burned. How can anyone treat these animals this way?

"Her sway-back is 'cause she's had eleven foals. Did you look at her pedigree?"

Liz smothered a sigh. "Marilyn, she's nice, but too old for my herd. I need young broodmares."

She started edging toward the door and her freedom.

Marilyn's tone sounded cross. "Well, you could go on down the road to Aliqua Arabians. They've got dozens of horses - not all that great, but they're young."

Liz was dismayed at how badly she'd botched the visit. As they walked toward the house, Marilyn hurried to end the visit.

"They're in El Dorado, not far. Owner's name is Eve." She opened the screen door and looked back.

"I'll give a holler if I need ya."

Back home, the light glowed steadily on the answering machine in Liz's office. Disgusted, but not surprised, she headed for the barn to clean stalls and set up the evening feed.

Nine stalls later, she climbed wearily up the stairs to the hayloft. A shaft of late afternoon sun slanted through the single window. Hay dust danced in the beam, reminding her of smoke, followed by a mental picture of Marilyn's firetrap barn. Liz's skin crawled with horror. Nothing was more terrifying to a horse owner than the possibility of a barn fire. She'd had one experience with a fire in Kentucky, for which all of her medical training had been useless. Four horses, overcome by smoke, had perished while Liz and others had helplessly stood by, unable to enter the blazing barn.

Shaking off the ghastly memory, she began tossing flakes of hay into the stalls below. Finally, hot and tired, she dropped into a pile of straw, and closed her eyes.

Unbidden, Kurt's face appeared in her mind, and a shiver of delight moved across her damp skin. How wonderful she'd felt in his arms, traveling around the dance floor. Immersing herself in the daydream, she heard his soft voice, felt the texture of his shirt, smelled his male scent. Nestling deeper into the straw, she abandoned herself to dreams of how his arms might feel embracing her in the heat of passion. Her body tingled and arousal seethed through her.

Stunned by her response to the sexy daydream, she scrambled to her feet. This is ridiculous. I'm acting like a lovesick teenager. I'll probably never even see him again. Angrily brushing the hay dust from her jeans, she took a deep breath and tried to will away her tension. Moving toward the stairs, she glanced back at the bed of straw, feeling the uneasy burn of desire that would haunt her for hours.