Winning Ways (7 page)

Liz was trembling by the time she reached her bedroom. A rush of emotional choices swept through her: cry, scream, throw something. She stood beneath the pounding heat of the shower, hugging her arms tightly, fighting the urge to let herself go. The silky water flowed down her shoulders and over her breasts, a sensuous reminder of Kurt's intimate caress. She'd wanted him, desperately wanted him, but bad timing had interfered, and he'd panicked. Now, her own fear loomed as a reminder of her vulnerability.

Twenty minutes later, she fell into a deep sleep, free of the filthy reminders of the night, but not the pain. When she awoke, the bright sunlight streaming through the window confused her. Immediately, the inferno burned its way into her conscious, a memory of the living nightmare. She slid out of bed, her body protesting as painful muscles begged her to crawl back under the covers.

Lulled by the gurgle-hiss-plunk of the coffeepot, she thought about Kurt: his confidence during the fire, the tender moment on Marilyn's couch. These facets made him seem real and vulnerable, even likeable. His awkward apology had embarrassed her at the time, but now it simply puzzled her. I can accept the business-pleasure conflict, but what's really bothering him?

A minute later, she knew she couldn't spend any more emotional energy on it. She had to concentrate on her own, very real problems - which now included the fate of nine horses.

She slipped on her boots, then headed up the drive toward the barn, her brain replaying the horror of the fire. She tried to block out the image, unable to even think about a disaster in her own barn. A second later, her mood lightened as heads appeared over stall doors and eager whinnies warmed her heart.

Dishing out the morning grain, she mentally reorganized the stalls. Miss Marcy will definitely be in the barn. At her age, she deserves all the comfort she can get.

Muscala stared at Liz from the back of the stall.

"Hi, Sweetie. Ready for breakfast?"

As Liz opened the latch, the gray mare abruptly turned away, retreating to the farthest corner of the stall, and swinging her rump toward her owner.

"Hey! That's not very nice."

Surprised by the display of bad attitude, Liz hesitated outside the door and watched the horse for a minute, then slipped in, and poured grain into the feed tub. Something about Muscala's bearing put Liz on edge. I hope it's just the new surroundings, or her pregnancy. I'd better keep an eye on her.

Colleen gasped several times as Liz related the saga of the fire.

"If we'd been thirty minutes later..." She stopped, unable to think about the consequences of bad timing. "Colleen, do you have room for a couple of extra horses until we find buyers for them?"

"We have four empty stalls right now. I'll ask Effie, and call ya back."

Liz hung up, and did the math. Three horses would have to stay outside, but that wouldn't be a problem. The weather was good, and the run-in shed would provide some protection if they needed it. She sighed deeply. Five extra horses would put a strain on her, especially with Fair Lady arriving the following week, and a horse show at the end of the month. Well, can't be helped. I'll just have to deal with it.

 As she approached the dirt lane to Marilyn's farm, Liz felt a rush of anxiety. Rounding the curve, she choked back the hard lump that rose in her throat as the black pile of cold rubble came into view.

She knocked on the door, then pushed it open, calling out. Marilyn's voice answered from somewhere at the back of the house. Liz stood awkwardly in the middle of the room where she'd spent the better part of the night. She looked everywhere but at the couch where she and Kurt had shared their tender moment. One of the cats rubbed against her leg and mewed pitifully.

Marilyn appeared, waving a cigarette. "These cats are drivin' me crazy."

Liz got right down to business. "I've made room at my place for five of your horses, and Colleen at Fairhill will take four. They'll be well cared for until we can find buyers for them. How does that sound?"

Marilyn stubbed out the cigarette, and threw Liz a withering look. "That sounds just dandy. What do you want me to do? Applaud?"

Liz's anger rose quickly. "Hold on just a minute. I don't think you fully understand your situation. The horses can't live on their own, and you said yourself that you couldn't take care of them any more. I thought we agreed about what needs to be done."

Marilyn's face crumpled, and she slumped into one of the kitchen chairs.

"I know. I'm sorry. I can't believe this is happening. My life has been just one big downhill slide."

Willing away her anger, Liz picked up the dish of cat-food that Marilyn had filled, and placed it on the floor.

"I know it's been horrible, but we need to think about the horses. And you. I can pick them up tomorrow afternoon, and then you can concentrate on whatever you have to do about the barn."

The old woman nodded in defeat. She lit another cigarette, and inhaled deeply.

"Sorry. I just need time to get adjusted."

Liz headed toward the door. "I'm going to check on the horses."

Walking briskly down the hill toward the pond, her anger faded as nine heads swung toward her. Miss Marcy offered a long greeting, then returned to her patch of grass. Liz smiled wryly. At least someone appreciates my efforts.

Kurt had already been there. A large bale of hay lay open, and the horses had scattered most of it over the ground. She located the horse with the wound, and examined her work of the night before. Looks pretty good, but twenty-four hours will tell the tale. Holding the horse's halter tightly, she injected an antibiotic into the soft flesh at the base of his neck. That should do it, but I'd better ask about tetanus shots. Marilyn's lax barn maintenance probably also meant that vaccinations weren't up to date. One more thing to worry about.

Marilyn came out of the house as Liz climbed into the truck.

"Liz, I'm really sorry about the way I acted. I do appreciate everything you're doing for me...I'll help...I promise."

"Good. That'll make things easier." Liz hesitated, considering what she wanted to say. "Marilyn, were you smoking in the barn yesterday?"

The woman looked stunned. "Are you kidding? Do you think I'm an idiot?"

"No, I don't...but, something started the fire. When were you out there last?"

Marilyn thought for a moment. "I fed around six o'clock." Suddenly, her eyes narrowed and her voice became hard. "I had a guy working on the tractor out in the shed. He didn't leave until after dark."

Liz climbed into her truck. "You'd better call the fire marshal, and give him that information."

That evening, Kurt phoned, and Liz took the call cautiously, not eager for another disastrous conversation.

His voice sounded subdued. "I was wondering if you need any help collecting those horses."

Her first impulse was to say yes, just to see if anything had changed, then self-preservation kicked in.

"No, I can handle it. I have a large trailer, and Colleen is taking the rest. But, thanks anyway."

There seemed to be nothing more to say, and the line remained silent for a very long moment.

Kurt spoke first. "Liz, about what I said last - "

"No, Kurt. Don't say anything more. You've let me know how you feel. Let's leave it at that."

Liz's new charges settled in comfortably over the next few days. Except Miss Marcy. The poor old girl weaved back and forth at the stall door, confused at being uprooted from her familiar surroundings, and loudly whinnying her distress to anyone who'd listen. The plight of the elderly mare touched Liz's heart. How well she knew the feelings of isolation and loneliness. Her head danced with images of home, and sadness filled her thoughts. Would she find peace and happiness here in the rough grandeur of California? Would she ever find common ground with the ranchers and farmers that called this place home? And how long would it be before she'd have answers to those questions?