“Anything I can do for you ladies this morning?” he asked.
It was a question he posed to Samantha nearly every day. Did he really think she was that desperate? Just to see the look on his face, one of these times she wanted to say, “Oh, Kyle, please, make passionate love to me.” Only she was half-afraid he might take her seriously.
Nan, three years Samantha’s junior, apparently had no such concern. “The batteries went dead in my electric boyfriend a week ago, and I’m about to die. You want to have sex with me in the tack room?”
For an instant Kyle looked as if he believed her. Then he rolled his eyes and laughed. “Sorry, honey. I had a late night. Give me a few hours to recuperate.”
“It figures. All talk and no do.”
Kyle’s black lashes swept low as he gave Nan’s slender body an appreciative once-over. “Trust me, sweetheart, there’s a lot more to me than talk. When you’re serious, you just let me know.”
Samantha held up her hands. “I’m out of here.”
Nan laughed. “You don’t have to go. I’ll behave.”
Samantha waved as she walked away. “Unlike some people I know, I have work to do.”
Soon it had been a week since Tabasco’s bout with diarrhea. Samantha’s black eye had completely healed, but the stallion still wasn’t back to normal. That evening Samantha and Jerome once again stood outside Tabasco’s stall, watching the stallion in silent contemplation.
“I think I’ve got to agree with you,” Jerome finally said. “He’s not bouncing back like he should. He’s lost weight, and I noticed this afternoon that the whites of his eyes look a little yellow. Bright and early in the morning, we need to call a vet.”
Tears burned at the backs of Samantha’s eyes. She’d noticed the jaundice, too. “I’m afraid he’s going to die,” she confessed.
“Nah.” Jerome looped an arm around her shoulders and gave her a comforting jostle. “He’s not himself, I’ll grant you that, but he’s not at death’s door, either.” Jerome’s arm fell away. “He’s going to snap out of it. If we get a decent vet out here, he’ll figure out what the problem is. Maybe it’s a virus. Horses can catch airborne diseases just like people.”
“Then why haven’t the other horses gotten sick?” she asked.
“We’ve kept him away from them, for one thing. Hell, I don’t know. There’s not much point in our trying to figure it out. We’ll let the vet do that.” Jerome glanced at his watch. “You need to be heading for the house. You know how riled your dad gets when you’re out here after dark.”
“Dad worries too much. I have a yard light. On a dark night, it’s bright as day out there.” But even as Samantha protested, she also accepted. There were some things she couldn’t change, and her father was one of them. “But I’ll head that way, all the same. It’s easier to be there when he calls than to argue with him.”
Jerome chuckled. When Samantha went up on her toes to hug his neck, he tightened his arms around her.
“Do you think I should call a vet tonight?” she asked against his gray shirt.
“Nah. It’s Sunday and getting late. It’d cost you double, and to what end? Tabasco will be fine until morning.”
Samantha gave the foreman a quick peck on the cheek. “Good night, then. I’ll see you again before the rooster crows.”
Jerome gave her a swat on the rump. “You just concentrate on getting some rest. You’ve put in a long day.”
As Samantha crossed the arena, she turned to walk backward. “If there’s any change, do you promise to call me?”
“Only if you’ll promise to call me when you get to the house.”
She laughed and threw up her hands. “What is it, a hundred yards to my door? Who’s going to get me, the bogeyman?”
“Just humor an old worrywart.”
“All right, all right.” She opened the door to step outside. “Jeesh! It’s not even fully dark yet.”
A few minutes later, after arriving home, locking up, and calling Jerome, Samantha answered the phone to reassure her father that she was safely inside the house with the alarm set. Instead of giving him her usual lip, she confided to him her concern for Tabasco.
“He’s still not perking back up?” Frank asked.
“No.” Samantha sighed. “I don’t know, Dad. Maybe I’m making a mountain out of a molehill. He’s eating fairly well, just not enthusiastically. I’ve taken his temp, and he’s never feverish. All indications are that he should be fine. But he just isn’t acting right.”
“Go with your gut,” her father told her. “Nobody knows your horses like you do.”
“So you don’t think I’m overreacting?”
“Nope. I had a mare once that looked fine to everybody but me. I had the vet out to look at her. He ran a few tests. Some of her blood counts were a little off, but nothing really alarmed him. Come to find out she had cancer.”
Samantha sank onto a chair. “Jeez, thanks, Dad. I feel so much better.”
He chuckled. “Tabasco doesn’t have cancer. My point is, you need to trust your instincts. Get the vet out there to look at him.”
“I will.” Samantha closed her eyes. “Washburn still isn’t back from Europe, though, and I wasn’t impressed with the fellow who’s handling his patient load.”
“Call Tucker Coulter.”
Samantha had known that was coming. “I don’t even know the name of his clinic.”
“I do. I got his card, remember?” A rustle of paper came over the line. “Got a pen and paper?”
Samantha rose to get both. “Okay, I’m ready.” Her stomach knotted with dread as she jotted down Tucker’s name and number. “If he’s a lousy vet, it’s on your head.”
“What is it about the man that you don’t like?” Frank asked.
“I didn’t say I don’t like him.” Just the opposite was true. She’d liked Tucker Coulter too well.
“Let me rephrase the question. What’s your problem with him, then?”
Samantha had lied to her father more times than she cared to recall during her marriage. She wasn’t about to resume that bad habit now by denying there was a problem. Instead she said, “I don’t really know. He just…I don’t know, Dad. He makes me uneasy.”
“You know what I think?”
Samantha had a feeling she was about to find out.
“I think he makes you uneasy because you can’t find anything about him to dislike. That’s what I think.”
Her dad knew her too well. “Maybe so,” she conceded. “Whatever the reason, I can’t help how I feel.”
“You can’t live the rest of your life running scared every time you meet a man you like, either.”
“Why not? It only seems smart to me. As you know, I’m a lousy judge of character.”
“One bad call doesn’t make you a lousy judge of character.”
“One abysmally bad call.” A dull throbbing took up residence in Samantha’s temples. “Can we have this conversation later? I’m really bushed.”
“Sure.” Her father sighed. “I love you, honey.”
“I love you, too, Dad.” And Samantha did love him—so very much. It was just that he swallowed her, somehow, making her feel like Jonah trying to escape the belly of the whale.
“Keep that number where you’ll be able to find it in case Tabasco takes a bad turn during the night.”
“Done.” Samantha affixed the sheet of paper to the front of the fridge with a magnet that read, NO HORSING AROUND IN MY KITCHEN. “I’ll give you a ring tomorrow. Hopefully I’ll know something by then.”
“If Coulter’s as good a vet as Jim claims he is, you’ll know a good deal more by this time tomorrow,” her father assured her.
Samantha had just drifted off to sleep when the treble ring of the phone on her nightstand jarred her back to wakefulness. Her first thought was for Tabasco. She grabbed the portable unit from its base, punched the TALK button, and said, “This is Sam,” as she sat up in bed.
“We got trouble,”
Jerome barked over the line. “Get a vet out here, ASAP.”
“Oh, God. Is it Tabasco?”
“Jesus, Lord, no. It’s Blue. He’s gone plumb loco.”
Samantha disconnected, dropped the phone, and scrambled into her clothes. Then she raced downstairs, slapped on the kitchen lights, and grabbed the paper she’d left on the front of the refrigerator. Her hands were shaking so badly that she misdialed the number twice. When she finally got it right, an answering service took her call.
“This is Samantha Harrigan at the Sage Creek Ranch. I need Tucker Coulter out here on the double.”
“What seems to be the problem, ma’am?”
Samantha bunched a fist in her hair. “I don’t know what the problem is. I haven’t seen the horse myself. My foreman just called from the stable. He says my prize stallion has gone loco.”
“I’ll forward your message to the veterinarian on call,” the woman said pleasantly.
“No, no. I want Tucker Coulter, nobody else.”
“I’m sorry. It’s the other Dr. Coulter who’s on call this evening.”
The other Dr. Coulter? Samantha was so upset, the response made no sense to her. “I don’t care who’s on call. I want Tucker Coulter.”
“It’s the middle of the night. My instructions are to contact only the vet on call.”
Samantha could still hear the raw panic in Jerome’s voice. Normally the foreman had nerves of steel. “You listen to me, lady.” When the woman started to protest, Samantha raised her voice and said, “Shut up for a minute and just listen. This is a very valuable horse we’re talking about. He’s in a bad way. If you don’t call Tucker Coulter and that horse dies, I will have your job. Do I make myself perfectly clear?”
“Yes. That’s clear. We do have a certain protocol we have to observe, though.”
“What’s your name?”
“Abigail Spence.”
“Screw the protocol, Ms. Spence. You get Tucker Coulter out here to this ranch on the double.”
Samantha disconnected, slammed the phone down on the counter, and took off for the stable at a dead run. Halfway there she could hear Blue’s screams. It seemed to her as if that last fifty yards to the building were a hundred miles, and she knew she would never forget those sounds for the rest of her life.
Inside the arena the noise was deafening. The stallion had indeed gone loco. He was rearing and thrashing the walls of his stall with his front hooves. His usually liquid brown eyes had a crazed look in them, and the irises were completely ringed with white. When Samantha reached the gate, Jerome grabbed her arm to keep her from going into the stall.
“No, honey. He’ll kill you.”
Samantha jerked her arm free. “Not Blue. Never!”
“Look at me!” Jerome yelled, pointing at his forehead.
Samantha finally focused on him, and when she did, her legs nearly buckled. One half of his face was covered with blood, the source a gash four inches long above his right eye. “Oh, my God. Oh, my God.”
Jerome grasped her shoulder, his fingers digging in hard. “He can’t see you; he can’t hear you. He’s striking out in a blind fury. I know you love him, honey, but he’ll kill you, sure as the world. We have to wait for the vet, and pray to God he brings a sedative. But getting a needle into that horse is going to be tricky.”
Samantha looked over the gate at her stallion and could barely see him through her tears. Blue. Her beautiful, gentle, amazing Blue had turned into a deadly killer. She couldn’t believe this was happening.
“What’s wrong with him?” she cried. “Oh, God.” She put her hands to her ears, unable to bear the sound of his screams. “Oh, Jerome. What’ll we do? I’m not even sure the answering service will send Tucker Coulter out. We may get someone else.”
Jerome stroked her arm. “We have to wait for a vet. That’s all I know. He damned near killed me.”
Samantha stared stupidly at her foreman’s forehead. “You need a doctor yourself. I’ll call Daddy. He can take you to the ER.”
“Like hell. I’m not going anywhere. But call your father all the same.” Just as Jerome spoke, Blue lashed out at the gate with such force that one of the hinges snapped. “Tell him to get over here, fast. If that horse escapes, we’re going to need all the help we can get.”
There were four phone stations within the arena. Samantha ran the twenty yards to the nearest one, frantically dialed her father’s number, and then paced until he answered.
“Daddy? Get over here fast. It’s Blue. He’s gone nuts.”
Her father said, “I’m on my way.”
That was all, just those four words, and then he broke the connection. Samantha stood there, clinging to the phone, Blue’s shrieks and the cacophony of his lashing hooves pummeling her eardrums. Her whole body was trembling.
“Get hold of yourself,” she told herself sternly. “Jerome’s all right. Blue’s only a horse. Get a grip.”
Only Blue wasn’t just a horse. Still clinging to the phone, Samantha turned to look at him. Her beautiful, wonderful Blue Blazes. She’d raised him from birth. She loved him almost as much as she might a child. He was her pride and her joy, her friend and her confidant. And he was also her future.
If Blue died, all her dreams would die with him.
Chapter Eight
Tucker overshot the turn and slammed on the brakes. After shifting the Dodge into reverse, he backed up until the headlights washed over the archway again. A hand-carved wooden sign hung from the uppermost log that spanned the distance between the two side columns. It read, SAGE CREEK QUARTER HORSE RANCH.
This is it, he thought, and silently thanked God that he’d spotted the entrance. In the darkness he might have driven several miles before realizing he’d missed the turn. According to the woman at the answering service, the life of a very expensive equine was in peril.
Tucker couldn’t be cavalier about this particular horse belonging to Samantha Harrigan. He’d almost given up hope of ever seeing her again, and now, out of the blue, she had called him out to her ranch on an emergency. Tucker wasn’t sure which possibilities he found most ex citing, the professional or personal ones.
He nosed the truck off the main road and onto the gravel lane. About a half mile up ahead, pine trees were etched in black against the moonlit sky, their graceful branches underscored by rectangles of golden light. Pleased that the road was fairly smooth, he increased his speed. The private byways he usually encountered on farms and ranches were rough and pitted with chuckholes, forcing him to creep along to protect the equipment he carried under the truck’s canopy. The portable video endoscope alone had cost him a small fortune. He also leased a battery-powered ultrasound system and a portable EKG machine that would be costly to repair.
When he reached the cluster of buildings, he saw that they comprised the ranch proper. Porch lights illuminated the front of a two-story cedar home. About a hundred yards off to the left was a huge structure with plank siding that Tucker guessed to be a stable and indoor riding arena, a common setup around Crystal Falls because of the snow in winter.
Five pickups were parked willy-nilly in front of the immense building, their colors difficult to determine in the bluish white glow of a sodium-mercury yard light. He parked near the other vehicles, cut the engine, and grabbed his satchel before exiting the cab.
Almost before Tucker’s feet touched the ground, a man rushed from the building. Tucker momentarily mistook the fellow for Frank Harrigan. Only as they hurried toward each other did Tucker realize this man was much younger. One of Frank’s sons, possibly? Even in the eerie light, Tucker could see a strong resemblance.
“You Tucker Coulter?” the man asked, raising his voice to be heard over the screaming of a horse inside the building. “I’m Zach Harrigan, the one you called for directions. The horse is this way.”
Zach’s urgent manner told Tucker that the situation was dire indeed. Due to the cyclic nature of their professions, most ranchers and farmers developed a decepti
vely laid-back mien, the common motto being, “Why hurry up to wait?” It took a catastrophic event to make a cowboy shift out of slow gear into fast-forward.
Tucker followed Zack Harrigan into the building. Once they were inside, the noise level was deafening. At the far end of the huge riding arena, Tucker saw a knot of people, including Samantha Harrigan, gathered in front of a stall. Within the enclosure was a crazed blue roan. Tucker had never been particularly fond of roans, blues least of all. The best way he could think of to describe their color was salt-and-pepper. Even at a distance, though, he could tell that this blue roan was exceptional, its silvered body offset by a pitch-black face, mane, legs, and tail.
Tucker lengthened his stride, drawing slightly ahead of Zach Harrigan to close the distance more quickly. As he jogged, his attention became fixed on Samantha. Despite the tangled, pillow-tossed state of her hair, she was just as pretty as he remembered, her tidy figure temptingly round in all the right places, her delicately molded countenance slightly irregular in profile, yet absolutely lovely.
She turned at his approach. In that instant of eye con tact, Tucker registered her panic. Her oval face was deathly pale, and she held herself with an almost brittle rigidity that told him more than she could know. Her anguish was almost palpable. Tucker fleetingly wished he could reassure her, but he’d learned never to make promises as a vet that he might not be able to keep.
Just then the horse screamed and pummeled the inside of his stall with such force that one of the boards snapped, the sound as loud as a rifle shot. Vaguely registering the presence of Frank Harrigan and five other men, Tucker pushed forward to look over the gate.
What Tucker saw made his blood run cold. Now he understood why Samantha looked so stricken. He had seen more than a few horses go berserk, but never anything to equal this. The animal had a blind, wild look in his eyes and had worked himself to a point beyond exhaustion, sides heaving, nostrils flared, and lather flecking his body like shaving foam.