"I still believe it's what I said last night. A twisted gut." Will spoke gently, hoping to dampen the man's anger.
Causey's legs spread. Hard hands rested on his hips like a gunslinger about to draw his Colt. "And I told you, I never seen him rolling for him to get it twisted."
Will returned Causey's smash with a soft lob. "They don't have to roll for it to happen."
"Don't make sense." He shifted, crossed thin arms over a thinner chest.
"Doesn't make sense that a black cow eats green grass and gives white milk either."
Causey's stare was caustic.
His knee popped as he stood. He would try explaining matters once more, hope Causey would hear reason. "I've done all I know in case it wasn't a twist. I told you last night. Taking him to the vet school immediately for surgery was his best hope."
An insolent frown slouched across his mouth. "And I told you I couldn't afford something like that."
"I understood that last night. I understand it now. But life's problems don't always fit our billfolds. But we've done all we can." Morning beard scratched his hand when he rubbed his face. Why did he say 'we?' Would someone else be sharing the failure? It would be him being talked about all over the Springs.
"I ain't convinced."
His resources were depleted. No amount of talking looked to alter the situation. "You might call someone else for a second opinion."
Causey bobbed his head and bounced on the balls of his feet. "I already did. Lige Curtis looked at him this morning. He's fooled with stock longer than you've been born. Always willing to help folks out. Never takes any pay either. Says it's his calling."
Every rural community had at least one quack whose every word was revered, whose chief purpose seemed to be undermining anyone else's diagnosis. In the Springs, it was Lige, referred to by Uncle Bill as O, Ancient of Days.
"Know what Lige says?"
Will shifted his feet as if to receive a blow.
"Wrong medicine. That's what he said. It's working against him."
Will rubbed a hand over fatigued eyes. Time, speed up, get this over with. "Did you tell him what drugs I used?"
"Well, no." Causey's eyes flickered.
"How does he know it's the wrong medicine then?"
"He knows these kind of things, that's how. He says its plain as day he's got kidney colic. Trying to pass a stone. Says he acted the same way when he had 'em. Says you need to give him something to neutralize what you gave him last night. Then he'll come back and give him the right stuff to cure him. Says if he used his kidney stone medicine while your drugs are still in him, his spleen might explode." He clapped his hands. "Bammo. Dead as a wedge he'd be then."
"Like my cow." Glassing stepped to Causey's side, chest thrust forward.
The horse's neck arched back. His legs thrashed. Pain erupted in a grunting convulsion unbearable to watch.
"I'm not sure there's time left for anything." Heaviness in his chest dulled Will's voice. "It would be best to put him down so he doesn't suffer any more. I'm sorry."
"So that's it. You'd like to bury your mistakes, wouldn't you?" Causey's voice was scathing, the tone that preceded schoolyard fights.
"I know you're upset, so I'm going to let your accusations pass."
"That is so generous. I'd prefer you take care of Lightning. And don't be raising your voice at me."
Will cleared his throat. Getting riled up wasn't going to help alleviate the horse's suffering. "You need to make a decision."
An excruciating squeal escaped from the stallion's nostrils. Curled lips exposed long yellow teeth. Sweat streamed from his body, scented the air as his legs made frustrated running motions before going limp. Shallow pants replaced deep, agonized breaths. Will held the stethoscope against the chest, caught fading heartbeats gallop beyond his hearing.
"I'm sorry. He's gone." His metallic voice echoed in his ears. He wanted to be gone too. Not listen to more accusations. Not remain polite, professional. Let his frustration vent. Instead, he took a deep breath and watched.
Causey strode about in angry circles, cursing and kicking dirt with the instep of his boot. Hands clenched and unclenched into hard hammers capable of driving nails as he rubbed his thighs. "I ain't paying you for killing Lightning."
Causey hadn't wanted to spend unaffordable thousands of dollars for surgery at a referral center, now refused to pay for the second tier treatment. "If I had killed your horse, I wouldn't expect you to. We can discuss the bill later. You agreed to my estimate last night."
Causey pointed a finger. "You'll be lucky if I don't sue you before the sun goes down. That was the best horse in the Southeast. I may never win another blue ribbon, but I will have your license tacked to my wall."
Will, body taut, forced a smile, determined to remain calm despite fear's bile souring his mouth. Being threatened with two lawsuits within the first week of being in the Springs might constitute a record. All the more reason he needed to be leaving. "Why don't you quit beating around the bush, Mr. Causey? Do you really think I killed your horse?"
He took a small step forward. "I sure do. He was up and alive when you started. You can't deny that."
Will nodded. He forced himself to take normal breaths. The last thing he wanted was a physical confrontation. Or a legal one. "That's a fact. Lets see if we can come to an agreement. Something fair to both of us."
"Such as?"
"Let me open him up. If he doesn't have a twisted gut, you don't owe me anything. If he does have a twist, you pay the bill."
"I'm still out a horse if there ain't no twist," Causey said after a moment of consideration. "If he's not got a twist, are you going to pay for the horse?"
"No. Just because an animal receives treatment doesn't mean they'll get well. Especially colic cases. I explained all that last night."
Causey snorted. A sneer sauntered across his mouth. "Figured you'd fold."
Will stiffened. Sometimes things had to be exposed to the light to reveal truth. Burying it wouldn't be helpful. He paused. Had he done that for years? Was he willing to examine his inner self as much as he was this horse's? "How about this? If he's got a twist, you pay me double. If he's got kidney stones, I pay you double the bill."
"How much is it?" Causey's eyebrows slid to a point.
"What does it matter? You're the one that's sure he knows what killed him." When Causey wouldn't budge without a figure, Will gave him one.
Venomous eyes darted between Will and the dead horse.
"Take him up on it." Glassing had remained quiet until now. "Lige told you what was wrong."
Realizing convictions wavered when challenged by finances, Causey's response was surprising. "Open him up."
Will walked back with a necropsy kit, anxious. Though no one saved every case, making the correct diagnosis was vital.
When the scalpel blade sliced into the abdomen, the necrotic smell of decaying tissue abused the sweet morning air. Sweat popped out on Will's forehead as he maneuvered the intestinal tract to the outside. In the middle of the pile shone an area of bluish-black tissue, perhaps eight feet long. A classic textbook picture. Though sad for the horse, relief displaced anxiety.
Will pointed out the twisted loop of large intestine, patiently explained how the blood circulation had been interrupted, devitalizing the tissue, poisoning the horse's system, leading to his death.
"That's what killed him. Not kidney stones." To prove his point, Will reached into the abdominal cavity, located the bladder, and squeezed it. The stream of urine squirted Causey's boot, making him jump back and eye Will. "You might want to call Lige back to take a peek."
Causey didn't reply as he opened the chest pocket on his bibbed overalls, withdrew a wad of bills and counted out payment. He thrust the money at Will. "I'll still be telling others. There had to be other treatments you could've tried. City boy like you won't ever make it here. No way you'll measure up to Dr. Bill."
Glassing chimed in. "Never be another Dr. Bill."<
br />
Will shrugged at their stubbornness in the face of defeat. "Remember it like it was. Don't forget I was right. Lige was wrong." He put half the money in his pocket, held the remainder out to Causey. "You take this part back. I didn't earn it."
From Causey's grudging manner in taking the bills, it might have been a copperhead. "Don't expect that to change anything. I'm still going to have your license. Be expecting a call from my lawyer."
"Mine, too, Dr. Will Kill." Glassing stood cross-armed next to Causey.
Discouragement accompanied Will to the truck. He wasn't created to be a large animal vet. To be one, some patients had to live.
After being home ten minutes, the phone rang. A power drill voice bore into his ear, setting his teeth on edge. The same one that had unnerved him last night before Causey's call.
"Is this the vet?" Will had answered in the affirmative and the man continued. "Simpson here. I've got a question about this penicillamyocin I got at the farm store. How much do you give?"
"To what?"
"My horse, of course. How much do you give a horse?"
"What's wrong with it?"
"There's nothing wrong with it. I just bought it. Kept it in the fridge."
"The horse?"
"No, the penacillomycin."
"What's wrong with the horse?" he had asked.
"It's been snake bit."
"Where?"
"Out in the field, I reckon. That's where she mostly stays. Her nose is swoll big as a melon."
"Somebody needs to examine her."
"I know enough to see to sick stock. I just need to know how much to give. I'd call Red from the feed store, but he gets sorta griped about being called this time of night at home."
Will had told him a proper dosage. At twelve, after getting back from Causey's, Simpson called again, reluctantly asking him to come. The poor horse's breathing was gravely occluded by the swelling. After thirty minutes of debating the issue, Simpson allowed Will to install a tracheotomy tube, still bearing in mind there were no guarantees of survival.
Now Simpson was back on the phone, agitated in extra large. "Get out here. What you did to her neck has driven her loco."
His description of the situation hadn't prepared Will. The white mare, head hung so low that her distended nose rested in a huge pool of clotted and fresh blood, stood in the middle of the barn lot. Her attempts to breathe through swollen respiratory passages produced unproductive gasps. The Simpson family, a group of seven or eight meagerly dressed souls, stood to the side, staring at the horse.
Its right foreleg faced backwards. A two-inch strip of skin on the back of the elbow kept it attached. Blood continued to weakly pulse from the gaping wound, making wet sounds as it sprayed the ground.
"What happened?" Will spoke to Ron Simpson, advancing towards him, eyes narrowed.
"Your medicine made her crazy, that's what happened. She broke out of the stall, commenced to running. Came to the fence corner. Got her leg hung in the barbed wire. Never saw anything like it. By the time I grabbed some wire snips, she'd wrestled the wire plumb through her leg." Simpson paused to glare at Will. "She's a goner, ain't she?"
Will nodded, wondering if prompt treatment would have made a difference. He wanted to lecture the man, but grace seemed a better option. "Yes, sir."
"She's nothing but a big old pet. I haven't got the heart to shoot her dead." Simpson chewed his lower lip, narrowed his eyes. "Can you go ahead and finish killing her? What you gave her was a good start. Don't be sending me a bill neither. I'll be talking to a lawyer."
It was getting to the point he needed to carry their numbers. "Mr.-"
"Get on with it. But let me get the kids to the house. They've seen enough."
Twenty minutes later, Will stepped through the back door to the clinic. He would never make it here.
Sometime today, he would let Kincaid know his decision.
Tell Miss Effie to quit scheduling appointments.
Stay another day or two. See if he could discover anything more concerning Uncle Bill's death.
Leave.
"Miss Effie, fix me a cup of Tylenol. No cream."
Chapter 21
With the rough palm of a hand, Liza swiped at curls stuck to her sweaty forehead. She stuck out her tongue, curved it up, savored the salty taste dotted across her stiff upper lip. Frustration's boundary had been trespassed earlier in the day, left her abandoned in the thin buffer zone this side of shock therapy. An hour was lost in driving the balky cow to the barn, leaving Liza mad enough to kick a gator.
If God owned the cattle on a thousand hills, He could add this one to the celestial herd. Then the butt board she normally slid behind a cow to keep it in the chute hadn't been in its usual place. While she crawled over to grab it, the cow backed out. Another fifteen minutes ticked away while she was coaxed her back into the chute.
She stood behind the animal, nose wrinkling at the malodorous membranes swinging under the tail. A thick, yellow clot of maggots clung to the back of the cow's thighs, squirmed in the congealed secretions. She swallowed hard. Although she'd watched her dad perform the unpleasant task before, this was her first time.
"Doggone it." The plastic gloves were at the house. But too much time had already been wasted. More chores fidgeted in an impatient line. Like all farm odors, it would wash off. Though the putrid aroma made breakfast scramble partway up her throat, the fetid afterbirth slipped out easily enough. She gloated with satisfaction while dancing a victory jig. I am woman, hear me roar. The smell didn't wash off, though, but diminished over the next days.
Then another cow aborted. Dread's cold vise clamped her insides as she estimated the lost revenue from two less calves to feed out for her organic beef clients. Cash flow was bad enough without this. And her loan deadline loomed one day closer.
"Oh, Daddy, I miss you." Eyes chilled with glacial tears scaled the steep ridges looking down at her. Solid and immovable, they held out hope. "I will lift up my eyes unto the hills, from whence shall my help come?"
What drained the words of life, left them dry as dust? She might as well have recited a page from the Farm Bureau Cookbook. Where had God gone the past months? She tried to pray. Nothing. Worry infiltrated her thoughts, prevented petitions from passing her lips, left her to battle a sense of futility and accusatory questions about her relationship with God.
If you were a real believer, you could pray. Long ones. If you were a real believer, you would have more faith. If you were a real believer, you wouldn't worry about tomorrow.
Her mournful sigh caused several cows to raise their head as she trudged toward the house. She needed a vet to examine the cows that had lost calves. She wondered whether Dr. Kilpatrick would come. She had presented less than her best side in their brief meetings. And running out of church yesterday wouldn't help matters. Nor would not returning his call. The inability to sort her feelings made her feel vulnerable. Feeling vulnerable frightened her. Fright stirred her to run.
She touched her shoulders where he had placed his hands that day in the clinic. Like she had done several times every day since. Especially at night. Maybe she imagined it, but they still smoldered.
There was nothing logical about that.
***
Eleven-thirty. So far, the day hadn't been overly busy, affording him time to further examine the finances. He would have earned marginally less here than in Auburn, but having no pay rent payment would have balanced that out. It didn't matter now. He was leaving.
He glanced up when Miss Effie tapped on the door. "You've got a call to go on."
How would he be able to leave if she kept lining up more appointments? She acted like he had already signed the papers. "I told you, no more calls. Is it an emergency?"
"Yep. Liza Hall out on Big Bottom Road. She's got serious cow problems."
He closed his eyes and tilted his head back. The one person he would choose not to be around after losing three cases in twenty-four hours. "Liza whose pood
le went au revoir? Liza who called me a dog killer? Liza who scared me to death at the cemetery?" Liza he had offended in the cemetery? And at Goolsby's? Liza who had stood him up yesterday? Hadn't returned his call?
Miss Effie ignored his complaints. "So you've had a bad start. You need to be like Winston Churchill."
"You're right. Think I'll go to England and die."
"She's got a cow that slipped a calf, but not the afterbirth. Had another one do the same thing a few days ago. Dr. Bill always drew blood on those kind. Never failed. If it's not lepto, it might be Bang's, though there's not a lot around. Most people vaccinate these days. Or it might be IBR. Or BVD."
"Or UPS." He leaned back, fingers laced behind his head. "Who is she, really?"
She began counting off on her fingers. "Only child. Dad died two months ago. He raised her strict. Doubt she's ever had a real date." She harrumphed in resignation while a finger fiddled her chin. "Right pretty, though. Eyes a tad too close. But the Halls have narrow eyes. I say that's why they never get elected to nothing. Narrow eyes make a body look shifty." She smoothed her pants. "It's that Yankee girl up there making you think about not staying here, ain't it? You'd do well to stick with your kind. Get a Southern girl. They're sweeter."
A sigh slouched out. She didn't know about his breakup with Sally three months ago, after nine months of dating. As an outlet for the stress of being an ER nurse, she had enrolled in ballet lessons. He had been devastated to discover her in the arms of her instructor, where he assumed she landed after a flying plié. It was for the best. His idea of culture was line dancing.
She studied Will as she unwrapped a stick of gum, lobbed it into her mouth. The movements were smooth and practiced and efficient.
Was there a patch device gum junkies could use to quit? Or did they just stick a fresh wad to their arm?
She waved at him. "Hello. Are you listening to me?"
"She's an only child because her little bitty eyes are so close together they keep boys run off. But her daddy's pretty shifty, even if he's never been elected to anything."
Undaunted by sophisticated ridicule, she continued, hands on hips. "Never heard of her acting like she did. Stress, that's what brought it on. Trying to hold on to her farm all by herself. Now her dog dying." She paused, eyes looking at him in speculation. "She needs a man."
X's and O's (Will Kilpatrick, DVM Mystery Series Book 1) Page 15
