Will gave a don't-look-at-me head shake. "He'd need a black belt. And a large caliber gun. And grizzly strength Mace."
"The Liza you saw isn't the Liza I know."
"It's the sweet Southern girl I do. She'd make Job suck Jack Daniels from a calf bottle."
"Lots of Nashville folks drive out to buy her organic veggies. Helps balance out their breathing in all that corruption." Head cocked to one side, lips pooched out in thought, she resembled a possum preparing to be kissed. "She's not as polished as some. But I allow she'd clean up if a man invested some time in her." She paused, as if mentally scanning a resume'. "Not many can make a scratch biscuit like her. Almost worth having somebody die, to have her bring some to visitation."
"I think she'd like to bring a double recipe to mine."
"You're way too negative."
"I am not interested."
"You're not interested?"
He shook his head in controlled jerks. "After last night and this morning, I'm not staying. And killing her dog isn't the best start to romance."
Miss Effie's eyes fluttered. "The Mayor Clinic couldn't have saved that dog. Pick yourself up, dust off your pants, and before you know it, things will perk up."
"You take drugs, don't you?"
With a sniff, she drew erect. "Herbs and no caffeine, that's my secret."
Will gave her an ah-hah nod.
"Just wanted you to know she's eligible. Just trying to help. You're new in town. I'm old in town. You don't know anybody. I know everybody. Win-win."
"Pardon?" He twisted his head to the side, squinted his eyes at the self-appointed emcee of the redneckified Dating Game. Though inarguable that Liza was extreme right-side Bell Curve attractive, her tilt towards sociopathic behavior was a not insignificant personal flaw to overlook. She seemed as likely to gut you as to get you. "Not interested. She gave me blisters when she was here. Even my spleen needs Silvadene."
Miss Effie might have been dead fish deaf.
"I'd say she might be near the top of the list. Good lookin' as you've growed up to be, you'll have several to pick from." Her mouth twisted into a ruminating grimace as she cradled her dropped chin between thumb and forefinger. "'Course,.. her dog dying.. ain't likely..to get you a seat.. in her swing.. anytime soon. Rumor is the high school French teacher is sweet on her." She paused, lips pinched into a frown, before continuing. "Do you know any French?"
"Oui. Poodle beaucoup dead."
Chapter 22
Dark storm clouds fled before the pursuing thunder, scurrying across the sharp hills to the north. A stiff breeze swept sudsy whitecaps along the Cumberland River paralleling Big Bottom Road. Five minutes later, he slid to a complete stop when DW darted in front of the truck. As he poked up the drive, he barked and ran circles in front of him.
The house was a well-kept clapboard dwelling, boards bleached gray as pewter, grafted onto an ancient log structure resting on piers of flat stones. Limestone chimneys framed each end of a roofline sagging in several places. Wide porches outlined two sides, providing refuge for rocking chairs, a swing, and a jungle of plants - some hanging, the rest in pots lining the edge. Hummingbirds catapulted between suspended feeders, rudely jousting one another from dining perches. Overhanging a well on one corner was a metal bucket and pulley.
To the right of the house stood a neat apple orchard, immature red fruit blushing through a veil of dark leaves. Beehives huddled at its far end. A neatly tilled field, green rows striping acres of dark ground, began past the silvered barn. Between the house and barn stood a weathered smoke house, several of its warped boards struggling to pull loose at top and bottom. A rooster crowed out back.
Liza descended the steps while fussing at the hound. He glanced around the yard to avoid staring at her natural beauty. Would she say anything about what hadn't happened yesterday? If she didn't, he wouldn't ask. No need to complicate things. She would have had her reasons.
"You're going to kill somebody's dog driving like that."
He offered a half-smile, trying to decipher her face. "Am I missing something here? Where I'm from, roads are for vehicles, not dogs."
A brief, stony tilt of the lips, a momentary drop of the eyes as she shifted her feet, preceded her response. "Guess this isn't where you're from."
He offered his hand to shake but she refused. He pulled it back, feeling color rush to his face. He felt better about their missed date yesterday.
"Really, you ougtha watch your driving."
Her voice was neither friendly nor hostile. More like she meant to have the last word. Extending grace and being prepared to duck seemed to be the wisest strategy. Removing afterbirth and collecting two blood samples shouldn't take longer than fifteen minutes. Anything could be endured fifteen minutes. Especially with it unlikely the cows would die while obtaining a blood sample. "I'll do that."
"Heard Bill Causey's show horse died this morning. Along with Stu Glassing's cow last night. And the Simpson horse. I'm sorry. Must be discouraging when everything you touch dies."
Will cleared his throat. He couldn't read her intentions. "Miss Effie says you've had a couple cows abort. Are they caught up?"
"Out in the barn." She turned and moved away. "Lets go."
Thunderclaps applauded slabs of lightning. A whipping wind lashed the trees in the yard, making them sweep the air like upended, green brooms. Handfuls of blue jays skidded across the black asphalt of the sky.
Liza looked back at him, then up. She seemed fidgety. "We'd better hurry if we're going to beat this storm. I hope you won't take long. I'm pretty much in a rush today."
The ill-tempered breeze spat angry rain as they headed toward the barn. Looking for closer shelter, he spied a small outbuilding, its boards grizzled with age. A skinny troop of hollyhocks, struggling to hold their position against the unpredictable gusts, guarded the entrance.
He stared at the weathered privy, noticed Liza blushing as she spoke. "It's for emergency use only. Dad never really trusted indoor plumbing."
Lightning exploded several hundred yards away, followed by rude volleys of thunder. The air chilled as gusts of wind blew through. "Some folks might consider this an emergency."
"It's only a one-holer, so we'd best try for the barn."
As she spoke, she fought back a grin. Maybe she wasn't forged out of cast iron after all.
A blinding glare of lightning sizzled nearby, scenting the air with ozone. They broke into a run, gained the barn's refuge as heavy raindrops began to drum the tin roof. The intoxicating smell of rain and the musty barn scent, a blend of cattle and hay and manure provided a sense of assurance despite the storm's threat.
He looked over, caught her studying him.
She dropped her eyes. Red speckles dotted her cheeks. Different than Skeets and PJ. Nothing made them blush. "We'd better get to work."
Will knelt to pick up a syringe that had bounced from the equipment box, a grin fighting with good manners. Like Miss Effie said, single girls would be looking him over, Iris Springs not having a surplus of dating material. But he wouldn't be looking her over. He preferred not wearing Kevlar on dates. "Yes, ma'am." His knee ground upon something hard. He picked it up. An empty Bang's vaccine vial. "Do you have your heifers vaccinated against brucellosis?"
Her head shook with overstated conviction. "Don't use any vaccines. Dad thought they were more poison than help."
Will nodded, assessed her lean torso, her scant makeup, her cut off overalls. Tree hugger. Probably saved her earwax to make candles rather than exploit a bee.
"What's this bottle doing here then?" He lifted the vial to the light. "It can't be that old. What's left hasn't even dried up yet."
"Beats me." Her eyes took in the threatening sky. "Let's get going before it gets so dark we can't see."
Will shrugged, tossed the bottle into the equipment box. It must have dropped from there the same time as the syringe.
Her long strides toward the open end of the barn were interrupted as light
ning speared the tarry sky. Sheets of rain swirled into the hallway like misty aliens. "I'll set the head catch."
"I'll do it. No use both of us getting soaked."
Her pale face signaled her fright.
Remembering her dad's recent death, plus the loss of Tipper, softened his attitude. "I'll tell you a secret if you won't blab it all over town."
"What's that?" Her voice crackled like the bolt stabbing the ground less than a hundred yards away. The ground rippled.
"Storms scare me half to death."
She stood with legs apart, hands shoved into her pockets. "Really?"
"Really." One the horizon, pack of black clouds roamed like hungry beasts searching for prey.
"Maybe we need to wait a few minutes to see if it lets up."
Her sarcasm clenched his jaws. Try to be nice to Miss Grump, what do you get? Ridicule. "That's OK. You said you're in a hurry. I'd rather get the samples and leave if it's okay. I'm in a rush myself."
"By all means." Her head tilted. Adversarial green eyes locked with his as she placed her hands on hips. "Maybe it's not my place to say this, but you sure get huffy awful easy."
He turned, lifting a shoulder to blunt the stinging rain saturating him. It also dampened the coals of his smoldering temper as he set the levers on the self-locking head catch. I get huffy easy? Wow. Don't get caught up in her lousy attitude. What do you expect from someone who thinks you killed her dog? And two of the neighbor's horses? And a cow?
"Do you want me to drive her into the chute too?" Will waited, rain dripping from his chin, soaking his chest.
Liza's voice measured a micron short of abrasive. She looked him over, seemed to find him lacking. "I've worked a million cattle through this rig. I can manage."
Thick skeins of rain swirled through the doors, soaking the cow's face. Two steps from being caught, she stopped, refusing to budge. Liza leaned a shoulder against the cow's rear and pushed. It didn't move. Water dripped from Liza's nose and chin. Embarrassment flowed into her cheeks. "Stupid cow."
Will tried not to smile, lost. "Need some help?"
"I can do it, thanks." Lips pinched from the effort, she twisted the cow's tail and pushed again. The cow humped up and defecated down the side of her bare leg. Sighing in exasperation, she shot a hot glance at Will. "Are you going to help or just stand there?"
Hating to see her frustration continue, he motioned Liza away and climbed in behind the cow.
What was he going to do that she hadn't? She had worked more livestock than Roy Rogers. He had worked as many as Mr. Rogers. He lightly slapped the cow's rear. To his astonishment, she jumped forward, tripping the catch mechanism.
Liza glared at the cow in disgust while using a stick to scrape the thin manure running down her shapely green leg.
He struggled to keep a smile from becoming a laugh. Liza was not a girl to laugh at. "Looks like a barnyard Nair commercial."
She refused to look at him. "I'll get the nose lead and catch her head for you."
"Why?"
"So you can get a blood sample."
"I can get it from the tail."
She looked up, an argument waiting to happen. "Isn't it better to get it from the neck? That's the way Dr. Bill did it."
Will shrugged in the face of her bossy nature. She was Miss Effie in a glitzier package. "What difference does it make?"
"Well, for starters, it's cleaner." Red dapples stained her face. "And there's no need getting kicked to get a contaminated sample."
The jugular veins jutting out on her slender neck were two sizes too large. "I've got to be back here to remove the afterbirth. Unless there's a less contaminated place to do that, of course."
Liza waved her hands and rolled her eyes. "If you're set on doing it your way, I guess that's what you're going to do. It's just not..."
"Not what?"
She frowned, unwilling to concede. "It's not traditional, that's what."
"Traditional?"
She placed her hands on hips, angled a leg. "Yes, traditional."
He ran a thumb down one side of his mustache. "Are we bleeding cows or is this Fiddler on the Roof?"
"I guess that's an attempt at humor?" Her full lips sucked in while she shook her head, setting her curls to dancing. "Lets get this done so you can get about your day."
His nose boiled at the fetid stench blasting from the rotten membranes. The storm sounds intensified as he slipped two obstetrical sleeves on each arm. After collecting the blood sample, he began removing the afterbirth. He looked up at her as he worked.
"You say this is the second one to abort lately?"
"Yeah. I cleaned the first cow myself." She stood erect, chin slightly forward. "Didn't wear two gloves on each hand either."
Will glanced up, surprised. None of the women and fewer men he knew would volunteer to tackle such a disgusting task. Much less without gloves. "Really?"
"Really." The taut word snapped. "I was brought up working on this place. You name it, I've done it. Castrating, dehorning, pulling calves, dressing chickens..."
Will grinned, hoping she might lighten up. At this rate, her nervous system would expire by next week. "Chicken Barbie, I can see it now. And her boyfriend, Rooster Ken."
"I raise pastured chickens." Liza stared back, lips steeled.
"I've always wanted to go on a chicken trail drive. The creak of saddles, stopping a chicken stampede, roping a maverick rooster charging out of the mesquite thicket, the chicken Cordon Bleu fresh off the chuck wagon."
Her eyes flattened. "Make fun if that makes you feel superior. I'm just saying I can hold my own."
Will raised his dripping hands to shoulder level to blunt her escalating irritation. Humor didn't seem the best way to reach her. It would probably require a blunt object. "I'm sorry. I wasn't implying you couldn't. Been a while since I've been around a real farm girl."
"What's that supposed..." She stopped. For a moment, it appeared she might apologize. She sighed. Her eyes met his for a fraction and then stared over his shoulder. "It's been rough lately. Perhaps it's been too subtle for a guy to notice, but I'm having a less than brilliant day."
"It happens." The out of character vulnerability surprised him. Or was the hardness out of character? His voice softened. "Miss Effie told me about your dad. I'm really sorry. That had to be hard. And I'm sorry about Tipper, too."
"Thanks. But I'd rather not discuss it." Her tone indicated that any pursuit of the topic was DOA.
When he finished with the afterbirth and sample, she released the cow and caught the next one. As he raised the tail to bleed it, he said, "So you didn't wear gloves when you removed the afterbirth?"
She responded as if reprimanded. "I was in a hurry. They were at the house. And the smell finally wore off."
"Hmm." She was so tense her eyes might explode. Still, he couldn't resist teasing her. Since deciding he wouldn't try to impress her, it was easier to be in her presence. "You think so?"
Not a hint of a smile touched her face. "I do, yes."
She inconspicuously sniffed her forearm as he reached for another syringe. "So the short answer is you didn't wear gloves?"
"No, I didn't wear gloves." The clipped words belonged to a scolded child. Her eyes narrowed. She crossed her arms. "Why are you harping on about gloves?"
"I hope you didn't catch anything."
Color drained from her cheeks, left them goat cheese pale. "Like what?"
"Brucellosis. Maybe you've heard it called Bang's disease. If that's what's causing the abortions, handling the afterbirth could have exposed you. That's why I double gloved."
A frown drug one corner of her mouth down. She nibbled the inside of her lower lip. "Not because of the smell?"
"Or because I'm a sissy city boy?" Will laughed and raised his eyebrows. "As a matter of fact, I find the smell especially compelling. Rotten without being overly necrotic."
"Right." Her eyes remained narrowed with suspicion.
He smiled as the blo
od flow into the syringe. He was getting the hang of this. "Did you have any cuts on your hands?"
"Look at them." She held them out for inspection. "I work for a living. I always have cuts on my hands."
Her eyes locked with his. A wisp of icy darkness flitted between them, leaving cool eddies. Time to dial down the tension. "If you start feeling worse than you do now-"
Green eyes skewered him. Both hands clamped her hips. "Meaning what? Like I'm being menopausal?"
A splinter on the board he leaned against snagged his shirt. He shifted free, felt it bite his arm. "You're a bit young for that."
A sigh raised her chest. "It was a figure of speech."
"I apologize." What conversational side road had detoured him to Miss PMS's front door? He took a deep breath. "I meant to say, if you start feeling like you've got ten kinds of flu, develop a fever that runs up and down, go straight to a doctor and ask him to check you for brucellosis. Will you promise to do that? It can be a nasty disease."
She watched him finish drawing the blood sample. Apprehension seemed to have pushed agitation aside. "You're kidding."
He dropped the cow's tail, placed the test tube in the box she held out. "I read about a vet that had to have his eyes removed after catching it and not being diagnosed in time. You wouldn't look as pretty with eye patches, a white cane, and DW for a guide dog."
"DW?"
"Death Wish." He grinned and decided to take another chance. "As much time as he spends in the road, he'd get you both run over."
She dramatically closed her eyes, then opened them as a cynical smile warped her lips. "We'll see."
A bright laugh escaped before he could contain it. "Funny. If either of these cows test positive, they'll have to be branded and sold. Then the rest of the herd will have to be tested."
"What?" The solitary word became a six-syllable gush.
"It's contagious, so carriers go to slaughter to stop it from spreading. If any of your cows test positive, your neighbors' cows will have to be tested, too."
X's and O's (Will Kilpatrick, DVM Mystery Series Book 1) Page 16
