You Can Lead a Horse to Murder

by Tara Meyers

  He was even more handsome out of his doctor’s jacket and in the relaxed setting. He had a day’s worth of stubble growing, giving his features a bit more edge. Ember had always liked edge. His hands were a little too delicate and his physique not quite as robust as she was normally attracted to … but she found it hard to look away from his sharp, captivating eyes.

  “So, what’s it going to be?” he asked, raising an eyebrow. “Ribs, steak, or burger? I guess I should have asked if you’re a meat-eater.”

  “I’m long past my vegetarian phase,” Ember quipped. “I used to come here and get a hamburger every Friday night when I was a kid.” Taking a moment to look around the inside of the cozy diner, she smiled at the variety of hand-carved wooden statues. There was likely one there for every year the Wheel had been open.

  “We certainly don’t want to mess with tradition.” Sean took both of their menus and set them on the edge of the table before waving a waitress over. “Two of the Cowboy Blue burger baskets, and I’ll have whatever dark beer you have on draft.”

  Ember fought the desire to change the order. She didn’t actually care much for blue cheese, and wanted their basic cheeseburger. But part of the reason she accepted the invitation was to smooth things over with Sean, so in spite of finding him somewhat pretentious, she decided to ignore it.

  “Just water with lemon for me, please.”

  “I heard you had some trouble out at the Hathaways?” Sean asked once the young waitress was walking away.

  Grinding her teeth together, Ember carefully spread a napkin in her lap before answering. “Who hasn’t heard?”

  Snorting, Sean laced his hands together and set them on the table between them. “You and I both know you did nothing but help. How’s the horse?”

  With the topic of Bonnie apparently dismissed, Ember tried to stay focused. Sean was making that difficult, since he was leaning in and staring at her with an intensity that was overpowering.

  “I … um, I mean … Butterscotch is good. He’s fine. My Aunt Becky took him back in. I went out and examined him again this afternoon, and he isn’t showing any sign of illness.”

  “Becky Stratton is your aunt? I didn’t know that. It’s good she’s got the horse. Carl Hathaway didn’t seem all that committed to him. And I’ve heard he’s got a temper.” Unwavering, he continued to hold her gaze.

  Ember blinked a couple of times, resisting the urge to place her own hands over the top of his. She had the distinct impression that he knew exactly what sort of effect he was having. She squirmed slightly in the hard seat and was relieved when the server came back with the beer and water.

  “You know, why don’t you bring me a stout, too,” Ember told her, taking the opportunity to shift her attention. “I’ve changed my mind.”

  Finally sitting back with the beer, Sean tilted his head to one side as he studied her. “All I know about you is that you’re originally from Sanctuary. Do you have other family here besides Becky?”

  “No. Just Becky and her husband and kids. My mom passed away last month. That’s what brought me back. You?”

  “I’m sorry about your mom, Ember. That’s rough.” He paused as the waitress set Ember’s beer in front of her. “I was lured here five years ago by my wife. We met at school, and I’d just begun making some progress in my career at a large hospital in Seattle, when the position for the lead physician at the new clinic opened up. She grew up here, and I somehow let her talk me into the move. Our bliss lasted for nearly three years, until she left me to pursue her own dreams on the East Coast two years ago.”

  Unsure of how to respond to that, Ember took a long sip of beer. Doing some quick math, she figured he had to be between thirty-four and thirty-six years old. A list of questions popped into her head in regard to his ex-wife, but she held back. The dinner was simply the building of a foundation for a friendship. Nothing more. At least, not yet. Getting too personal might be a big mistake. She couldn’t deny the chemistry between them, but she was holding back for the same reason. Chemistry had a way of being dangerous if not handled properly.

  “Do you plan on staying in Sanctuary?” she finally asked, deciding to totally skip the whole ex-wife sand trap.

  Hesitating just long enough for his disappointment at her lack of interest to register on his handsome features, Sean set his beer down and finally looked away from Ember. Message received.

  “That all depends. I’m a final candidate at a hospital I’ve been trying to get on with for over a decade. If it falls through, I suppose I’ll stick around.”

  “That must be exciting,” Ember offered.

  When he glanced up, he seemed to be weighing her attraction. This was where she could choose to either lean toward him and flirt back or remain distant.

  Following instinct, Ember resisted his charm and, instead, took another long … very long, chug of beer.

  His demeanor changed. It was hard to measure, but Ember suddenly felt like she was with Dr. Austin instead of Sean.

  Was his ego really that sensitive? she wondered.

  Their food came, and the rest of the dinner was filled with small talk and awkward gaps of silence. She was glad when they finished and she was able to say she needed to get back to the office, where Daenerys was waiting for her.

  It wasn’t until she stood to go and Sean moved smoothly behind her to help with the chair again that the spark between them was flamed further. He lingered mere inches from her and made no attempt to step aside and allow her passage.

  Unable to fight the desire his nearness provoked, she turned slowly toward him and then looked up into his mesmerizing eyes. He was only a few inches taller, the gap between their faces less than a foot.

  Her breath caught, and Ember was nearly lost in the moment as he closed the space by placing a hand at the small of her back and applying pressure.

  The contact brought her to her senses. Bringing her hands up to his chest, she halted the motion. Was he really going to kiss her?

  She hardly knew the man. Not that she was a prude, by any means; but at their age, Ember expected a certain level of courting to occur.

  “Thank you for dinner,” she breathed, taking a deliberate step back.

  His face clouding, Sean abruptly removed his hand from her and widened the distance between them. “My pleasure. We’ll have to do it again soon.”

  Ember wasn’t sure what she thought of his personality. He seemed to be either seething with passion or ice-cold. But there was no denying her interest in wanting to get to know him more.

  “I’d like that,” she said warmly, reaching out to touch his hand lightly.

  “Dr. Austin! Why haven’t you returned my calls?”

  Jumping at the piercing voice right next to her, Ember turned to find a rather large woman glaring at them both. Her long dark hair was in disarray, framing a pale face with large bags under her eyes. She stood with one hand on a generous hip, while the other clutched a huge to-go bag.

  Sean coughed lightly once, clearly gathering his thoughts. “Dr. Burns, this is Vanessa Clark,” he stated, emphasizing her last name.

  Clark, Ember thought, trying to grasp the change in conversation. “Oh!” she gasped, realizing she must be the widow of Tom Clark. That would explain her appearance and red-rimmed eyes.

  “Dr. Burns?” Vanessa repeated, her eyes narrowing. “Aren’t you the busy-body that caused my Tom to get butchered?”

  Ember recoiled, not understanding the accusation and wishing the woman would lower her voice. People at nearby tables were starting to turn their way.

  “Mrs. Clark, I explained to you that the autopsy would have likely been necessary either way, and don’t you want to know the truth as to how your husband died?” Sean was sounding very reasonable, but the distraught woman wasn’t buying into it.

  “There’s no one in this world that would want to kill poor Tom!” she wailed, waving the bag of food in the air. The bottom was stained with grease, and Ember was afraid it might break loo
se.

  So, the woman was blaming her for the autopsy. Ember recalled that Vanessa had been against it. How did Tom’s wife even know that she was the one to find the suspicious wound? Great.

  Glancing around the crowded room, she motioned toward the front door. “Why don’t we go outside and talk?” Ember suggested. “I’d be happy to explain what I can.”

  “We don’t need to go outside, and I don’t need you to explain anything!” Vanessa continued. “The horse killed ’im! And now, thanks to you, I’m not going to be able to support my kids.”

  “What are you talking about?” Sean pressed, trying his best to lead her toward the exit. “Look, I know you’re upset. You have every right to be.” His voice was soothing, and Vanessa allowed him to take her arm and steer her along. “Tom was a good man, and I’m sure you’re right. The autopsy is the only way to confirm that it was an accident. Like I told you earlier, we’ll have those results back by Tuesday. There isn’t anything else to be done until then.”

  Relieved to be out on the front porch, Ember walked awkwardly behind them. Now she really wanted to leave.

  “You’d best be right,” Vanessa lamented. “I just got off the phone with Tom’s union representative. If he was murdered, I won’t get a cent of his life insurance!”

  Pointing at a newer, expensive-looking sedan parked nearby, she got more animated again. “How am I supposed to make that car payment? Or the mortgage? Or feed my kids?” she shouted, holding out the soggy bag of food. “When the sheriff talked to me yesterday, he said Tom was clearly trampled. Clearly, Dr. Austin!” She turned and wagged an accusatory finger at Ember. “It was going to be okay until you stepped in and fuddled everything up!”

  Ember struggled to come up with a response. “I’m sorry,” she eventually croaked out, but it was to the woman’s retreating back.

  ELEVEN

  Ember jerked awake, springing up in her bed and blinking at the thick darkness. For a moment, she wasn’t sure where she was, and then the past month’s events came rushing back. The outline of her bedroom window came into focus, the curtains somewhat illuminated by a bright moon. It was her old bedroom. Home.

  Her cell phone buzzed from its spot on the nightstand, casting its own blue light into the space before erupting with sound. The ring tone was a harsh one, meant to grab Ember’s attention so she wouldn’t miss a call. It worked.

  Rubbing at her eyes, she snatched the phone up, worried that something was wrong with Becky or a member of her family. Who else would be calling in the middle of the night? Glancing down at the painfully bright screen, she saw that it was just past 2am, and it was an unknown caller.

  “Hello?” Her voice was harsh. She didn’t appreciate the scare for what was likely a wrong number.

  “Is this Doctor Burns?” The man’s voice was filled with urgency.

  “Yes …” Ember answered, cautious. “I’m Doctor Burns. How did you get this number? Who is this?”

  “I’m sorry to wake you, but I have an emergency with a foaling mare. Mrs. Stratton gave me your number. There isn’t time for pleasantries, but I’m Morton Ellsworth. I understand you live at the Burns’ place out on Crystal Lake? This mare doesn’t have much time, Dr. Burns.”

  Jumping from the bed, Ember displaced Daenerys, who she didn’t even notice was curled up alongside her legs. The dog had started out the night in her own bed on the floor but must have decided at some point to join her.

  Pinching the phone between her chin and shoulder, Ember yanked on her blue jeans that had been cast onto the floor a few hours before.

  “What’s the problem?” Ember barked. It was rare for a foaling to have complications. About one in five hundred deliveries. But when there was an issue, it was often fatal for both the foal and the mare. Mr. Ellsworth was right; time was critical. Not bothering to change out of her over-sized T-shirt that passed for pajamas, she threw on a sweatshirt while holding the phone out.

  “Water broke, but it’s been over five minutes and there’s still no presentation. Both my foreman and I think we feel a backend, so it has to be breech. At this point, I’m just hoping to save the mare. She’s worth a lot. Are you able to handle that?”

  Ember paused with one boot on. Was she? It was a valid question. This had the potential to be a very messy, hopeless situation.

  Glancing at the clock in the foyer, she noted that two minutes had passed. “How far up Crystal Lane are you?”

  “Not quite ten minutes. Entrance is on the South side of the road.”

  “I can be there in fifteen. Please have your foreman stay there. I might need the extra muscle. Do you have pulling straps? Mine are at the office in town.” Ember had only ever watched the straps used once by the experienced veterinarian she shadowed during her internship. She delivered a few foals, but the one time they encountered a breech, she happily stepped aside. It didn’t end well, as they often don’t. But ready or not, Ember had committed to serving the community of Sanctuary, and if she wasn’t willing to step up when called, then she had no business being a vet.

  “Of course we have straps,” Ellsworth retorted. “We’re a professional stable, Dr. Burns. It’s rare that we call upon anyone for outside services. Are you on your way yet? We’re wasting time.”

  Ember’s truck roared to life, and she watched the silhouette of Daenerys in the front window fade as she backed down the driveway. She’d tapped the speaker on her phone before setting it on the seat beside her. “Yes, Mr. Ellsworth, I’m already driving. I’ll see you in a few minutes.”

  ***

  “Just cut the leg and pull the foal out! I won’t lose this mare, Dr. Burns. She belongs to a high-profile client, and I can’t afford the bad publicity right now.”

  Morton Ellsworth stood over Ember, his peppered hair framing an older but handsome face. As was common with men, the lines etched around his eyes lent character, and he held himself in a way only someone used to power could muster. This was a man accustomed to getting his way.

  “Publicity?” Ember spat the word back at him with contempt.

  Brushing past him, she yanked the leather pulling straps from the hands of the foreman standing behind Ellsworth. “The procedure you’re suggesting is a drastic measure only taken when you have a dead breech foal, neither of which is the case here.”

  Quite often with a breech foal, the only way to save the life of the mare was to get the deceased foal out as quickly as possible. Though gruesome, the best way to accomplish that was to remove one of the foal’s legs so that it could then be manually delivered. But Ember could feel the baby horse moving. It wasn’t dead.

  “We both felt its hind quarters when we examined her,” Ellsworth insisted. Though he was still contradicting her, he made no move to prevent Ember from attaching the straps to the foal’s legs.

  “Perhaps, but its hind legs are both in the canal, and the mare’s making some progress and moving it with the contractions. I’m certain it’s a reverse presentation, not a breech. If we move fast enough, they can both be saved. Something I’m certain your client would be even more satisfied with,” Ember added, looking up at the ranch owner.

  When he only glared back, she made one last plea. She probably couldn’t pull the foal out by herself. She would need the men’s help. “I understand that you have a vast knowledge about horses, Mr. Ellsworth, and I appreciate that. However, you called me out here because neither of you is a veterinarian. I am. I’m asking you to trust my judgment here. And if that isn’t enough, ask yourself why I’ve managed to get these straps on both of the foal’s legs if it’s breech?”

  Morton Ellsworth paused, and then he turned to look at his foreman. Scratching at the stubble on his chin, he contemplated what she’d said. If he knew as much as he claimed, then he would understand that the major complication with a breech position was the legs getting caught up and the mare’s inability to make any progress with moving it.

  Without a word, the ranch owner waved a hand at his foreman, and the two
of them stepped in behind Ember, each taking a strap.

  Ten minutes later, a live foal was delivered, and Ember was done positioning it so its mother could clean it. It was uncertain as to whether it would survive. The next two or three days would determine its fate, but Ember was hopeful. There was no doubt it had suffered a lack of oxygen at some point, and it was impossible to know how severe it was. But the horse was already attempting to stand on its own and was responding to its mother’s touch.

  “When I’m wrong, I admit it.”

  Ember stood slowly and turned to face Ellsworth. Wiping her hands on a towel, she waited.

  “I appreciate what you did here,” he continued, gesturing to the two horses. “In spite of me. I have to confess that I had my reservations, given my history with your predecessor, but I’d say you’ve proven yourself tonight. I’ll be giving you my endorsement, for what it’s worth.”

  The fact that the man intended what he said as a compliment wasn’t lost on Ember, but she’d had enough.

  “My predecessor!” she nearly exploded. Throwing the towel down because it was the only thing available to her, she then balled her hands into fists and crossed them over her chest. “The good doctor, Bernie Chambers, is not my predecessor. I am in no way affiliated with him, have never worked with him, and did not buy his practice. I purchased a building and some of its contents. While I respect the time he put in here at Sanctuary, I’m sick of somehow being held accountable for whatever mistakes he made!”

  Ellsworth took a step back from the barrage, but his demeanor hardened. “Whatever the case may be, Dr. Burns, whether it’s right or wrong, people are going to make assumptions, and it would be in your best interest to take a compliment when you get one. Being so defensive only makes you look less professional.”

  Ember couldn’t believe the man’s arrogance, but the fact that he was right did nothing to placate her anger. The simple truth of the matter was that people had been questioning her abilities and comparing her to Dr. Chambers since she’d moved into the building. Lashing out at the one man to likely hold the most sway in the ranching community was career suicide.