Long Shot

by D. Jackson Leigh

  “Your day is going better than you thought. I’ve just rescheduled your three o’clock appointment for tomorrow, so you are now on time for your five o’clock appointment. I also sent flowers to your mother for her birthday.”

  “Geez, I totally forgot.”

  “Well, she won’t know that. The flowers have your name on them, of course.”

  “I’m forever in your debt.”

  “I’ll add it to your tab.”

  “Thank you. And thanks for getting me back on schedule. I don’t know what I’d do without you.”

  “Just remember that the next time you write a check for my bonus.”

  “I don’t give you a bonus.” Tory laughed.

  “Exactly. Oh, one more thing…let’s see.” Tory could hear papers shuffling. “Leah Montgomery called and asked for an estimate for a farm call, vaccinations for three horses, and a bottle of bute. She didn’t ask for an appointment, though.”

  “That’s the county call I went on earlier. I told her I don’t charge for those calls.”

  “I spend half my time making collection calls to clients who won’t pay their vet bills. How can I make you rich if you don’t accept money from a client who wants to pay?”

  “Did you give her a total?”

  “Yes, I did. She said she’d put a check in the mail today.”

  “Then I want you to write a check to her from my account for the same amount and mail it.”

  Joyce sighed. “If you don’t want her money, I’ll just tear up her check or send it back.”

  “No. I want you to send her a check from me. On that check, I want you to write ‘For surgical services.’”

  “Oh. She’s a doctor?”

  “Not exactly. It’s a long story I’ll have to tell you later.”

  “Okay. You’re the boss.”

  “I’m glad you finally realized that.”

  “I just said it to make you feel good.”

  “Later, Joyce.”

  “Bye, boss.”

  Tory’s thoughts swirled as she drove to the next farm. She had barely noticed any woman since Jessica chose Skyler over her. But the two she’d met today had awakened a throbbing interest she hadn’t felt in more than a year. She laughed aloud. The throbbing she felt was probably just the pellet holes in her butt.

  Chapter Three

  It was three in the morning, and Leah was bone tired. She had spent the afternoon making provisions to keep Nighty as comfortable as possible. Then it had taken hours to calm Gram after the excitement of the day.

  When Gram was first diagnosed with dementia, Leah had done what she did best. She researched the subject thoroughly. She found medical studies, personal testimonies, and chat rooms on the Internet where people were anxious to share their experiences. They had helped her better understand Gram’s disease, and she had collected lots of tips for helping patients and caregivers cope. But she didn’t find a method or medicine that would keep her grandmother’s once-agile mind from slipping away daily.

  She helped her grandmother into a fresh nightgown, tucked her into bed, and dimmed the lights enough that Gram could sleep, but still see if she woke.

  “We have to bake some more pies,” Gram said.

  “Yes, we’ll do that tomorrow after you get some sleep,” Leah reassured her.

  “That Buddy sure can eat. He had three pieces of my chocolate pie.”

  “Gram, Jimmy was here today. He’s Buddy’s son,” Leah said patiently. It was at least the third time she had explained that fact.

  “Jimmy? My goodness, he has sure grown up.”

  “Yes. He’s married now. He married Angela, remember? She’s going to have their first baby soon.”

  “I remember now. You three ran around together when you visited me each summer. You kids had so much fun.”

  “Yes, that’s right.” Leah brushed a stray curl back from her grandmother’s face.

  “I told him not to eat all the pie because Willie would want a piece. Willie loves my pies. But then I remembered that Willie’s partial to my lemon meringue, not the chocolate pie. We have to bake a lemon meringue pie for Willie.”

  “I promise we’ll do that tomorrow, sugar.”

  She turned on the small speaker next to Gram’s bed and the sound of ocean waves rolled over them. She had bought the device for Gram after reading that repetitive sounds could soothe agitated dementia patients.

  “Willie took me to the seashore once,” she said. “It was the best day of my life.” Her eyes slowly closed. “We were so in love.”

  Leah blinked. Her grandfather’s name was Earl, not Willie. But Gram was finally asleep. Leah didn’t intend to wake her up to ask a lot of questions.

  The experts called it “sundowning.” Overstimulation like a new environment or unusual excitement during the day could keep dementia patients agitated and awake for more than twenty-four hours. She hated sedating Gram, but she was so exhausted and agitated herself that she’d finally given Gram the sedative her doctor had prescribed. Maybe they both could get some rest now.

  Leah grabbed a blanket and pillow, then settled on the old sofa.

  It sent shivers down her back to think that Gram had been on her own because nobody realized how much her disease had progressed. When Leah arrived, the house was disarrayed and needed a really good cleaning. Gram had always been petite, but was now waiflike and looked as if she hadn’t bathed in a month. Leah had spent hours straightening and scrubbing the house. She stocked the kitchen with fresh groceries and took Gram to have her loose curls cut short so they would be easier to keep neat.

  In just the few days she had been there, she also had taken all the precautions she could think of to keep Gram safe. She hid the keys to Gram’s old truck and the knobs on the stove so Gram couldn’t leave the farm or cook unsupervised. She gave Gram’s shotgun to Jimmy to keep at his house. She also installed small, inexpensive devices that buzzed every time an exterior door was opened.

  Still, she worried that she might not hear Gram leave the house if she slept in the guest room. She knew how often the police sent out alerts for Alzheimer’s or dementia patients who wandered from their homes or care facilities. Some were found safe. Others wandered onto busy roadways or were found frozen in nearby creeks or ponds. She wouldn’t let that happen to Gram.

  Leah knew this was only a temporary fix. She couldn’t stay and care for Gram indefinitely. She had a life crisis of her own to deal with.

  In fact, if she was honest with herself, she wasn’t there just for Gram.

  As a child, she ran to the farm every summer to escape the frilly dresses and tea parties her mother pushed on her. When she realized as a teen that she was gay, she fled from her conservative Southern Baptist family to her understanding grandmother during every school break. And now, when the life, the independence, the career she had worked so hard to achieve as an adult crumbled from under her, she again retreated to the farm.

  Cherokee Falls was still her safe place.

  *

  It was nearly noon when hunger roused Leah from the sofa. Gram was still sleeping. Damn, that tiny old lady could snore like a bull.

  She rushed through her shower so she could keep an eye on Gram when she woke. Was this how a young mother felt with a baby in the house?

  Damn it all. It just wasn’t fair. A month ago, she’d had a girlfriend, a great apartment, and a thriving career. The only thing she had to worry about was her pile of parking tickets.

  She had grown up with nothing but disapproval. Get down out of that tree. Put on a dress. Stop being such a tomboy. You should go to a Christian college. Watch your language, young lady. Lesbians are an abomination to God.

  That all changed when she became a journalist.

  Clutching her master’s degree from the Journalism School at Columbia University five years ago, she talked her way into a job at the Dallas Morning News. She worked hard to hone her craft and was soon rewarded with the best, most challenging assignments. In just three
years, she earned a spot on the coveted investigative news team.

  While the veteran reporters still tended to rely on contacts and interviews to turn up information, Leah was a bit of a technogeek. She used that skill to download huge chunks of information and mine them for proof of corruption and malfeasance. One of the veteran investigative reporters noticed her skill and helped her hone her interviewing technique. He encouraged her to use her cuteness and honeyed accent to her advantage.

  After two years under her mentor’s wing, she charmed even the toughest politician or government official when she zeroed in on them. And with a desk drawer full of awards, Leah was hunting that big story that could get her nominated for a newspaper Pulitzer.

  That’s why it was such a shock when the investigative team of four reporters had been reduced to two. The newspaper’s executives announced that the soured economy had cut so deeply into their advertising revenue that the company was downsizing. They first froze hiring and pay increases, then offered voluntary buyouts. If the buyouts didn’t trim the staff enough, layoffs would be next.

  Her mentor, pulling down a hefty salary, was pressured into retiring. As the youngest team member with the least seniority, she was the next to go. They didn’t want to lose her altogether, so they offered her the only opening available—editor of their community weeklies. Yeah, like she had worked those long hours so she could spend her days editing stories about Rotary Club luncheons and Eagle Scouts. She took the buyout, a year’s salary, and walked.

  It shouldn’t be too hard to get another investigative job. Right? Wrong.

  Bad news for the industry was flowing like blood at Gettysburg—layoffs, salary cuts, and papers for sale with nobody buying.

  Leah’s professional world—the one place where she seemed to do everything right—was crashing around her.

  She pushed the power button on her laptop and waited for it to boot up. At least it took only a phone call to get online and stay connected with the world outside Cherokee Falls.

  As her e-mail loaded, she cocked an ear toward the bedroom. Gram was awake and stirring around. She quickly scrolled through her messages. Most were from friends, wondering if she was coming back to Dallas. A few were from colleagues with more bad news about the industry. The worst, a handful, were replies from the job feelers she had sent out. They loved her résumé, but were in a job freeze or suffering layoffs themselves.

  She had a year’s salary in her bank account, so she had that long to search, right? Maybe the economy would pick back up and people would start hiring again. But she knew that wasn’t true.

  Even if the economy suddenly improved, the longer she stayed unemployed, the lower her value dropped in the eyes of those hiring. And although no print journalist wanted to admit it, even when things got better, it would never be the same. The recession had finally pushed the reluctant print media into the arena of cheap digital distribution of news.

  If she wanted to have a future in journalism, she needed to figure out a new approach. God, what if she couldn’t figure something out and she ran out of money? She sure as hell wouldn’t go to her family for help. But she couldn’t depend on Gram this time either. Suddenly becoming the caregiver to the woman who had always sheltered her made her feel more isolated, more alone than ever.

  She was enjoying a good wallow in her despair when Gram tottered into the kitchen, and Leah burst out laughing.

  Gram apparently had found Leah’s conditioning mousse and used it a bit too liberally. Her hair was sticking up like an exploded Mohawk. But her grandmother’s eyes were clear and her smile brilliant. She laughed with Leah.

  “This stuff makes your hair so pretty, I thought I’d try it. I guess I overdid it.”

  These moments when Gram almost seemed like her old self were increasingly rare and made Leah want to cry for the grandmother she was losing. She motioned Gram over to the kitchen sink.

  “How about if we wash this stuff out and start over, sugar?”

  Gram nodded and shuffled to the sink while Leah grabbed a towel and the shampoo from the bathroom. The wash job went quickly, and Leah showed Gram how to squirt just a dab of the mousse into her hand and work it through her curls.

  “You should just let it dry naturally.” Leah fluffed the gray curls with her fingers while Gram sat in a chair at the small kitchen table.

  Gram stared blankly across the kitchen. “I dreamed Willie came to see me,” she said.

  “You mentioned Willie last night. Who is he?”

  “Willie was the love of my life. But things were different back then, so I married your grandfather. He was a good man.”

  “Willie or Grandpa? And why couldn’t you marry Willie?”

  Gram didn’t answer. Her gaze was now unfocused.

  “We need to bake some pies. Lemon meringue. That’s Willie’s favorite.” She heaved herself from the chair and began pulling ingredients from the refrigerator.

  Leah hurried to help. “Where’s your recipe box?”

  “I know how to make lemon meringue pies, young lady. I’ve made hundreds.”

  Yeah, right, like the first batch of chocolate pies Gram attempted when Leah arrived. Recipes were another memory that she seemed to have lost in the dark crevices of her mind. Now Leah made sure she had the recipe card handy to guide their culinary ventures.

  “I know, Gram, but it helps me follow along with you.”

  Gram eyed her so suspiciously Leah figured that, in her grandmother’s mind, the granddaughter standing before her was again twelve years old. “I’ve never been able to get you interested in cooking before. All you want to do is ride that pony.” Gram shrugged. “I guess it’s time you learned, though.”

  After Leah made a quick trip to the store for some missing ingredients, they mixed, whipped, and baked. They finally slid the pies into the cooling racks, then stepped out onto the broad porch and settled into rocking chairs.

  They rocked in peaceful silence. As Leah looked out over the yard, a smile tugged at her mouth. She closed her eyes to focus on the memory that her mind was calling up unbidden—a handsome veterinarian with a very cute leprechaun on a very sexy tush.

  She surely wouldn’t be here in Cherokee Falls long enough to form any attachments, but that didn’t mean she couldn’t indulge in a little fantasy.

  She opened her eyes and let them drift over to the barn, where she savored the memory of Tory standing there with her hands on her hips, indignant. Damn, that was fun. If she had only had some handcuffs…

  She let her gaze drift toward the horses in the pasture—Gram’s two thoroughbreds and Nighty.

  Nighty! The pony stood in a patch of soft thick grass, his weight noticeably shifted to his hindquarters. At least the pain was keeping him from shifting forward to graze even more.

  “Oh, my God. Gram, what’s Nighty doing in the pasture?”

  “He somehow got himself locked in the barn while you were at the store, so I turned him out.”

  “Gram, no! He can’t go out in the pasture. Remember? I told you he’s sick and has to stay in the barn.”

  “Nighty is sick? Oh, dear. I guess I should call Herbert.” She rose from her chair to go inside, but Leah stopped her with a hand on her arm.

  “It’s okay. I’ll put Nighty up. I have some medicine for him. I’ll call the vet to see if I should increase the dosage.”

  Leah slowly led the limping pony into the barn. He hesitated only a moment before folding his legs and lying down to relieve the pressure on his feet. It hurt her to see her childhood friend in so much pain.

  She pulled her cell phone from her pocket and punched in the numbers on Tory’s card, aware that Nighty’s condition wasn’t the only reason for her urgency. When she awoke that morning, pleasant dreams of the green-eyed veterinarian and a wounded leprechaun had lingered in her thoughts.

  Chapter Four

  Tory stripped off her latex gloves and threw them on top of the bloody gauze pads piled on the ground next to her. She groaned as she
stood and straightened her stiff back and sore hip.

  “That should do it. I think she’ll be fine. It didn’t hit anything vital, but it did crack that rib where it entered. I’d put her in the barn for at least a day. Then you’ll need to keep her in a small, quiet paddock to limit her movement until the rib heals.”

  “I can’t believe those kids were shooting arrows out behind the barn. What the hell were they thinking?” Skyler glared at the bloody hunting arrow clenched in her hand. A half hour ago, the tip of it had been embedded in the side of the gentle old mare, Summer, that lay snoozing at their feet. They had anesthetized her right there in the pasture. It was a clear, warm day and it was safer than performing the impromptu surgery in a stall where she might stagger into the walls as she was waking up.

  Summer had been a mediocre jumper in her youth, but was an excellent brood mare and personal riding horse for Kate Parker, the owner of the Cherokee Falls Equestrian Center.

  The center was known for training both horses and riders for a variety of competitions. It was also recognized in certain circles for its Young Equestrian Program, a refuge and rehab for troubled youngsters. Kate became a big sister to Skyler when the program rescued her and her brother from an abusive home. And more than ten years later, she’d rescued Skyler again by hiring her as a trainer when an indiscreet affair got her blackballed as a professional rider on the eventing circuit.

  Kate was pleasantly surprised when Skyler turned out to be a natural with the young equestrians now benefiting from the program. So, when she and her partner decided to retire and travel, they’d appointed Skyler as director of the program. They’d turned the Equestrian Center over to the Parker heiress, their daughter Jessica.

  Jessica and Skyler were a team. More than that, they were soul mates. That reality still made Tory uncomfortable sometimes.

  Tory and Skyler had been friends since they were children. Both stood a shade over six feet tall. Both were dark blondes with similar short, layered haircuts and trim, athletic builds. But that was where the similarity ended. Tory’s eyes were evergreen, whereas Skyler’s were dark brown. Tory was gregarious and laid-back. Skyler was intense and sometimes brooding. Tory courted girls. Skyler fucked them.