The coyotes stood poised, still as death, every eye on Cody. The moment was near.
At the exact same second as Abby chose to raise her stick and go for them, the sound of pounding hooves shook the ground and startled her.
Abby looked behind to see the magnificent charge of the stallion. Dancer came galloping, ears pinned back, teeth flashing, anger shooting out of his eyes like lightning bolts. The stirrups had come loose and they flapped at his sides, making the spectacle even more unearthly to the coyotes, who stared at him with terrified eyes.
On he came, over the rocks and bushes and brambles. No obstacle caused him to falter or vary his direct line. His knees reached up past his lowered nose as he covered ground, each huge stride bringing him closer to the astonished pack.
He didn’t slow. He raced right through the pack, scattering them every which way, kicking and roaring and twisting until each one had turned tail and headed for safety.
Shaking with spent adrenalin, Abby collapsed on the ground beside her wounded coyote and hugged him gently. “We’ll get you home, Cody. We’ll fix you up.” She rested with him, waiting for the shaking to subside.
Dancer thrust his nose down into Abby’s face and sniffed and blew. His sides heaved. Abby held his head and stroked his sweaty face. Tears rolled down her face.
“You saved us, Dancer. You saved us. Thank you for coming back.”
Abby knew she needed to get Cody help before it was too late. She checked his gums: They were white. He was in shock. Along with the blood loss, that added up to an emergency situation.
Abby examined the trap. The rusted steel jaws had ripped the flesh on Cody’s leg and were digging into the bone. Abby didn’t know if she should try to get him home with the trap attached to his leg or try somehow to release it. That question was answered when she lifted Cody. He yelped in pain. The old trap was very heavy, and its weight pulled on his injured leg. It had to come off.
The spring mechanism bowed in the centre. Abby guessed that when the trap was open, the spring would lie flat, like a mousetrap. If she stepped hard enough on the flexed steel, would it open? There was only one way to find out. Abby positioned the trap so that her weight would push down the spring. Cody whimpered.
Abby gritted her teeth. “Please, let this be the right thing to do,” she prayed. She stepped down squarely, putting all her weight and strength onto the spring. If she was wrong, she feared that it would cut off Cody’s leg.
The ancient trap snapped open.
Abby kept all her weight on the spring as she gingerly lifted Cody’s leg out. The second she stepped off, the trap snapped shut with an awesome clang, sending particles of rust in every direction.
She gently scooped Cody up off the ground, careful to find the position that hurt him the least. Cody was stoic, but in a lot of pain.
The nearest house was Samuel Owens’. Abby didn’t want to go anywhere near there, especially with Dancer. There was no one to help at the Wick farm. There was the little house on the acre lot beside Owens’ driveway. Gladys Forsyth was usually home, and she loved animals, but Hilary would be riding on the road, or waiting for Abby at Hogscroft. Abby headed for the road.
Samuel Owens was on the phone.
“Dammit, Gus! You told me there hasn’t been any interest in that piece of junk land in all the years it’s been on the market!”
“There hasn’t. This offer just came in, Mr. Owens. That’s why I called.”
“If I knew there’d be an offer, I would’ve bought the place yesterday. You should’ve seen it coming. I’m not happy, LeFarge. Now we’ll have a bidding war.”
“Not likely. The offer comes from Joy Featherstone. She’s not a rich woman.”
“Well, well. Joy Drake. I went to school with her a lifetime ago. What did she offer?”
“Close to asking.”
“Gus, how much would it take for you not to mention Joy’s offer to Wick? Pretend it’s yesterday. I’ll put in a good offer. When Wick accepts it, you get a handsome fee and we don’t have to fool around with counteroffers.”
“It’s tempting, Sam. But you forget, I already had my licence suspended once for you. I won’t be making that mistake again.”
“You told me there’d be no problem. It’s a problem if I don’t get the property.” Samuel Owens hung up, angry. Nobody wants to help a friend. He got up from his desk and took his favourite position by the picture window. Soon, all this would be his, but it was taking too long. There were more obstacles than he’d expected, and he was getting impatient.
Something was moving across his land. Way back, near the Wick boundary. Owens picked up his binoculars and adjusted them. A horse, no rider, but saddled up. A human, carrying something dark and heavy. The horse was Dancer. There was no mistake. Dancer, on his property. Mousie James wouldn’t have the nerve to be on his land, would she? He strained his eyes to see. Didn’t they learn their lesson last time? He was within his rights to shoot trespassers. There were signs posted. Couldn’t she read?
The phone on his desk rang.
“Owens here.”
“Mr. Owens? It’s Gladys Forsyth.”
Samuel Owens’ eyes lit up. His voice took on a kindly, paternal tone. “Well, Gladys, how nice to hear back from you so quickly.”
“I’ll want more money for my house.”
Owens’ face darkened, but his voice purred. “That was a generous offer, Gladys. The price per acre is well-known. I offered twice the going rate.”
“I had an estimate done. My son told me to do that. Mrs. James says it’s worth six times the price per acre because it’s a severed lot. That’s three times what you offered, and that’s what I want.”
“You greedy—Christine James, eh? You called her in for an appraisal? She’s been busy lately.”
“Are you going to pay, or walk away? My son said to say that.”
“Let me think on it, Gladys. Remember, this is a solid offer. A bird in the hand and all that, but I’ll get back to you.”
“Don’t wait too long, or it’ll be gone. Heh, heh.”
“Your son is a funny man, Gladys. Goodbye.”
Owens was furious. Dancer was walking across his property, and Mousie’s mother and grandmother were messing up all his plans by putting in an offer on the Wick farm and telling Gladys Forsyth her acre was worth three times his offer.
That does it. Owens took his Remington hunting rifle off the shelf over his desk. Keeping his eyes fixed on Dancer, Owens slipped a cartridge into place. He closed the well-oiled chamber with a firm click. He threw open the casement window and aimed. That horse was not welcome on his property.
Boom! Boom boom! The sounds of a rifle discharging ripped through the air like claps of thunder. Abby dropped to the ground, her body covering Cody. Dancer jumped, startled. His muscles tensed, ready for flight.
Where were the shots coming from? Abby looked up at Dancer. The big horse’s eyes were wild. She could duck low, but Dancer was a big target.
“Home, Dancer!” Abby commanded.
Dancer refused to go. He nudged her with his nose, urging her to get up. He nudged her again, this time pushing so hard that she was lifted to her feet. “Okay, Dancer. We’ll run.” Abby spied a wooded growth not far away.
As she gathered Cody into her arms, he whimpered with pain, then placed one paw over Abby’s arm. “You can cry if you like, Cody,” she told him. “I know it hurts.” Abby headed toward the trees. She ran low to the ground with Cody tucked into her chest.
Boom boom boom!
They made it to cover. From the safety of the thick tree trunks, Abby scanned the horizon, trying to see where the gunfire had originated.
Boom!
Samuel Owens’ mansion. Somebody was firing a rifle from his house. Abby’s blood ran cold. He was back.
Missed again! Owens couldn’t contain himself. He hurled his rifle out the window as far as he could, then ran out into the yard and jumped on it. How could he miss? He was a champion shot. Ang
rily he strode back into the house and slammed the door. He rang for his manservant.
Walter came running, his face pale. “Sir?”
Owens smiled at the man’s fear. That made him feel a little better. “Can’t take a little rifle noise, Walter? Never served your country? It shows, Walter. You’re a snivelling coward, aren’t you, Walter?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Go out and buy a dozen red roses. Deliver them yourself to the beautiful Mrs. Casey. Write something clever on the card, from me.” Owens threw a crisp fifty-dollar bill on the floor at Walter’s feet. “And Walter? Act like a man.”
“Yes, sir, Mr. Owens, sir.” Walter’s face was deep red as he stooped to retrieve the money, kneeling under the sneering face of his boss.
Hilary trotted Henry home along the gravel road, giving him a good workout. The amount of sweat that seeped through his shedding winter coat reminded Hilary that he was out of shape.
“You’re a nice boy,” she told him, “but you’re fat. You need some work.” Hilary wondered if she should hire Abby to exercise both horses. Henry would live longer if his heart and body were healthy. Abby might like the extra money, if she had time.
Hilary looked at her watch. The hour was almost up. Perhaps she’d meet Abby and Dancer coming back. Hilary fully expected Cody to be following them, and Abby would say she’d been worrying needlessly. Regardless, it had been a lovely ride. Henry needed the exercise, and Pepper was enjoying the run.
They walked up the hill toward Hogscroft. As the road straightened, Henry’s ears shot forward. He whinnied loudly, a whinny of greeting. An echoing whinny answered his call. Hilary couldn’t see anything yet, but she knew Dancer’s call. She kept Henry walking, even though he badly wanted to trot.
Dancer whinnied urgently from down the road. Henry responded. Ignoring the reins, he grabbed the bit in his teeth. He trotted down the road, around the curve past Hogscroft.
That’s when Hilary saw Abby, carrying a bleeding mess of grey fur, followed by the tall, elegant stallion.
“Oh, my God,” Hilary muttered under her breath. She cantered Henry right up to the trio, stopped him, then slid from his back onto the road.
“Abby! What happened?”
“Cody was caught in a leg-hold trap and the coyotes were coming to kill him. Dancer scared them off. Cody needs help. He’s dying. Call Pete Pierson, Hilary. Now!”
“Can I help you carry him? He looks heavy.” She reached out to help, but Cody growled and snapped. “No, I guess not,” she said.
“He’s in pain, Hilary, and he doesn’t know you. Don’t take offence.”
“I won’t, don’t worry.” Hilary remounted Henry. “I’ll run home and phone Mr. Pierson. Give me Dancer’s reins, and I’ll pony him back.”
“They’re in my pocket.”
“In your pocket? He’s following you? I thought you were leading him. Dancer! Come!”
Dancer looked at Hilary, but stayed with Abby.
Squelching the enormous feeling of hurt that swelled up inside her, Hilary turned and cantered Henry back toward Hogscroft.
Tears ran down her face. She scolded herself. She’d wanted Dancer to like Abby. That had been her whole plan. She hadn’t considered that he would choose Abby over her, though. It hurt. Dancer was more than a horse to Hilary. He had been her best friend when her father had died. His company had eased her loneliness when other girls had dates and were going to parties. They’d gone through danger together and had shared times of great excitement.
Now she had a different life. A life that excluded this great horse. She couldn’t have it both ways, she told herself. If she wanted to be an archeologist and travel to exotic places, she could not have a horse like Dancer, who needed time and attention. She could not have everything. Choices must be made. The tears continued as she rode up to the house.
Christine and Joy were bundled up on the terrace enjoying the late sun with their afternoon coffee. Pepper and Diva perked up and ran to Hilary, tails wagging. When Christine saw that her daughter was upset, she stood up from the table.
“Mousie!” she called. “What’s wrong?”
“Call Mr. Pierson, Mom. Tell him to drive his truck over right away.”
“What happened, Mousie?”
“Cody was caught in a trap. Abby needs help.”
7
FIONA’S PROBLEM
PETE ARRIVED FASTER THAN Christine expected. Dancer and Abby, with Cody in her arms, were just turning up the lane when his old blue truck appeared. Pete came to a stop beside them. Christine opened the passenger door and Abby got Cody settled in the middle of the seat. Dancer stood still, attentive and protective. Before climbing in beside Cody, Abby patted the stallion and quietly thanked him. Dancer shook his mane and whinnied. He turned and trotted up to the barn.
Pete grimaced as he backed up and turned the truck around.
“Thanks for getting here so fast,” Christine called as the truck pulled out. As it sped off, gravel flying, Pete waved his goodbyes. There was no time to lose.
Christine walked up the lane, thinking about her daughter. Hilary was very upset. Was it the shock of seeing the injured coyote? Or was there something else?
Christine noticed Joy entering the barn, where Hilary was untacking the horses. It was just like her mother to know when she was needed. Instead of going to the barn as she’d intended, she decided to head for the house to start dinner. She’d let the two of them have a chat.
“Gran, I need to be alone right now.” Hilary continued brushing Dancer. The tack was still in the aisle, but Henry had been brushed down and was in his stall with a cooling blanket over him.
“I’m sorry, Mousie. I don’t wish to intrude.”
“You’re not intruding, and I don’t mean to sound rude. I just need some time to collect myself.” She bent down and picked up Dancer’s front left foot.
“Sure. I understand. We all have times like this.”
“I know you understand. You always do.” Hilary deftly cleaned the hoof with the pick.
“Not always, Mousie.” Joy reached into her pocket. “Would you like my hanky? It’s clean.”
“Thanks.” Hilary took the white linen handkerchief and wiped her eyes. “This is embarrassing. I’m twenty-two years old.” She blew her nose.
“I’m seventy-two and I still cry.”
Hilary laughed. “But not about stupid things.”
“If it’s making you cry, my dear, it’s not stupid.”
“But it is stupid. I’m crying because Dancer seems more attached to Abby than he is to me. And Abby just started riding him yesterday. I feel sad. I feel so . . .” She left the sentence dangling as she picked up his back left hoof and cleaned it. “I feel so jilted. And that’s stupid.”
Joy said nothing until Hilary finished picking out Dancer’s feet. “It’s totally understandable, my dear. There’s nothing stupid about that emotion.”
“Yes there is, Gran. I can’t look after him anymore. I wanted Abby to ride him because she’s the only person I can think of who could get into his head. And I was right. They get along great, so I’m sad? It doesn’t make sense.”
“Logically, no. But emotions aren’t always logical. You feel that you’ve lost your best friend.”
“But I haven’t, really. And I know he’ll only be happy if he’s working, and I want him happy.”
“You really love him, Mousie, if you’re willing to let him go because it’s better for him.”
“Maybe, but I still feel jealous.”
As Hilary led Dancer into his stall, Joy tried to explain. “It’s like having a child. You love her, raise her, protect her, teach her how to look after herself. Then the time comes when he or she leaves you to discover the big, outside world. And you’re left with a hole in your heart. But it’s the best thing for her. You can’t keep her with you for selfish reasons. So a mother who loves her child has to let her go.”
“Maybe it’s exactly like that, Gran.” Hilary loo
ked at her grandmother with questioning eyes. “Is this how you felt when Mom moved out?”
Joy nodded. “Exactly.” She smiled. “I cried like a baby.”
“And is this how Mom feels now? Now that I’m moving on?” Hilary’s face suddenly crumpled. She ran out of the barn.
As she watched Hilary stumble into the house, Joy thought she’d made things worse. She picked up the bridles and hung them in the tack room. Wondering what to do about her granddaughter, she put Henry’s saddle on the proper rack then returned to get Dancer’s.
There was a bullet lodged in the back of Dancer’s saddle. Joy breathed deeply, steadying herself. “Oh my,” she muttered as she ran a finger over it. It was deeply embedded in the leather on the left side of the seat. “Oh my, my, my.” Joy felt shocked as the realization of averted tragedy hit her. Her head was light. Trembling visibly, she rested the saddle on her hip and started for the house. Hilary would have to see it.
Joy wasn’t looking forward to showing her granddaughter the saddle. She’d upset her enough already. When she opened the kitchen door, though, she saw Hilary and Christine locked in a hug, rocking and laughing and crying together. Joy smiled and wiped a tear from her own eye.
Colleen Millitch was the head veterinarian at Cheltenham Veterinary Hospital. Although she was only in her mid-thirties, she’d dealt with more than her share of animal crises. Tall and dark-haired with a ready smile, Colleen was attractive as well as capable.
As soon as she’d gotten the call from Pete Pierson, she prepared an operating table and disinfected herself. Colleen smiled. A vet’s life was full of surprises. This had been just an average Monday afternoon until now. She remembered working on Cody before, the night Pete Pierson had brought him in, full of Colonel Kenneth Bradley’s buckshot. Cody had been a good patient, but he was still a wild animal. Colleen would be very careful. She was pulling on her latex gloves when the receptionist buzzed.
“They’re here, Colleen. What should I do? It’s a real coyote!”
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