by Toni Leland
Liz had to admit the plan made sense. After all, if the men supported each other and stuck together, why wouldn't the women welcome the same option? At least it was a place to start her salvage operation.
Over lunch on the screen porch, the conversation moved to a more personal level. Colleen took a long swallow of iced tea, then thoughtfully set down her glass.
"You've never told me why you decided to move out here in the first place, other than the job."
Liz shook her head dejectedly. "I've wondered that myself lately." She sat back in the comfortable wicker chair. "My dad was a famous horse-trainer. My mother died when I was four, and Dad retired from the ring to raise me. We lived on a small farm in Kentucky, where he started breeding Arabians. He ended up with one of the most popular bloodlines in the industry, Double B."
"Oh, Lordy, I guess! That was your dad?"
Liz nodded, feeling the familiar pain begin in her chest. "I was in my last year at vet school when he suffered a mild stroke. By graduation, he'd mostly recovered, but couldn't continue working with the horses. He became very depressed. I took a job at a large Thoroughbred farm nearby, and things were fine for awhile. Then he had another stroke, and I had to juggle work and looking after him."
The painful memories flooded through Liz's head, images as clear as if they'd been yesterday.
"Then, one morning he didn't wake up..."
The pain in her chest was now so intense she couldn't breathe. Her father's death still affected her deeply, even after almost three years. She struggled on with her story.
"It took me over two years to settle the estate and disperse sixty head of horses. I'd been on emergency leave from the Thoroughbred farm, but they finally had to replace me."
Colleen's face reflected her regret at starting the conversation. "Liz, I'm so sorry. I didn't know - "
"No, it's okay. Anyway, I decided a change of scenery would do me good, and I thought I'd like to try my hand at showing horses, since I had some really good ones. Then this job jumped up and bit me." She smiled without mirth. "Figuratively speaking."
"Liz, you're gonna do fine. You just need to work at it."
The intense atmosphere began to dissipate, and Colleen took the opportunity to leave. On the way out to her truck, she snapped her fingers and stopped.
"Oh! Are you still interested in buyin' more mares?"
"Yeah, but with my current career slump, my bank account probably isn't."
Colleen climbed up into the driver's seat, then rolled down the window.
"Go see Marilyn Cook over in Placerville. She's on your new list of prospects. She's gettin' on, and has lots of horses. I think she has some pretty good lines, but I don't remember which ones." The truck engine coughed, then started. "And don't forget to give her a business card. Ya might get lucky."
As Colleen's taillights disappeared down the driveway, Liz's thoughts were skeptical. I need more than luck right now. Sadness crept into her heart, followed by an overwhelming urge to go home. Even if she did, would she be able to pick up the pieces, go on with her life as before? She blinked back the tears. No. That was then, and this is now. I can't look back.
5
The twenty-five-minute drive from Garden Valley to Placerville allowed Liz plenty of time to think about her precarious financial position. Colleen's right. I can't sit back and wait for something to happen. She flushed, embarrassed by Colleen's candid comment about over-confidence.
An instant later, she bristled. "Well, I am good! What's wrong with believing in yourself?"
Can't see the forest for the trees, that's what.
Another troubling thought intruded, and her shoulders slumped. She'd assumed that winning enough points at the regional show would assure her chances to compete at the Nationals. Apparently, she had another obstacle to worry about.
Ahead, a dilapidated wooden sign leaned at an angle, the white paint peeling, the black letters faded. Cook's Arabians. Liz left her problems behind and followed the dirt road, stopping in front of a small house flanked by an old barn. Three small, scruffy dogs barreled out from behind the building, barking wildly. A short, sturdy woman opened the screen door and hollered at them. The dogs quieted at once, and ran to sit at her feet.
Liz glanced down at three pair of watchful eyes.
"Quite the security crew you have there."
The older woman grinned. "Oh, them. They're harmless. I think they'd probably share the loot with a burglar. I'm Marilyn. C'mon in."
Liz stepped into the dim house, wrinkling her nose at the stale odor of cigarettes and animals permeating the air. Beyond the kitchen, a tiny sitting area overflowed with horse tack, magazines, dog beds, and a dingy overstuffed couch where several cats dozed.
Marilyn dropped into a worn recliner, and Liz eased onto a bare spot on the couch next to a fat tabby that angrily twitched its tail at being disturbed. While Marilyn sifted through large piles of papers on the coffee table, Liz's gaze moved around the room. One wall displayed dozens of photographs of horses at shows, horses in pastures, horses with riders or being driven. Dusty trophies, platters, bowls, and loving cups covered the surface of a card table in the corner - a lifetime of accomplishment.
"It looks like you were pretty successful in the ring."
Marilyn glanced up and waved her cigarette dismissively.
"Oh, that stuff. Did that when I was young and had some help. Now I don't even polish 'em." She shoved a folder across the table. "Here's some snapshots of the horses I have for sale. I hate to get rid of 'em, but I gotta...I'm too old, they're too much work."
Liz looked through the photographs, disappointment filling her thoughts as she glanced at the pedigrees. Good, but not spectacular. Nuts! How can I diplomatically tell her that the horses aren't good enough, then turn around and ask for her vet custom?
"Uh, Marilyn, they're very nice, but, you know, I don't think photographs do a horse justice. Could I take a look at the mares?" Dammit! Quit beating around the bush. The pedigrees won't improve by the time you get to the barn.
"Sure, honey. Mind the dogs, they'll go off again."
Following Marilyn, and trying to dodge the clouds of cigarette smoke that trailed behind, Liz pondered a way to get to the main reason for the visit. Maybe I can take a quick look to be polite, and then tell her I'm not quite ready, that I'm still in the browsing stage.
When they reached the barn door, Liz pulled out a business card and plunged in.
"How many horses do you have?"
"Nine...about eight too many."
Liz offered the card. "I'd like the chance to care for your stock."
Marilyn dropped the cigarette, and ground it out, then looked at the card.
"So you're the new doc. Nobody told me it was a gal, but that's even better. It's about time the old coot got some real help!"
The inside of the barn was as messy as the house. Neglect and carelessness. A disaster waiting to happen. The floor hadn't been swept in at least a week. Two broken bales of straw littered the aisle, aided by the draft that swirled through the barn from open doors and windows. Liz glimpsed masses of cobwebs draped through the rafters, frosted with dust and speckled with pieces of straw. A serious fire hazard. Her heart thudded and she pushed the horrible thought away.
Marilyn opened a stall door at the end of the aisle.
"Come on down here. This here's my pride and joy, Miss Marcy." Marilyn smiled proudly as she pointed at the animal. "She's half Egyptian an' half Polish. That's a very popular combination, y'know."
Liz stepped forward to get a better look into the dimly lit stall. Her heart sank. At least nineteen years old, Miss Marcy had seen better days. Significantly underweight, the mare's hip bones stuck out and her ribs were visible beneath a dull, white coat. Her eyes held no luster or fire, and her ears drooped. The poor old thing looked as though she hadn't been groomed in months. Liz's eyes burned. How can anyone treat these animals this way?
"Her sway-back is 'cause she's had eleven
foals. Did you look at her pedigree?"
Liz smothered a sigh. "Marilyn, she's nice, but too old for my herd. I need young broodmares."
She started edging toward the door and her freedom.
Marilyn's tone sounded cross. "Well, you could go on down the road to Aliqua Arabians. They've got dozens of horses - not all that great, but they're young."
Liz was dismayed at how badly she'd botched the visit. As they walked toward the house, Marilyn hurried to end the visit.
"They're in El Dorado, not far. Owner's name is Eve." She opened the screen door and looked back.
"I'll give a holler if I need ya."
Back home, the light glowed steadily on the answering machine in Liz's office. Disgusted, but not surprised, she headed for the barn to clean stalls and set up the evening feed.
Nine stalls later, she climbed wearily up the stairs to the hayloft. A shaft of late afternoon sun slanted through the single window. Hay dust danced in the beam, reminding her of smoke, followed by a mental picture of Marilyn's firetrap barn. Liz's skin crawled with horror. Nothing was more terrifying to a horse owner than the possibility of a barn fire. She'd had one experience with a fire in Kentucky, for which all of her medical training had been useless. Four horses, overcome by smoke, had perished while Liz and others had helplessly stood by, unable to enter the blazing barn.
Shaking off the ghastly memory, she began tossing flakes of hay into the stalls below. Finally, hot and tired, she dropped into a pile of straw, and closed her eyes.
Unbidden, Kurt's face appeared in her mind, and a shiver of delight moved across her damp skin. How wonderful she'd felt in his arms, traveling around the dance floor. Immersing herself in the daydream, she heard his soft voice, felt the texture of his shirt, smelled his male scent. Nestling deeper into the straw, she abandoned herself to dreams of how his arms might feel embracing her in the heat of passion. Her body tingled and arousal seethed through her.
Stunned by her response to the sexy daydream, she scrambled to her feet. This is ridiculous. I'm acting like a lovesick teenager. I'll probably never even see him again. Angrily brushing the hay dust from her jeans, she took a deep breath and tried to will away her tension. Moving toward the stairs, she glanced back at the bed of straw, feeling the uneasy burn of desire that would haunt her for hours.
6
Abandoning herself to thoughts of Kurt had been an unfortunate mistake, and Liz's restlessness threaded through the remainder of the day. In the study, she looked at her empty schedule book, and thought again about Colleen's plan, and her own good intentions. She pulled out the list of prospects, and reached for the phone.
A woman answered, her voice lilting with a hint of accent.
"Aliqua Arabians, Eve speaking."
"Hi, this is Dr. Liz Barnett in Garden Valley. Marilyn Cook gave me your name."
"...Yes?"
Liz gulped at the frosty tone of voice. Perhaps mentioning Marilyn wasn't such a good idea.
"She said you have horses for sale, and I'm looking for Arabian breeding stock. Specifically, mares."
The woman's tone didn't sound friendly. "Oh. And who are you again?"
"Liz Barnett. I'm the new vet at Doc Sams' practice, and I own Legacy Arabians in Garden Valley. I've been here about six months."
Eve's tone warmed considerably at the prospect of a real sale. "Well, I do have some mares for sale. I breed predominantly Polish, some Egyptian. Would you care to look at the stock I have available?"
"I could come by tomorrow." Or any day, for that matter.
"Fine. My trainer's away at an auction, but I can show you what I have."
Liz put the phone down and took a deep breath. Here I am again, shopping for horses when I should be chasing customers.
The next afternoon, Liz again cruised along the road to Placerville. The ever-present Sierras reigned over the valley like ermine-mantled monarchs. The magnificence and desolation of northern California energized her, and filled her with optimism that goals could be accomplished on a grand scale.
South of Placerville, Liz quickly came upon El Dorado, a quaint town in the heart of gold country. Following Eve's directions, Liz pulled into an enormous gated entrance of white marble and ornate wrought-iron. An elegantly-lettered sign hung over the drive. The paved road climbed gradually through a huge stand of ancient pine trees. Emerging from the green canopy, Liz gasped. On the hillside sat an incredibly large house, obviously brand new and custom-built. Beautiful landscaping framed the building against the evergreens on the mountain behind it. A garden area, stone benches, gazebo, and large deck filled one entire side of the property.
She drove past the front, and pulled in next to a late-model Corvette parked beside a new Lincoln Navigator. A luxury six-horse trailer sat alongside the barn. That cost an easy fifty-grand. The traditional New England style barn was gorgeous, complete with cupola and antique weathervane. Behind the building, white-fenced pastures spread in every direction.
Walking along the stepping stone path to the front door, Liz promised herself she wouldn't leave that farm without Eve's business.
Before she could lift the knocker, a small, shapely woman in her mid-fifties opened the door. Eve Aliqua was every inch Irish: vibrant green eyes, a ruddy complexion sprinkled with tiny freckles, and flaming red hair pulled back in a ponytail.
She smiled and gestured toward the living room. In person, her accent was more noticeable.
"I made some iced tea. I'll be right back."
Liz examined the surroundings while she waited. Spacious rooms were illuminated by floor-to-ceiling picture windows, providing a panoramic view of the surrounding foothills and valleys, the mountains standing guard on the horizon. Lustrous oak beams and paneling glowed in the reflection of carefully designed lighting in each area. Comfortable, unpretentious leather sofas and chairs huddled around a tile-topped Spanish-style coffee table.
Eve certainly had money, but from where? Selling horses? Surely not. More likely an inheritance or a lucrative divorce. A moment later, Eve returned with a tray.
Liz wasted no time in offering her a business card.
"I'm in the process of setting up my equine practice. Are you a client of Doc Sams?"
Eve rolled her eyes and shook her head. "When he can work me in. I usually have to get the vets to come over from Cameron Park. Not for emergencies, of course. It's too far." She looked at the card. "But now that you're available, I can call you."
Liz beamed, her stomach doing a somersault. This isn't so hard.
Eve moved to a glass-fronted barrister's bookcase by the fireplace, and pulled out a thick notebook.
"You can look through the pedigree book, see if anything matches up with your breeding program."
"Eve, I feel really peculiar calling you out of the blue, like this."
"Oh, that's all right. I will say, it rather threw me when you mentioned Marilyn. We've had some problems in the past, and I wondered just what she'd thrown my way this time."
Liz paged through the binder, bewitched by the extraordinary bloodlines. Any horse that had ever been anything was included in the first three generations of every pedigree. She could barely contain her excitement. What a gene pool! Here's a chance to bring some outstanding blood into my herd, if I can just afford it...
Eve's lightly clipped words penetrated Liz's thoughts.
"We can go up to the barn whenever you're ready. I think the grooms have everyone cleaned up."
As they walked across the gravel toward the impressive building, Eve apologized.
"I'm not very good at showing off the horses to prospective buyers, and I can't demonstrate their riding or driving capabilities. But if you see something you like, perhaps you could come back when the trainer is here."
Liz's stomach fluttered with anticipation of seeing the mares that matched those incredible pedigrees.
The interior of the barn was finished in solid oak, smooth and lustrous. Liz looked down the length of the immaculate aisle.
When the lights came on, inquisitive faces appeared over stall doors, and Liz didn't breathe for a moment. The heads were exquisite, as Arabian heads should be. She walked slowly down the aisle, stopping at each stall for a closer look, understanding that they were some of the finest horses she'd ever seen. Her heart sank. I'll never be able to afford any of these mares.
Eve opened a stall door. "This mare is a Polish-Russian cross. You can see that her conformation is a little different than the others. That's the Russian influence. They prefer strong, athletic horses. She's in foal to our straight Egyptian stallion, and due in January."
Liz assessed the dark gray mare. The horse's features were heavier than Liz preferred, but the conformation was excellent and the animal had a regal, almost distant bearing.
"Why are you selling her?"
Eve closed the stall door. "Actually, I just don't like her very much." She shrugged. "Her personality isn't as friendly as the rest of my mares."
Liz nodded, but said nothing. You're not exactly out-going yourself. Horses are very tuned-in to human body language.
Following Eve down the aisle, Liz seriously considered the gray mare. A real possibility...introduce some diversified blood into my herd. Plus, the foal she's carrying could be really outstanding.
Eve stopped beside another stall door and waited for Liz's reaction. Inside the twelve-by-twelve enclosure filled with mounds of straw, a magnificent white mare watched the two women. Her large, dark eyes held a soft luminosity. Her statuesque body was strong, yet delicate, with superb bone structure and faultless conformation. The horse had a magical effect on Liz. All she needs is a unicorn horn.
"Fair Lady's a ten-year-old Polish-Egyptian cross. I've had six beautiful foals out of her."
As if summoned, a tiny head peeked around Fair Lady's chest. The foal was an exquisite replica of her mother. Fair Lady lowered her head and, chuckling in her throat, nudged the little one back.
Eve laughed. "As you can see, she's a very good mother."
They moved on down the aisle, and Liz looked at other horses, but couldn't shake the image of the white mare.
