Rogue's Revenge - By Gail MacMillan Page 0,28
Allison. “Her baby just isn’t ready to give her up. Put this lady in her stall, honey. I’ll be in shortly to rub her down. I want to check on the filly. She can get crazy trying to get back with her mom.”
Allison took the rope and headed into the stable. It wasn’t renovations or Pride’s anxiety over separation from her foal that had ruined Allison’s performance. No, no, no. It was her lack of concentration caused by one backwoods barbarian named Heath Oakes and his determination to involve her in her grandfather’s business. In her mind, she saw his piercing eyes mocking her, felt his body against hers, his mouth covering hers in the most sensuous kiss she’d ever experienced.
Lost in thought, it was a moment before she became aware of hooves galloping into the barn behind her. The next happened so fast that later she’d have difficulty recalling its sequence. A workman’s yell, a crash as the mare reared, slamming into Allison’s shoulder, high-pitched equine screams.
Thrown against a stall door, Allison staggered, struggling to remain on her feet. As if in a nightmare she saw Pride snorting and pawing amid a cloud of dust and debris, her filly lying immobile on the cement floor in front of her. A six-foot beam lay across the little animal’s shattered head.
“Jake!” she screamed as the stable manager ran into the barn and workmen leaped and tumbled down from scaffolding. “Jake!”
****
“Drink this.” Myra Armstrong thrust a steaming cup into Allison’s hands.
“What is it?” Wrapped in her favorite old fleece housecoat, she sat in her parents’ kitchen and stared down into the light brown liquid.
“Hot, sweet tea. The very best thing for shock.” Her mother took the chair across from her at the kitchen table, a frown furrowing her forehead. “Honey, are you sure you don’t want me to call your father? He’s not operating this morning. You really should have your shoulder examined. And you’ve had a terrible shock.”
“I’ll be fine, Mom. Just need a little TLC before I go back to my apartment.” She forced a smile, but tears trickled down her cheeks. “Oh, God, it was awful! Pride screaming, little Joy lying there with her head covered in blood…”
“I’m sure it was, sweetheart. I empathize with Pride. I can’t imagine anything worse than witnessing the death of your baby.” She stood and rounded the table to put an arm around her daughter’s drooping shoulders.
“Ouch! Sorry, Mom. A bit tender, but I appreciate the gesture.” She sniffed and smiled up at her mother. “Got a tissue?”
“Of course.” Myra went to the refrigerator to fetch the box from its top. “Poor Jake. He must be full of self-recrimination, letting that filly get away from him. I’ll drive out later and talk to him. I hope I can reassure him it wasn’t his fault. And honey, I really think you should stay here tonight. I’d like you to be with your father and me…”
The ringing of the phone broke into her words, and she picked up the receiver from its wall rack by the door.
“Hello. Yes, this is Myra Armstrong. Yes, my family is involved with Chance Lodge. What? Oh, no! When? How badly is he injured?”
“Mom?” Allison was instantly at her mother’s elbow. “Who? What…?”
“Of course.” Myra waved her to silence as she listened. “Someone will be there within twenty-four hours. Thank you for calling.”
“Mom, for God’s sake, what?” Allison seized her mother’s arm the moment she hung up. “The Lodge, what’s happened? Who was that on the phone?”
“That was the doctor in Portage.” She turned to her daughter, her face paling. “That’s the town nearest the Lodge.”
“Mom, for heaven’s sake, I know where it is. What did the doctor say?”
“RCMP received an anonymous tip that there’d been an accident up at the Lodge.” She crossed the kitchen to drop into a chair at the table. “When they investigated, they found Heath lying unconscious beside the boathouse, a fallen ladder beside him. At first they thought he’d slipped while fixing the roof, but when he regained consciousness, he claimed he remembered the ladder hitting him across the ankles when he went to stand…hitting him too hard to have been a natural slip.”
“A deliberate attack?”
“The police aren’t certain. Heath has a concussion, and they think he might be confused, but they’re investigating, just in case he’s not. Allison…” She turned to her daughter. “Your father can’t possibly leave his patients, and I’m at a critical stage with my fundraising. You’ll have to go.