Backlash Tender Trap Aftermath - Lisa Jackson Page 0,152
he was steeling himself for the worst.
“I hope not,” she whispered, stuffing her hands into the pockets of her skirt. For the next three hours she examined every horse on the McLean Ranch, including the swollen-bellied mares ready to foal.
Colton never left her side, studying each animal as she did, waiting, his face gaunt, to hear that yet another horse was stricken.
“So far, so good,” Cassie said as she examined the last of the horses, a chestnut with a crooked white blaze—Tessa’s favorite stallion, Brigadier.
Impatient at being examined, Brigadier minced this way and that in his stall, shifting his sleek rump and hindquarters away from Cassie’s expert hands or jerking his head away when she attempted to look into his eyes and nostrils. “Feisty one, aren’t you?” Cassie murmured, relieved she hadn’t found any more cases of strangles than the first two.
Brigadier snorted haughtily, and Cassie gave him a playful slap on the rump. “This one’s healthy!” Encouraged slightly, she squeezed through the stall gate and walked outside with Colton.
“For how long?” Colton asked.
“I wish I knew. It depends. Has he been in contact with the infected horses?”
Colton shook his head. “Tessa’s always kept her horses separate, even after she and Denver married.”
“And the rest of the herd?”
“You’ve seen it. The mares and foals are in one field, the yearlings in another, the stallions and geldings even more isolated. In fact, since Black Magic’s been back, he hasn’t been around any of the other horses—including Tempest.”
“Then maybe you’re safe,” she said as she scanned the maze of pastures and paddocks comprising the ranch. The evening air was moist, but warm. The last streaks of sunlight blazed across the mountains, gilding the highest peaks and streaking the sky with swatches of lavender and magenta. Playful fillies and colts scampered through the lush grass, kicking and bucking, galloping in uneven strides through the fields.
“Aside from another animal, how does a horse get it?”
“Contaminated surroundings, water or food. Sometimes from droppings or from contaminated utensils.”
“What’s the incubation period?”
“Two days to a couple of weeks.”
He raked stiff fingers through his hair, shoving a wayward clump that hung over his forehead back. “So any horse that’s come in contact with Black Magic could be infected?”
“Yes.” She could tell by Colton’s grim expression that he understood the size of the epidemic he might have on his hands.
Guilt weighting his shoulders, Colton felt as if he hadn’t slept in days. “I guess I’d better call Denver.” Absently rubbing his wounded shoulder, he grimaced. He’d kept Black Magic’s disappearance from Denver to save him any worry, and it had blown up in his face. Denver would be furious!
“Do you want me to talk to him?” Cassie asked.
“This is my problem,” he snapped. Then, hearing the bite in his words, Colton forced a thin smile. “I mean, I’ll handle it. But why don’t you come with me—as my backup. Just in case Denver wants a more professional opinion.”
“Fair enough.”
Gritting his teeth, Colton strode into the house, marched into the den, picked up the phone and dialed.
As he waited for the connection, he sat on a corner of the desk and drummed his fingers on the scarred wood. Explaining this would be hell. The phone rang four times before a recording answered. “Great,” Colton muttered. He wasn’t about to tell a recording machine what was going on. Instead, he just asked Denver to call him as soon as possible.
“No luck?” Cassie asked.
Colton laughed bitterly. “I think I ran out of luck about six months ago.”
“Things’ll get better.”
“Will they?” he asked, squinting through the window to the yard beyond. He watched as Len and Curtis, their backs bowed with feed sacks, trudged into the broodmare barn. “Is that your professional opinion?”
“No.”
“I didn’t think so.” He rubbed the tight knot forming in the muscles between his shoulders. God, he was tired. He’d been awake most of the night, tossing and turning on that damned cot, his mind filled with images of Cassie and the ranch and a future that was far away. A future spent looking through the lens of a camera in some godforsaken land. Alone. Without Cassie.
She had dropped onto the arm of a worn couch and was staring at him with those wide, soul-searching eyes. The kindness and concern in her gaze bothered him. “Are you okay?” she asked.
“Do I look okay?”
Cassie smiled faintly. “The truth?”
“Don’t hold back.”
“You look like hell,” she said.
“Thanks for the compliment.” He forced one corner of his mouth up. “That’s better than I feel.”