Backlash Tender Trap Aftermath - Lisa Jackson Page 0,160

placed them inside the hutch of an ailing white rabbit. “Coffee’s on if you want some.”

“Thanks. I could use a cup. I just hope it’s not decaf.”

“Ouch. Bad morning?” Sandy asked.

“You could say that.” Cassie checked on the Edwards’s poodle and the three puppies that had been brought into the world via Cesarean section. “How’re you?” she whispered, petting the dog’s soft gray head as the tiny puppies squirmed and squeaked, shifting into position against their mother’s shaved belly. Cassie eyed the neat row of stitches and the ochre color of disinfectant staining the bitch’s underside.

“Puppies are doing fine—Mom feels a little ragged,” Sandy said.

“I don’t blame her,” Cassie murmured to the dog, and was rewarded with a sloppy tongue against her palm. “You are feeling better, aren’t you?” she said, grinning as she stood and gratefully accepted a steaming cup of coffee from Sandy.

“Craig wanted me to remind you about the Edwards’s party Friday.”

Cassie made a face. She’d completely forgotten about the annual event. As this was her first full year working with Craig, and Nate Edwards brought a lot of business into the clinic, Craig was adamant she attend. “I don’t suppose you know of a way to get out of it?”

“Why would you want to?”

“I hate those things!” Cassie replied.

“Oh, but it’s great! No one can throw a party like Paula Edwards!”

“No one would want to.” After examining the animals housed in the cages, she asked, “Has anyone called in about sick horses? Horses with an elevated temperature or pulse?”

“Only Colton McLean yesterday and Vince Monroe a few days ago. Craig went out to see the mare.”

Vince Monroe! One of her father’s best friends. Her palms began to sweat. “Do we have that file?”

“Unless Craig has it with him.” Sandy walked through a connecting door to a small file room, ran one finger across the color-coded tabs and pulled out a thick folder for the Monroe ranch. “Here it is,” she said, handing the bound sheaf of papers to Cassie.

The most recent entries were in the top pages. Cassie saw where Craig examined a foal with a bowed leg and a mare with a slight fever. But there was no hint of strangles. She felt immediate relief.

“Craig hasn’t mentioned anything more serious—like strangles, has he?”

Sandy frowned as the back door opened, letting in a breath of cool morning air. “Nope—at least not to me.”

“Did I hear someone talking about me?” Craig asked as he stepped into the back room.

“That’s right, and we’ve been saying hideous and vile things about you,” Cassie teased, her black mood lifting at the sight of Craig’s frizzy hair and flushed cheeks.

“I thought so.” He hung his jacket on a hook near the door, then slid his arms through the sleeves of a starched green lab coat. “What’s up?”

“There’s an outbreak of strangles at the McLean Ranch.”

“Strangles?” Craig let out a low whistle. “Which horse?”

“Black Magic and Tempest. Both stallions.” While Craig walked into the tiny kitchen area and poured himself a cup of coffee, Cassie told him everything that had happened.

“And Colton thinks Black Magic picked it up while he was missing?” he asked thoughtfully, stirring sweetener into his cup.

“That’s the way he figures it.”

Craig’s lower lip protruded thoughtfully. “Makes sense, I suppose. And the timing’s right. There are some wild horses that live up in the mountains. McLean’s stallion could’ve gotten mixed up with them.”

Cassie shook her head. “I don’t think so. The way Colton and Curtis Kramer tell it, Black Magic looked as good when he returned as when he left. He was groomed and cared for. I saw him soon after, and I’d say he hadn’t spent any time in the wild.”

Craig frowned. “So Colton still thinks he was stolen.”

“Yes.” And more, much more. Cassie placed her empty cup into the small sink. “If he’s right, and some rancher ‘borrowed’ the stallion, we’ve got at least one more case of strangles. Probably more.”

“More like an epidemic.” Craig scowled into his coffee as he swirled a spoon in his cup. “I haven’t heard of any other cases, but I’ll call around to the other clinics in the county.”

The front bell tinkled, signaling the arrival of the first appointment.

“Oh-oh, duty calls. That’s probably Mrs. Silvan for her rabbit. She’ll want to talk to you,” Sandy said to Craig.

Craig took one gulp from his cup, then set it aside. “I’ll bring Herman into room two.”

“Great.” Sandy hurried to her desk in the reception area, which was located on the other side of