Backlash Tender Trap Aftermath - Lisa Jackson Page 0,161

the file room and separated the waiting area from the examining rooms.

Craig motioned to the half-empty kennels and said to Cassie, “Look, if you want to take off early this afternoon and check on the McLean horses, feel free. Unless we get swamped with emergencies, I can handle things here. The same goes for tomorrow. I don’t have any surgeries scheduled, so I’ll hold down the fort.”

“You’re sure?”

“I think you’re due for a day off,” he said, then grimaced. “But dealing with strangles won’t be any picnic.”

“Don’t I know,” Cassie agreed as the front bell chimed again, and Craig lifted the fat white rabbit from its cage.

* * *

Inside the broodmare barn Colton studied the swollen-bodied bay with a jaundiced eye. Red Wing was anxious, her eyes rolling backward, her ears flattening as Curtis tried to examine her for signs indicating she was about to foal.

“Yep. She’s ready,” Curtis said, patting the mare fondly.

Colton wanted to swear. The last thing he needed was new, fragile horses being exposed to God-only-knew-what. “You’re sure about this?”

“Sure as I can be. My money says she’ll foal tonight—tomorrow night at the latest.”

“Great.” Colton grumbled.

“Too bad Tessa won’t be here to see it,” Curtis said wistfully as he slipped out of the mare’s stall. “She’s waited a long time for this.”

Colton didn’t answer. In a mood as dark as Black Magic’s hide, he strode outside, barely noticing that the wind had turned, kicking up from the west.

Though it was barely four o’clock, Milly had already snapped on the kitchen lights. The windows glowed from within. Colton climbed up the back steps, kicked off his boots and hung his jacket and hat on pegs in the porch, then shouldered his way into the house.

It was filled with the scents of nutmeg, strong coffee and pot roast. Milly was sweeping what appeared to be a spotless kitchen floor. She glanced up when he appeared. “You got a call this afternoon. Some guy from a magazine. Grover, he said his name was.”

Colton didn’t really care. “What’d he want?”

“To talk to you.” Milly leaned on her broom, looking miffed. “Wouldn’t tell me any more than that. I left his number in the den.”

Colton couldn’t help but smile. He’d gotten used to Milly and her bossing, Curtis and his cantankerous ways, and Cassie—Lord, how she’d gotten under his skin. He knew what Steve Grover wanted, and for the first time in his life, he wasn’t interested.

In the den, he glanced at the number, dialed and worked his way past a receptionist and a secretary before being connected with Steve.

“McLean!” Steve nearly shouted. “I’d about given up on you. Thought you might have dropped off the face of the earth.”

“Not yet,” Colton said, a slow smile spreading over his face as he pictured Steve Grover, a man of about five foot eight, whip-thin and charged with energy. He would give odds that even now Grover was pacing in his office, stretching the phone cord taut.

“Ready for a new assignment?”

“I could be,” Colton evaded, propping one hip against the desk and staring out the window to the ranch beyond. Playful colts cavorted in one field while red-and-white Hereford cattle lumbered in the next. “Where?”

“South Korea.”

“When?”

“Yesterday.”

Colton laughed. “I guess you should’ve called sooner.”

“You’re right.” Grover let out a long breath. “All kidding aside, the plane leaves Sunday night from Seattle.”

“Seattle,” Colton repeated, watching Cassie’s white truck pull into the side yard.

“Right. Direct to Seoul. We’re sending a team. Knox, Winston, Overgaard and you, if you’ll go.”

Colton watched as Cassie slid out of the cab, tugged on her jean jacket, then hurried up the front walk. His heart lurched, and he couldn’t help but smile. “Sorry, I can’t make it,” he said without even thinking.

“What?”

“Can’t do it,” he said again. “I’ve got some problems here to tend to.”

“But this might be the biggest story of the year. The students are rioting, the militia’s been called in and there’s talk of a North Korean offensive.”

“Send someone else.”

“But—”

“Talk to you later.” Colton dropped the receiver, severing the connection. His blood pumping, he strode straight to the front door, opening it just as Cassie pushed the doorbell.

Folding his arms over his chest and leaning one shoulder against the doorjamb, he drawled, “I didn’t expect to see you again so soon.”

Cassie tossed her hair away from her face. “I’m on my way home; I thought I’d see if Tempest was any better.”

“About the same.”

“And Black Magic?”

“He’s a little improved,” Colton said, taking her chilled fingers in his large