Sweet Christmas Kisses (50 page)

She slowed down for the steep decline that led to the farm building and came to a screeching halt.

The door of the house flew open and Mrs. Allard ran toward her. “Thank God you were at home, Ms. Damanti!” she shouted before she had reached her. “Fergus is over on the back paddock.”

“I'm coming.” Joanna grabbed her bag and jumped from the Jeep, then followed Mrs. Allard. “How is he?”

Mrs. Allard lifted both hands. She looked like a worried sparrow. “I've never seen him lying down, never so quiet. He doesn't look like Fergus anymore.”

Joanna started to run until she reached the wooden fence of the paddock. The snow was falling in swirling clouds now, but she could make out a huge shape lying in the furthest corner of the paddock, up on the hill. The Allard's farm had been built into the bowl of a valley. She rushed across the steep field but forced herself to slow down as she got close, so Fergus wouldn't be irritated by her approach. However, when she could make out the details in the whirling snow, she could see that she could have saved herself the trouble.

Fergus was beyond noticing. He lay on the side, his huge body pressed against the cold ground, a fallen giant, a helpless hunk.

With relief Joanna saw that his flanks were still moving.

“Ms. Damanti.” Mr. Allard looked up. He was white around the lips. “Thank God.” His hands were covered with a dark liquid, and he was pressing something that looked like an old towel against the inner tight of Fergus.

When he lifted the bundle, Joanna could see a deep gush with the blood welling from it. “You can cover it again.” It was too late to move Fergus, too late to do anything but an on-the-spot operation. She opened her bag and pulled out a syringe which she filled with anesthetic. “Mrs. Allard, could you please get as many blankets from the house as possible? We can't move him indoors; I'll need to stitch this up right here, and we have to keep him warm. Also, bring an umbrella. We need to keep the snow from getting into the wound while I'm working.”

“Of course.” Mrs. Allard ran toward the farmhouse.

Joanna set the syringe to anesthetize Fergus' leg. While she waited for the narcotic to work, she threaded the sterile yarn through the needle. Her hands were already numb from the cold. Thank God for her overall and her thick coat.

She glanced at Mr. Allard. It had happened too often that the owners of her patients had fainted during her work and caused more trouble than the operation itself. This time, however, it looked as if the cold would prove to be their biggest enemy. It was not going to be easy to detach him from his bull, but Mr. Allard's nose and hands were blue, and she could tell that he was frozen to the marrow. “Mr. Allard, I will depend on your help in a minute, but you'll need a very steady hand.” That was a lie; she would have to remember to give him something to do later. “Please go to the house, put on two extra layers of clothes, and drink something very hot. Then come back immediately.”

He looked up with a blank stare.

“It's vital that you do all I say.” Joanna made sure her voice brooked no opposition. This time, she was speaking the truth. It was vital for him, if not for the bull. “I'll take over here until your return.”

“Right.” Mr. Allard detached himself with visible reluctance and hurried to the house.

“All right, my boy.” Joanna pressed the soaked pad with both hands onto the wound. “Two more minutes, and we'll start.”

When Mr. Allard came back, she made him hold the torchlight that illuminated the wound. In general, she used a sort of tripod with a special fixing device for the torch, but it would have made her lose time, besides, she was glad she had found something to do for Mr. Allard. He was still way too pale.

When she looked up, Mrs. Allard hurried toward them, her arms full with blankets. “Perfect. Now cover everything but his leg and his eyes. I don't want him to fall into a panic.”
If he's still able to act on it
. But better be careful. Her patients had surprised her so often in the past.

Joanna waited until Mrs. Allard was done and asked her to hold the umbrella. Then she bent over the wound and started to sew. By now, the cold had seeped into her own bones, and she could feel that her hand was not always as steady as she wanted it to be. The wound was irregular, as if Fergus had gotten stuck and then tried to free himself. It took her longer than she wanted, but finally, she had patched him up as much as possible and covered the wound with a thick pad which she then fixed in a tight bandage.

She straightened with a sigh. It was still snowing so hard that Fergus now looked like a white mini-hill, his features smoothed by the blankets. “Now the difficult part.”

Mrs. Allard looked green. “More difficult?”

“Yes.” Joanna was glad her patient hadn't died on her during the operation, but she knew that the critical point was still ahead. “We have to get him into the stable.”

“Impossible.” Mr. Allard shook his head. “We can't move him without hurting him.”

“If we got him onto a tarpaulin, we could use a truck to pull him forward.”

“No.” Mr. Allard clenched his teeth. “The decline is too steep. We tried it once with a mare, and she slid right into the truck.”

Of course.
Joanna thought hard. What other options did they have? “Then we have to move the stable to him.”

Mrs. Allard's jaw dropped. “What?”

“Do you have a tent?”

“I . . . “ Mr. Allard stared at her as if she had sprouted wings.

“Yes!” Mrs. Allard shouted. “I bought one at a yard sale some years ago.”

His husband stared at her. “You mean that old army thing?”

“If it's big enough, it's fine.” Joanna said.

“It is big enough.” Mrs. Allard drew herself up to her full height. “I told you it will come in useful one day.” She gave her husband a speaking glance.

“Good.” Joanna suppressed a smile. “Let's erect it around Fergus. The next twenty-four hours will be the most important.” Joanna took a deep breath. “The situation is critical. I am not sure if he will survive, but if we keep him warm and sheltered, his chances will rise.”

Mr. Allard turned on his heels. “I'll get it immediately.”

Together, they managed to build the old army tent around Fergus. Then they shook the snow from the blankets and covered him again with dry ones, and finally, they filled the space around him with bales of straw to keep out the cold. Joanna looked around the tent. The dark-green canvas gave an eerie light to the whole scene. “I wish we could put something underneath him, but for the time being, that's not possible.”

Mr. Allard gave his darling a worried look. “I hope he will make it.”

His wife put a comforting hand onto his arm.

Joanna gave them a reassuring smile. “He needs to drink a lot, but he's too weak right now. Do you have an unused sponge?”

“Yes.” Mr. Allard said.

“Fill it with water and cover his muzzle with it. Some drops will make it inside. You need to repeat this regularly. Make sure you don't squeeze anything into his nostrils.” She checked her wrist watch. “It's two o'clock already.”
I should now be on my way to LA.
The knowledge hit her like a fist into the stomach. She had almost forgotten Conran these last stressful hours, but now it came back to her in a rush.

“What is it?” Mrs. Allard started forward. “Have you forgotten anything? You look like . . . ”

“No, no. I'm . . . I'm fine.” Joanna swallowed and turned to the exit of the tent.
Thank God for the bad light in here
. “What I wanted to say was that I'll come back tonight, to check on Fergus. We might have to give him an infusion then.”

“All right.” The Allards accompanied Joanna to her car.

Mr. Allard shook her hand. “Thank you so much, Ms. Damanti. I always said you're a great veterinarian, no matter what everybody says.”

Joanna froze.

Mrs. Allard nodded. “I agree, and I told Conran that whatever you did that disappointed him, it was only a misunderstanding.”

Joanna's heart missed a beat. “You . . . said what?”

“Yes.” Mrs. Allard ignored a warning glance from her husband. “When Conran brought Dimitri round, he . . . “

“Dimitri is here?” Joanna felt lighter.

“Yes, he is with us, the little rascal. He has already chewed up the edge of the living room carpet.”

“Good.” Joanna smiled. “I mean . . . sorry about the carpet, but I'm glad to hear he's fine.”

“Yes, dear.” Mrs. Allard nodded. “But you should make up with Conran, you know.”

I wanted to. But I had to operate on your bull.
Joanna swallowed. “Yes. Thank you.” She took a deep breath. “I . . . I don't have his address. Maybe you could give it to me?”

Mrs. Allard colored. “Em.”

Mr. Allard shook his head. “We're very sorry, Ms. Damanti, but Conran made us promise never to give his data to anybody.”

“Of course.” Joanna tried a smile. She could imagine what he had said. “My friends know my address, and the others won't need it.”

She managed to get through the good-byes, then collapsed into her Jeep and went home in a haze. So Conran had talked about her. He had told the Allards that she had disappointed him. If only he hadn't done that. What if Fergus died? Would the doubt remain that she was a bad veterinarian? Would the Allards be able to separate her professional and her private life? She shook her head. No. They wouldn't. “No matter what everybody says”. Who had said what? Why did the Allards know, even though they were so cut off from the world in general? She had been right with her impression that something was wrong. Her reputation was suffering, and things were getting worse. But how? Who could have made it his or her business to talk about her in a way that hurt her so much? She clenched her teeth.

Hugh! Hugh had said she would regret splitting up. She shook her head, numb from the cold, numb from the vast feeling of being alone. Hugh was cautious. He would never risk a libel suit. But what if he had insinuated it? Her head turned.

How hard it was to live down a bad reputation. She felt like giving up. Nothing mattered anyway if she had lost Conran.

When she came home, her teeth were chattering, and she fell out of her Jeep with stiff muscles.

“Hello, Miss Witch.” Tim appeared out of thin air at the carport. His eyes widened, and he stared in morbid fascination at her smeared overalls. “Is that blood?”

“It is.” Joanna tried to give him a smile, but her muscles felt too stiff. “I had to operate on a bull today.”

“Cool.” The boy blinked. “Why?”

“Because he hurt himself.”

“How did he do that?”

Joanna grabbed her bag and schlepped herself toward the entrance of her house. “I have no clue. Sometimes, things just happen.”
Stupid things. Things that destroy all your plans.
She tried another smile that came out just as frozen as the first one. “I'm really sorry I can't chat today. I'm frozen and have to defrost myself.”

His face fell. “Oh. I . . . wanted to ask something.”

Joanna stopped.
Make it short, please.
“Yes?”

“Why do people say that you poisoned your dog?”

Joanna's jaw dropped. She bent down to see Tim's face better. “Say that again, please?”

Tim colored. “I . . . em . . . I heard someone say that . . . em . . . that you poisoned your dog.”

Joanna shook her head. She had the impression of swimming in jelly, making everything slimy and mushy around her. “Who said that?”

“Em.” Tim swallowed. “Several people.”

Joanna shook her head again, but the funny feeling didn't go away. “SEVERAL people said that?”
I'm supposed to have poisoned Spicy? My lovely Spicy?

“Em. Yeah.” Tim spread both hands. “But I don't believe that you did it.” His pushed his chin forward in a determined way. “It's not in character.” He sounded as if he was quoting his favorite detective story.

Joanna sank with her back against the wall of her house. “Why? Why do they think I  did anything as cruel as that?”

Tim pulled back his shoulders. “I don't know. We have to investigate it step-by-step.” His face turned serious. “Is it true that your dog was poisoned?”

“Yes.” Joanna's lips trembled. “It was rat poison.”

“Did you find out who gave it to him?”

“No.” Joanna's teeth started to chatter. “He must have eaten it on one of my rounds. I couldn't tell later where he had picked it up, and of course, nobody came forward.”

“So the murderer is unknown.” Tim nodded in a grave way.

She shook her head. “I can't believe it. It makes no sense at all. Who could spread that rumor? What for?”

Tim frowned. “I'll find out who it was.” He nodded. “And then I'll tell you.” He drew himself up. “Don't worry, Miss Witch. We'll get to the heart of the matter.”

Joanna tried a smile, but she could tell it was a sad parody of the real thing. “Thank you, Tim.” She watched him leave across the trampled-down snow, feeling numb from shock.

Ten minutes later, when she had submerged herself in the tub, she felt like crying, but she was too exhausted even to do that. Motionless she stared at the little bubbles of foam dying all around her. Who could have put it about that she had poisoned Spicy? It was incredible. If only Conran was here. But she would never see him again. If only Fergus hadn't been taken ill. Her only chance was gone, and something had died inside her. Something that carried hope and happiness. Something that had made her go on in spite of all the difficulties. She swallowed. Her throat hurt.

A small flame lifted its head inside her. “You can go tomorrow.”

She balled her hand into a fist. “Of course I can't go tomorrow. I have to be back on Monday. LA isn't around the corner for a quick twenty-four hour trip.”

She could close the clinic on Monday.

No, she couldn't. Not with people saying such atrocious things about her. Her clinic was her life. She could not risk it for a celebrity who even forgot to give her his phone number before disappearing, who believed she had betrayed him at the drop of a hat.

She took a deep breath and slid deeper into the water. If only she could submerge herself and only come up again when life was back to normal.