Thoroughbreds and Trailer Trash (3 page)

“What do you want with Jenna?” Wally asked, his voice taut with an emotion Derek couldn’t define.

“Pardon?” He scowled to show his displeasure and Wally dipped his head, nervously shuffling papers. Lazy and a coward as well, Derek decided, notching another tick in Wally’s debit column.

Employees stepped aside as he strode toward his new office but he didn’t look sideways. He was rather impatient to interview Ms. Murphy and actually surprised he hadn’t spotted her regal head in the crowd. Perhaps she was shorter than he’d initially thought.

He left the door open, gratified to see the office was much cleaner than yesterday. Wally had been slow to vacate despite the Burke directive he was coming, and obviously the man had hoped the sale would flounder.

He yanked open the filing cabinet and flipped through the employee files. Jenna Murphy. The file was thin. Not even a resume. A copy of an insurance application, barely legible: Jenna Lynn Murphy, twenty-six, local address, one sister, parents deceased, unremarkable health, five-foot-nine inches, one hundred and twenty-two pounds, blond hair, blue eyes. Single.

Ah, so she was single.

He pushed the drawer shut, glanced impatiently at his watch, then crossed the room and checked the aisle. That too was much cleaner than yesterday, with stable hands knocking down cobwebs and sweeping furiously.

The outer door slammed and Jenna sauntered in, walking with a graceful sway of her hips, the proud tilt of her head unmistakable. She stopped to greet a groom pushing a wheelbarrow then continued down the aisle. Paused when she spotted him, and a delighted smile lit her face. God, it had been a long time since anyone smiled at him like that.

“Good morning,” she called. “I’m glad you got the job!”

He scowled but she didn’t stop smiling and actually seemed genuinely happy to see him. An unusual reaction and his impatience seeped away. “Are you always this late?” he asked mildly.

“Not always, but a lot. Depends on my massage schedule.” She gave an unrepentant smile. Stuck her head past him and checked the office. When she saw it was empty, she immediately backed away. “Better get out of there,” she said, tugging at his arm. “Wally doesn’t like people in his office. It wouldn’t be smart to piss him off, not on your first day.”

“So,” she added, once she’d herded him to the middle of the aisle, “will you be working with the inventory or the cleanup? I can give you a quick tour if you want. Introduce you to everyone.”

He paused, not usually at a loss for words, but her openness was refreshing. As the heavy for the Burke operations, employees either feared or disliked him. Not a problem, just the way it was. Still, this couldn’t go on.

“I had a tour last month, Jenna.” He crossed his arms. “My name’s Derek Burke.”

A flash of dismay then her expression shuttered, and she stepped back. “A pity. I liked you better with the hard hat.”

“Come in. Shut the door.” He pivoted and walked back into his office.

She followed but neglected to close the door. “What have you done with Wally?” she asked.

“He’s moved into the receiving office at the other end of the barn.”

Her shoulders relaxed as though that was the extent of her worries, and he frowned at the door, irritated she hadn’t followed his simple order. “Maybe you should be worrying about your own job,” he added.

“Maybe, but not yet.” She tilted her head, eyeing him with sharp intelligence. “If Wally’s still here the rest of us are probably safe, at least for a while.”

She was absolutely correct but in spite of his desire to keep staff intact, theft was cause for dismissal. He leaned back in his chair, studying her over steepled fingers, waiting for a fidget. It didn’t take long, fifteen seconds.

She crossed the room and picked up one of his framed degrees. “Wow, you’re a smart guy.”

“Put that down.”

“Why do you have it here then?” she asked.

“Certainly not for employees to handle.” He tilted his head and waited, realizing she wasn’t going to confess or beg. Obviously the job didn’t matter. Rather a pity. She’d shown him a simple kindness yesterday, and he’d already decided to let her stay.

“I’m still an employee then?” She replaced the frame and swung around, her shoulders relaxing, and he realized then he’d made a mistake. The job mattered to her; it mattered very much.

Good. It was always easier to control staff if he understood their motivations. “Of course, you’re still an employee,” he said. “At this stage, you’re my closest friend in Stillwater.”

Her mouth curved with irrepressible humor. “Kind of like your number one employee?”

“Let’s not push it,” he said, trying not to smile back. “And I don’t want to see you lugging any more company supplies to your car.”

“Oh, you won’t see that again, Burke. Promise.”

She flashed him a jaunty wave. He stupidly waved back, and she was gone before he could tell her not to call him Burke.

***

The next ten interviews were tedious and much more routine, ranging from a stammering receptionist to a brown-nosing groom. Derek turned his chair, glancing out the window at the construction site, watching as wood was expertly planed. Yesterday they’d been resizing planks, and he itched to get his hands on a power saw.

“Three Brooks is very important to me, Mr. Burke. I’m hoping to make head groom in five years.”

Derek nodded, adding another doodle on his yellow pad.

“I’ve been working here for three years and always intended to take courses on animal husbandry. There’s a college close by—”

“Yes, yes. That’s excellent.” Derek waved a hand in dismissal. “Your salary will raise ten percent when you complete a diploma. That will be all.”

The man—pointless to remember all their names—rose and rushed away with a bounce in his step. Derek stretched his legs and exhaled. Clearly high unemployment in the area would make changes palatable and also help keep the most qualified staff. Tiresome though. Everyone had been nodding and bending over backwards, telling him anything they thought he wanted to hear, everyone but Jenna.

He swiveled his chair toward the big window, checking the parking lot for her car. There it was, jammed right beside his Audi, along with Fords, Fiats and a couple other rust buckets. That motley mix was definitely not good for Three Brooks’ image. If he were to establish this as an elite facility, it had to look the part. He scrawled a notation on his pad, then rose from his chair and stalked down the aisle. It was time to see his new staff in action.

The hyperbaric oxygen chamber, in his opinion the most valuable technology at Three Brooks, was his first stop.

When he walked into the room, the technician sitting by the blinking control panel slammed down her mug and jerked upright in the chair. “Good afternoon, Mr. Burke.”

Behind her, a horse’s flicking ears were visible through the porthole window of the oxygen chamber. “Good morning,” he said. “How many minutes is your average session?”

“Sixty.”

“And you never leave the controls? You’re always watching the horse?”

“Absolutely.” The technician’s head bobbed. “This is a pressurized environment. Someone always has to watch the monitors.”

His eyes narrowed on the steam rising from her mug. “You never leave? Not even to grab a coffee?”

Her gaze darted downward. She flushed but didn’t speak.

“Well?” he asked.

She withered under his flat tone. “Maybe just to grab a coffee, but it’s only for a second—”

“When a horse is in the chamber, you do not leave. Ever. This is a flammable environment. If you need a break, call on the phone for a technician to replace you. I assume we have other trained staff members?”

“Yes, sir.”

He nodded in dismissal and pushed through the end door, watching as two handlers held a bay gelding on a treadmill. Water bubbled against the transparent sides, swirling around the horse’s legs.

The digital display showed one minute remaining.

“How many times has this horse had hydrotherapy?” he asked.

“At least five times, sir,” the shorter handler said, frantically scanning his chart. “It’s noted here somewhere.”

“So you would assume he’ll be quiet and not scramble out, possibly injuring himself or his handlers?”

“Yes, I’d definitely assume that. But horses are always unpredictable, sir.”

“Exactly. Which is why you should have a chain over his nose.”

“Of course. We were just…hurrying. Sorry, sir.”

Derek nodded and stepped back. The second man grabbed a chain and looped it over the gelding’s nose. Clearly this animal wasn’t going to cause any problems. However, the Center’s future patients would be fresh off the track and powered up from racing. He’d wait a few weeks before treating any top class horses. Let the staff practice on cheaper, more expendable animals.

He pushed through the swinging door and into the solarium. A chestnut mare stood under the infrared lights, head lowered, hind leg tilted, clearly enjoying her light treatment.

A slim brunette nodded but didn’t meet his gaze. “Good afternoon. I’m Anna,” she mumbled.

“I’m Mr. Burke.” He stepped closer. “If you have owners or trainers checking on their horse, what would you tell them about this treatment?”

“That infrared stimulates circulation and helps skin issues or dermatitis. That it promotes their general well-being.”

She faltered and he nodded encouragingly.

“I might also say,” she added, “that they sometimes fall asleep under the lights and that it’s especially beneficial after a massage. And that they love it.”

“Very good, Anna. Now jog my memory—where exactly is the massage room?”

“Down the hall, to the left. But Jenna wants people to knock before entering.”

He strode down the hall and pushed the door open, deliberately not knocking. Jenna glanced up from a thick textbook, her eyes flashing with annoyance. “Hey, Burke. Next time knock. Don’t scare my horse.”

“There’s no horse in here.”

Her smile was slightly mischievous. “But you didn’t know that. Have a seat.”

He didn’t like to be offered anything that was already his, but it had been a tiring day and she, at least, wasn’t uptight. He stretched out his legs, folded his arms behind his head and watched her through narrowed lids. Rather odd to have a textbook beside her. None of the other technicians had books.

“Studying for something?” he asked.

Her hesitation was almost imperceptible but it was there. “I have my massage diploma but I’m finishing my…equine sports certificate.”

“Burke policy is to increase salary with all post secondary education.”

Interest flared in her blue eyes. “Yes, I heard. Actually, I’m pretty much finished. So that’s a ten percent increase, right?”

“That’s right. How many horses can you massage a day?”

“As many as you want.” She laughed. “And it also depends on what’s wrong with them and how quiet they are.”

“I need an exact time for scheduling. Is there an appointment book somewhere?” Massage was probably the least important treatment offered with less tangible results. If the profit margin was negligible, he intended to drop the service. Not that he’d tell her, not yet. And for now, it would increase profits to squeeze in as many massages as possible.

“Of course, there’s an appointment book. Wally keeps it up to date.” She subtly shifted on the chair, but his senses were honed and he knew the signs of guilt. “Would you like to see the next patient?” She gestured at the end doors. “Molly will be arriving soon.”

And indeed Molly did arrive. He’d never seen such an ugly mare, with cow hocks, a swayback and a dragging left hip. “Jesus, why don’t we just shoot her,” he said.

“Shush, Burke. You’ll hurt her feelings.”

The handler’s eyes widened. Jenna really shouldn’t be telling him to shush—and she definitely shouldn’t be calling him Burke—but he was too stunned by the horse to bother with a reprimand. This unsightly animal couldn’t possibly be a Thoroughbred.

Jenna dragged a blue plastic block behind the horse’s hindquarters and stepped up. He hadn’t seen many massages before, but the ones he’d viewed had always started at the front. Maybe she was doing a shorter version since the horse was evidently on its last legs.

Made perfect sense, he decided.

“Is this a ship-in?” He cautiously lifted the mare’s front lip, surprised to see a tattoo. Old and faded, but clearly a tattoo. Definitely a Thoroughbred.

“Molly’s more like a lead-in,” Jenna said with a smile. “Now please stop talking. I need to concentrate on my patient.”

Her face set in concentration as her hands moved slowly down the horse’s rump. The mare’s trusting eye followed as Jenna circled to her side—clearly the mare believed she was in competent hands. Always a good sign.

But he was puzzled by Jenna’s technique. This was like no massage he’d ever seen. “What exactly are you doing over the sacrum?”

She shot him a warning frown. “Be quiet, Burke.”

He tightened his mouth and scowled at the attendant who ducked his head and scraped the rubber matting with his boot. At least one of the people in this room was respectful.

“There,” Jenna pronounced, stepping gracefully off the block. “She should move better now.”

Derek snorted. If this were Wally’s clientele, no wonder Three Brooks operated in the red. He doubted anything could improve this nag, and it wouldn’t help the Center’s image to have animals collapsing in the aisles.

Clip, clop
. His eyes widened as the mare walked evenly from the room. Nothing could ever be done for her conformation but her hip no longer dragged, at least not at a walk.

Jenna was leaving, following the mare without so much as a word, and he stalked after her. “Tell me what you did.”

“Of course,” she said. “But first I have to talk to the owner.”

Talk to the owner
. Of course. That was good. Owners and trainers appreciated full reports, would pay a premium for the service, although it was preferable to present them in writing, complete with a glossy folder. More efficient, better publicity and with the right clientele, the Center could draw horses from all over the eastern States.