Winning Ways (17 page)

A minute later, Liz leaned on the stall door, watching the filly bury her face under her mother's belly to take a little comfort after the ordeal. At times like this, Liz knew her calling to veterinary medicine had been the right one. Nothing came close to describing her feelings of accomplishment when she cared for a sick horse, or healed a damaged one, or delivered a new one. Granted, there were times when nothing could be done to save an animal, but it was part of the job - the bad with the good. Thinking about her spat with Eve, her resolution grew. She'd never allow anything to jeopardize those beliefs.

Kurt looked over the list of entries, concern creeping into his concentration. Only three weeks until the regional. Of the eight horses he'd gotten qualified, only five of them were actually going to San Francisco. One mare had colicked the previous week, and was recovering from surgery. The other two - a yearling filly and a three-year-old mare - hadn't made the cut at Stockton, both horses being just two points shy of the regional requirement.

If I hadn't been so busy running off to Tahoe to see Liz... He tossed the pencil onto the desk. He knew the reason his horses weren't ready, and it didn't have anything to do with Liz. If he were really dedicated, he'd load up the two unqualified horses and head for the nearest rated show, no matter how far away it might be. Even a third place ribbon would provide enough points to make the difference.

He recalled a time in his life when he wouldn't have given it a second thought. A time when nothing else mattered but being the best. A dark sadness crept over him, seeping into his self-confidence. Am I just a has-been? One of those worn out horse trainers who spend their lives on the fringe, hoping for a comeback? Hoping for that big break? His mental state was deteriorating quickly, abetted by the stress of his personal dilemma.

Though he'd thrown himself into his work for long, exhausting hours during the day, dreams of Liz had haunted his idle evening hours and his sleep. He couldn't keep the image of her tantalizing body and sweetly sensual face out of his mind. When the dreams came, he ached inside as though he'd again lost everything. Many nights had been spent staring into the darkness and wishing he knew what the future held in store.

He roused himself from the maudlin thoughts, and smiled. Ebony would be his ticket out of there, and the others didn't matter. He closed the show folder. He had only one job to do for the next three weeks.

Eve's sharp voice intruded. "I'm counting on this championship, Kurt." Her expression reinforced the words. "Don't let anything get in your way."

 Recognizing the veiled command, he bristled and rose from the desk. "Eve, you know I can't promise you a national trophy. I'll try my damnedest, but there aren't any guarantees. This is one thing you can't control."

She gave him a cold, studied look.

"You think not?"

Two weeks had passed since the morning Liz had called Kurt. She'd pushed away the silence, and had concentrated on keeping her show horses humming. Even so, his face still drifted into her line of vision when she least expected it. At those times, her heart contracted painfully, and a deep loneliness threatened to paralyze her.

As she looked over her show checklist, the memory of their night together pushed into her thoughts, and hot tears rolled down her face, dripping onto the papers. She hadn't cried since the first week without him, but the pain had wedged itself firmly inside and she surrendered to the tears.

The phone rang, and she grabbed a tissue, wiping her nose as she reached for the receiver.

Kurt's soft voice came over the line, making her heart thump. She tried to keep her tone even, afraid he might sense her state of mind, or hear her pounding heart.

His tone was cautious. "How are you doin'? Everything goin' good?"

She sensed his uneasiness with the conversation.

"I'm fine. Things are going well. And you?"

She rolled her eyes at how ludicrous it seemed, to be talking to each other like perfect strangers. Strangers who'd been lovers.

"Pretty good. Three of my regional prospects got scratched, so I'm down to five. Boss isn't happy, but there's nothing I can do about it. You still takin' that colt of yours?"

She flushed with anger. It was the wrong question - the call was a fishing expedition. He just wanted to know what the competition would be.

"Of course I'm still taking him. I intend to beat every horse in the ring."

He chuckled. "Well, good for you. I wish you the best of luck. I'll see you there...Maybe we can get together for a bite to eat."

She took a deep breath. "No, I don't think so, Kurt. You've made your position pretty clear."

"Liz - "

She put the phone down, her heart heavy with pain. Used. A means to an end. Why couldn't I see it? She smiled sadly. She hadn't seen it because her emotions had camouflaged every obvious sign there might have been. How could winning a damned class be more important than a love affair? Her head echoed with Kurt's warnings about the killer instincts that permeated the important shows. We're so different. We have nothing in common, but sexual attraction. It's probably just as well that it's over. I need a soul-mate more than a bed-mate.

She had to put him out of her mind, and move on with her life. Fine. Now what do I tell my heart?

On Tuesday morning, Liz packed the truck and loaded the horses. San Francisco was only ninety miles away, but she wanted to get an early enough start that she wouldn't get tangled up in the rush hour. Pulling a horse trailer through heavy freeway traffic unnerved her.

As she settled into the rhythm of the road, her thoughts returned to the telephone conversation with Kurt. A knot formed in the pit of her stomach at the idea of showing against him. He knew everything about her horses, and she knew nothing about his. But, so what? Would information about his entries help her win? Make her lose? What really bothered her was his charade. Could his arrival at Tahoe have been a fishing expedition, too? Had their love-making been part of his plan to put her at a disadvantage? Her throat tightened at the painful possibility.

Deep in thought, she missed the Oakland exit and found herself sailing down the interstate toward San Jose. Disconcerted by the cars and trucks flying past her at eighty-miles-an-hour, she scanned the road ahead for another exit. The next ramp took her over a bridge spanning a finger of the bay, then into the town of Alameda, a charming village situated on an island. She needed to find a place to stop and get straightened out. She cruised slowly through the small, charming town, marveling at the lovely homes and lush gardens. A park entrance appeared and she pulled into a large parking lot overlooking San Francisco Bay. After parking the rig under some shade trees, she checked on the horses, who were looking out the windows and eagerly sniffing the wind, excited at the new smell of salt air. A quick look at the map, and she turned the truck back toward the freeway, putting Kurt out of her mind for the remainder of the drive.

As she entered the front gates of the show grounds, Liz's heartbeat skipped a little. She drove straight toward the looming building with huge letters spelling "Cow Palace" above the entrance, then cruised slowly through the exhibitor parking lot, looking for "D" Barn. A ripple of excitement ran through her at being in such a famous place. The renowned fairgrounds had been San Francisco's premier livestock show facility since the early forties. When she was small, her father had regaled her with stories of Arabian shows he'd attended there. The arena still hosted livestock shows and the Grand National Rodeo, and in recent years, had been host to several sports teams, concerts, and circuses.

She drove around behind the building, then up and down the lanes between barns. Being so new to the showing game, she'd barely made the postmark deadline for registration. As a result, she'd been assigned to stalls in one of the farthest barns from the main arena.

She finally spotted "D" barn, and parked the truck by the back entrance. Inside, the structure had been transformed from utilitarian livestock barns into elegant showcases. Rich colors and luxurious fabrics had been used to construct drapes that covered the rough wood exteriors of the stalls. An arch with a valance of matching fabric spanned the aisle between the two end stalls, giving the effect of the grand entrance to a private estate. Deep burgundy stall drapes were monogrammed in metallic gold lettering large enough to read from a distance.

To achieve these effects, farm staff worked long hours, sometimes late into the night, hanging drapes, spreading bright, fragrant wood chips or sawdust, arranging potted plants and shrubs, and installing fountains or garden statuary at the public entrance to the stalls. Invitingly-arranged wrought-iron garden furniture encouraged foot-weary barn browsers to stop and rest.

Liz moved along the outside aisle and came to a table covered with albums filled with professional photos of magnificent horses. Trophies and ribbons proudly advertised past championships to the interested visitor or prospective buyer. Business cards, farm brochures, bowls of candy, or an invitation to watch a farm video completed the enticing web with which stable owners hoped to snare a buyer.

Beyond the archway, more of the same fabric had been used to frame each stall, and small wood or brass signs identified each horse. In the aisle, director chairs, a radio, and a coffeemaker provided a private area for handlers, grooms, and owners to rest between classes.

The extent of the decorating efforts proved that showing horses was serious business. Liz looked at the lavish embellishments and felt a prickle of irritation, remembering Kurt's comments. She shook off the memory of that conversation and moved toward the end of the aisle. The fancy trimmings made her feel like a greenhorn. She had only a simple farm sign for her own stall area. Maybe next year.

She sighed deeply and started dumping bedding into the stalls. After checking each one for safety and filling all the water buckets, she returned to the truck to unload her precious cargo.

Kurt had just shoved the last tack trunk into the pickup when Eve appeared. He kept his expression neutral as she approached.

Her manner seemed open, as though there'd never been any friction between them. "Ready to leave?"

"Yup. Just need to load 'em and go.

He checked the cargo one last time, then started toward the barn, Eve's voice drifting behind him.

"Be sure to put up the stall drapes."

"Right-O."

He fumed. Just what I need to worry about when I get there - decorating!

In his previous job, there'd always been a groom or two to help at the shows, and they were the ones who stayed up all night designing the atmosphere. However, since Kurt was taking only five horses, Eve hadn't been willing to send along any of the barn staff. If I have time, I'll put up the stuff. If not, well, too bad. She won't be there, so she'll never know.

The truck moved slowly down the driveway, Kurt checking the mirrors and his view through the back window into the trailer. Satisfied that the horses were settled and calm, he headed for San Francisco.

As he drove through the late summer countryside painted with brown and gold and rust, a peaceful feeling came over him. No matter what might happen with his job, he felt good about having stood up to Eve about Ebony's championship chances. I'll do my best - it's the only way I'll ever get out from under her thumb.

The time had come to move on. Dealing with his pushy boss had been just the prod he'd needed. A long chain of events had brought him to his current circumstances, and it would take at least the same amount of time to make things right.

The following morning, Liz stretched, trying to work the kinks out of stiff muscles. Man, I never thought hay could be so darned hard.

Karma was full of himself as Liz slipped the halter over his ears. He shook his head and bobbed around, making it almost impossible for her to hook the buckles.

She smacked him sharply on the shoulder. "Quit! You're being a brat."

The feisty little horse stood still long enough to be haltered, then started hopping around again. Liz closed her eyes. Oh, brother, I hope I can work these kinks out before tomorrow morning. She led him out of the stall and down the aisle, followed by indignant whinnies from the mares, their message clear: "Wait! You forgot our breakfast!"

On her way to the exercise arena, Liz saw several people she'd met at other shows earlier in the summer, and it pleased her that she was beginning to feel a part of the show community. She abruptly remembered Kurt would be there too, and her heart pitched. Distracted by her thoughts, she was unprepared when Karma leapt into the air. The lead rope flew out of her hands, and he was loose. The colt only needed a few seconds to realize he was no longer attached to his handler, and he gleefully pranced across the gravel road toward a patch of green grass on the other side.

Liz knew better than to shout, or run after him. He loved to play "catch-me" - she'd already had that experience several times at home. Other people in the area quickly recognized the situation, and several men started after the colt. Liz watched him, her heart hammering. The lead rope dangled dangerously near his front feet. Oh Karma, please don't run! The colt was enjoying the game too much to run. He pranced and danced, staying just out of everyone's reach, tossing his head and snorting, his tail held high.