Whitehorse Read Online Free PDF

back into the stall. "The mare is going to be stiff for a while. Obviously, I can't give her too much for pain as long as she's nursing."
    "I've brought your lunch."
    "No thanks. I'm not hungry."
    "No can do, Doc. I've been given explicit orders by your friend that you are to eat this or else."
    She took the cup and plate and walked out of the barn. Johnny remained standing in the shadowed aisleway, still regarded by the suspicious goats. His first instinct, oddly enough, was to follow Leah, but he quickly checked it (he had not come here to talk over old times that were best forgotten) and entered the stall with his mare. Despite the previous night's accident, she looked none the worse for wear. Doc Starr had done a nice job suturing the cuts on her chest. There was a nasty swelling on her stifle that obviously caused some pain, as the mare kept the leg slightly cocked and pinned her ears whenever the colt stumbled against her in search of a teat.
    He left the stall, adjusted his hat again, and moved toward the office, glancing toward the wading pool and then the back door of the house, where he could just make out Shamika staring out at him through the dark screen, her arms crossed over her chest.
    Leah sat at a cluttered desk reading a magazine article. The sandwich had been discarded in the trash, along with balled-up gauze, newspapers, and unopened mail from American Express and MasterCard. He watched her silently through the screen door before knocking.
    A moment passed before she looked up. Her face looked flushed and her eyes slightly glassy.
    "You don't look so good," he said, stepping into the room.
    "You were always a real smooth talker, Johnny." Her hand went up and brushed a tendril of hair back from her brow. "I guess you're wondering when you can take the mare home. I'd give her until the end of the week, just for safety's sake. Since I was partially responsible for the accident I won't charge you daily care."
    "I'm not worried about the money."
    She gave him a flat smile and sat back in the chair, which creaked like old hinges under her weight. Only then did he recognize the desk and chair as the same one that had belonged to his father. Then it had occupied a tiny office in the house—a cubicle off the kitchen that was more of a pantry than a room. After his father's death, Roy had stored a few furnishings in a warehouse. The others he had donated to Goodwill.
    "Looks like you've done a good job fixing up the old place," he said.
    "There's a lot to be done. I have no desire to sink any more money in to it than I have to. Hopefully, I won't be here long."
    "Moving back to Dallas ?"
    "Hardly." Sitting forward, she absently looked at the magazine and turned the page. "Once I get my practice up and going I'll get a better place. Something closer to town. I have a meeting with Greg Hunnicutt at the track. I understand there's a need for another on-site vet. I'll take him my résumé and see what happens."
    "Tough business vetting at the track. I can't see that you'll like it much."
    "Like it? Or do you mean fit in?" She closed the magazine and tossed it aside.
    "I mean like it. You know the race business. The horses aren't exactly someone's backyard pet. They're money machines. If they don't earn their keep, they're history, in one way or another. I can't see you putting down a horse because it came in last at a Futurity."
    Leah drank her cold coffee, still refusing to look at Johnny directly.
    "So why did you come back to Ruidoso?" he asked.
    "Why not? It's my home. Where I grew up. I still have friends here."
    "And family."
    Her jaw tensed. Carefully, she set down her coffee cup and finally lifted her blue eyes to his. Hers were bright with anger. "Did you come here to discuss my father, Johnny? Perhaps you have some message you want me to pass on to him? Say, you intend to destroy his reputation by any means possible in order to win the next senatorial election?"
    "I have nothing to say to your father that I