holler if I need ya."
Back home, the light glowed steadily on the answering machine in Liz's office. Disgusted, but not surprised, she headed for the barn to clean stalls and set up the evening feed.
Nine stalls later, she climbed wearily up the stairs to the hayloft. A shaft of late afternoon sun slanted through the single window. Hay dust danced in the beam, reminding her of smoke, followed by a mental picture of Marilyn's firetrap barn. Liz's skin crawled with horror. Nothing was more terrifying to a horse owner than the possibility of a barn fire. She'd had one experience with a fire in Kentucky, for which all of her medical training had been useless. Four horses, overcome by smoke, had perished while Liz and others had helplessly stood by, unable to enter the blazing barn.
Shaking off the ghastly memory, she began tossing flakes of hay into the stalls below. Finally, hot and tired, she dropped into a pile of straw, and closed her eyes.
Unbidden, Kurt's face appeared in her mind, and a shiver of delight moved across her damp skin. How wonderful she'd felt in his arms, traveling around the dance floor. Immersing herself in the daydream, she heard his soft voice, felt the texture of his shirt, smelled his male scent. Nestling deeper into the straw, she abandoned herself to dreams of how his arms might feel embracing her in the heat of passion. Her body tingled and arousal seethed through her.
Stunned by her response to the sexy daydream, she scrambled to her feet. This is ridiculous. I'm acting like a lovesick teenager. I'll probably never even see him again. Angrily brushing the hay dust from her jeans, she took a deep breath and tried to will away her tension. Moving toward the stairs, she glanced back at the bed of straw, feeling the uneasy burn of desire that would haunt her for hours.
6
Abandoning herself to thoughts of Kurt had been an unfortunate mistake, and Liz's restlessness threaded through the remainder of the day. In the study, she looked at her empty schedule book, and thought again about Colleen's plan, and her own good intentions. She pulled out the list of prospects, and reached for the phone.
A woman answered, her voice lilting with a hint of accent.
"Aliqua Arabians, Eve speaking."
"Hi, this is Dr. Liz Barnett in Garden Valley. Marilyn Cook gave me your name."
"...Yes?"
Liz gulped at the frosty tone of voice. Perhaps mentioning Marilyn wasn't such a good idea.
"She said you have horses for sale, and I'm looking for Arabian breeding stock. Specifically, mares."
The woman's tone didn't sound friendly. "Oh. And who are you again?"
"Liz Barnett. I'm the new vet at Doc Sams' practice, and I own Legacy Arabians in Garden Valley. I've been here about six months."
Eve's tone warmed considerably at the prospect of a real sale. "Well, I do have some mares for sale. I breed predominantly Polish, some Egyptian. Would you care to look at the stock I have available?"
"I could come by tomorrow." Or any day, for that matter.
"Fine. My trainer's away at an auction, but I can show you what I have."
Liz put the phone down and took a deep breath. Here I am again, shopping for horses when I should be chasing customers.
The next afternoon, Liz again cruised along the road to Placerville. The ever-present Sierras reigned over the valley like ermine-mantled monarchs. The magnificence and desolation of northern California energized her, and filled her with optimism that goals could be accomplished on a grand scale.
South of Placerville, Liz quickly came upon El Dorado, a quaint town in the heart of gold country. Following Eve's directions, Liz pulled into an enormous gated entrance of white marble and ornate wrought-iron. An elegantly-lettered sign hung over the drive. The paved road climbed gradually through a huge stand of ancient pine trees. Emerging from the green canopy, Liz gasped. On the hillside sat an incredibly large house, obviously brand new and custom-built. Beautiful landscaping framed
Back home, the light glowed steadily on the answering machine in Liz's office. Disgusted, but not surprised, she headed for the barn to clean stalls and set up the evening feed.
Nine stalls later, she climbed wearily up the stairs to the hayloft. A shaft of late afternoon sun slanted through the single window. Hay dust danced in the beam, reminding her of smoke, followed by a mental picture of Marilyn's firetrap barn. Liz's skin crawled with horror. Nothing was more terrifying to a horse owner than the possibility of a barn fire. She'd had one experience with a fire in Kentucky, for which all of her medical training had been useless. Four horses, overcome by smoke, had perished while Liz and others had helplessly stood by, unable to enter the blazing barn.
Shaking off the ghastly memory, she began tossing flakes of hay into the stalls below. Finally, hot and tired, she dropped into a pile of straw, and closed her eyes.
Unbidden, Kurt's face appeared in her mind, and a shiver of delight moved across her damp skin. How wonderful she'd felt in his arms, traveling around the dance floor. Immersing herself in the daydream, she heard his soft voice, felt the texture of his shirt, smelled his male scent. Nestling deeper into the straw, she abandoned herself to dreams of how his arms might feel embracing her in the heat of passion. Her body tingled and arousal seethed through her.
Stunned by her response to the sexy daydream, she scrambled to her feet. This is ridiculous. I'm acting like a lovesick teenager. I'll probably never even see him again. Angrily brushing the hay dust from her jeans, she took a deep breath and tried to will away her tension. Moving toward the stairs, she glanced back at the bed of straw, feeling the uneasy burn of desire that would haunt her for hours.
6
Abandoning herself to thoughts of Kurt had been an unfortunate mistake, and Liz's restlessness threaded through the remainder of the day. In the study, she looked at her empty schedule book, and thought again about Colleen's plan, and her own good intentions. She pulled out the list of prospects, and reached for the phone.
A woman answered, her voice lilting with a hint of accent.
"Aliqua Arabians, Eve speaking."
"Hi, this is Dr. Liz Barnett in Garden Valley. Marilyn Cook gave me your name."
"...Yes?"
Liz gulped at the frosty tone of voice. Perhaps mentioning Marilyn wasn't such a good idea.
"She said you have horses for sale, and I'm looking for Arabian breeding stock. Specifically, mares."
The woman's tone didn't sound friendly. "Oh. And who are you again?"
"Liz Barnett. I'm the new vet at Doc Sams' practice, and I own Legacy Arabians in Garden Valley. I've been here about six months."
Eve's tone warmed considerably at the prospect of a real sale. "Well, I do have some mares for sale. I breed predominantly Polish, some Egyptian. Would you care to look at the stock I have available?"
"I could come by tomorrow." Or any day, for that matter.
"Fine. My trainer's away at an auction, but I can show you what I have."
Liz put the phone down and took a deep breath. Here I am again, shopping for horses when I should be chasing customers.
The next afternoon, Liz again cruised along the road to Placerville. The ever-present Sierras reigned over the valley like ermine-mantled monarchs. The magnificence and desolation of northern California energized her, and filled her with optimism that goals could be accomplished on a grand scale.
South of Placerville, Liz quickly came upon El Dorado, a quaint town in the heart of gold country. Following Eve's directions, Liz pulled into an enormous gated entrance of white marble and ornate wrought-iron. An elegantly-lettered sign hung over the drive. The paved road climbed gradually through a huge stand of ancient pine trees. Emerging from the green canopy, Liz gasped. On the hillside sat an incredibly large house, obviously brand new and custom-built. Beautiful landscaping framed
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