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Balancing the breakfast plate, I put in my code on the lock for El Hambre’s cage. The golden tiger’s low chuffle sounded like a garbled purr or happy growl as his nearly five-hundred-pound body curled around me. He rubbed his cheek against my leg, scenting me.
“Who’s my hungry boy?” I murmured as I set the plate down and pulled off the silver covering to reveal an untouched, rare sixteen ounce ribeye and four fried eggs. I picked up the remaining corner of toast and passed the rest over to El Hambre.
At the sounds of the head veterinarian and zookeeper preparing their breakfasts on the front side of the observatory, the other big cats started pacing and chuffing, letting their impatience show. The metallic scrape of passthrough doors opening sounded as each cat got fed along the row. El Hambre’s tongue made one last swath across the cleaned china plate before trotting toward his own breakfast, with his primordial pouch swinging.
“Stop spoiling that cat, Zee! He’s fat!” Dr. Miller Walsh called from the other side of the passthrough where he’d slid in El Hambre’s actual breakfast.
“OZ orders it for him. I don’t make the rules!” I hollered back. Then before I forgot, I added, “No swimming today. Obsidian Protocol.”
“Roger that.”
I picked up the empty plate and headed back down the corridor, ultimately disposing of it on OZ’s service cart.
I swung through the kitchen and picked up a fruit smoothie before heading out to the stables. Working closely with the Arabian and Akhal-Teke horses Zaki bred had always been therapeutic for me. Considering last night’s events, therapy was desperately needed. But after a few short hours, I’d been kicked and had rope burns on both hands. Not to mention, I’d been thrown three times from as many horses.
With my back flat against the arena sand, I cursed and hollered. But the beast responsible for this particular ejection, a pure white Arabian stallion named Altabashir, was staring down at me with his dark globe eyes. The spectacular stallion’s nostrils puffed out wide as he blew warm breath over my face. Was Bash worried about me? Sorry for pitching me through the air? Doubtful. His eyes told me I should’ve known better.
His pink tongue jutted out as he lapped at my cheek like a fricken’ golden retriever. “Ack, Mushaeghib!”
My-sharky. Ha. Another one. Obviously I had a type.
Dr. Walsh strode past as I dusted my butt off. With a self-deprecating grimace, I waved. Miller was easy to dismiss as a pretty face. He looked more like a movie star than one of the world’s leading veterinarians. Billed as the James Brown for endangered animals, he’d once been featured in a documentary for his magical ability to seduce hard-to-breed, near-extinct species to get their groove on and conceive in captivity.
Miller looked like an ad for cologne as he propped his foot on the fence rail while he waited for me to lead Bash to the arena gate. Though ‘led’ was entirely the wrong word. The Arab stallion danced around me, never seeming to have more than two hooves touch the ground at any one time. I might as well have been flying a beautiful kite in a tropical storm. The tether, while fragile, took all my strength to keep hold of. Reminded me of my connection to another stud I knew. I shook my head.
Yep, I definitely have a type.
Miller maneuvered to open the gate for us and asked, “What’s going on?”
The stallion skittered around like the gate was hot-wired. “With Bash? He’s just spooking at ghosts.” Ghosts…of course.
“No, with you. He’s sensing your mood. He knows you’re wary of him. How can he trust you when you don’t have faith in him?”
I had to remind myself he was talking about the horse. It made sense though. Horses were incredibly perceptive and intuitive, especially the highbred ones we raised. I rolled my shoulders, trying to work the tension out of them.
“Just stressed. Zaki’s not happy about unexpected guests,” I hedged as Miller fell in step with us.
“Obsidian Protocol. Right. You carry too much, Zee.” Miller gave my shoulder a squeeze and a friendly pat before lengthening his stride. “If you get a chance, swing back by the conservatory. I’ve got some good news for you.”
“You’re the only one who ever does! Can you tell me now? I could use some good news and today’s going to be a long one. I’m already running late to meet Vivi for a lunch brief on the unexpected arrivals.”
“Long story short, Ivory is not only doing great, but the additional supplements worked.”
“What?” A month ago we’d almost put the rare white tigress down. Her liver enzymes had been extremely elevated and hadn’t seemed to be improving. I feared she’d just go downhill from there and couldn’t bear to see her go through the pain of acute liver failure. The only niggling thing was, other than having a bit of a bellyache, Ivory hadn’t even started showing the signs of liver damage that her off-the-charts numbers warranted. Miller had suggested we wait, treat her current issue, and if other symptoms showed up we’d assess her quality of life then. “I treat the animal, not the numbers,” Miller had advised.
“So her bloodwork?”
His toothpaste-ad smile broadened. “Came back great, better than I’d hoped.”
Squealing, I threw my arms around Miller’s neck, spooking Bash. The stallion let out a full-bodied nicker while dancing around me. “Sorry. Sorry. Whoa, boy.”
“Looks like you have your hands full.” Miller laughed as I detached myself from him to tend to Bash. “I’ll keep you posted.”
“Thank you so much!”
Miller gave a wave as he headed farther down the barn’s aisle to do checks on the pregnant mares. I rinsed Bash off in the wash stall and returned him to his paddock. Then I headed out to my green 1975 Bronco to keep my lunch meeting with Vivi.
With the top removed on the vintage SUV, the breeze whipped at my hair. Hopefully it improved upon the mushed hat shape my riding helmet had given it. I pulled out of the stable lot onto the road traversing the high ridge of Marakata, which ran from OZ’s estate to my favorite casual dining restaurant on the island, The Lizard & the Lime. The pass had expansive views of the ocean as well as the calm bay created by the island’s curled shape.
