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Cassie nodded. “I was at the McLean place. Two of their horses have come down with strangles.”
“Strangles?” His booted foot clattered to the floor. “Around here?”
“Looks that way to me.”
“Which horses?”
“Black Magic and another stallion—a sorrel named Tempest.”
Glancing at his watch, Ivan straightened and massaged a kink from h
is back. He crossed the kitchen and filled a blue enamel cup with the coffee warming on the stove. Was it her imagination, or had he paled slightly? “The rest of the herd okay?” He offered her the mug.
“As far as I can tell. But I was going to stop by on my way into town.” She took a sip of the bitter coffee and made a face. “Why can’t you learn to make a decent cup of coffee?”
“It’s fine,” he grumbled, “you’re just picky. I sent you off to college, and what did you come home with?”
“A degree,” she teased.
“That and some ‘refined’ tastes,” he kidded back, but the familiar spark in his eyes didn’t appear. “You gonna be late again?”
“I don’t know,” she said, thinking of Colton and Denver McLean’s ailing horses.
Ivan dashed his coffee into the sink, then grabbed his jacket. “I’ll see you later,” he said. “I’ve got to feed the stock, then run into town to order some parts for the John Deere.” Whistling to Erasmus, he sauntered outside.
Through the window, Cassie watched him cross the yard. He stopped to pet a few of the mares’ muzzles and laughed out loud at a skittish colt’s antics before he disappeared into the barn. He’d been good to her, she thought as she slung the strap of her purse over her shoulder and pushed open the screen door. She was greeted by the dewy scent of morning and the obtrusive whine of a motorcycle engine shattering the crisp air.
Ryan Ferguson was on his way to work. His employment shouldn’t bother her, she told herself as she tossed her purse into the cab of her truck, but it did. She waited until he’d brought the cycle to a stop, switched off the engine, yanked off his helmet and swung off the bike. His hair stuck out in uneven blond tufts, and he smoothed it with the flat of his hand.
“You nearly ran me off the road the other day,” she said as he lifted interested brown eyes to hers.
“Didn’t mean to.”
“You should look where you’re going.”
“I do.” One side of his thin mouth lifted cynically. “You shouldn’t hog the entire lane. There was room enough. Besides, Ivan gave me enough of a lecture.” He glanced around the yard. “Is he here?”
“In the barn.”
“Don’t bother showing me in,” he mocked. “I’ll find my way.” He left his helmet on the seat of his motorcycle and without a backward glance turned toward the barn. Erasmus, startled as he’d been lying under his favorite juniper bush, growled a little. “Ah, shut up,” Ryan muttered, pushing hard on the barn’s creaking door.
“Wonderful man,” Cassie told herself, wishing her father hadn’t hired him as she climbed into the cab. Ryan Ferguson had never done anything wrong—at least nothing that had been proven—and yet she didn’t like him. Nor did she trust him.
She sent a scathing glance toward the gleaming black motorcycle before shoving the old truck into gear. She clenched her fingers over the wheel, and her thoughts turned to Colton and how close she’d come to staying with him.
As she’d driven home, she’d argued with herself and been glad that her father had already turned in for the night. She, too, had been bone-tired, and even though she’d thought about Colton McLean, even fantasized about him a bit, she’d fallen asleep quickly. So she hadn’t had too much time to consider the subtle change in their relationship.
“Don’t kid yourself,” she said, shooting a glance at her reflection in the rearview mirror, “nothing about your relationship is subtle. Nothing about Colton is subtle. That’s the problem.”
Shifting down, she turned into the lane leading up to the small rise on which the McLean house stood so grandly. The two-storied farmhouse gleamed in the morning sunlight, though for years it had been allowed to run down until Denver had returned. Denver had brought with him the cash for a fresh coat of paint, new shingles and repairs.
Spying Colton’s Jeep, she caught her lower lip between her teeth and tried not to notice that her pulse had quickened. This is business, she told herself as she parked near the garage, grabbed her veterinary bag and hurried to the front door, where she pounded on the thick, painted panels. Within seconds she heard a scurrying of feet.
The door swung open, and Milly, wiping her hands on her ever-present apron, forced a tired smile. “Thank goodness you’re here. The men are up at the old foaling shed.”
Cassie’s heart sank. She knew instantly from the deep lines between Milly’s eyebrows that one or both of the horses had taken a turn for the worse.
“It’s Tempest. He was down this morning,” Milly said.
