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“Why didn’t Colton call me?” Cassie asked.
“He did. Just a little while ago. Your father said you were on your way.”
Cassie didn’t wait for any further explanation. She raced down the steps, rounded the house and ran through long grass to the smallest of the outbuildings.
She shoved against the door, and it creaked open. Inside, the scents of horses, leather and dust mingled together. Dust motes swirled in front of the windows as she breezed down the short corridor to the end stall.
Colton and Curtis, their shoulders drooped, were already inside the stall. “How is he?”
“Not good,” Curtis bit out.
The foreman was right. Tempest seemed weak. His head hung at an alarming angle.
Cassie didn’t waste any time. She slipped into the stall and examined him quickly. His temperature was soaring, and his pulse was much too rapid. “Come on, boy,” she whispered, wishing there were something she could do and feeling absolutely helpless. What good were degrees and all her training when she couldn’t save this horse? “Just hang in there.” She patted his shoulder, then checked his food and water. “Has he eaten anything?”
“Isn’t interested.” Curtis shoved his hair beneath his hat. “We forced the antibiotics down him, but that’s about it.”
“Water?”
“A little.”
“I don’t want him to dehydrate,” she snapped.
Curtis shoved his hat back on his head. “Neither do we.”
Feeling helpless, she patted Tempest’s soft muzzle, then walked back to Black Magic’s stall. “This one looks better,” she said, a little relieved. A cantankerous spark flared in Black Magic’s gaze.
Colton’s lips thinned. “But for how long?”
“I don’t know,” she admitted. “Has anyone checked on the other horses?”
“Yep.” Curtis dug in his breast pocket, reaching for a crumpled pack of cigarettes. “Len and I looked ’em all over this morning. Everything looks okay.”
“That’s the good news,” Colton said thoughtfully as they walked outside and he shut the door securely behind him. “What little of it there is.”
Curtis lit up and blew a stream of smoke toward the blue Montana sky. “I’ll see about cleaning all the tack—makin’ sure that Black Magic’s and Tempest’s things are gone over. And we’ll clean out the stalls and wash all the equipment again.” He ambled toward the tack room, leaving Colton and Cassie alone.
Colton rammed his hands into the back pockets of his jeans. His expression pensive, he scoured the valley floor with his gaze, as if he could find some clue to an unsolved puzzle. “When I got through to Denver last night, I told him everything that had been going on in the past few weeks—including the fact that Black Magic was missing for a while.”
Cassie’s stomach knotted. She could tell just by looking at him that something important was to follow, and she guessed what it was. “He thinks the horse was stolen and that Dad did it,” she said without any emotion.
“He’s convinced the horse was stolen. What he’s not sure about is if the horse contracted the disease by accident or if it was done on purpose.”
“On purpose?” she repeated, her mouth dropping open. “What do you mean?” But the ugly realization was beginning to dawn on her. “Oh, Colton, no! He couldn’t think someone would intentionally hurt one of your horses!” she said, horrified at the implications. “That’s—that’s tantamount to germ warfare!”
Colton nodded, shoving the brim of his hat away from his eyes. “I’m just telling you what his gut reaction was.”
“Then his gut reaction was wrong!”
“He didn’t seem to think so.”
“And you? What about you?” She grabbed at the smooth leather sleeve of his jacket. “Tell me you think he’s wrong,” she demanded, her eyes boring into his, her fingers clenched anxiously. He couldn’t think Ivan was involved in anything so sinister.
“I hope he’s wrong.”
“Hope?” she repeated, nearly shrieking. “Don’t you know? Oh, Colton—”
“Look, Cass, I’m just telling you, that’s all,” he said sharply.
