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At that moment the phone rang, and Tiffany reached to answer it.
“It’s been ringing off the hook all afternoon.” When Tiffany hesitated, Louise continued. “Reporters mostly. A couple of other breeders, too. The messages are on your desk.”
“I’ll take the call in the den,” Tiffany decided, straightening her shoulders.
“Vultures,” Louise muttered as she opened the oven and checked the roast.
Tiffany answered the phone in the den on the sixth ring.
“Tiffany, is that you?” an agitated male voice inquired.
“Yes.”
“This is Hal Reece.” Tiffany’s heart sank. Reece had bred one of his mares to Moon Shadow. Was he calling to tell her that the foal was dead? Her palms began to sweat and her pulse jumped nervously.
“What can I do for you, Mr. Reece?”
The stuffy sixty-year-old paused before getting to the point. “I read an article about your farm in theClarion.No one told me there was any genetic problem with Moon Shadow.”
“There isn’t.”
“But the article stated—”
“What the article stated was only half the story.” Tiffany’s eyes clashed with Zane’s as he entered the den.
“Then you’re saying that those foals didn’t die?” he questioned, relief audible in his voice.
“No,” Tiffany replied, bracing herself by leaning on the desk. “It’s true we’ve lost a few foals—”
“Moon Shadow’s foals,” he clarified.
“Yes. But there is no reason to think that the problem is genetic. I’ve had Moon Shadow tested by several veterinarians. You’re familiar with Vance Geddes, aren’t you?”
“Why, yes. Good man, Geddes.”
“He’s been involved with the problem from day one. He’s concluded that there’s no evidence that the deaths were genetically related.”
“But certainly they were linked.”
“It appears that way.”
“And the natural assumption is that it was the sire, as all the foals were his.”
Tiffany heard the hopeful note in Hal’s voice. She hated to discourage him. Forcing herself to remain calmly professional, she held her voice steady as she clutched the receiver in a deathlike grip. “Moon Shadow has proved himself a good stud. Journey’s End and Devil’s Gambit are proof enough of that. Most of the foals that he sired this year had no problems.”
“No other owner has complained?” Reece asked, sounding dubious.
“None, and I’ve been in contact with each of them. So far, Moon Shadow has sired twenty-three perfectly healthy foals—something Mr. Crawford neglected to print.”
“But three have died.”
There was no use in hiding the truth from Reece or any of the other owners who had bred their expensive mares to Moon Shadow. It would only look worse later. Tiffany gritted her teeth and closed her eyes. “Four. We lost another colt last night.”
“Oh, God!” His voice sounded weak.
Zane was standing near the fireplace, one shoeless stockinged foot propped against the stone hearth.
“When is your mare due to foal?” Tiffany asked.
