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Except cry a few wasted tears,Tiffany thought to herself as she pulled her jacket off the wooden hook near the French doors that opened to a flagstone patio.
Bracing herself against the cold wind and rain blowing inland from the coast, Tiffany rammed her fists into the pockets of her jacket and silently followed Mac down the well-worn path toward the foaling shed. She knew that he disapproved of her insistence on being involved with all of the work at the farm. After all, Ellery had preferred to leave the work to the professionals. But Tiffany wanted to learn the business from the ground up, and despite Mac’s obvious thoughts that a woman’s place was in the home or, at the very least, in the office doing book work, Tiffany made herself a part of everything on the small breeding farm.
The door to the shed creaked on rusty hinges as Tiffany entered the brightly lit building. Pungent familiar odors of clean straw, warm horses, antiseptic and oiled leather greeted her. She wiped the rain off her face as her eyes adjusted to the light.
Mac followed her inside, muttering something about this being no place for a woman. Tiffany ignored Mac’s obvious attempt to protect her from the tragic evidence of Charlatan’s death and walked with determination toward the short man near the opposite end of the building. Her boots echoed hollowly on the concrete floor.
Vance Geddes, the veterinarian, was still in the stall, but Felicity, the mare who just two days earlier had given birth to Charlatan, had already been taken away.
Vance’s expression was grim and perplexed. Weary lines creased his white skin and bracketed his mouth with worry. He forced a weak smile when Tiffany approached him and he stepped away from the small, limp form lying in the straw.
“Nothing I could do,” Vance apologized, regret and frustration sharpening his normally bland expression. “I thought with this one we had a chance.”
“Why?” She glanced sadly at the dead colt and a lump formed in her throat. Everything seemed so . . . pointless.
“He seemed so strong at birth. Stood up and nursed right away, not like the others.”
Tiffany knelt on the straw and touched the soft neck of the still-warm foal. He was a beautiful, perfectly formed colt—a rich chestnut with one white stocking and a small white star on his forehead. At birth his dark eyes had been keenly intelligent and inquisitive with that special spark that distinguished Moon Shadow’s progeny. Tiffany had prayed that he would live and not fall victim to the same baffling disease that had killed the other recently born foals sired by Moon Shadow.
“You’ll perform an autopsy?” she asked, her throat tight from the strain of unshed tears.
“Of course.”
After patting the soft neck one last time, Tiffany straightened. She dusted her hands on her jeans, cast one final searching look at the tragic form, and walked out of the stall. “What about Felicity?”
“She’s back in the broodmare barn. And not very happy about it. We had a helluva time getting her away from the foal. She kicked at John, but he managed to get her out of here.”
“It’s not easy,” Tiffany whispered, understanding the anxious mare’s pain at the unexplained loss of her foal. Tiffany looked around the well-kept foaling shed. White heat lamps, imported straw, closed-circuit television, all the best equipment money could buy and still she couldn’t prevent the deaths of these last three foals.
Why,she wondered to herself.And why only the offspring of Moon Shadow?He had stood at stud for nearly eight years and had always produced healthy, if slightly temperamental, progeny. Not one foal had died. Until now.Why?
With no answers to her question, and tears beginning to blur her vision, Tiffany reluctantly left the two men to attend to the dead colt.
The rain had decreased to a slight drizzle, but the wind had picked up and the branches of the sequoia trees danced wildly, at times slamming into the nearby buildings. The weather wasn’t unusual for early March in Northern California, but there was something somber and ominous about the black clouds rolling over the hills surrounding the small breeding farm.
“Don’t let it get to you,” Tiffany muttered to herself.
She shivered as she stepped into the broodmare barn and walked without hesitation to Felicity’s stall.
The smell of fresh hay and warm horses greeted her and offered some relief from the cold night. Several mares poked their dark heads out of the stalls to inspect the visitor. Tiffany gently patted each muzzle as she passed, but her eyes were trained on the last stall in the whitewashed barn.
Felicity was still agitated and appeared to be looking for the lost foal. The chestnut mare paced around the small enclosure and snorted restlessly. When Tiffany approached, Felicity’s ears flattened to her head and her dark eyes gleamed maliciously.
“I know, girl,” Tiffany whispered, attempting to comfort the anxious mare. “It wasn’t supposed to turn out like this.”
Felicity stamped angrily and ignored the piece of apple Tiffany offered.
“There will be other foals,” Tiffany said, wondering if she were trying to convince the horse or herself. Rhodes Breeding Farm couldn’t stand to take many more losses. Tears of frustration and anxiety slid down her cheeks and she didn’t bother to brush them aside.
A soft nicker from a nearby stall reminded Tiffany that she was disturbing the other horses. Summoning up her faltering courage, Tiffany stared at Felicity for a moment before slapping the top rail of the stall and walking back to the house.
Somehow she would find the solution to the mystery of the dying foals.
* * *
The first inquiry came by telephone two days later. Word had gotten out about the foals, and a reporter for a local newspaper in Santa Rosa was checking the story.
Tiffany took the call herself and assured the man that though she had lost two newborn colts and one filly, she and the veterinarian were positive that whatever had killed the animals was not contagious.
