Whitehorse (9 page)
Leah could relate. As she walked in silence at Hunnicutt's side down long corridors of closed office doors and conference rooms, she thought back on the childish excitement she'd felt when getting his call earlier that day. In her mind as she'd dashed to shower and dress, she'd fantasized over the salary, experience, and connections that working at the track would offer. She'd tallied up said salary and imagined how nice it would be to catch up on her delinquent bills. There might even be enough to put aside each month to eventually buy Val the new wheelchair he so desperately needed. Then there were the Botox shots Val's doctor had recently told her about that were proving vastly successful at limbering tight muscles. But eighteen hundred dollars every six weeks would prove to be impossible for her unless she could count on a decent salary.
Yet, as she and Hunnicutt turned down the last corridor and headed toward the open double doors of the Finish Line conference room, she reasoned that she was as likely to win the approval of twelve men as she was to leap over the
Grand Canyon
in a single bound. Like the foot-dragging convict headed for his deathbed, she saw her future disperse like an ice cube on a hot plate.
Smoke hung over the conference room like gray smog. The long marble-topped table surrounded by conversing men dressed casually in jeans and T-shirts depicting a horse streaking across a finish line was scattered with remnants of lunch: deli meats, squeeze bottles of mustard and ketchup, empty tea glasses, and discarded napkins. As Hunnicutt introduced Leah, each man stood and offered his hand, smiled broadly, and welcomed her to their "monthly excuse to cut out of the office early." They offered her iced tea, which she gladly accepted. Her throat felt dry as the track she could see through the window.
It did not take long for Leah to relax. Greg Hunnicutt supplied the men with pertinent information regarding her background. The fact that she had graduated from Texas A&M veterinary school brought impressed nods. They spoke in future tense. Vetting at their track would be a tough but satisfying experience for her. She would learn a great deal—sharpen her skills. She would meet some great people. Make lifelong friends. They had great New Year's Eve parties as well, and by the way, the vets were allowed to keep all tips, which could prove to be substantial if the owners and trainers were particularly pleased by her work. Occasionally, Hunnicutt glanced her way and winked, as if to say, No problem. You're in like Flynn.
Giddiness once again settled in the pit of her stomach, infusing her imagination with visions of a nicely padded bank account. Tonight she would take Shamika and Val out to dinner. They would celebrate with a bottle of cheap champagne. She would present Shamika with a money draft for two months' salary with the understanding that she wasn't to deposit it until Leah received her first week's paycheck.
"…
Of course we can't affirm the position until you've been approved by all of us. And considering we're one short today, you might have to meet with our missing member one on one."
She counted heads. Eleven. Damn.
Greg checked his watch. "He should've been here by now. Normally he's on time."
"Such is the life of the rich and famous," someone said, and everyone chuckled.
Johnny Whitehorse walked into the room in that moment. The gathering welcomed him boisterously. "Hello!"
"What time do you call this, buddy? We were about to give up on you."
Leah sank in her chair and closed her eyes.
Johnny moved to the chair at the opposite end of the table. "Sorry 'bout that. My flight was late leaving
Boulder
."
"You been harassing the government again,
Whitehorse
?" someone asked.
He grinned, his only response.
Forcing open her eyes, Leah managed to take a deep breath before looking at Johnny directly. His dark eyes were emotionless as he regarded her, as were his features.
"This is Doctor Starr, Johnny," said Greg. "We're considering her to fill one of the positions—"
"I know who she is," Johnny interrupted. "Senator Foster's daughter."
Silence filled up the room.
Leah gave Johnny a flat smile. "Yes. I am. But I won't hold that against you, Mr. Whitehorse. Everyone is entitled to his own opinion of a politician—stupid or not. This is a free country, as I recall."
He relaxed against the back of his chair, his lips taking on a smug curl. "What makes you think you're cut out to be a track vet, Doctor Starr?"
"I'm good and I'm bright. I care about horses."
"Ah, but do you care about people, Doctor?"
"Meaning?"
"This is an emotional business. Dreams get crushed. Lives ruined. Do you ever stop to think how your decision can radically alter someone's life?"
Her cheeks began to burn and her throat grew tight. The men lining the table stared down at their food-littered plates and mustard-stained napkins as Leah tried her best to control the surge of emotion rolling over in her chest. Johnny was goading her. He wanted to break her. He might as well have reached across the table and smashed her like a bug with his fist.
"Do you understand exactly what would be expected of you should you get this position?" he asked, his voice sounding as if it were echoing from a well. "You would be on call twenty-four hours a day during the meets. You would be expected to work on weekends. On holidays. Your day begins at six in the morning and doesn't end until
, or later. I understand that you're divorced. Have you obligations that would get in the way of your duties?"
"I'm more than capable of making certain that any obligations I have are met to my satisfaction."
His eyes narrowed. "Do you have children, Doctor Starr?"
She opened and closed her mouth, then nodded. "A boy."
He looked down briefly, saying nothing, obviously considering his next words. "Would you care to tell us about him?" he invited her in soft monotone.
"He's … seven." Leah took a deep breath, glancing the men's pleasant, interested expressions before centering back on Johnny. His eyes looked dark as polished onyx. And his lips … oh, God. "His name
is …
Val.
Short for Valentino."
Valentino.
Once he had laughed at the suggestion, as they lay naked under the summer night sky, young arms and legs entangled, their hunger for one another sated, momentarily, planning their future together, the children they would make together. All boys. She would name their first son Valentino because she had always had a passion for old Rudolph Valentino movies. So it had been decided that night that they would name their first son Valentino.
Seven years ago, as she pressed her face against the plastic incubator and gazed down on her son, she'd thought about Johnny, and about that night they'd looked at the stars and planned their future together—of the children they would share. So she'd named her son Valentino, in memory of the love she had let get away. In memory of the heart she had broken. In memory of Johnny Whitehorse.
A man in wire-rimmed glasses smiled at Leah. "Have you adequate child care for him?"
She returned his smile. "I have live-in help."
Silence. An eternal moment passed before Leah raised her gaze back to Johnny's.
How could you?
his eyes asked.
I'm sorry. So sorry.
Greg pushed his chair back. "I think we've covered all the essentials. I've got your
résumé
and references. I'll see that each of the gentlemen here get a copy before they leave today." He offered his hand to Leah. She took it and stood, smiled her thanks to everyone at the table except Johnny, then turned for the door. Greg walked with her into the hall. "We'll vote next Monday. I'll give you a call that evening or first thing Tuesday morning." He patted her shoulder. "Johnny is a good man. Intelligent, despite his flamboyant and sometimes controversial reputation. I doubt his feelings for your father would influence his judgment of you."
She laughed and looked away, wondering if she should inform Greg that Johnny's opinion of her father would have little to do with his voting down her appointment—but because she had broken his heart twelve years ago and he had every right to despise her, which he obviously did. Her tantrum yesterday would not help matters.
She offered her hand and gave Greg as bright a smile as she could manage. "I'll look forward to your call, Mr. Hunnicutt. And thanks for your support."
He returned to the conference room, closing the door in her face.
FIVE
T
he emergency call came at just after
from Ramona Skunk Cap. At the Mescalero reservation a herd of her goats, spooked by a coyote or wolf, had stampeded through a barbed-wire fence, snapping the nasty strands so they coiled like a hungry constrictor around the terrified animals. Dr. Starr should come quick before the animals bled to death.
Leah made herself a cup of strong instant coffee before climbing into her truck and heading down 249. Earlier she had done a passably decent job of shielding the broken window with a square of cardboard, but that did little to stop the wind from whistling in around the masking tape, of sucking at the cardboard so it breathed in and out like some living entity.
She popped a cassette into the player. Diamond's "Beautiful Noise." No memories there. Nothing to stir up the frustration she'd felt earlier in the day when realizing that Johnny Whitehorse held her future, not to mention her livelihood, in the very hands he had once used to drive her mad with desire.
So …
Johnny knew she had a son.
Why had he waited until the interview to question her about it?
Did he know about the CP?
He couldn't know. Few people did, aside from Val's therapists and his teachers at school. There was her father, of course. No way was he going to discuss the issue with anyone—even her.
The truck veered to the right, then the left. The back end fishtailed as if on ice before a loud hum drowned out the trumpets and violins pumping from the stereo speakers. Leah eased the truck to the shoulder of the road and sat with the engine idling before shifting into Park and killing the engine.
Silence. Darkness, but for the streak of dim light from her headlamp that pooled on the bloated carcass of a raccoon on the road up ahead.
