1

A sickening odor clung to the still morning air and fear curled through Kellie Sutton’s chest.

Dr. Hyde Browning’s eyes darkened with compassion. “I won’t kid you–he’s going downhill fast.”

Taking a deep breath to quell the nausea churning through her stomach, Kellie forced herself to look down, and another wave of revulsion rolled through her. The stallion’s left front foot was a volcano of angry red flesh, with thick yellow pus oozing from the ruptured skin.

Her voice cracked. “Do you have anything else that might work better?”

“Without knowing what happened to him, I can only make guesses on treatment. Based on the extensive tissue damage, I’d say it’s a staph infection, but he doesn’t seem to be responding to the antibiotic. I can try a different type, but...”

The unfinished sentence held little optimism.

Kellie stroked Dancer’s sleek coat, brilliant as a newly minted penny. His skin quivered beneath her touch, the elegant head hung low, and his large brown eyes, usually so alert and curious, were dull as dry river pebbles. In the space of three days, what she’d thought was a simple stone bruise had escalated into a nightmare.

“Would an x-ray show anything? Could it be a fracture? Or something embedded in his foot?”

The veterinarian shook his head. “I’ve ruled those out, plus a few you haven’t thought of.” He touched her arm. “I know this is hard for you, but the medication needs time to work.”

She struggled with emotions that threatened to overwhelm her. “You do whatever it takes to save him.” Her voice broke again. “He’s my best stallion.”

Hyde depressed the plunger on a syringe and a tiny drop of liquid squirted from the tip of the needle. “I’ll photograph the wound, and take a tissue sample over to Stillwater. Maybe the university lab can give us some answers.”

“What about a spider bite? Or a scorpion–I got stung once when I was a kid, and it hurt like hell!”

“Neither of those would cause this much damage.”

He deftly slipped the long needle into the horse’s bulging heel, and Kellie flinched. Focusing on the vet’s ministrations, she pushed away all thoughts of the possible outcome of the disaster in her barn.

A few minutes later, she followed Hyde out into the morning sun. His expression revealed nothing, but his tone was cautious.

“I gave him a shot of Bute to keep him comfortable. You can dose him again with the paste in eight hours. I’ll be back in the morning–hopefully, with some answers. If anything changes in the meantime, call me.” He walked toward his truck, then turned back. “I checked the palomino mare. She should deliver her foal tonight.”

A cloud of red dust churned behind his tailgate all the way to the end of the lane. The strong spring sun beat down on Kellie’s bare head, but despite the temperature, she shivered with apprehension. Nothing in Hyde’s demeanor gave her any confidence that world champion Docs Dirty Dancing would recover.

For long moments after the truck had disappeared from view, she stared at the endless pale yellow fields spreading across acres of flat land. A cobalt sky slammed into the horizon and a few wispy clouds drifted above, with no promise of rain. Scattered mesquite trees punctuated the skyline, and the steady up-and-down movements of several oil pumps brought to mind the image of giant birds pulling the rich black treasure from beneath Oklahoma’s parched crust. Her home. Her heritage. Red soil that flowed through her veins.

She turned and stared at the round corral behind the barn. Dancer might have injured his foot on something while he was turned out. Resolve lengthened her stride as she headed that direction. Her life and livelihood depended on the stallion’s recovery, and she couldn’t idly stand by, waiting for someone else to come up with answers. She slowly walked the inside fence perimeter, examining the base of each post and scanning the ground for anything that could have caused the horse’s wound.

Fifteen minutes later, she’d made the full circle, finding only a beer bottle top. She leaned against the rail, running her thumb over the sharp ridges of the metal cap, trying to imagine how it might have caused Dancer’s wound. She shook her head and pushed away from the fence, stuffing the cap into her pocket as she walked toward the main barn. The university lab would have answers.

Inside the spacious office, she passed by the ranch manager’s desk. His papers were neatly stacked, pens and pencils tucked into a mug, his to-do list squared up with the edge of the desk. A sharp contrast to her own jumbled workspace in the corner. Once upon a time, Frank Frazier’s attention to detail had made him the perfect choice for ranch manager, leaving her free to pursue the business of building her Quarter Horse herd. She set her jaw. Once upon a time, a lot of things had been different.

She settled into the comfortable leather chair behind a dark mahogany desk, an ornate relic from her Grandfather Sutton’s ranching days. The antique seemed out of place in the new modern building, but she didn’t care. History and family heritage were precious commodities to be guarded with a passion.

A ranch hand rapped on the doorjamb.

“Boots is limping.”

Kellie jumped up and followed him down the barn aisle. At the stall door, she closed her eyes tightly.

“Aw, you have to be kidding!”

Boot Scootin Doc, the best reining horse on Rocking S Ranch, stood in a corner of the stall, holding his left front foot off the ground.

Kellie smoothed her hand over his shoulder, then kneeled in the wood shavings to get a closer look. Angry red skin glowed through the sparkling white hair on the horse’s ankle, and swelling had forced the flesh into a puffy ridge along the top edge of the hoof. She touched the foot lightly to confirm the heat of infection.

“Where was he yesterday?”

“In the east grazing pen.” The young man sounded nervous, and hastened to add, “He seemed fine when I brought him in last night.”

Rocking back on her heels, Kellie focused again on the distorted foot. Could they be dealing with a bite? She knew nothing about spiders, but she’d grown up sharing the land with scorpions and had always given them the respect they deserved.

She pulled out her cell phone and dialed Hyde’s number. “We have another one. Same foot, same beginning signs.”

“I have two more farm calls to make, then I’ll swing back. In the meantime, check all your horses’ feet, see if any others have similar symptoms.”

She snapped the phone shut and turned to the ranch hand. “Find Frank and tell him I need him.”

Kellie had checked three horses by the time Frank appeared.

He leaned against an upright and shoved a hand in his pocket. “What’s up?”

“We have another lame horse. I want you to check the outside stock.”

“Can’t–I’m headed into the city.”

Kellie mentally took a deep breath. “This won’t take long.”

Frank pushed away from the post, his features hardening. “We pay the hired help to do this stuff, so let’s get our money’s worth.”

She carefully controlled her tone. “Frank, this is serious. Please do your job.”

Anger darkened his hazel eyes and a muscle twitched along his jaw line. “Yes, Ma’am!” He turned on a heel and strode down the barn aisle.

The unpleasant exchange burned through Kellie’s thoughts. His nonchalance about the critical situation bothered her deeply. She glanced toward the doorway where he stood talking to the stable manager. What had triggered this sudden attitude?

Putting the troubling thoughts out of her mind, she worked her way down the row of stalls, further considering the idea of scorpions as the source of her problem. During the past few severe drought years, the population of strange-looking-but-timid creatures had exploded. Normally, the creepy little spider relatives were considered harmless, but hidden in the dark corners of a stall, they most certainly could attack a poorly placed foot.

An hour later, Hyde picked up Boots’s foot and leaned in close, brushing his fingers lightly over the heel area. He released the hoof and straightened up.

“I don’t like what I’m seeing here.”