Death by Equine Annette Dashofy (black authors fiction txt) 📖

way to guarantee the safety of all the animals and those who would potentially race here would be to close the track for that two-month period. No one in or out.” The muscle in Daniel’s jaw twitched. “But I’m aware of what that would do to the track financially. I’m sure the USDA is as well.”

“The track? To me. It would wipe me out. Not to mention the publicity. My God.” He ran a hand through his hair and wheeled away from her.

“I can’t help the publicity. That’s going to happen either way. But I think I can justify recommending to the feds that they limit the quarantine to the one barn.”

He spun, eyes wide, and reached out as if to hug her.

“If,” she added, before he could do it. “If they give my recommendation any credence and if all the other horses on the grounds test negative. I want to begin drawing blood as soon as I can round up some help.”

Daniel beamed. “Absolutely. Do it. I’ll figure out some way to put a spin on it for the media to keep the damage to a minimum.”

His idea of damage and hers didn’t quite mesh. “All incoming horses need to have their health papers and Coggins tests checked and verified.”

“They already are.”

“If any of them were signed by Doc, I want the horse barred until new tests are run.”

Daniel’s lips pressed into a thin line. “Okay.”

She gathered the stack of reports. “I need to speak with Neil Emerick and Doug Whitman.”

He touched her hand. A tickle of electricity fluttered across her skin. She wished Milt had never told her about Daniel’s past. She understood the old ignorance is bliss adage as never before.

“I’ll go with you,” he said.

She started to argue, but he shushed her with a finger to her lips. “It’s only right. This track is my responsibility. I should be there.”

Nineteen

The scene in Barn K had been anything but pleasant. Emerick vented his frustration by ranting at Jessie until Daniel put a stop to his tirade. At that point, the trainer stomped out of the barn and kicked a plastic bucket of grooming tools, scattering its contents. Doug Whitman sank down onto a bale of straw and buried his face in his hands. Jessie expected him to follow Emerick and leave one of the ashen-faced girls, who worked as grooms, to deal with the task at hand. But to Jessie’s surprise, he gathered his wits and looked up at her, tears in his eyes. “When do you want to do this?”

She kept her voice soft. “No use putting it off.”

Whitman nodded and climbed to his feet. “I’ll meet you there.”

Barn F was eerily quiet. No cats prowled the shedrow. Even the pigeons seemed to be avoiding the place. Its lone resident hung his head over the stall webbing, showing no interest in Jessie and Daniel’s arrival. Whitman turned the corner at the far end of the barn and made his way toward them.

Daniel put a hand on her shoulder and squeezed. Jessie resisted the urge to lean against him. He’d known about Doc’s negligence and could have put an end to it. This wouldn’t be happening if he had. She stepped away from his touch.

“Let’s take him down to the far end of the road,” she said.

Whitman looked stunned. “Can’t you just do it here?”

Jessie glanced at Daniel, who answered the owner. “We wouldn’t be able to get him out of the stall once he’s down.”

Whitman thought about it. Any remaining color drained from his face as reality sank in. Without another word, he picked up a lead shank and unclipped the webbing to bring the gray out of the stall one final time.

They led the sullen horse down the shedrow and out into the road at the end of the barn.

Jessie hated this part of her job. It had almost stopped her in the middle of her studies at OSU, but Doc had given her a lecture on the sanctity of life. How death was a natural part of it. And how, as veterinarians, they had the privilege of easing their patients’ suffering and of helping them through this passage. For years, she ran Doc’s words through her mind every time she’d been called upon to put an animal down. This time, the words rang hollow.

She filled a syringe and moved to the gray’s side. She stroked his neck and murmured into his ear as she probed his neck just behind his jawbone until her fingers detected the throb of a weak pulse.

She glanced at Whitman who stood close to the animal’s head. “You’ve never been through this before, have you?”

He shook his head.

“It’s going to be fast. Real fast. You might want to step back.”

He looked puzzled but did as she said.

She inserted the needle under the skin and felt it pop into the vein. Drawing a breath, she depressed the plunger and injected the drug into the gray’s blood. She barely had time to remove the needle when, stiff-legged, he went down. Hard.

Whitman’s face was so white he almost looked transparent. He clutched the lead shank in his trembling hands as he stared down at his horse. Tears streamed down his cheeks.

Daniel turned away.

Jessie knelt beside the animal and pressed a stethoscope to his girth. “He’s gone.” She knew full well he’d been dead before he hit the ground.

Whitman nodded, still clinging to the lead rope.

Her part of the ordeal completed, Jessie left Whitman and Daniel to arrange for someone to pick up the animal. She retreated to her office.

Several calls had gone to voicemail. Checking them, she learned none were emergencies, so she locked the door and curled up on the ratty sofa, hugging Molly close. She longed for sleep, but when she closed her eyes, she pictured Daniel’s face. The image faded into the positive Coggins test result and finally dissolved into the dark, mournful eyes of the sickly gray as she stuck him with the needle.

Rubbing her face, she