Page 58 of Brighton

What the fuck?

My first instinct is to flee.

My second is more rooted in how I was raised. It’s not to bow up, but it is to stand firm. My David to my brother’s Goliaths. My smart mouth to injustice I saw.

I stare down at his hand on my left arm before lifting my gaze to his hard eyes. “Take your hand off me.” My voice is strong, clear, and decisive, with no wavering or fear. The authority there must shock him or maybe it’s just his horrid behavior.

His eyes change, and he takes a large step back. “I’m sorry, Dr. Ranger. That will never happen again.”

I nod once, acknowledging both statements.

Little does he know that if he ever tries that again, I won’t be so patient. I’m not stupid enough to land in this situation again, but I have to figure out the horses… I have to understand what’s making them sick so I can get them well again.

I finish my visit, with little additional conversation from Mr. Lager.

I draw blood from each of the horses, noticing the tremor in my left hand as I do. I’m steady and efficient on the needle with my right, though.

I stroke one of the mares as I pass and hold her gaze. “I’ll make this right. I promise,” I whisper as I finish the last of them.

I acknowledge the old man as I leave, saying nothing more. He doesn’t deserve my forgiveness or my comfortable chit chat.

Tossing my bag on the passenger’s seat, I drive off his property. I make it to 281 before I pull over, drop my face to my hands, and allow the adrenaline to slither from my system. I ball my fists over and over to stop my hands from trembling.

When did veterinary medicine begin to feel like a true crime documentary in the making?

* * *

“So, random…”I begin as Braxton and I stand at the split rail fence later in the afternoon. I watch Windrunner and Marron in the paddock, while Colt fidgets on Brax’s chest. At nine months old, he’s either moving or asleep, there’s no in-between.

“You want to get down?” He slides Colt toward his boots and focuses his attention at his son, but addresses me, “What’s random?”

“I have a client whose horses are always sick.”

“Bad feed? Tainted water? It’s not the medical care.”

“Thanks.” My eyes drift over Marron. Her coat is shiny. Her muscles are taut, even her post pregnancy weight and muscle tone are healthy. Windrunner is lean, but growing every day. “I don’t know.”

I turn fully toward him. “Brax, I’m not telling you this as my big brother, but I’m going to say it so it’s out there. The client is Rich Lager, the recluse who bought the old Miller place on the east side of town. Things get weirder each time I go. I don’t like it. It’s this nagging feeling I get.”

He starts to interrupt, but I lift a hand and continue. “I can handle myself. You know that. I’m smart when I go. Usually, I have protection in my glovebox, but I’ve started carrying while I’m there. And I’ll make sure someone knows when I go to his place.”

“Bright, this sounds more serious than sick horses.”

“I’m not asking my big brother to save me. I’m being wise and making sure someone is in the know. I can handle myself.”

“Bright, we’ve had too much loss around here to not take it seriously when you have that kind of feeling clawing at your gut.”

“I know. That’s why I told you.”

“Stubborn.”

“Pot meet kettle.”

“Yeah, yeah.”

I bend over and grab Colt who is army crawling under the rails of the fence. “Up you go, silly boy.”

I toss him into the air before walking into the paddock and whistling for Windrunner. She doesn’t respond to that yet, but Marron does and comes prancing our way, Windrunner at her flank.

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