Grabbing a Sharpie, she scribbled a list of things she wanted to be sure she had in place before she left for Tennessee. Should she bring Gulliver with her or leave him? She’d need someone to take care of the place while she was gone. She’d have to let Kristine know she’d be away and make special arrangements for Hashtag if the mare still needed extra care.
She fell asleep at the table with her head on her folded arms. Gulliver woke her, pawing to go out. She looked at her watch. She’d slept until nearly eight o’clock. When she opened the door, Starship bellowed and banged his feeder. She slipped into her flip-flops and followed her dog outside.
She scolded herself that she should have gotten up earlier, but she was barely awake as it was. After she fed the horses, she changed Hashtag’s bandages, bent over, sweat making itchy prickly splotches on her face and neck that dried so fast they stung. The horse was healing. The lesser scratches had already almost vanished, and most of the deep ones were improving. There were two places, however, that worried her. One was a laceration close to the mare’s left eye, swollen and oozing pus. Billie cleaned it with a gauze pad soaked in Betadine, a procedure Hashtag objected to by tossing her head every time Billie tried to touch it. It took almost a half hour of target practice to clean and disinfect the cut. Billie gathered up the used gauze pads from the ground, squeezed them into a wad, and stuffed them into the hip pocket of her shorts so Gulliver wouldn’t get them.
The other spot that worried her was in Hashtag’s right front armpit, where several strands of barbed wire had tangled, creating a mess of intersecting gashes with islands of flesh between them. She wasn’t sure what to do. She’d like to get Doc out. But Kristine had told her she didn’t want any more vet bills and that the accident had been Billie’s fault. Billie could have referred her to the part of the boarding contract that said the horse’s owner was responsible for any sickness or injuries, but she was afraid Kris would take her horse away if they argued.
Billie sighed and filled her cupped palm with Betadine, turning her skin the color of dried blood. She pressed it up against the mess of flesh. Hashtag squealed and raised a hind foot, kicked the air, then set her hoof down. Billie followed that with a splash of peroxide.
“I’m sorry, girl, but we’ve got to get you better, okay?”
The climb back up the hill to the casita in the late morning left her winded and Gulliver panting. His paws seemed to be feeling better, although she could still see bright pink skin when she looked past his scraggly hair. She opened the fridge and took out two ice cubes, dropped one into his water bowl, and sucked on the other then ran it around her neck, over her brow, and up the insides of her forearms. She put more ice into a glass, added water and drank, refilled it, and drank again until the glass was almost empty. She set it on the counter and went to call Kristine to report her mare’s progress.
Fifteen minutes later, she hung up, relieved that Kristine wasn’t going to take her horse away. She’d agreed to leave her with Billie if Billie agreed to care for her injuries without charging extra. It meant more work with no more pay, but if Hashtag left, so would her board fee.
Billie stood in the tub, reaching to turn on the shower, when her cell phone buzzed against the sink where she’d left it. She leaned over, saw it was Richard, and let it go to voice mail. She’d call him later, when she was feeling cleaner and clearer about what she wanted.
Billie watched through the window of DT’s Bar and Grill as Richard parked his super shiny Dodge dually and got out. The window beside her booth was open about six inches to allow airflow so the bar’s evaporative cooler could do its job. The air inside was so chilled she wished she’d worn jeans instead of shorts, and brought a jacket. Outside, she heard the squeal of Richard’s electronic beeper locking the truck. Her own truck, parked beside his, canted a bit to one side like a resting horse. One of the leaf springs had quit a few years back and she’d never replaced it. Its windows were open, the doors unlocked.
While she watched, Richard patted his hip pocket, checking for his wallet or cell phone then, apparently satisfied that he had what he needed, he turned toward DT’s. When he spotted her through the window, he grinned. On the seat beside her, Gulliver wagged his tail.
Richard entered in a blast of late afternoon sunlight and heat then slipped into the seat opposite her. “Hi, little dog. You sure must rate to be allowed in here.” He reached across the table and
