“J. K. Sanders going to help you pick out the cows?”
“Monday. We should have our first cows in our pasture that afternoon.”
“Good luck. Keep me abreast of your progress.”
“Thanks, Ernest, I will.” She hesitated. “I need one more thing. I don’t know how many changes of uniform the men have, but each man needs a spare set from underwear out that will be kept in the office at the barn.”
“Why? They normally have three. One dirty, one clean and one they’re wearing. You want a fourth?”
“I’m afraid so. There are going to be times when they’ll be in the barn all night without being able to leave. If someone falls in the pond, say, or we have to mend a fence in a driving rainstorm, they’ve got to have a change of clothes available. I, personally, carry two sets in my truck, along with a spare pair of boots and a set of surgical greens for emergencies.”
Ernest rubbed his chin. “I don’t know. That’s an extra expense that’s not in the budget.”
“It’s a very minor expense when you put it against the hospital costs of caring for a prisoner with pneumonia.”
“I’ll see what I can do.”
“Thanks.”
“In exchange, we get all that rotted manure for our hydroponics.” He grinned. “Unless you have a better use for it.”
She smiled back “Agreed. We’ll pile it, you move it out.”
She left him working through a stack of paperwork inches high. She nodded cheerfully at his secretary, Yvonne Linden, as she went by. If they knew how terrified she was, they’d fire her before she even got started.
DR. RICK HAZARD CAUGHT ELEANOR on her way into the large-animal area of the clinic late that afternoon and pulled her into his office for one of his “chats.” Eleanor hoped this one wouldn’t take long.
“I’ve heard prisoners can scent fear,” Rick said. “You sure you want to take this job? I’m having second thoughts about recommending you.”
“Not you, too?”
“Come on, Eleanor. You’re finally completely back to top-notch form professionally. I’d hate to see you get too stressed-out.”
“Don’t worry, I’ll still be available to take up the slack here at the clinic. And as to scenting fear, well, so can an angry terrier.”
“The terrier can do a real number on your ankles. A 250-pound man can do a number on your life, just like a lion or tiger. Better make sure you carry your whip and chair.”
As managing partner and the man whose wife and father-in-law had invested a large part of the money to open Creature Comfort, Rick Hazard’s priorities were his clinic first and the remainder of the world a distant second. “I worry that you won’t have time to spend here once your program at the farm gets into gear.”
“I should have guessed that was the real problem. Come on, Rick, how much time can a small herd take once it’s up and going? I’ve never let you or Sarah down yet, have I? I owe you, Rick. If it weren’t for you, I’d never have gotten my nerve back after Jerry died. A year ago I couldn’t have faced all the responsibility alone. I couldn’t decide what shirt to wear.”
Rick slumped in his desk chair and propped his knee on his desk. “You were just worn out.”
“I was exhausted all right. I just didn’t know how badly. Two years of watching Jerry getting sicker and sicker, trying to keep the practice going with interns, arguing with the pharmaceutical companies, losing client after client. I’m a good vet, but Jerry was the shining light in the practice. He was the guy all the old ladies wanted when Muffy had a sore throat or their stallion needed a blood test.
“After he died, I was stupid enough to think it was all over. It took a whole year of fighting with the IRS, the insurance companies, the hospitals about the bills for Jerry’s treatment, and finally losing everything we’d dreamed of in a bankruptcy auction. I suppose it’s no wonder I lost my nerve. It was as if everything I touched went wrong. I’ve been a widow two years, Rick. Sometimes it seems like a lifetime, and others it seems like a heartbeat.” She flashed him a smile. “Anyway, thanks for having enough faith in my professional comeback to recommend me for this job.”
“No good deed goes unpunished as someone once said.”
Rick was not as tall as Mac Thorn nor as handsome, but despite his reputation as being something of a fussbudget about the clinic, he was a formidable administrator and manager when faced with a crisis. He was also a darned good veterinarian, though he also preferred small animals to cows and horses.
“What does Sarah say?” he asked.
“She’s all for it. She’s going with J. K. Sanders and me Monday to pick our herd. She’s promised to help me get set up. And, Rick, remember the clinic will get all the business from the farm as long as I’m there. Plus a ready source of semitrained brawn on work release. Think of it as a win-win situation.”
“Yeah. If you say so.” He didn’t sound convinced. “You planning to take drugs with you? I’ll bet a bunch of those guys would just love to get their hands on some Ketamine or Winstrol.”
“I’ll only carry the bare essentials for emergencies double-locked in my vet cabinet in the back of my truck. They won’t even know I have them. My truck should be in view at the barn nearly all the time—either I’ll be able to see it or one of the COs will.”
“How many of those guys you think can pop a car lock and pick the lock on your cabinet within twenty seconds?”
“Probably all of them. The COs are supposed to keep that from happening.”
“Is the anxiety worth the money you’ll be making? Don’t try to tell me you’re not anxious.”
“Of course I’m anxious, but I’m also excited. It’s the first time since Jerry died that I’ve had the guts to try something new on my own. I don’t expect to do it for more than a couple of years. By that time I should have enough money to buy a partnership in a good practice somewhere, maybe even here, if you have room and I can afford the cost. I can’t go on working part-time forever. I have to build some sort of a life.”
“You picked one hell of a way to do it.” He closed his eyes for a moment. “Okay, but if I see a problem, I’ll let you know.”
“I would expect that. Thanks. You won’t be sorry.”
He stood up and pulled the top of his surgical greens down over his stomach. “Man, I’ve got to go on a diet. Margot feeds me too well. You have time to help me in surgery?”
“A couple of hours. What’ve you got?”
“Skin graft on that silky terrier that got burned. Floor furnaces should be outlawed.”
She followed him out of his office and down the hall, stopping at the storage cabinet to pick up a set of greens. Nancy Mayfield would have everything else ready, including the surgical packs. As she caught up to him at the door of the surgical theater, he asked, “What breed of cattle you getting?”
“Beefmaster.”
“Good God, woman, you pick the biggest breed of beef cattle in the world?”
“They want publicity, as well as a prize herd. J. K. Sanders and I figured Beefmaster would give them that.”
“You’re crazy.”
“You said that before.”
So far nobody except Sarah Scott’s new husband, Mark, who looked after the financial end of the clinic as part of his duties as CFO of Buchanan Enterprises, had encouraged her. He alone saw the financial gains she could make in a short time.
Anyone who thought bankruptcy was a quick and easy way to get out of paying bills had never tried it, but after Jerry’s death, there had been no other way out for Eleanor. Their practice had been liquidated to cover the cost of Jerry’s medical bills, but she had still felt like Sisyphus, sentenced to push a heavy rock to the top of a hill, only to have it slide back to the bottom again and again.
With the help of her friends at the clinic, she could pull off this new job. With Sarah pregnant, she’d have to shoulder more of the inevitable responsibilities at Creature Comfort. Good thing she’d gotten used to making do with little sleep during Jerry’s illness and after.
“MAN, I DIDN’T TAKE THIS JOB to shovel cow manure. I already broke two nails,” Sweet Daddy grumbled. Sweet Daddy worked hard to keep his small hands smooth, his fingernails long. One day shoveling aged cow manure from the old barn, unused for more than twenty years, would destroy his manicure and leave him with blisters.
“Shut up and shovel,” said Mike Newman, known to the inmates and the other COs as “Lard Ass Newman.” He was a bully and a sadist. If his authority was questioned or he felt any personal slight, payback was vicious. Steve had only come into contact with him a couple of times before today, but he’d been warned to avoid even a hint of arrogance.