1.

Crista wasn’t prepared for what she saw when she left the derelict hovel of a trailer sitting on the hill and walked down the sloping field into the barn. She’d seen the animals outside, watched the pigs with their ribs showing and the puppies stacked three high in wire cages, sniffing at piles of their own waste to weigh the possibility of it being palatable. She watched quietly, recording with a small hand-held digital video recorder, when the livestock wandered by, picking through the rusting junk and mud in search of a stray leaf or a spot with mud liquid enough to drink.

The part of her that closed off and let her do her job first, and deal with the horrors that she saw as a cop later, kept her calm through the documentation, the animal welfare raid, and through most of the inspection of the house. When she found the cats–three fur covered skeletons were all that was left–she held solid. But when she walked into the dark barn the wall opened and everything started to spill out.

The word “Cody” was glued onto a wood plate in letters made of thin rope, but the plate itself was half chewed from where the creature within—Crista wasn’t sure she could still call it a horse—had tried to eat the wood planks of the stall because there was nothing else to eat.

Looking down at the horse, shrunken and folded over himself on bare, hard dirt, Crista couldn’t see a single thing right. She wasn’t an expert. She didn’t even consider herself experienced, but she could see so many things wrong.

His hips and ribs were clearly visible. His hooves were long, splintered and turned up at the end. There was a spot on his nose where the filthy, mud-caked halter had rubbed the skin to the point of bleeding. There were other spots along his body where hair was missing and a foul, rotted smell came from either him, or something he was laying on. His head drooped, his coat was dull and flaky. There was no question he’d been sickly. For a moment, she thought he’d died in his sleep maybe, and still sat that way. She hoped it had been that peaceful for the poor thing in the end.

Tears welling up to her eyes she raised her camera to document the scene and Cody jerked his head up in response.

“Son of a bitch.”

Crista set the camera on a nearby dusty box, ironically painted with a faded red cross and mounted on the outside of the stall wall. Then she looked around for a rope of some kind. She found a filthy, rusted lead rope, bull snap caked with mud on the end, in the dirt at the end of the row, snatched it up and ran back to where the horse was struggling to get to his feet.

He was too weak to panic, she noted, trying to shove the tears back down because they were doing nothing but making it hard for her to see. But he was too weak to get up too.

Oakes and Preston found her only moments later as she tried to use her own body to give the horse the leverage he needed to get to his feet. She wasn’t a slight woman by anyone’s standards, but Cody was at least eight hundred pounds, underweight and sick, and her one sixty wasn’t doing much to help.

“What are you doing?” Preston asked. He was three hundred solid pounds of the kind of male strength that defied simpler things like the laws of physics.

“Trying to get him up. Laying down is bad right? And he couldn’t get up on his own.”

Cody doubled his weak efforts to gain his feet. His forelegs shook, his balance precarious at best. Preston didn’t hesitate. He got behind the horse, risking the possibility of being kicked either by accident or on purpose if it flailed. After a moment Oakes, still pristine save for his boots, joined in.

“Come on, baby, you can do it.” Crista didn’t even realize she was cheering the horse on as she pulled. She wasn’t the the type to show more than a stoic face, even to the worst kind of victims, but her secret emotions were safe with the horse, who would never be able to tell anyone. Oakes and Preston could go fuck themselves if they decided to make a big deal about it later.

“Come, Cody. Come on, boy.”

“Shit, she’s already named it.”

Crista gave Oakes a glare, then with a monumental push the horse came up onto all fours, immediately stumbling a few steps to the side before stabilizing. Crista swallowed a victorious whoop then a little shake when she realize that, even though she was a decent five eight, the horse’s dull brown head was about a foot higher than hers. He was big. The intimidation factor tried to kick in, but Crista buried it behind practiced focus.

“Now what?” she asked.

“There’s lots of grass out there, go let him eat some so we don’t have to try to pick him up again.”

Preston glared at Oakes. “Are you an idiot?” He turned to Crista. “Grass is the last thing he needs. It could make him real sick, any food could. Walk him slowly up and down the hall here, just to keep him on his feet. Do not let him eat. After being starved it can make his stomach real upset and cause a lot of problems. I’ll send the vet in as soon as he gets here.”

Crista nodded. Preston glared at Oakes again. “Haven’t you ever heard of founder? Or colic?”

“I’m not a horse person,” Oakes protested as the pair walked out to where the rest of the team waited.

“How do you live in horse country and not pick this stuff up?”

“How did you know all that?” Oakes asked, brushing at the dirt on his pants.

“My daughter’s been riding since she was four,” Preston answered. “Hard not to absorb some of it.”

The other officer’s voices faded until the barn was quiet, save for the soft steps of hoof and boot in loose dirt and Crista’s quiet murmurings of encouragement. She felt like she had stumbled upon the steed of Death himself. Barely more than a rug over an equine skeleton, Crista had the sick feeling this would be the last time she’d see Cody.

The cavalry arrived in the form of a convoy of trucks and trailers from a local riding stable. A series of frenzied calls for help had ended with the senior officer in charge nearly in tears of desperation because they had over two dozen animals that needed to be transported and provided for immediately, not to mention needing vet attention, and there was no organized farm animal rescue in the area. The animals could not stay in pens that were nothing but mud and rusting junk. But city animal control firmly told them they didn’t have the facilities for pigs, sheep, goats, horses, and what looked like a mud covered ostrich. The puppies and near feral barn cats they’d agreed to accept though.

What started as a raid on a potential illegal puppy mill had become a cobbled-together attempt to save a farm full of animals.

The barn manager at Deepdale Acres, a few miles away hadn’t hesitated. She took down the address and fifteen minutes later eight trailers pulled up. It was clear the manager had roused a fleet of volunteers because nothing matched, save for the biggest truck and trailer combo in coordinating colors.

A woman in jeans, a T-shirt and a brown pony tail jumped out, followed by at least two people from each truck. Crista hid a weak in the knees feeling behind a scowl as Cody, despite his weakness, tried to bulldoze his way toward a weedy patch of grass again. The ponytail woman caught Crista’s eyes and made a beeline for her.

“Please tell me you’re a vet,” Crista said.

“No. Dr. Julie is on her way to the barn. We’re just here to help. You look like you need it.”

“I have no clue what I’m doing. I found him in the barn, laying down and barely moving.”

“Do all the animals look like this?”

Crista shook her head. “There are three other horses who were out in a paddock. They’re not this skinny, but one of them is very pregnant. They had grass and weeds to eat though. He was locked in a stall inside.”

The woman nodded. “Okay, some horses have a problem with trailers. Do you think you could try to lead him up onto one, or would you prefer someone else do it? If he starts getting scared or pulling away, just tell me and we’ll get someone else to help.”

Cody rested his head against Crista, smearing slobber and dust over her uniform. “I can do it,” Crista answered.

Crista and Cody followed the woman over to the largest trailer. She undid a few latches and the whole lower half of the back of the trailer lowered down like a ramp leading inside. Crista didn’t know what came next. Did Cody just walk up the ramp?

She walked forward and Cody followed. His front hoof hit the fiberglass of the ramp and he immediately stepped back away from it.

“Just walk right in. There’s a door near the front for you to get out through.”

Crista took a resolved breath and stepped up onto the ramp. Cody stretched his neck as she moved, then took a heavy, tentative step into the trailer. The woman from the barn appeared behind him and gave him a good shove.

“Come on, it’s okay.” Crista found herself saying. Then she made herself shut up, because she didn’t even talk to the kids she ran into on the job like that.

“Keep encouraging him,” the barn woman called.

Crista rolled her eyes, and felt like a fool, but started talking again. There was no way the horse knew English, but her voice kept his ears pricked forward toward her, and it kept him walking.

Cody’s heavy steps clanked into the trailer. Crista led him as far as she could then, sweating and sneezing from the dust and bits of hay that lifted into the air with any movement inside the trailer, she leaned against the wall. Cody kept coming until he couldn’t any more, butting his head against her to demand more scratches. The barn woman stepped up behind him and released a metal gate from the wall. It swung closed, clanking into place and trapping Cody in the trailer at a slant. Cody shifted his weight.

“Get his head up!”

“What?”

But it was too late. Cody tucked his back legs under him and went down to a laying position on the trailer floor. Crista didn’t see how there was enough room for him to lay down, but his big body folded on itself.

The barn lady cursed.

“This is bad isn’t it?”

“Yes!” The barn lady took a breath. She unlatched the metal divider and it sprung back from the pressure Cody was putting on it. There hadn’t been enough room for him to lay after all. “Horses weigh a lot,” the barn lady was saying. “Any time they lay down it puts pressure on their organs, so it’s not good for them to do it for long. But this guy here–”

“Cody,” Crista said.

“Cody,” the woman accepted with a nod. “Cody is weak, starved. He’s laying down because he doesn’t have the strength to stand anymore, and if he keeps going down eventually it’s unlikely he’ll have the strength to get up. Ben!”

The last word she shouted. But Crista crouched down at Cody’s head, stroking him and whispering gently. She didn’t know which words were spilling out of her mouth, she was overwhelmed by the thought that Cody had just laid down to die.

Dee Turner was frustrated close to tears before Sandra even stepped into ear shot. It was turning out to be a steamy day, the kind where the burning sun and thick humidity were evenly matched as annoyances with the constant interruptions that led to Dee being behind schedule and forced to do the hardest physical work of the day at the hottest point of the day. Her shirt was moist with sweat, her skin gritty with dust, and she was trying very hard to get as much done as possible between her late-morning beginners group lesson and the after-camp intermediate group. After that her schedule was dry erase board-shaped and filled with a dozen little squares of private and semi-private lessons.

Dee heard Sandra laughing, high, bubbly and carefree, before Sandra peered through the bars of the stall. Sunlight filtered in through the big open doors behind Sandra, outlining her in a hazy glow and casting Dee into a gloomy, sweaty darkness.

Sandra looked perfect, of course. Her dark blonde hair was pulled back into one of those slick ponytails that Dee could never manage, where not a strand of hair was loose. She wore makeup, which looked freshly applied, and waved a hand full of French tips, friendly-like, at Dee, who stood, pitchfork in hand, halfway through her fifteenth stall cleanup with ten more in her near future.

“You work here,” Sandra said with a bright smile. “I need you to help me out.”

The piles of manure looked enticing compared to whatever Sandra might want. She was likely just searching out the grubbiest person in the barn to make her look that much better. But Sandra had a bigger mouth than the bits and pieces horses left behind, and therefore was potentially more damaging. The dirty stalls wouldn’t complain if Dee put them off a little longer. Dee had learned very quickly how much of her job was customer service, and, out of the horses and the owners, who were the real customers.

Dee pasted on an answering smile–it was easy with the stickiness of the sweat on her face–and squeezed her way past the wheelbarrow in the stall door. “What can I do for you, Miss Wallis?”

Dee spotted the man with Sandra only after crawling past the soiled sawdust. He stood further back, barely inside the barn, looking out over the fields. Those fields were the reason Sandra had moved her horses into Deepdale Acres’ care. In the competition off-season there was plenty of room to let her horses have a real vacation.

The man with Sandra looked about as perfect as Sandra did. His red T-shirt and blue jeans were casual enough for a trip to the barn, but still brightly colored, crisp and spotless. He was well-built, even if there was a layer of fat over what she could see of his arms, softening them from something monstrous into something pleasantly male. His hair, a colorless dishwater blond, was pulled back into a short ponytail, his at the back of his neck rather than bouncing at the top of his head like Sandra’s. He had a vacant sort of smile on his face, and a pleasantly lost look to his eyes.

Yes, he was the type of male Sandra would bring in. Obedient and handsome and probably about as smart as a turd. He turned to them and looked at Dee as if he’d never seen a woman sweating, on edge, smeared with mud, sawdust and horse hair, before. Dee tried to give him a friendly smile as well, but she couldn’t screen out the suspicion that he only worked up a sweat when he visited whatever over-priced gym he kept a membership with.

“We want to go for a ride,” Sandra was saying. Dee tore her obvious stare away from the man-accessory behind Sandra and tried to pay attention. “It’ll take forever for me to groom and saddle two horses, so I hoped I could talk you into helping me. Just for a bit.”

Sandra looked at Dee with a happy sort of pleading look on her face. The tears threatened to rise again. No, cleaning all the stalls in ninety degree heat after being up at six a.m. to feed the horses so that the owners could ride early, before the heat really kicked in, then having to clean up after the boarders and kids taking lessons before feeding the horses again, none of that was enough. Now she had to stop everything to saddle a horse for Sandra so that she could show off for her date without getting too much horse hair on her name brand T-shirt.

Dee wanted to go back into the stall and answer Sandra with a good hard poke from the pitchfork, but instead she tried not to scowl and said, “Sure, I have a minute.”

So she found herself standing in one of the freshly cleaned stalls, listening to Sandra laugh and the low rumbling of her male friend speaking back to her. Dancer, Sandra’s Warmblood mare mostly cooperated, other than an attempted nip when Dee bent over to brush down the mare’s hind legs. Sandra, so helpfully, set her spare saddle out on top of her tack trunk, with the bridle slung over it. In fifteen minutes both horses were brushed, saddled and mounted and Dee stood in the barn doorway watching their rear ends vanishing toward the trails surrounding the farm, feeling only slightly more gritty than she had before.

She idly hoped Sandra got thrown right in front of her boy toy, but she wouldn’t. Sandra was probably the best rider in the barn. She had three horses, each one worth more alone that Dee’s truck, and she had mentioned, more than once, that the horses would only be stabled at Deepdale when they weren’t competing or in special training.

There was a group of the stable people at Deepdale that showed horses, but none of them toured the country in a matching RV and horse trailer, both air-conditioned, while doing so, save for Sandra. A four-hour drive was the furthest Dee had ever had to transport horses for an event, and that had been a special case, when the barn drill team made it to the state level show.

Dee never competed. There was no time. When she got the job as stable manager she’d been in heaven, for about a day, until she realized her dreams of exercising a horse, then dismounting, handing the reins over to a stable boy before stepping over to another ring, still in pristine breeches and shiny boots, to instruct a group of starry-eyed child beginners, were way beyond idealistic thinking. In the first month she’d cleaned out more stalls than she could count. Three months in she’d moved into the little cottage at the back of the property, behind the closest paddock. She’d been spending so much time at work she’d figured renting the cottage would just make things easier. It was two months before Jessie, the stable owner, thought to put her on a horse and finally declared her riding skills serviceable.

Today Dee had been looking forward to only half a day at work, before the full-time stable hand, had called in sick. He wasn’t the type to lie, or shirk work, but Dee couldn’t help griping at him under her breath as she got back to work. He, at least would have had some joke or smart ass comment to make that would have made Dee forget that she’d just seen one of the most attractive men she’d probably ever see, and she’d been angry, sweat and filthy when she’d done it. At least the day couldn’t get much worse.