Picture Of Perfection

“Beer is fine,” Carter replied, glancing around the room. Faded linoleum covered the floors and a small table and chairs stood in the center of the room. He could smell the aroma of cilantro in the air and his mouth watered. Carter liked to cook, but didn’t find much time to do it during racing season.

Herman pulled two frosty bottles of beer out of the refrigerator and handed one of them to Carter. Then he took a seat at the table. “Pull up a chair and make yourself comfortable. Gillian will be a while. That Castello guy never stops talking.”

It occurred to Carter that he didn’t need to stay until Gillian returned. He just needed to get Herman’s permission to take a blood sample from Picture of Perfection and he could be on his way.

On the other hand, he wasn’t in a hurry. He had looked over the Quest horses this morning and would do so again tonight. They all seemed to be in good shape and ready to be put through their paces tomorrow.

Carter sat down and took a long sip of his beer, savoring the way it washed down the back of his throat.

“Hope you don’t mind waiting for her in the kitchen,” Herman said. “This is where I spend most of my time. My Marie always wanted me to entertain guests in the parlor, but that’s much too fussy for an old cowboy like me. Now that she’s gone, I just bring folks here. Seems more homey, don’t you think?”

Carter agreed, hoping the informal atmosphere would make the man agreeable to his request. He took another sip of his beer, wondering how best to broach the subject of a blood test.

“You’re a veterinarian, aren’t you?” Herman asked him. “I think that’s what Gillian told me.”

“That’s right. I work for Quest Stables in Woodford County, Kentucky.”

Herman nodded. “They raise some mighty fine horses there. Do you suppose they’d mind my asking you for a second opinion? I’m sure they only hire the best. I’m willing to pay of course.”

Carter leaned forward, sensing an opening. “I’m always happy to offer advice. Is this about a horse?”

Herman shook his head. “No, my dog, Ranger. He’s a border collie and he’s come up kinda lame these last few weeks. My old vet retired to Florida last Christmas. I’m just not sure this new vet we hired knows what’s really wrong with him.”

“What’s he told you?

“That it’s probably a muscle strain and it just needs time to heal. The only thing is that Ranger doesn’t seem to be getting any better.”

“I can look at him now, if you want.”

Herman chuckled. “Well, the thing is, he’s not so bad that he can’t wander off. I haven’t seen Ranger in a while. He’s probably out chasing rabbits, though he certainly can’t run fast enough to catch them.”

Carter could see that Herman cared about his dog, just as the Prestons cared about all the horses at Quest. His respect for the man was growing by the minute.

“Did your vet do any lab work on him?” Carter asked him. Maybe instead of taking money for his opinion, Herman would agree to let him have a vial of Picture of Perfection’s blood. A barter that would satisfy both of them.

“Nope. I’ll show you what I’ve got.” Herman slid off his stool and disappeared from the kitchen. He returned a few minutes later with a thin file folder in his hand. “Here’s Ranger’s health records from the day he was born.”

Carter took the file from him and scanned the pages inside.

“It all looks fairly normal.”

“That’s good I suppose.” He tipped his beer bottle up and drained it. With a satisfied sigh, he set the empty bottle on the table. “Are you ready for another round?”

“Not quite yet.” Carter wasn’t certain he could keep up with the man. He watched Herman retrieve another beer from the refrigerator, then waited until he sat back down to broach the subject that had brought him here today.

“I’m hoping you might be able to do a favor for me.”

Herman reached for the bottle opener. “Name it.”

“I assume you’ve heard about the problem with Leopold’s Legacy?”

Herman nodded. “A real shame. That horse had Triple Crown winner written all over him. Any idea what happened there?”

Carter shook his head. “We’re still trying to figure it out. Despite all the rumors, there was no fraud involved. Somehow, Leopold’s Legacy was sired by another stallion. We just don’t know which one or how it happened. If we don’t figure it out soon, all the other horses majority-owned by Quest will be banned from racing.”

Herman furrowed his brow. “And you think I can help in some way?”

Carter sucked in a deep breath. “I knew you could help as soon as I saw that portrait of Picture of Perfection at the silent auction. He looks like the identical twin of Leopold’s Legacy.”

Herman was silent and Carter gave him time to soak in the information.

“I think it’s very possible,” Carter said at last, “that the same stallion that sired Picture of Perfection was also the sire for Leopold’s Legacy. But the only way I can prove it is with a blood test.”

“You don’t need a blood test. I can tell you that Picture of Perfection was sired by Apollo’s Ice.”

“We thought the same thing about Leopold’s Legacy.”

Herman got up from his stool and walked over to the large kitchen window that overlooked the rolling meadow. He stood there a while, not saying anything, and Carter wondered what he was thinking about.

At last, Herman turned around, an odd expression on his face. “So let me get this straight,” he said slowly. “You want me to give you permission to do a blood test to prove that Picture of Perfection wasn’t sired by Apollo’s Ice? Even when all his records say otherwise?”

“Quest Stables found out the hard way that the records for Leopold’s Legacy were wrong. The same thing could happen to Picture of Perfection.”

“That would be a strange coincidence, don’t you think?’

“I’d think you’d want to know the truth, one way or the other.”

Herman met his gaze. “It’s a hell of a lot for someone to ask.”

“I know.” He didn’t have a clue what Herman was thinking, but Carter knew he couldn’t back down now. Not when he was this close. “Will you let me do it?”

Gillian suddenly appeared in the open kitchen doorway, her green eyes blazing with anger. “Over my dead body.”

Four

Gillian hadn’t meant to eavesdrop, but Carter’s words had frozen her in the doorway, their impact hitting her like a fist. He hadn’t purchased her portrait of Picture of Perfection because he liked her art. He hadn’t spent time with her because he was interested in her as an artist or as a woman.

It had all been a ruse.

Carter turned around to face her. “Gillian…I didn’t see you…”

She held up one hand, refusing to let him fool her again. “It’s time for you to leave.”

Herman’s eyes widened at her tone, but he sat back in his chair without saying a word.

Carter cleared his throat. “I don’t know what you heard, but…”

“I heard the real reason you’re here,” she interjected. “And the answer is no, so there’s nothing left for you to say.”

Carter glanced at Herman, then back at Gillian. “If you’ll just let me explain…”

“Explain what?” she cried. “That you want to try and prove that Picture of Perfection isn’t a Thoroughbred? That the reputation of Quest Stables is more important to you than your own integrity?”

His blue eyes hardened. “You’re wrong about me. I’m not out to hurt either one of you, but the truth has a way of coming out.”

“Is that supposed to be some kind of threat?” she asked incredulously.

“Take it as a friendly warning.”

Something twisted inside of her. She hated the fact that her instincts had let her down. Again. Carter had fooled her completely. What he wanted could only hurt her, and Gillian wasn’t about to let that happen.

“Picture of Perfection looks identical to Leopold’s Legacy,” he explained. “It’s only logical to suspect that they might share the same sire. I’m not trying to pull a fast one on you.”

“Really?” she exclaimed, wondering how he could keep a straight face. “You’ve been deceiving me since I met you. Pretending to be interested in that portrait and in my art.”

And in me, she added silently to herself.

“I am interested,” he insisted.

Gillian couldn’t listen to him anymore. She walked out of the kitchen and headed for the front door, disappointment welling inside of her. All she wanted to do was escape to the sanctuary of her bedroom and forget she’d ever met him.

“Gillian, wait,” he implored. “I don’t want to leave like this. Why don’t you and I and Herman sit down and talk this out.”

She turned around, steeling herself against a change in his tactics. “There’s something you should know before you leave. My ranch borders Herman’s land, I use his pasture, but Picture of Perfection belongs to me. I’m the only one who can give you what you want.”

Carter stared at her. “All I want is one small vial of blood.”

“The answer is no.”

He hesitated for a moment, as if he wanted to say something else, then he walked out the door.

Gillian slammed it behind him, wishing she’d never set eyes on Carter Phillips.

“He sure got you all riled up.”

She turned to see Herman standing in the foyer, a bemused smile on his face.

“I can’t remember the last time I saw you lose your temper like that,” he said, rubbing his hand across his gray whiskers. “Seems like it might be about more than the horse.”

She took a deep breath. Maybe she had overreacted just a bit. In truth, the constant nightmares and the lack of sleep had left her with a hair-trigger temper. Her emotions had been so raw lately that Carter’s deception had caught her completely off guard.

As her anger ebbed away, a deep sadness filled the void. “I’m just tired of men who can’t be trusted.”

His smile faded as walked over to her and looped one arm around her shoulder. “I’m sorry, Gilly.”

“You know I don’t mean you, Herman.” She leaned into his shoulder, grateful for the comfort he always provided her. Her godfather might have let her down in the past, but she’d never doubted his love for her.

He kissed the top of her head. “Forget about Dr. Phillips. The way you laid into him, I don’t think he’ll be back here again.”

She forced a smile. “I hope you’re right.”

“I’m always right,” he said with a chuckle, then he headed for the door. “Maybe I should make sure he doesn’t take a detour around the pasture on his way out. The man doesn’t strike me as the sneaky type, but then you never know.”

Gillian watched him leave, then headed to her room. Once inside, she grabbed her sketch pad, seeking the solace that drawing gave her.

The charcoal pencil flew over the paper, the lines coming together to form Carter’s square jaw and strong mouth. She worked intensely, never stopping as his face gradually appeared on the paper in front of her.

Shortly after the fire, Gillian’s psychologist had suggested art therapy as a way of working through her grief and providing an outlet for her emotions. Gillian had been so full of rage and sadness and confusion and hadn’t known how to deal with any of it.

The art therapist had told her to literally draw out her feelings on paper, then dispose of them in some way that would symbolically represent discarding the negative emotions inside of her.

She was certainly ready to dispose of Carter Phillips. As she sat cross-legged on her bed, the sketch pad in her lap, she remembered the way his eyes crinkled when he smiled. The curl of his lashes. The tiny bump in his nose.

As an artist she often noticed little details around her that other people missed. The shape of his ears. The thin scar just above his left eyebrow. The tiny nick in his chin.

Her pencil slowed as she worked on the wave in his dark hair and tried to perfect the set of his blue eyes. When she finally looked up at the clock, she was surprised to find that two hours had passed since she’d begun drawing.

She sucked in a deep breath, realizing that the last time she’d been this absorbed in a sketch was shortly after the fire. That sketch had been of her parents and it had hung in a frame above her dresser for the last twelve years.

Her sketches and paintings had proven more powerful than any antidepressant in releasing the chains of grief that had bound her soul after the fire. They had also revealed a latent art talent that had flourished under the skilled tutelage of her art therapist.

At last, Gillian put the charcoal pencil down and straightened her legs, wincing at the ache in her stiff knees. She’d been sitting in one place for too long and now her right foot was asleep. She paced the floor, trying to get rid of the pins and needles sensation flooding her foot.

Then she turned back to the bed and stared at the sketch of Carter Phillips. He stared back at her, looking so honest and handsome that she wanted to cry.

Her anger had faded and the desire to crumple up the sketch of Carter and toss him into the trash no longer burned inside of her.

She closed the sketch pad, then set it on her desk. After so many years of therapy, she knew her overreaction to his motives for buying the portrait was a symptom of a deeper problem. The nightmares were starting to take a toll on every aspect of her life. She couldn’t prepare for a gallery showing with the lack of sleep she was experiencing. That wouldn’t be fair to her or to Jon.

She’d tried sleeping pills in the past, hoping they’d prevent the nightmares or, at the very least, stop the debilitating aftereffects. But the pills only seemed to make things worse. The tranquilizing effect had made it harder for her to waken from the nightmare and left her shaky and dizzy.

Gillian opened the center drawer of the desk and pulled out a slip of paper with a phone number on it. Her best friend had given her the name of a respected hypnotherapist over a week ago, but she’d been putting off making the call.

She stared at the telephone on her desk, wondering if she’d be strong enough to let someone take her back into the past. The nightmares were already painful, but this time she’d be volunteering to relive the heat of the fire, the smoke-filled air, and the panic-stricken terror that had engulfed her that horrible night.

Taking a deep breath, Gillian picked up the receiver and dialed the number.

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