refrigerator door had once been graced with many pictures of Emi.
Emi’s birth had marked the beginning of the family’s next generation. There had been dozens of pictures. Leandra had sent them herself. Taken them herself.
Her heart ached and she bolted for the bathroom, overwhelmed by nausea. But even after, huddling on the cool tile floor with a washcloth pressed to her face, there was no peace for her.
Coming home to Weaver, no matter how temporarily, was only making the pain inside her worse.
When she heard the distinctive ring of her cell phone from the kitchen, she dragged herself off the floor. There was only one caller programmed into her cell phone with that particular ring tone.
Beethoven’s Fifth.
It had been Ted’s idea of a joke when he’d been messing around with Leandra’s latest cell phone to link the dramatic tune to their boss’s phone number. Leandra hadn’t had a chance to figure out how to change it. Given her propensity for losing cell phones at the rate of two or three per year, was it any wonder that she didn’t sit down with the programming guide every time?
She made it to the kitchen and wearily pulled out one of the chairs as she flipped open her latest phone. “What’s up, Marian?”
“Have you talked to that vet of yours yet about our problem?”
A fresh pain crept between Leandra’s eyes. Only this pain, at least, was not one that tore her soul to shreds. “I don’t consider Evan’s love life our problem, Marian. That’s not the focus of WITS. Remember?” Her tone went a little dry. “We’re presenting his life as a veterinarian.”
“Hon, if that were all we were doing, we’d call WITS a documentary. Not reality TV.”
The only reason Marian wanted to call her show reality TV was because it sounded more contemporary. More appealing than a documentary series to her all-important demographic—women aged 24-35. The fact that Walk in the Shoes had been just that—a small, but relatively well-respected documentary series about people and the careers they chose—before Marian came on board over a year earlier was obviously unimportant to all but a few.
And arguing the point had been getting Leandra absolutely nowhere. “I’ll see what I can find out.” She crossed her fingers beneath the table. Childish, perhaps, but the best she could do for her conscience.
“Don’t just see, Leandra. Do. This guy you found may be eye candy, but sweets only go so far. I want spice!” Marian’s voice rose. “Either you find it for me, or I’ll find someone who will.” Marian let out a huge breath. “Now,” she said more reasonably and Leandra could picture her sitting there, smiling through her big white teeth. “Are we on the same page here?”
Leandra grimaced. “I understand your page perfectly, Marian. Unless there’s something else, I need to get on with it. We’ll be taping again in a few hours.”
“Fine. But don’t forget. Spice, Leandra, spice.”
Leandra hung up her phone and shoved it in her purse. “Spice,” she muttered. No doubt the reason why Marian had sent Ted unannounced into Evan’s house that morning. A quest for spice.
“Artificial insemination. Ought to look sexier than it is.”
Leandra frowned at Ted. It was late afternoon and they’d been taping since midmorning. It was a toss-up who was more tired. Leandra and her crew set up on the outside of a small arena, or Evan and his, working with a showy black horse on the inside.
“Breeding horses is not just a business. There’s an art to it.” She kept her voice low, not wanting to add any more disruption to the day’s already frustrating attempts. “And the insemination isn’t happening right now, anyway.”
“No, they have to get that black horse to shoot his—”
“Yes,” Leandra cut him off. She’d been listening to jokes about the semen collection process long enough.
“Well, I guess you’d know all about it, growing up here.”
Here was Clay Farm, the horse ranch that her father had founded when he and her mother had been newly married. “Mmm-hmm.” She kept finding herself more distracted by the action they were trying to film than by her duties behind the scene. More specifically, she was more distracted watching Evan.
It was ridiculous, really. The man stood the same height as her own father, Jefferson, who was working alongside Evan. He wore similar clothing—dusty blue jeans and a T-shirt. His short black hair was slightly disheveled and there was definitely a hint of a five-o’clock shadow darkening his jaw—and it was only around two in the afternoon.
What was it about the guy that was so intriguing?
“Earth to Leandra.”
She moistened her lips, dragging her gaze from Evan to focus on Ted. “What?”
“I asked if you’d ever done that to a horse?”
“Only a stallion,” Leandra reminded wryly, ignoring her cameraman’s suggestive tone, “and, yes, I’ve helped collect semen before. And before you start making comments, it’s business. Big business. Do you know how high stud fees can run for a really impeccable pedigree?”
It was a moot question, since they’d been talking about such matters most of the day. Northern Light had yet to prove himself at stud, but his sire had commanded stud fees in the six figures. “They’re having some problems with Northern Light there because he’s never been ground collected before. He’s inexperienced.”
“Inexperienced?” Ted grinned slightly. “I’ll bet it’s more like he wants a warm body to snuggle up to instead of that cold tube thing Evan’s holding.”
“It’s called an A.V.—an artificial vagina. Oh, heads-up,” Leandra warned. “Howard is bringing out the mare again to tease Northern Light.”
Ted trained the camera again on the group of men surrounding the stallion and started filming. Leandra stepped slightly away, watching Northern Light’s reaction to the mare. His ears perked. The horse’s gleaming black coat twitched. His tail swished.
Bingo, Leandra thought, smiling to herself as the horse tried to lunge forward against the teasing rail, wanting to get at the mare.
Her father, at Northern Light’s head, kept the stallion from getting light in the front, making the horse resist his natural urge to rear up and mount something. Preferably the mare that had clearly, finally, spurred the young stud’s libido.
Even Ted jumped a little at Northern Light’s sudden interest, and in Leandra’s memory, there were few occasions that managed to startle the cameraman. But, she was pleased to note, the camera didn’t waver.
A nervous hand tugged at Leandra’s elbow from behind. Janet Stewart, another crew member, was frowning mightily, looking worried about the sight of the half ton of horse flesh seeming to struggle against his handlers. The girl put her mouth close to Leandra’s ear. This was only her second shoot, but so far Leandra had been pleased with the quiet girl’s work. “The horse can’t hurt the men, can he?” she whispered.
Leandra
