Thoroughbreds and Trailer Trash Read Online Free Page A

to remember all their names—rose and rushed away with a bounce in his step. Derek stretched his legs and exhaled. Clearly high unemployment in the area would make changes palatable and also help keep the most qualified staff. Tiresome though. Everyone had been nodding and bending over backwards, telling him anything they thought he wanted to hear, everyone but Jenna.
    He swiveled his chair toward the big window, checking the parking lot for her car. There it was, jammed right beside his Audi, along with Fords, Fiats and a couple other rust buckets. That motley mix was definitely not good for Three Brooks’ image. If he were to establish this as an elite facility, it had to look the part. He scrawled a notation on his pad, then rose from his chair and stalked down the aisle. It was time to see his new staff in action.
    The hyperbaric oxygen chamber, in his opinion the most valuable technology at Three Brooks, was his first stop.
    When he walked into the room, the technician sitting by the blinking control panel slammed down her mug and jerked upright in the chair. “Good afternoon, Mr. Burke.”
    Behind her, a horse’s flicking ears were visible through the porthole window of the oxygen chamber. “Good morning,” he said. “How many minutes is your average session?”
    “Sixty.”
    “And you never leave the controls? You’re always watching the horse?”
    “Absolutely.” The technician’s head bobbed. “This is a pressurized environment. Someone always has to watch the monitors.”
    His eyes narrowed on the steam rising from her mug. “You never leave? Not even to grab a coffee?”
    Her gaze darted downward. She flushed but didn’t speak.
    “Well?” he asked.
    She withered under his flat tone. “Maybe just to grab a coffee, but it’s only for a second—”
    “When a horse is in the chamber, you do not leave. Ever. This is a flammable environment. If you need a break, call on the phone for a technician to replace you. I assume we have other trained staff members?”
    “Yes, sir.”
    He nodded in dismissal and pushed through the end door, watching as two handlers held a bay gelding on a treadmill. Water bubbled against the transparent sides, swirling around the horse’s legs.
    The digital display showed one minute remaining.
    “How many times has this horse had hydrotherapy?” he asked.
    “At least five times, sir,” the shorter handler said, frantically scanning his chart. “It’s noted here somewhere.”
    “So you would assume he’ll be quiet and not scramble out, possibly injuring himself or his handlers?”
    “Yes, I’d definitely assume that. But horses are always unpredictable, sir.”
    “Exactly. Which is why you should have a chain over his nose.”
    “Of course. We were just…hurrying. Sorry, sir.”
    Derek nodded and stepped back. The second man grabbed a chain and looped it over the gelding’s nose. Clearly this animal wasn’t going to cause any problems. However, the Center’s future patients would be fresh off the track and powered up from racing. He’d wait a few weeks before treating any top class horses. Let the staff practice on cheaper, more expendable animals.
    He pushed through the swinging door and into the solarium. A chestnut mare stood under the infrared lights, head lowered, hind leg tilted, clearly enjoying her light treatment.
    A slim brunette nodded but didn’t meet his gaze. “Good afternoon. I’m Anna,” she mumbled.
    “I’m Mr. Burke.” He stepped closer. “If you have owners or trainers checking on their horse, what would you tell them about this treatment?”
    “That infrared stimulates circulation and helps skin issues or dermatitis. That it promotes their general well-being.”
    She faltered and he nodded encouragingly.
    “I might also say,” she added, “that they sometimes fall asleep under the lights and that it’s especially beneficial after a massage. And that they love it.”
    “Very good, Anna. Now jog my memory—where exactly is