Santa Clawed

light, as did the continuous skylight running on both sides of the roof seam. “Coming down now.”
    “Sure is.” Fair clicked the photo. “We need the snow.”
    “Not much last winter,” Paul agreed.
    “There are so many people drawing off the water table now in Albemarle County that we’re all going to be in trouble in a decade or even less.” Big Mim and her husband, the mayor of Crozet, were particularly concerned about the environment.
    “All over. The human animal will suck this planet dry.” Fair carefully put the plates in a special pouch. “Mim, I’m ninety-nine percent sure she’s popped a splint. I’ll know more after I examine the X-rays, of course, but chances are it needs to reattach. She’ll have a bit of jewelry there, so that’s the end of strip classes.”
    Bone splints are not uncommon in horses. Usually the fragment does grow back to the main bone. Occasionally it doesn’t, which causes the animal pain and then the vet has to surgically remove it. Like any surgery, it runs up the bills, and the recovery time bores the bejesus out of the horse, especially one as young and full of herself as Maggie, her barn name.
    “Oh, well.” Big Mim waved her hand. “I can live without strip classes. I leave those to Kenny Wheeler.”
    A strip class is a conformation class wherein the animal is stripped of tack. The judge bases his ribbons on the makeup of the animal, not performance. It’s a beauty pageant. Kenny Wheeler, a famous horseman, won those classes all over the United States.
    “He’s got some good ones.” Paul appreciated Mr. Wheeler’s acumen.
    “He has more money than God.” Big Mim laughed.
    “So do you,” Fair teased her.
    Most people were afraid of Big Mim and would never tease her, but Fair, knowing her since childhood, could get away with it. The fact that he was incredibly handsome helped.
    “Maybe St. Peter. Not God.” She laughed at herself, then told Paul, “How about putting her back in her stall? Let’s not turn her out until we get the full report.”
    “Yes, madam.” He touched his lad’s cap and walked the bright filly back to her stall.
    Fair carried the X-ray equipment and plates out to his truck. Like most vets, this was his mobile office. People had no idea how expensive it was for an equine vet to be properly equipped. The special truck cover alone cost $17,000.
    Fair returned to Big Mim’s large office. “Sit down.” Big Mim motioned for Fair to sit by the fireplace.
    The granary-oak floor shone. The sofa and chairs, covered in a dark tartan plaid, added color. A gorgeous painting, a hunt scene by Michael Lyne, hung over the fireplace. The walls, covered in framed photographs, bore testimony to Big Mim’s successes in the show ring and the hunt field. She also had a photograph of Mary Pat Reines jumping over a fence in perfect, perfect form. Ever since she was young, this photo had prodded her on. She’d look at it and vow to ride more elegantly. Mary Pat had been Alicia Palmer’s protector and lover when Alicia was in her twenties. Big Mim had never realized how a fierce rival pushes one to excellence until Mary Pat passed away. She missed her socially and truly missed her in the show ring. In some ways, the world had come full circle. Big Mim struck terror in the hearts of younger competitors because she was as elegant over fences as Mary Pat had been. And Alicia had come home from Hollywood once again to be part of the community.
    “Fire feels good. Nothing quite like it, the hardwood odor, the flickering glow.” Fair gratefully sank into the deep chair.
    “In the old days, a small wood-burning stove would often be put in the tackroom. Not the safest solution. I remember the barn rats—what my father called ‘the grooms’—huddled around the potbellied stove. There they’d be, wiping down the tack, breaking apart the bridles. In those days the bits were sewn into the bridles. Looks better than how it is today.” She paused a moment, then smiled. “The vice of the old, recalling the golden years that correspond to one’s youth.”
    “Your golden years never stopped.” Fair complimented her, and in truth, Big Mim looked marvelous for a woman in her seventies.
    “Now, now,” she chided, but loved it. “Drink?”
    “You know what, I’m going to fix myself a cup of tea. You stay seated.”
    “Then I’m not much of a hostess.” She watched as he rose to go to the small kitchen area.
    “You’re the best hostess in the