24
“Tom?” J.J. called from the front of the barn as he stepped into the shadowed aisle.
He heard the munching of hay, and at the sound of his familiar voice, several heads poked over the stall doors, ears pricked with attention, wondering if more food would be delivered, or if a ride was in their immediate future. Opening the tack room door, he turned on the lights. No Tom. No staples on the floor, either. Taking a clean cloth, he wet it with warm water, grabbed the tub of ointment, and went into Lady’s stall. Like most of the stock, she was content to allow him to treat her as she finished breakfast. Her wounds didn’t look as bad today, but that didn’t mean he wasn’t just as pissed. By the time he’d finished talking with Carli yesterday, and tracking down where Tom had been working, the
