Every Second Counts by D. Jackson Leigh Read Free Book Online

shook her head. “Do not ask that in front of Leah or I’ll break your other leg.”
     
    *
     
    The dishes done and the nursery tour over, the group drifted outside to say good night to Tory and Leah. Every time Leah turned her back, Ryder held up her fingers and silently mouthed the corresponding numbers, “One to ten?” She dropped her hands quickly when Leah turned to her.
    “So, how long you here for?”
    “A couple months. Three, tops. I can’t stay out of the limelight too long or my sponsor gets antsy about the money they’re still paying me.”
    Leah looked her over, as if evaluating her worth. “I’ve done a few free-lance articles for sports magazines. I could put out some feelers to see who might be interested in a piece about you while you’re here to rehab. That is, if you’re interested.”
    “Sure. That’d be great.” Ryder hesitated. “Do I get to read it before you publish? I don’t want to be part of a rant about the dangers of rodeo and how it should be banned as a sport.”
    “Absolutely not.” Leah crossed her arms. “It will have to contain a paragraph or two of statistics on rodeo injuries, or I wouldn’t be doing a good job. You’ll just have to trust me that the rest will be a profile of you, not a diatribe on the rodeo business.”
    Tory’s nod told Ryder that Leah’s word was good.
    “I can live with that.”
    “Okay. I’ll let you know.” Leah turned to slide her hand down Tory’s chest and tuck her fingers into the waistband of her jeans. “Come on, stud, let’s go home. All this talk about hitting on women has put me in the mood to remind you why you chose me.” She winked at Ryder before releasing Tory and getting into the BMW.
    Tory slapped Ryder on the back and hopped into her veterinary truck to follow, but stopped before the truck had rolled more that a few feet. She lowered the window and grinned.
    “Nine, maybe nine and a half. Leah’s the only ten I know.”

Chapter Five
     
    Bridgette cursed the unmanned reception desk in the lobby of the art building. Another victim of budget cuts, the receptionist had been fired and only volunteers now manned the desk—when they could find them.
    The auction committee was scheduled to meet tomorrow, and she needed the brochure that listed the art displayed in the building’s lobby and gallery. Maybe they couldn’t sell those paintings, but they could begin by contacting the donors and asking if they would also contribute something else for the auction.
    The third drawer she opened revealed a stack of the glossy trifolds. She took several for the committee and laid the rest on the desk for people to help themselves.
    She glanced down the list of paintings. They have an Eleanor White displayed here? She chastised herself for never taking a thorough tour of the gallery before now. The paintings in the lobby were familiar enough, but she’d done little more than glance around the cavernous solarium where an impressive collection was displayed on a maze of eight-foot-tall panels, bathed in natural light.
    She made her way slowly around the gallery, making notes of artist names and donor plaques. Some obviously could be contacted directly. Others would take some research to track down. There were few people in the gallery, mostly students she ignored as she moved through the exhibit. But something in the husky voice that drifted her way made her look up from taking notes.
    “Of course it’s art. It may be computer-generated, but the very concept began as a seed in the mind of the artist. I’m sure the artist started with a concept, then a vision. Bringing this to life may have been much more difficult than layering paint on a canvas.”
    Bridgette stepped around a panel to where two figures sat on a low bench, staring at the digital projection of a pink dogwood tree as it budded, bloomed, deflowered, grew leaves, swayed in the wind, drank rain droplets, withered and dropped its summer foliage, then held its spindly