The small dapper man at the far end of the table chimed in. “When Dr. Hazard, who is, I believe, the managing partner in Creature Comfort, recommended you for this post, he said that you were an excellent veterinarian. He did not, however, mention your other attributes.”
Eleanor gave him a smile and tried to remember his name. “What other attributes?”
“You are a young and, may I say, attractive woman.”
She didn’t acknowledge the compliment. Actually it sounded more like an indictment.
The warden frowned down the table at his colleague. “Gender wasn’t in the job description, Leo. You wouldn’t want to get us in trouble with the EEOC, now would you?” His voice was tight.
“She will be working closely with a crew of convicts, some of whom have histories of violence.”
“But you have female guards,” Sarah answered. Violence? She’d been assuming these guys were behind on their child-support payments or heisted cars.
Leo What’s-His-Name said, “We call them correctional officers, Dr. Grayson.”
“COs for short,” Warden Portree added.
“I stand corrected. But you do have women. Young women. Several I saw on my way over here could be considered attractive.”
“They are trained for their positions, Doctor. You are not.”
“I am trained for the position of veterinarian. The job description said nothing about having experience as a correctional officer. Frankly, it didn’t say I had to look like a boot, either. It did say that I would be protected by your COs whenever I was working with the inmates. Was I mistaken about that?”
“No, no, that’s correct.”
“Also, I thought this was a minimum-security facility. Doesn’t that mean that the level of violent offenders is pretty low?”
“Not necessarily,” Warden Portree said. “When we’re completely full, we’ll have a good many low-level dope dealers and white-collar criminals, but even a murderer with a good attitude and a clean record in prison can be accepted if he is not considered a flight risk.”
“Oh.” Eleanor took a deep breath and sat up straighter. The seat of the wooden chair hit the backs of her legs midthigh. She tried to wiggle her ankles so that her legs would hold her when she stood up. “I still don’t think my age or gender is a problem.” She leaned forward. “Gentlemen, you are looking for a veterinarian who can set up and oversee this new beef cattle operation. You are also considering bringing in other kinds of feed animals in the future, and a rescue-dog program. Correct?”
“Yes, but—”
“I will be maintaining my present position as a part-time staff veterinarian at Creature Comfort. That gives you access to the top veterinary facility and staff in four states as my backup. It also gives you a ready source for jobs for inmates who are eligible for work release and have shown themselves capable and willing to learn.”
A fortyish man with thinning hair and gentle brown eyes leaned forward. The others wore jackets and ties. He wore jeans and a V-necked sweater. “We were introduced earlier, Doc, but you probably don’t remember all the names. I’m a doctor, too, psychologist and psychiatrist. Raoul Torres.”
Sarah nodded. “I remember you, Dr. Torres.”
“Most convicts are master manipulators. A majority of them have conned their way through life. They’ll fawn all over you and tell you you’re wonderful, and before you know it you’re smuggling in cigarettes for them and calling their lawyers to discuss early parole.”
“I’m not that naive, Doctor.”
“Don’t believe it. Some may even convince you they’re innocent. A lot of these guys can’t read and write. We try to teach them that skill at least while they’re here. A few are geniuses, but many have below average IQs. That doesn’t mean they don’t have street smarts, but nearly all of them have rotten impulse control. If they didn’t, they wouldn’t have committed robbery or stolen cars or even taken drugs. Just remember they see nothing wrong in using you to get what they want.”
“That’s a pretty grim picture, Doctor. Why on earth are you working with them at all if that’s the way you feel?”
“How can I help anyone I can’t diagnose properly? Many of these guys are close to being released back into society. If we can teach them impulse control, break the cycle of poverty, addiction and anger, and give them a skill needed on the outside, then maybe we’ll give them a chance for a decent life. Believe me, buying into the games doesn’t help anybody.”
“And in the meantime, we put them to hard work and help pay the expenses of keeping them,” Portree said. “Prison farms everywhere used to support themselves with market gardening and livestock. Then that theory went out of favor, but what goes around comes around. Several states now have very successful prison farm programs. Angola—about the toughest prison around—even has an inmate rodeo once a year to show the general populace what they’ve accomplished.”
“You want a rodeo?”
“Not immediately of course, and it probably wouldn’t be under your jurisdiction in any case,” Portree said.
“Mr. Portree, gentlemen, I can do this job. I am not going to get caught up in inmate intrigues. I will teach them to be cattlemen and horsemen—”
“Horsemen?” the man named Leo said. “Nobody said anything about horsemen.”
Eleanor sighed. “You have a choice. Either work your cattle from horseback or from four-wheelers or motorcycles. I don’t imagine you want your inmates to have access to motor vehicles. Horses are smarter, think faster than either men or cows, and go places four-wheelers can’t go. You can teach cows to come in on their own to eat, but if you have to move them any distance, you’ll need horses. I’d also recommend a couple of good herding dogs eventually.”
“She’s right.” This came from J. K. Sanders, a big, rawboned man with graying hair who sat beside Portree. “I got three or four old cutting horses out at my place I’ll let you have. They’re pretty much retired now, but you won’t be working them hard, and I think they’d enjoy the excitement.” He smiled at Eleanor, who nodded in return.
“This is getting complicated,” Portree said.
“It’s going to get worse,” Eleanor continued. “A commercial cattle operation looks fairly simple, but you want a prize herd, don’t you? Even a small herd of fine cattle gets complicated if done right.”
“We don’t want a large herd, Doctor,” Leo clarified.
Eleanor suddenly remembered that his last name was Hamilton—Leo Hamilton.
He went on. “We want an exceptional pedigreed herd that wins prizes at fairs, brings good prices at auction and shows off what a good job we’re doing. It’s to be as much a public-relations project as anything. We don’t expect to provide beef for an entire prison population. At least not initially, and perhaps never.”
“Then you need a few exceptional cows, preferably with calves at foot and pregnant again, and a really superb bull that will win prizes for you quickly. You can make money from selling his semen, as well as using it yourselves. You’ll have to change bulls every two to three years, otherwise you’ll have an inbred herd.”
“You know how to buy cattle?” The question came Sanders. Eleanor suspected he had probably bought and sold a few in his day.
“I haven’t done it in a while, and I’d be grateful for your assistance, Mr. Sanders.”
“Sure thing, little lady.”
Her mother had taught her that the way to make a friend