Healing the Cowboy's Heart

by Ruth Logan Herne

A horn tooted softly in the distance. “That will be Liam. I had them drop him here and I texted my mother that I’m going to keep him the next few days.”

  “Oh, good,” she said, approving. “He can walk her with me. And maybe show me around? If you don’t mind.”

  “He’d love it. He loves the horses and the ranch. He is truly his father’s son, but my mother gets nervous about boys and horses.”

  “Not girls? Isn’t that a little backward in the Wild West?”

  “She finds girls to be more levelheaded.”

  Char aimed a skeptical look his way. “Clearly she’s never frequented the suburban stables back east. There is an overpopulation of not-so-levelheaded girls at some of the loftier places.”

  “Not exactly National Velvet?”

  “No, but that was one of my favorite horse books as a child.” The thought made her smile as she took samples from the horse’s nostril once she’d drawn blood. “I grew up thriving on horse stories. The classics and the not-so-classics. When I wasn’t reading about horses, I was living with them. Given that, in some ways I had the world’s most idyllic childhood for a horse-lover.”

  “So, you were raised with horses?” he asked while she slipped the samples into a mailing sleeve. “That explains the natural affinity I see.”

  “My grandfather started a Kentucky horse farm when he became successful. He and my father bred racehorses,” she told him. “Great-grandpa, too, but I never knew him. He died shortly after emigrating from Ireland. They loved horses. Maybe too much, in some ways, but yes, there’s something in the blood. A predisposition that made becoming a big-animal vet a no-brainer. Equine doors tended to open quickly in the South and East when your last name is Fitzgerald.”

  * * *

  Fitzgerald.

  No.

  Could this situation possibly get any worse than it already was? It just did.

  She dropped the name as he was leaving, giving him plenty of time to think it over while he went up the gravel trail to the house to intercept Liam.

  Was it a coincidence?

  Most likely not.

  Was she related to Sean Fitzgerald, one of the men who took advantage of the hard times nearly thirty years back and bought up Idaho ranchland when it was dirt cheap? Land that included his mother’s family farm when her parents were strapped for cash three decades back.

  Now the Fitzgerald holdings were valued in the millions, and all because Sean Fitzgerald staked a claim at the right time. But between his ranch, the Hardaway Ranch and Carrington Ranch, outsiders had come in and purchased multiple parcels of land as they became available. Some Native American land. And Middleton land, too, from another old homesteader’s family.

  Her van had only offered initials. CMF. But it couldn’t be a coincidence that she bore the last name Fitzgerald.

  “I can’t believe I get to be with you today, Uncle Isaiah!” Liam had already ditched his school clothes, donned ranch clothing and sprang out the door like a meteor on a clear night. “How’s the horse doing? Can I see her? Is the doctor lady here?”

  She was here, but she couldn’t stay. His parents weren’t the only ones bearing grudges about those land deals. Thirty years later it was still a “what if” in many roundtable discussions.

  And yet she had to stay.

  With Braden’s stance on Ginger, the new veterinarian had to oversee the mare’s care. There was absolutely no other option.

  “What’s wrong?” Liam gripped Isaiah’s hand. “Are you okay?”

  “I’m fine.” He wasn’t, but he’d pretend for the moment. When they drew close to the barn, Liam sprinted ahead. “Hey! Doctor lady!” he shouted.

  Charlotte turned and put a hand up, palm out. “Rule number one. We use inside voices around horses. Their hearing is sensitive and we don’t want to upset or rile them.”

  “Is that why they have such big triangle ears?” he asked in a much softer voice.

  “To hear predators coming. Yes. Horses instinctively listen, all the time. Our job is to keep our voices soft and nonthreatening. And you don’t have to call me doctor lady. Just call me Char. All right?”

  “Yes, ma’am.” The boy aimed a sincere look her way. “I can be loud someplace else. Okay?”

  “Perfect.” She smiled down at him. “For right now I need you to be my gofer.”

  Liam made a sour face. “Uncle Isaiah doesn’t like gophers. Not one little bit. They make tunnels that trip horses.”

  “Ah.” She raised her gaze and aimed it straight at Isaiah. And then she smiled and he stood right there, wishing she didn’t. Wishing the smile didn’t draw him in. Make him want to smile back and maybe keep smiling. “Well, I can see how that would be problematic with so many beautiful horses. But you’re going to be a different kind of gopher, more like an assistant to me. When I need something, you run and get it. When I have questions, you answer them.”

  “Like about Uncle Isaiah? And the ranch?”

  “Exactly like that. And you will be the official guardian of my bag.” She kept brushing the mare in gentle, sweeping motions, as if she had nothing better to do than brush a horse. “That bag has all my emergency supplies in it, so if we have an emergency, you need to know exactly where the bag is.”

  “Like carry it everywhere?” he asked, eyes wide.

  “Nope. No sense in that, is there? Not if we know where it is.”

  He grinned. “You’re smart!”

  “I agree.” She smiled down at him, looked up, then paused, gazing over Isaiah’s shoulder.

  Her eyes went still. The hand moving the brush faltered slightly, and her pretty smile faded just enough for Isaiah to turn around.

  His mother stood ten paces back. Her expression said she was ready to do battle. He braced his legs and folded his arms, because if Stella Woods had a gripe with anyone, it was with him. Not the beautiful veterinary surgeon who was trying to establish a much-needed new business.

  And not the softhearted little boy whose smile had disappeared the moment he spotted his grandmother coming their way.

  Stella glared as she strode forward.

  He met her halfway. “You come in peace for a poor neglected animal, I hope.”

  “What are you doing, Isaiah Michael?” she hissed, and he hoped Liam couldn’t hear the venom in her voice. “You know better than to give shelter to a mean horse.” She uttered a bad phrase in her native tongue, a phrase he’d never heard come out of her mouth before. “She has already taken a life from us, one that was precious and good. Now we should let her give up her spirit and be done with it. Isaiah, I’m begging you.” She clasped his arms with her hands and gripped hard. “Do not save a murdering horse. It cannot be done.”

  It would be so much easier to play along.

  He’d stayed quiet all these years, knowing the truth and realizing there was little a child could do to change things.

  But he was a child no longer, and God had put this opportunity in his path. Only a soulless man would shrug off this chance. “We would condemn a beautiful creature because of an accident, Mother?”

  Her brow drew down. “A thrown child is no accident.”

  And here it was, the moment he’d been destined to face for twenty-one long years. “But a horse spooked by careless humans may react. And then the blame lies not with the animal, but with the person who knew better.”

  Her mouth dropped open.

  She stared at him. Her eyes went wide before they narrowed in stark anger. “You cast blame with your words, Isaiah.”

  “Then I apologize because there is no blame intended, Mother.” He hoped his tone offered assurance. “Accidents happen. We understand that. But it was wrong to lay blame on an innocent horse. It’s been twenty-one years. The horse is sick and old. We should care for her the way you did for my grandfather in his time.” She’d taken good care of Gray C
loud and set a beautiful example of how one should treat the aged. But his words didn’t seem to hit their mark.

  She stared at him.

  Then the horse and Charlotte and the boy.

  And then she scraped her feet against the stony drive, spinning fine gray dust into the air. “If you do this thing, I shake the dust of your existence from my feet. You can no longer be a child of mine. It is either the horse or your mother, Isaiah. There is no room for both in your heart.”

  And there it was.

  The ultimatum. An ultimatum she’d made to others when angry. He’d heard it several times over the years and now it was his turn. And because she was a grudge holder, it was a promise he knew she’d keep. “But there is room.” He stepped forward, hoping for a compromise with the woman who had borne him. The mother who had raised him. She loved him and loved these children. An enforced separation wasn’t good for him, but it would be especially hard on Andrew’s two kids. “My heart has room for both. It’s time to let the truth set us free. Especially for her.” He indicated the horse with a slight nod.

  “You are young and foolish and wrong.” Exasperation hiked her voice. “You think you see, but you do not, and your actions bring grief and harm to so many. Do as you will.” She threw her hands into the air. “From this day forward you mean nothing to me.”

  “Grandma?”

  She’d raised her voice on purpose. Liam heard. And Charlotte must have heard, too.

  Stella ignored the longing in the boy’s voice and stomped away.

  “Grandma!” Liam began to dart her way.

  Isaiah caught him up and held him close. “Let her go, Liam. She’s angry right now. We’ll give her time, okay?”

  “But why is she mad? Is she mad at me? Again?” He buried his face against Isaiah’s shoulder. His body shook but no tears came.

  And when Isaiah raised his gaze to Charlotte, she looked from him to his mother and back as if the whole thing caused her way too much pain.

  And then she quietly went back to brushing the poor, neglected horse.

  Chapter Four

  Char’s phone signaled a text from Lizzie as Isaiah’s Jeep headed to a far pasture a little later. Can you stop at the Council market for milk, bread and ice cream? And chocolate?

  She texted Lizzie back once she’d rechecked Ginger’s vitals. Tell Cookie I’m on it.

  Bob Cook, aka “Cookie,” managed the kitchen at Pine Ridge Ranch. “Although I’m pretty sure the chocolate isn’t for Cookie.”

  Lizzie sent back a wide-smile emoji that made Char smile in return.

  She hadn’t lived with or near her sisters in a lot of years. They’d followed separate career paths until their father’s embezzlement toppled the publishing business. That had cost Lizzie and Melonie their jobs this past year, and left Mel and Char with huge student loans to repay. Student loans were exempt from the bankruptcy rulings, so inheriting a share of Uncle Sean’s ranch would help each of them get back on solid ground.

  Char had gone her own way as she worked through her undergrad degree in Kentucky and then veterinary school at Cornell. She’d focused on her goals. Her future. Her dreams.

  Now the sisters weren’t just reunited. They were linked by Sean’s bequest. He knew he was dying, and when he realized that his brother had left three daughters in dire straits, he’d written the sisters into his will.

  The future of Pine Ridge was linked to the future of the struggling town nearby, Shepherd’s Crossing. Lizzie and Heath had dived in to run Pine Ridge the way her uncle had hoped, with Heath managing the sheep-farm enterprise, while Lizzie took charge of the highly regarded horse stables. Heath’s first wife had passed away from a heart condition exacerbated by pregnancy. His son Zeke had survived. But he and Lizzie loved each other and the ranch, cementing their roots firmly into the rich Idaho soil.

  Melonie and her husband, Jace, were in the thick of remodeling a huge, neglected ranch house belonging to his biological grandmother. It was a mammoth project, and the newlyweds had been awarded custody of his twin nieces by their young mother...which meant Melonie had gone from single to married with a big job and twin tiny souls counting on her, two of the cutest baby girls in the world, Ava and Annie.

  And now Char had arrived to fulfill her part of the bequest, to spend a year at the ranch, helping maintain it in light of Sean’s demise. After witnessing a few over-the-top local reactions, she might have to rethink her idea of setting up a practice here to be near her sisters. A veterinarian needed steady work. If she got blacklisted for being on the wrong side of local issues, she’d have little choice. But that was a decision for a later day.

  Liam had been sitting on a nearby stack of hay. She motioned him over. “Let’s walk this beauty on fresh grass, all right?”

  “I can come?” He leaped from the hay in one bound.

  “If you can walk smoothly and slowly, with no sudden movements and a gentle voice, then sure.”

  “I can.”

  Such a sober face for a youngster. Shouldn’t a little boy be flying kites and racing bikes over bumpy trails or catching frogs at the creek? Although it was probably a little dry for the frogs this time of year, making them harder to spot and catch.

  She released the latch on Ginger’s door.

  Liam stepped through.

  He gazed around at the stall, then the horse, then the stall again. And then he smiled.

  Oh, that smile...

  As if he’d just been handed a prize-winning ticket. He didn’t wait to be asked. He moved forward, unlatched the lower half of the Dutch door and drew it open, then followed Char and Ginger out onto the grass.

  The horse didn’t hesitate.

  Nose down, she browsed without moving too far from the door, and when the allotted time was up, Char was tempted to just let her go but she knew better. “Come on, girl. Back in for a while. We’ll take another stroll later.”

  Ginger had other ideas.

  She turned her head away from the lead and kept on eating.

  Char gave an encouraging chirp to urge her forward.

  Ginger ignored her. And just when Char was ruing her decision to bring the horse out of the spacious pen to help clear the bellyache, Liam moved closer. “Can I try?”

  Little Boy Trampled by Irate Horse.

  She used to make up headlines with Grandpa Fitzgerald when she was quite small. The old-time newspaperman had taught her how to turn any situation into a one-line summation, and it was an art she’d perfected over the years. “Liam, it might not be...”

  The boy lifted his chin. He locked eyes with her. And then he reached up, stroked the horse’s dark face and didn’t reach for the lead. “Come on, pretty girl. Come along. There’s more grass waiting later. Come along.”

  Liam stroked her face one last time, then moved toward the stable door.

  And the horse followed him.

  Char stood watching, mouth agape.

  “Did I just see what I think I saw?”

  She turned quickly. She hadn’t seen Isaiah come back around. Hadn’t heard him, either, and when she saw the dark chestnut quarter horse tied to the far rail, she knew why. “She followed him like a puppy.”

  Ginger went fully into the stall with no balking.

  Liam stroked her face, told her she was a good girl, then slipped out the far side. He looked up when Char and Isaiah came in through the nearby door. “She likes me.”

  No denying that. Char nodded. “She does. She liked your voice, and how you handled her and how you let her decide.”

  “I like those things, too.”

  “To make your own decisions?” asked Isaiah.

  “Some, anyway.” Liam lifted one shoulder. “It’s never fun when everyone is your boss.”

  “I hear you.” Char tucked her medical bag into the van before she came back toward them. “I was
the youngest, and between my sisters and my nanny and my grandparents, I was bossed around every night and every day it seemed. Until I learned that if I just took a horse out and spent a day roaming, no one would bother me at all.”

  “Like by yourself?” Liam asked and she saw the light in his eyes right off.

  “Not until I was older than you are right now,” she told him in a firm voice. “At your age, we buddy ride. Although I’d be open to giving any of those guys a workout as needed,” she told Isaiah as she motioned toward the horses at pasture. “What an amazing herd. How do you keep them exercised properly?”

  “It’s tough this time of year,” he admitted. “My father and I are double-teaming the second cutting of hay. We just harvested winter wheat, so we’ll be baling straw tomorrow. And I’ve got buyers coming in from Utah this week.” He seemed on the verge of offering her an invitation to ride, but he didn’t make an offer, and she was foolish to want one when there were several horses to ride at Pine Ridge. “Do you have disinfectant for boots and shoes between barns?” That was a proper doctor-patient question. “Ginger might not be contagious, but if she is, you don’t want it back there.”

  “Agreed. And yes, I filled the disinfectant trough yesterday. I’ll change it up regularly. The only two between here and there will be me and J.J.”

  Isaiah’s face was in profile to Liam. He didn’t see the boy’s look of longing.

  Char did. She bent low. “Do you know what Isaiah is saying?”

  He glanced down, guilty, and shook his head.

  “Ginger’s runny nose might be contagious. It could make the other horses sick, so there’s a special pan in the back barn for rinsing boots. Just like this one.” She pointed out the disinfectant pan not far from Ginger’s pen. “It kills germs.”

  “So we don’t get sick.”

  “Most germs that hurt horses don’t hurt humans.”

  That spiked his interest. “Why not?”

  “They don’t like us. But those germs like horses a lot and they can make them super sick. So Uncle Isaiah has these special soaps to keep the germs from getting back there.” She pointed to the back pastures.