Healing the Cowboy's Heart

by Ruth Logan Herne

  “And now—” she crossed her arms and faced Char “—I must go. I promised Cookie I’d show him the proper way to make a Low-Country boil, which means I’ve got to grab a few things in Council.”

  Char may have only been in town for a few days, but she’d never tasted anything better than Bob Cook’s barbecued ribs and dirty rice. Regardless, no one did Southern cooking like Corrie.

  “That man is fine in the kitchen,” Corrie continued. She lifted her bag, the kind of purse Southern ladies were known for. Small enough to be genteel, but big enough for an old-fashioned purse-whomping if needed. “But a boil isn’t something you make fancy. It’s good because it’s not one bit fancy, and I was surprised a Western man like him didn’t get that.”

  “I think he was trying to impress you, Corrie.” Char recorded Ginger’s vitals and meds in the electronic notebook. “Heath did say you’re the first person Cookie’s ever allowed to share his kitchen, and that’s mighty big praise from an old-time cowboy, isn’t it?”

  “Or just plain smart, because a wise man knows good help when he sees it. You catch a nap today, okay?” She aimed a pointed look at Char and Char nodded.

  “I will.” When Corrie gathered her in for a hug before she left, it felt so natural and normal. But her life hadn’t been either for a long time. Maybe ever.

  Feeling sorry for yourself gets you nowhere. What is normal? And maybe normal isn’t all it’s cracked up to be. Maybe the normal you’re searching for is an illusion. Which means maybe you’re searching for the wrong things.

  She might be, Char realized, then capped the thought with a yawn as the sound of Corrie’s car faded. “J.J., I’m going up to the house. I’m staying here today, so if you want an update or just want to talk, call me.” She made a phone symbol with her right hand. “I’ll be right here.”

  “Thanks.”

  Char started to leave. Intuition made her pause. Turn.

  J.J.’s chin was down and her shoulders shook slightly. But enough. Enough to know Char couldn’t walk away. “Jay?”

  J.J. didn’t turn, so Char moved forward. The look of anguish on the teen’s face didn’t just grab her heart. It tugged her soul. And the tears slipping down J.J.’s face left her no choice.

  “Oh, Jay.” Char didn’t think. She acted. Just like Corrie would have done to her. She reached out and took the teen into her arms and let her have a good long cry. And when J.J. finally stepped back, she swiped the sleeve of her T-shirt to her face, mopping blindly while Char grabbed a few pieces of somewhat dusty paper towel from a nearby roll.

  “Sorry.”

  “Oh, don’t you dare say that,” Char scolded. “There’s a lot to handle around here these days.”

  “Every day. Kind of.”

  Char didn’t hug her again. She stood quiet and still, listening.

  “Either Grandma’s upset over something or Liam’s sad about losing Mom and Dad or money’s tight—”

  “And when is there time to worry about how you’re feeling, J.J.?” Char whispered the words for the girl’s hearing only. “Who comforts you?”

  Fourteen was far too young to have to take so much on narrow shoulders, but J.J. gazed off toward the rolling green hills before bringing her attention back to Char. “God.”

  God? Char couldn’t cover her surprise and J.J. frowned. “You’re laughing at me.”

  “No.” Char shook her head. “Not at all. I’m just trying to understand.”

  “It’s not so hard.” J.J. swiped her sleeve to her face again and shrugged. “When things happen, I turn to Him. When the bad stuff gets worse, I turn to Him. Because if He can’t make me feel better, no one can. No one can fix all that’s happened. Losing my parents, or Grandma being mad and grumpy, and Liam being so sad. I just keep praying to God to give us time. If we get enough time, it will get better. I know it,” she finished softly. “It’s getting to that part that’s hard some days.”

  The faith of a child.

  Char remembered that verse and how Christ called the children to him. How women followed him, with their children, clinging to His message of hope.

  This bright young girl was doing the same thing. “We’ll fix what we can,” Char whispered as footsteps approached along the gravel. “Step by step. Day by day. Okay?”

  J.J. nodded as the footsteps drew near. “I’m glad you’re here, Char. Real glad.” She ducked under the horse’s neck so that no one would see her tears, and when Isaiah came through the wide opening, Char put on her brightest face to guard the girl’s emotions.

  “Ginger is holding her own.” She moved his way and when he started for the horse and J.J., she caught his arm to divert his attention. The maneuver worked well. Too well.

  He dropped his gaze to hers.

  Those eyes. Warm and brown and deep and thoughtful. Caring. So caring. She could get lost in those eyes, in the strength she saw there. But conflict engulfed this family. Falling for this man would only add drama, and she’d opted away from drama purposely. And still it managed to find her when all she wanted was a simple life, caring for humble creatures. Animals didn’t generally come with hidden agendas.

  “Did you need me?” he asked.

  “What I need is more coffee,” she told him to steer him away. “See you in a little bit, J.J.,” she called over her shoulder.

  Obscured by the horse, the girl waved as Char moved toward the door, hoping Isaiah would follow. He did.

  He followed her out the door, then paused about twenty paces up the path and glanced back. “J.J. doesn’t want me to see her upset, so you’re guiding me away while she gets a hold of herself.”

  “You know her well.”

  He dipped his chin. “She’s a lot like me. We’ve seen it from the time she was little. We like fixing things. Making them better. We don’t like stirring up a tempest. And we don’t like feeling helpless.”

  “Those are pretty solid qualities in my book,” Char told him. “When your life has been surrounded by tempests, it’s nice to avoid them as needed. And with all that’s going on, she doesn’t want to add to the burden of current emotions.”

  He frowned, glanced toward the barn, then shoved his hands into his pockets and kept on walking, respecting J.J.’s wishes. “She shouldn’t have to be looking out for adult feelings. She’s a kid.” He scrubbed his right hand to the back of his neck. “But she was born with a caretaker’s heart and I remember doing the same thing as a kid, so I get it.”

  “She sees a lot, Isaiah.”

  His frown deepened. “You mean my mother.”

  “Yes. The anger. The unhappiness. And she worries about Liam.”

  He stopped again, staring into the distance before bringing his attention back to her. “I do, too, but some of that was my fault for letting Mom make decisions I should have been making. I thought it would help her get over the loss of Andrew and Katie if she had the little guy to focus on.”

  “It could have done that,” Char agreed.

  “But it didn’t, at least not the way I hoped. Instead it put him in her crosshairs. I think Andrew’s death reminded her too much of losing Alfie all those years ago. Of moving too quickly and spooking the horse. Making her bolt. She loves Liam,” he continued. “She loves all of us, but she gets so entrenched that she can’t see her way out. And now this, with Rising.” He contemplated the house. “Will he make it, Char?”

  She didn’t enumerate the things that could go wrong. She grasped his hand in a gesture of reassurance. Once she had it, the last thing she wanted was to let it go. But she did. “I hope so. Let’s set up a watch schedule. We all need sleep to clear our heads. If he makes it through the next forty-eight hours, we should be in the clear. Just in time for the rodeo on Saturday.”

  “The perfect celebration for horse-loving kids.”

  “Now we just have to heal the dog, stabilize the mare and not
have a foal on Saturday afternoon. After I check on the other rescued horses.”

  “Well, Doctor.” They’d reached the steps leading up to the back deck overlooking the ranch. They climbed them and Isaiah reached for the door handle. “I’m trusting this to your capabilities and God’s hands. After seeing you perform on-the-spot surgery last night, I have absolute faith in both.”

  It was nice to hear, but when the horse rescue called to say one of the rescue horses had passed away overnight, and Rising spiked a late-morning fever, Char was pretty sure her veterinary practice couldn’t have had a worse start in Shepherd’s Crossing.

  Chapter Eight

  “I want Braden to come see the dog.” Isaiah’s mother folded her arms and impatiently tapped her toe against the broodmare-barn floor a short time later. “Braden knows us,” she continued. “We know him. He should have been called first thing, and I made sure your father heard my opinion on this. He was wrong to take such a chance on an animal so beloved.”

  So, she’d berated his father already that morning. Or maybe last night, while John was still struggling with feelings of grief and culpability.

  Isaiah sighed inside. His mother hadn’t always been this callous. Guilt and anger had changed her. Why couldn’t she see that truth and repentance could help?

  “Young people don’t always have the experience or wisdom to make good assessments, no matter where they went to school. You know that as well as I do.”

  He set the pitchfork to one side. “You’re not implying that Char is incompetent, are you? Because that would be grossly unfair and inaccurate.”

  She scowled at him, hands clenched. “We have a seriously injured dog that meant everything to your brother, and now to his children. Maybe he’ll do fine after being operated on in the dark of night in the back of a van, but what if he doesn’t? How do we explain that to Liam?” she demanded. Accusation darkened her gaze and filled her voice. “We had the chance for another veterinarian to step in. A professional who is also an old and cherished friend. What if we lose that dog and we didn’t take that opportunity to do the best we could?”

  He didn’t answer right away. Pausing gave him time to tamp down rising emotions. Did his mother hear herself? How critical she’d become?

  “I know this girl is young and pretty but how can she know more than a man who’s been treating animals for years?” Stella continued. “Liam’s heart will break if anything happens to Rising. You know it. I know it. It’s not a chance we can take, Isaiah. There is no need to bring more suffering when a family has endured so much. And a Fitzgerald, too, as if we haven’t had enough of that influence in this town.”

  “Braden is welcome to give a second opinion.” Isaiah splayed his hands. “I have no problem with that as long as he’s polite. Dr. Fitzgerald—” he used her full name and title purposely “—isn’t a girl. She’s a skilled and educated woman and she has put her reputation on the line to help us. And her uncle bought that land fair and square. We all know that, even though people are angry that they lost an opportunity. How long should people hold a grudge, Mother? How long do we let old animosities burn our souls?”

  It was a rhetorical question because he knew Stella wasn’t about to answer. “In any case, the kids and I are grateful for Char’s help and her expertise. She’s absolutely amazing. You surprise me, Mother.”

  She’d dropped her eyes at the mention of Char’s name. Now she brought them up quickly.

  “To assume Char doesn’t know her stuff is wrong and you’ve always favored empowering women to be the best they can be. And she is exactly that.” He faced his mother and held her gaze. “If you could have seen her operating last night—it was remarkable. Her van is a mobile hospital. And Dad was a great assistant to her.”

  Being reminded that John assisted during the surgery only deepened her scowl. “The daughter of a rich man with rich-man toys—yes, I know, but that’s nothing to me when her family comes to this part of the country and buys up land, land, land! Land that had been in families for generations. And suddenly it’s not our family land and pretty soon it’s worth ten times what it was thirty years ago.”

  He wasn’t about to rehash the arguments of inflation and money markets and speculation. She didn’t care about that. She cared only that the Fitzgeralds, Carringtons and Hardaways bought land at a fair market price more than three decades ago and then invested thirty years of labor, love and money to increase their value. That, coupled with inflation and increased interest in buying ranchland, drove prices through the roof.

  His mother didn’t want to see the sense in it. “I’ll call Braden,” she insisted.

  “Char and Dad will be at my place once we’ve finished morning chores. He can come any time after ten.”

  “I’ll leave the timing to him. He is a busy man, a friend and your godfather. He deserves respect, at least as much as any newcomer, I believe. If you cannot respect me, you should at least respect him. A man who is highly regarded around here.”

  Of course he was highly regarded because he was the only available option. To have a new veterinarian, and a Fitzgerald to boot—that ruffled as many feathers as saving the falsely accused horse.

  He left quietly, refusing to take the bait. Her arguments cycled, rarely wearing down.

  Sometimes he tried to remember her like she was when he was young. Strong but kind. Forceful but caring. She’d been a leader among the women before the accident.

  She was still a leader, but among a much smaller group. And they weren’t the same people. Now she gravitated toward the discontented and fit right in with them.

  Most of their family and friends lived peacefully, working their land or jobs. Living their lives.

  How he wished she’d do the same.

  * * *

  “Doctor, you did what you could.” The co-manager of the horse-rescue farm walked Char to her van a short while later. “It’s hard on an old horse when the whole body gets tipped out of whack. At least he spent his last days being loved.”

  “I’m grateful you took the chance.” Char shook the woman’s hand. “But I’m sorry it ended this way.”

  “Us, too. But his buddy seems to be doing better each day. In a business like this, you go in knowing you can’t save them all.”

  “I know.” She made a face of regret toward the empty stall. “It’s not like it was totally unexpected. But not the outcome I hoped for.”

  “Us, either. Still, if the others make it, that’s pretty amazing considering the odds were stacked against us.”

  She was right, and Char appreciated her understanding and her optimism. She went back to Dancing Meadows to relieve John so he could do chores. He stood up as she walked in. He didn’t say a word, but he took one look at her, handed her a fresh mug of strong, hot coffee and patted her shoulder. “The best vet I worked with was nearly forty years ago, when things were real different from what I saw last night.”

  He meant the amazing technology that let her drive around in a surgically-ready van to treat emergencies. “A lot has changed, that’s for sure.”

  “One thing that hasn’t is the dedication of the doctor involved, and he had that. So do you. And no matter what your last name is, Char, I’m real glad to have you in Shepherd’s Crossing. I didn’t see what we needed until it was right here, before me. Now I do.”

  Tears threatened.

  She was tired and it was always harder to accept praise when she was tired, but she blinked the tears back and gripped the coffee. “Thank you for that. And this.” She directed the mug toward the sleeping dog. “How’s our boy doing?”

  “Holding his own. We keep praying.”

  She might not be a believer, but she wasn’t against the idea of prayer, either. Especially when so much was on the line. “It sure can’t hurt, John.”

  He went through the back door. In the distance she saw Isaiah’s truck parke
d along the far fence line. He moved from the truck to the fence and back. Fixing something? Or maybe just checking to make sure connections were tight. He didn’t move fast, but he didn’t lumber, either. He walked with solidity and focus, a man with the self-awareness to know he’d get it done.

  He glanced up as his father approached. She couldn’t see his smile from here, but she imagined it, then scolded herself for picturing it. She got that she was attracted to him. From the moment he showed up in Bitsy’s pasture a few days ago, his presence called to her. Fortunately she was smart enough to resist the call.

  She set her laptop on the table, powered it up and sat down with the coffee to check her emails. Liam would be home from school in an hour and J.J. was at camp. Other than Rising’s breathing, the house was silent. As she went through her electronic mailbox, the peace and quiet of the Western farm surrounded her. The rustic beauty, the grazing horses, the sweet silence.

  Head bent, she kept on working right until the doorbell rang.

  She jumped.

  When the bell pealed, the trusty dog tried to leap up. The meds made him groggy. He rose, stumbled and fell back down.

  She rushed to his side, murmuring words of comfort.

  The doorbell rang again, insistently.

  Rising’s head came up, longing to answer the summons. He barked piteously, an attempt to defend his home, his master, his territory.

  She wouldn’t leave his side. The door was unlocked. If the person had business with Isaiah, let them try the door. Or find him out back.

  Nothing happened. No one entered.

  Then the back door swung open. Braden Hirsch strode into the kitchen. He spotted her and wasted no time. “Isaiah wants a second opinion on the dog.”

  Her heart went tight.

  She wasn’t afraid of a second opinion. But the thought that Isaiah called this man in without mentioning it to her indicated he doubted her abilities. Or that she wasn’t considered important enough to be informed. Either scenario stung.