Healing the Cowboy's Heart

by Ruth Logan Herne

  These jeans were not loose-fitting, and the white tank top reminded him of a favorite country song. When she paused, waiting for him to catch up, she turned and spotted him noticing.

  She tipped her head. Frowned slightly, as if scolding him.

  It didn’t work.

  He splayed his hands as if saying he had no choice, and couldn’t hold back a smile.

  She smiled back. A faint blush touched her cheeks, and he wanted to lay the palm of his hand against that cheek. Feel the warmth build.

  Then she spotted the ice-cream sign. “My favorite summer destination! An ice-cream shop by the water.”

  “We can get ice cream and walk along the shore,” he told her.

  “Another reason to love it up here,” added J.J. once they’d crossed the road to get in line at the popular ice-cream shop. “The lake. The hills. The forests.”

  “I know what I’m getting!” Liam pointed to the hanging sign listing the flavors. “Blue Bubble Gum, just for me!”

  “Hey, good reading,” Char told him. She squeezed his shoulder lightly. “And that Espresso Almond Fudge is calling my name. How could that combination ever be bad?”

  “That’s Isaiah’s favorite, too.” J.J. raised her brows. A tiny knowing smile tweaked her mouth. “Kind of funny that you both like the same things. Horses. Cattle. Dogs. And ice cream.”

  That’s exactly what he needed, a fourteen-year-old matchmaker. “I’m pretty sure 75 percent of the people around here share all those interests,” Isaiah replied. “Not so unusual in these parts, honey.”

  “And yet, nice, don’t you think?” Char posed the question as the kids turned to put in their order. She gazed up at him, and he didn’t have to think. He knew. And he took her hand for just a moment while he answered.

  “Real nice, actually.” He smiled down.

  The blush deepened, and he’d like nothing better than to stroll the beach while munching a cone and holding her hand, but when Liam got his Blue Bubble Gum cone, he turned and grasped Isaiah’s free hand. “Thank you, Uncle Isaiah. You always know the very best things to do.”

  So he didn’t hold Char’s hand.

  But as they walked along the beach, watching all kinds of watercrafts buzzing the lake, it still felt good and right. Isaiah hadn’t felt like that in way too many years. Watching Char shoulder-nudge J.J....

  Laugh with her...

  It felt downright wonderful.

  Chapter Ten

  “Isaiah, thank you.” Char turned his way when they approached the stairs leading up to the stable apartment over two hours later. “It was a wonderful night.”

  “Not the night we’d planned.” Regret deepened his voice but he relaxed when she laughed.

  “Better,” she assured him. “I realized that while I’m a great animal person, I’m not cut out for the rodeo. I was already worried with the first horse out of the gate, wondering how to fix the resulting injuries with my van twenty minutes away. Do you think J.J. was really disappointed?”

  “I think any disappointment was negated by your agreement to go see that horse,” he replied. “And there’s no way I can say no when she’s saved all her own money and has her heart set on something like this, so it’s important to make sure it’s the right horse. Who better than a steeplechase rider to make that assessment?”

  “She’s a great kid. And I love putting a horse through its paces.”

  “My brother would be so proud of her. Of both kids. Katie, too.”

  She wanted to linger. Talk to him. Get to know him better, but there were two kids waiting in the truck who needed to get home to bed. She reached for the door. “Let me know when you guys set up a meeting and I’ll block time.”

  “Perfect.”

  She wished it was perfect, but would offering her advice just make matters worse at his place?

  “It’s important to J.J.” He spoke mildly. “No one else’s opinion matters, Char.”

  She knew better than to fall for that. “That’s not really true in a family,” she countered. “Especially a family that runs cooperative businesses and lives side by side. Believe me, I was raised in a house full of that kind of crazy and while I had Corrie to keep me grounded, it would have been so nice to avoid the drama of Grandpa always angry at my father and my father proving him exactly right once he had control of the business. All my life the one thing I’ve wished for is a nice, normal family. That’s not too much to ask, is it?”

  He pretended to think about it. “Define normal.”

  His answer made her smile and sigh because normal was a transient concept it seemed. “There’s merit in that response. Thanks for a wonderful time, Isaiah.” She grasped the screen door’s handle. “I enjoyed myself so much.”

  He covered her hand with his. Glanced down at her mouth. Her lips. And when she was pretty sure that the incredibly handsome cowboy was about to kiss her, and equally certain that she wanted him to, Liam’s voice broke in. “Uncle Isaiah! I gotta use the bathroom. Bad!” He dashed across the green space separating the matching stables and scrambled up the walk.

  Char swung the door open. “Straight in, first door on the left, before you get to the connecting hallway.”

  “Thank you!” He streaked by them, effectively putting an end to romantic meanderings. That was probably for the best.

  Isaiah directed a disappointed look from her to the boy’s route. “Thwarted.”

  “Saved from grievous error,” she corrected him as Liam reappeared. She pointed up the hall. “Go back and wash your hands,” she ordered.

  The boy stopped, surprised. “I did.” He stared at his hands as if amazed she couldn’t tell.

  “Thoroughly if you want to work horses with me. Twenty seconds, remember? With soap and scrubbing action.”

  “Like even at night? Like every time?” Liam stared at her, amazed.

  “Every single time. It’s standard practice when you work around animals, my friend.”

  “Okay.” He trudged back to the bathroom, yawning.

  He was tired. She got that. But if he really wanted to help, he needed to develop strong habits, and cleanliness was one of them. “Let me know if Ginger goes into labor overnight, okay?” She took a step inside as they waited for Liam. “I’ll have my phone near my bed.”

  “I’ll let you know.”

  “I’ll come by to check on both patients in the morning.”

  “Thanks, Char.” He laid his hand against her cheek for just a moment, and for that moment she allowed herself to lean into the hand and the strength of the man. “I’m grateful for all the time you’re putting in.”

  She had plenty of time because her phone wasn’t exactly ringing off the hook with local clients, but she didn’t say that. Helping Isaiah and those kids was important. More important than polishing friendships with influential people by doing the wrong thing or caving to pressure. “I’m happy to do it.” That was the absolute truth for multiple reasons. “And I’ll admit that losing Ginger now would crush me because she’s held on so well. Fought the good fight. I don’t want this to end badly, so I’m available as needed. And then I’ll use her for advertising purposes to build my business. If that’s all right.”

  “Absolutely.” His smile warmed her. Drew her in. It underscored his strength with a gentleness she’d never known in a man. She liked it. “A successful outcome is the best advertising of all.”

  Liam reappeared just then. “I counted to thirty real slow. Just in case.”

  Char palmed his head. “Good. Veterinary assistants can’t take chances or be careless. Good night, my friend.”

  “Night, Char!” He hugged her, then tugged Isaiah’s hand as he started down the walk. “See you tomorrow!”

  She didn’t return Isaiah’s look of chagrin at their missed opportunity, but as the pair walked away, she touched her mouth, wondering.
And when Isaiah turned at the end of the long walk, he raised a hand slightly. In the bright glow of the dusk-to-dawn stable lights, she knew he was wondering, too.

  It was a question neither one should answer. But she went to bed thinking about the near kiss. The evening with him and the kids. The way he handled the boy’s anxiety was beautiful. Clearly Liam’s well-being ranked above the cost of missed tickets and Western fun.

  Yes, she’d like to get to know him better. And sample that kiss.

  But with so many reasons not to, why did she keep coming back to the foremost reason to do it...because every part of her wanted to see what it would be like to kiss Isaiah Woods.

  And that was the best reason to avoid all opportunities.

  * * *

  Things were looking up, Char decided a week later.

  Three spontaneous calls for veterinary services generated an uptick in her optimism. A sick dog, a cat needing to be spayed and a pig with a swollen and infected ear. Three people who hadn’t blackballed her for either her name or for helping those horses against Braden’s recommendation. Corrie’s satisfied smile greeted her when she came into the kitchen to grab coffee and a homemade cinnamon roll the following Friday.

  “It begins,” Corrie noted as she frosted a layer cake for Heath’s birthday. “People will call, they’ll meet you and they’ll talk. And then more people will call.”

  “Maybe not horse people, and there are a lot of them around here,” Char noted. “But you’re right. We have to begin somewhere and—” Her phone interrupted her words. She answered and grabbed the roll and her to-go coffee as she headed for the door. “Emergency,” she called to Corrie. “Sheep attacked at a farm south of here. I’m going to see if Heath can assist.” Heath knew sheep inside and out and he’d keep his head under pressure. That was an important thing in animal medicine.

  Heath’s number went straight to voice mail. He might be out of reach, or his phone may have wonked out. Cell phones had a way of doing that at the worst possible time up here.

  She took a breath and called Isaiah’s father. “John, it’s Char. I’ve got an emergency call to Waggoner’s Farm off Mill Creek, not far from you. Sheep attacked by wolves. I could use your help.”

  The older man didn’t waste any time. “Meet you there.”

  If this was a human emergency, she’d be lights and siren and full speed ahead, but the curving nature of Route 95 slowed her pace. She turned east just before reaching the Council city limits, and spotted John’s SUV heading down a road. She followed him, and when he rolled to a stop in a roughed-up driveway, she pulled up alongside him.

  An old woman hurried her way. She wasted no time and jumped into the front seat of the van. “Go straight back along this path, punch left, then right past the old shed.”

  Char did as she was told. John followed behind, and when she eased the van past an old barn, an older shed and an antique-era outhouse, she came to a fenced-in area well behind the house, virtually invisible unless you were standing alongside it. “Head up alongside the fence about three hundred feet,” the old woman instructed.

  Char’s fancy paint job on her van was going to hate her for following orders, but she did it. When she got to the spot, she pulled to a stop, arced a K-turn and backed the van through a broken opening in worn-out fencing.

  Three sheep had met their ends.

  Four others were critically injured, and beside them, a big white Maremma dog lay panting.

  An old man knelt next to the sheep. Tear tracks marked his face and a shock of limp gray hair hung over his sweaty brow.

  John came up alongside her.

  “Triage first.”

  He squatted low beside her as she assessed the sheep. She shook her head on the first one, knowing it was too late, but the other three had a good chance if she could get things cleaned and mended quickly.

  John opened the surgical side of the van as another vehicle crawled up the narrowed lane. A familiar vehicle. And when Isaiah jumped out of the truck and hurried forward, she’d never been so glad to see someone in her life. “Mae. Howard.” He nodded to the old couple, then got down low. “Who’s first?”

  “This one.”

  John had retrieved the stretcher. The men maneuvered the ailing sheep into position in the surgical unit. John prepped that one while she did the same to the second sheep at ground level. And when Isaiah reappeared at her side, she handed him a syringe. Then she directed her gaze to the first ewe.

  He didn’t question.

  He turned and with a gentle but deft hand put the sheep out of its misery.

  Then he turned back, put the syringe in the biohazard bag and held the second sheep while she medicated her.

  The wolves hadn’t messed around. They’d gone straight for the throat on the first three, but either got interrupted or settled in for food because she was pretty certain that two of the injured ewes would make it. A couple of neighbors had come by to help. She had them move the lost animals out of the area, while she worked on the more critically injured ewe in the shade of the van.

  Don’t think about the wolves. Their choices. Or how this could have been avoided.

  She focused on medicine, not on a predator’s cruelty or owner’s carelessness. She understood the balance of nature, and this tattered place with insecure fencing had “accident waiting to happen” written all over it. Two elderly owners, rotting fence posts and old sheep was like a tragic invitation to carnivores.

  Isaiah and John stayed nearby as she worked: John to her left, Isaiah to the right. And as the heat built throughout the surgery, sweat began dripping down her face, into her eyes.

  A cool, dry cloth touched her brow, then her cheeks.

  Grateful, she looked up.

  Isaiah’s eyes met hers.

  He believed in her. She read it in the quick exchange, the confident expression. He trusted her to do the job right and that meant a lot.

  “Thank you.”

  A softer look brightened his eyes for a moment, then he got back to work, clipping hair on the big white dog, prepping him for treatment.

  She heard his voice, deep and soft, as he talked to someone on his phone long minutes later. Then he was back at her side. He blotted her forehead again, just as the old woman hurried forward with a collapsible tent. They set it up over the ailing dog, shading him from the hot summer sun.

  The act of grace touched her heart, and when the old woman knelt by the dog’s side, praying over him, Char almost joined her.

  Isaiah’s phone rang. He stepped aside to answer, then rejoined them a minute later. “We’ve got a couple of folks helping at the house and Harve is here from Pine Ridge to put the fences back in order.”

  Harve was a Peruvian shepherd hired by Sean Fitzgerald fifteen years before. He and his brother, Aldo, helped turn Sean’s dream into reality. Harve’s wife, son and infant daughter lived in a shepherd’s cottage at Pine Ridge. Aldo lived in the second cottage next door to them.

  “Harve Jr. is going to monitor the less injured ewes when we get them to the barn. But this one will need extra care. Let’s take her to my place,” he suggested. “She can give Ginger some company.”

  “You got room, Isaiah?” The old man peered up at Isaiah.

  “In the old barn, yes. Dr. Fitzgerald comes by daily to check on a horse and a dog. She can check on Freda, too.”

  “Freda?” Char asked, without shifting attention from the delicate job at hand.

  Isaiah pointed out the small ear tag. Below the number was a hand-printed name in permanent marker—Freda.

  She hadn’t noticed that each tag had a personal name attached. The additional sweet gesture softened her heart. Sure, these folks probably should have sold their stock years ago, when they realized they were no longer up to the challenge of maintaining the herd, but calling it quits was hard on old farmers. She’d seen the
same thing back east—farmers hanging on past their prime, sad that no one stood in line to take their place.

  “Howard? Mae? I hear you had a bit of trouble up this way.” A local deputy sheriff came into the small grazing area to her left. He looked around and folded his arms. “You know I was telling my Martha the other night that you folks might want a chance to retire from raising wool and lambs. It’s a lot of work for little return when you’ve only got a dozen sheep, right?”

  Char didn’t dare glance over her shoulder at Howard because she could see Mae’s face from where she worked, and the wan expression said too much.

  “Hey, Dewey.” Isaiah moved to the deputy’s side. “We’ve got a crew coming to tighten up the barn and the fencing for Mae and Howard. I don’t think any of us realized that things had gotten out of hand, so we’d like to help.”

  Char couldn’t see the deputy’s reaction, but regret deepened his voice. “Well, it might be out of my hands at this point, Isaiah. I’m sure folks mean well, but if a complaint comes in against an animal owner, then we’ve got to check things out.”

  “A complaint?” The old man’s voice pitched up. “You don’t have to tell me who’s complaining, that’s for certain. It’s Braden Hirsch because I won’t sell him my farm or support his brother in the election. He’s been telling lots of folks that me and Mae are over the hill and even addled. Well, I might have a bad case of the old arther-itis in both knees and my hearing’s not what it was but my cataract surgery cleared up my vision. Mae’s, too. And with a little help on the fencing we’re fine right here. Like always.”

  They weren’t fine.

  Char had realized that driving in.

  And if neighbors jumped in to help them clean things up and reorganize, that was a lovely gesture, but what about after? When winter came and the two infirm adults tried to care for animals in winter squalls?

  “We’re not givin’ up our farm, house or land, Dewey Martin, and you can tell that to Dr. Braden Hirsch for me.” Mae’s pale look had been replaced with twin spots of color in her cheeks. “He’s been after this bit of land ever since his parents passed on nearly two decades back. It irks him that our piece stands between his two bigger parcels, but it isn’t his place to force a pair of old-timers out of their home.”