Second Hope

by J. B. McDonald

  “The rescue?” He closed the screen door quietly, turning to settle himself on a barstool. His shoulder ached, but he knew it would go away soon. Nat pulled a bottle of dressing from the fridge, hesitated, and grabbed a second one.

  “We take in a couple a month. More when it’s needed, less when it’s not, but I think it averages about twenty-five a year. Do what we can to patch them up, make them healthy, help find them homes. Not all of them leave.” The frown came back“ Not all of them make it. But we do what we can.”

  Cole sat thoughtfully for a long moment. “I’d heard that you did charity work. It must be hard.” He’d seen his share of disasters—had nearly been in one, so recently. Not all of the stories had happy endings. It seemed more often than not, most of them didn’t.

  “It can be.” She shrugged. “But it needs to be done, and we’re good at it. After a while you learn how to balance the attention they need with how to keep your heart safe until you know if they’ll pull through. Sometimes you get surprised, but…”

  He smiled, trying to lighten the mood up a little. “So the prices you charge…?”

  She grinned back, and he felt a little thrill go through him at the sight of it. “They’re so we can afford to patch up the horses that don’t pay.”

  His chuckle rumbled out of his chest. “Well, it’s nice to know my money will be put to good use, then.”

  Nat nodded, her eyes sparkling. “The horses and pizza. It takes a lot to get the Domino's guys up here.” Her grin was flashy, full of teasing edges.

  Cole laughed outright, lifting his glass as a salute. “A worthy cause.”

  Chapter Two

  Nat barely had time to throw clothes on and go staggering out to the courtyard when the new horse arrived.

  Nine a.m. It was supposed to get here at nine a.m., not—she looked at her watch, realized she wasn’t wearing one and cursed softly. Dawn. Significantly earlier than nine a.m.! She dragged the shoulder of her hoodie higher, zipping it up with quick, hard yanks. The screen door banged closed two seconds later than she let it go, and she spared a glance back for her temporary houseguest.

  He looked rumpled, too, but being a man it worked better. Stupid men and their easily kept hair. Whiskey-colored eyes only seemed softer with sleep deprivation, darker in the early morning light. Hair the color of desert sand fell in his face, and a broad hand rose to brush it out. He blinked dramatically, likely trying to clear his vision, calling attention to thick lashes.

  Damn the man for looking good. Nat glared at him, crushing her own attraction, and turned away while he gave her a startled glance.

  The driver stepping out of the horse hauler was frowning, though Nat didn’t think it was at anything in particular. Life in general, perhaps. Heck, it was dawn. She was frowning, too.

  “Is this Second Hope Ranch?” he called in a Southern boy’s drawl, forcing his overgrown hair back.

  “Sure is.” Nat ratcheted down the steps and crossed the sandy courtyard. Black hair blew in her face, caught by the faint breeze, and she twisted the thick locks back. Lights came on in the bunkhouse down the way, flicking on in the office above the main barn as well. “Are you Henry Kenzie?”

  “Hal.” He nodded glumly, leaning back against his beat-up truck. Big and steel, it was a relic from an older time when gas prices didn’t make aluminum vehicles the trucks of choice. Most people who volunteered had similar machines: old, easily fixed, and babied along because all the other money was going to the animals.

  Cole caught up to Nat’s ground-eating stride, falling into step so they walked side-by-side. The damn man even smelled good, despite no shower. “I don’t see a horse head peeking out of that trailer,” he said quietly, his voice rolling over her like honey-colored cream. “Do you?”

  She didn’t. And the driver was still frowning. “Tell me you brought the horse.” She pinned the man with a glare as they came closer, earning a red-cheeked nod.

  “’Course I did. I just don’t think anyone realized how weak she is, that’s all…” He turned before he finished speaking, walking hunch-shouldered around the stock trailer. It was open along the top, big slats letting air in, and seemingly held together with rust. “Hey there, pretty mama,” he called softly, reaching the back and flipping the safety mechanisms. Then he turned to Nat, holding one side of the door while waiting for someone to take the other side, and asked, “You got a crane or something, right?”

  Cole had stepped around to the other corner, leaning his shoulder into the lever to push it up and out. He grimaced, and Nat looked sharply at the arm still in a sling. Just what they needed—for some hotshot reiner to bring his horse here and end up hurting himself in the process.

  She put a hand on his waist, trying not to touch his injured shoulder. He looked over, startled, catching her gaze. Something passed between them; a moment of heat, a recognition that shouldn’t have happened. Nat stepped back as if struck, shaking her hand in the hopes that it might take away the feeling of his body, hard muscles under a soft T-shirt shifting beneath her touch.

  He moved closer, holding her eyes with his. For a moment she thought something would happen. He’d say or do something they couldn’t take back, and she’d be stuck. Trapped.

  Nat forced herself to look away, back at the rust-covered trailer and more important matters. “Why don’t you let me open that?” Her voice was husky. She cleared her throat. “Your shoulder isn’t great.”

  It was a long moment before he stepped away, still watching her. Nat moved closer, her side nearly brushing along him as she grabbed the lever and shoved up. It gave way with a screech of metal that should have woken the entire state. There was no sound from the horse inside.

  All Nat could think about was how close Cole stood. The heat radiating from his body prickled along her like the licking warmth from a fire, both comforting and dangerous. She told herself to swing the latch and step away, but somehow her legs didn’t respond. She could feel him, feel every breath that shifted his arm, the whisper of air caressing loose tendrils of hair.

  “I thought you weren’t supposed to get here until nine?” Aaron’s voice shattered the moment. Nat shoved the latch sideways, pushing Cole away as she did so, and with a glance at the driver—Hal—to make sure he was ready, they let down the ramp.

  It creaked and groaned admirably, grinding to a halt six inches before it hit the ground. Nat stepped on it, bouncing once to force it the rest of the way down. It dropped another four inches and halted again. Behind her voices rose, the slow southern accent apologetic, Aaron’s tones sleepy and disgruntled.

  Nat ignored them in favor of the mare lying on the trailer floor. There were no dividers. If there had ever been any—and this being a stock trailer, it was likely there hadn’t—they’d been removed long ago. There was a bag of hay in the corner, and at some point the mare had eaten. Nat didn’t know how much she’d started with, but it looked at least half full. She hadn’t eaten much, and a good chunk of that had been dropped on the floor.

  Hal’s voice rose above the rest, a slow molasses timbre that draped over everything to be heard. “She’s been like that for a day now. It’s why I’m early. I thought it better to get here than to stop and try to get her up again.”

  “Good idea,” Nat said absently. She stepped into shavings that had probably been knee-deep, but had obviously been thinned as the trip progressed. Crushed by the weight of a horse, the air bounced out of them, more removed as she was cleaned up after. They were still more than ankle-deep, and beneath them Nat could feel the give of wooden slats.

  The mare lay prone, ribs clawing up under her skin with every labored breath. The flesh between them and her hips sagged dangerously. Every bone and tendon in her haunches lay starkly revealed. Her visible eye stared sightlessly upward, glazed with hopelessness and exhaustion, resigned to whatever misery the world heaped on her next.

  “What happened to her?” Cole breathed, sidling in next to Nat.

  She almost resented his
intrusion, the masculine energy he brought into this moment, the self-awareness she couldn’t help but feel in his presence. It took her a second to realize that the edge she expected wasn’t there, that the male need to dominate, to hurt something already injured, was missing. She relaxed slowly, bending to make a less intimidating figure to the mare as she inched up along the knobs of a spine. “She was rescued from Florida. They were hit by floods, and she was abandoned. They found her tangled in a fence, half drowned, though she’d somehow escaped wherever she’d been penned. They don’t know how long she’d been fighting water, and given her condition they suspect she was already malnourished.” Nat reached the mare’s mane, sheared away because it was easier to cut it than to untangle barbed wire.

  She reached out carefully and touched an uninjured span of flesh, gaze raking bone structure, marking the bandages around thin legs and sutures in her body. The gross starvation always caught the eye first, in cases like these. The way joints protruded, seemingly too large, the way flesh hung from muscle that had been eaten to keep the creature going. That was dangerous enough, but the things people missed—the bloody gashes where infection festered, or the dislocations hidden by the already misshapen look from its starved body. That’s where her gaze traveled, along joints and bones, checking skin for tears and looking at eyes and ears.

  The mare was breathing well, if heavily.

  “Aaron?” Nat called.

  “Yeah.”

  She slid over to find him in the uncertain light. He stood, lean and tall, blond hair disheveled and T-shirt untucked, her right-hand man waiting for her orders. “Get stall five cleared of shavings, and bed it with straw. We don’t want her inhaling any more dust.” At least complications from clogged airways could be avoided.

  “You think she can stand?” Cole murmured, crouching. His hand pressed along the mare’s neck, near her jaw, soothing her along one of the few spots that wasn’t hurt. The rest of her dark coat was smeared with salve of one form or another, bloody red gashes knitted together with neat lines of stitching.

  It wasn’t the worst case Nat had ever seen, but it didn’t look good, either. “Maybe. We’ll have to ask,” she said at last, pushing to her feet. Cole followed suit, his gaze lingering on the mare.

  The horse picked her head up, folding her legs under her and rolling to her belly to watch them warily. She wore an old halter, a lead rope wrapped once around a bar to keep it out of the way but give her enough room to lie down. Enough room to tie herself up, if she’d kicked or thrashed at all, but Nat guessed from her appearance that it was less of a concern. She edged past Cole, closer to the mare’s head, and untied the rope. It was a good sign that the creature watched her, remaining up on her stomach rather than prone. Nat took a quick look at her position, realizing that if the mare came up and stepped forward at all, her hooves would strike anything in front of her—and even underfed, injured, half-starved horses had hooves that could hurt.

  There was no place to go and still be in the right spot. She glanced up at Cole, saw his realization of her predicament in that moment, and braced herself for a stupid, injured male to insist that he take her place.

  He didn’t. His lips quirked upward at one corner, a little wry, acknowledging her position and that, with one arm in a sling, he couldn’t exactly help.

  Nat found herself smiling back just before she paid attention to the horse, putting her legs where she hoped she wouldn’t be struck if the mare rose. Then she reached down to grasp the halter, tossing the lead over her shoulder and out of the way. “Come on, sweetheart. Let’s see about getting you to your feet.” She tugged gently, but got no response. With a worried look up at Cole, she tugged a little harder.

  The mare laid back down with a sigh and a groan, nearly sending Nat toppling over her. Nat braced her feet, grabbed the lead rope and hauled.

  The mare’s head inched across the shavings, but she didn’t otherwise move. One eye stared up at Nat, dead to the world.

  “It’s not going to work,” Hal called in his soft accent. “I told you, she’s not been getting up.”

  Nat spun the rope toward the mare’s hindquarters, even letting it slap lightly across her flank. There was no movement. Not so much as a flicker of an eyelid or a shiver of skin.

  “Do you have a winch? And a strap?” Cole asked

  She nodded, kneeling once more to run her hand over the mare’s head. Under the scars and neglect, she suspected it was a good head. Broad between the eyes, tapering down to a delicate nose. Small ears and a big, liquid gaze. Possibly Arabian, or a cross of some sort. Nat tore her gaze away, looking at the little crowd that had gathered. “Is Beth here? She knows how to drive the tractor.” How they were going to get the winch and strap inside the trailer was another problem. The roof might be rusted, but she doubted Hal would appreciate them destroying it all the same.

  “I’m here. I’ll go get it. Shumway, can you help me set it all up?”

  There was a murmur of assent and the crowd shifted, moved and reformed.

  “We’re going to have to drag her out, Nat,” a male voice called, filled with exhaustion.

  Nat grimaced. She knew that. There was no other way to do this, but it wasn’t ever a pretty thing. Maybe if they were lucky, the horse would decide that was too undignified and get to her feet. It had happened before. If she just stood, they could get the strap around her belly and help her to the barn.

  If she refused to stand…

  Nat glanced around, mouth tightening into a thin line. They could drag her off the side of the ramp, putting some space between her body and the ground to slide the strap around. They’d have to work fast, but it was possible. Then they just had to hope that her ribs didn’t crack with the strain of her own weight. On a normal horse that wasn’t a concern, but this wasn’t a normal horse.

  “Someone find out how Aaron’s coming with that stall? And make sure there’s still someone with Beauty.” Her people knew better than to leave the mare alone, but the best of them were here, and the few others weren’t entirely trustworthy.

  She needed some new hands.

  “I can do that.”

  Cole’s murmur surprised her. She looked up at him sharply. “You don’t have to—”

  He offered a crooked smile, amber eyes catching her gaze, warm and uncomplicated. “I think, with one arm, I’m probably best sent to run errands. I’ll be right back.” The trailer barely moved as he stepped softly down the ramp and headed off into the lightening morning sky.

  No one spoke as she crouched by the mare’s head, stroking her soft face. Faintly, a horse nickered. Another answered. The tracker started up, distance dulling the noise, letting it rumble into the background.

  Nat took a breath and looked at the crowd. “Someone should feed the horses.” Several people nodded and wandered off, leaving just her and the driver—Hal—his weight shifting from foot to foot.

  “Do you think she’ll be all right?” He nodded toward the mare, his voice quiet as if he might disturb her.

  It worried Nat that the girl hadn’t risen, hadn’t even tried. Hadn’t responded to the flick of a rope or the soothing touch of hands. She lied and smiled at Hal, nodding. “I think she’ll be okay.” They both knew it was only partly true. She could be okay. It was possible. If she wanted to pull through, none of these injuries would stop her. If she wanted to.

  Cole came around the end of the trailer. “The shavings are out, the straw is in. Aaron’s prying apart the fences in the turn-out so we can get the tractor in there, if we have to haul her in, and maybe get her right in the stall with the winch.”

  “Does he need help?” Hal sounded almost relieved, backing away from the prone mare. “I’m pretty good with my hands.” As soon as the words were out, his face colored. “That is—I—I’ll go help.” He scurried off.

  Nat crooked an eyebrow up, too tired to be amused. “Farm boy embarrasses himself. Good to know.”

  Cole looked at her, grinning broadly, the creases a
t the corners of his mouth and his eyes appearing. “How’s our girl?”

  She almost bristled at the comment. Her girl, not his. This place was hers, and no one else could claim rights—but he was looking at the horse, now, where she lay curled in the shavings. He stepped up into the trailer and began pulling bits of wood out of her tail as if she were the most beautiful, cared-for show horse, not a wreck of a beast half-dead and abused.

  Warmth curled in Nat’s belly, releasing through her chest. She tried to ignore it. She could imagine careful hands against her skin—and pushed it away. Men weren’t like that. Even the ones who liked animals were often rough with women. Humans took care of themselves.

  “She’s doing fine,” Nat said at last, and kept her eyes down. She didn’t want to see him again, didn’t want to see how gentle he could be with another living creature. It would only make the disappointment worse when she realized that didn’t apply to people. “You’re doing fine, aren’t you, girl?”

  Glassy eyes didn’t shift, didn’t acknowledge her, not even when Nat reached out and brushed hair away from the gaunt hollows above the mare’s eye sockets.

  The three of them sat in heavy silence, listening to the tractor grumble closer. The horse remained still, didn’t lift her head to better hear the growing noise. Made no effort to stand. Nat glanced up at Cole, found him already watching her. “Could you go corral people? Tell them to bring ropes.”

  He nodded once and rose to do so. When her staff arrived it didn’t take much explaining before they were tying knots around the mare’s back legs and tail, still hoping she’d stand when they started to pull.

  With two men at the mare’s shoulders, and Nat and Shumway at her hind, they slowly began to move her. Her muscles heaved along her torso, and she rolled up again onto her belly, nearly smashing Aaron and Hal in the process. But she didn’t rise. Each man put a shoulder at the base of her neck and pushed, while Nat and Shumway pulled—carefully, aware that they could break her tail if they dragged too hard or at the wrong angle. The thick shavings bogged the mare down, made it harder to get her free. Cole shoved them out of the way with one foot, and even with that the horse didn’t try to rise.