Second Hope

by J. B. McDonald

  Nat chuckled, looking at him with warmth in her eyes. “It sounds like your mother was quite a woman.”

  He nodded. “From what I hear. My father always said it was because of that early training that my brother and I were natural horsemen.”

  A hesitation stretched between them, long and quiet. Then Nat spoke, her expression one of uncertainty. “Do you miss her?”

  Cole thought about it for a long while, prodding at the space where his mother should have been. “I suppose,” he said at last. “Not terribly. Not the way I might miss her if I’d known her better. More in the way you miss something you never knew, but heard about a lot. Something that other people had—like missing the ideal of something.” He looked at Nat, catching her gaze in his. “In some ways, it was easier that she was gone. I couldn’t fight with her, couldn’t hate her. She was always on my side, because the perfect image of her was only in my head. In other ways, that was harder. I think I missed her more because she was only an ideal.” He shrugged, suddenly self-conscious. “I don’t know. It’s all a little silly, anyway.”

  “No it’s not. It’s emotions and experience. None of it has to make sense or follow reason. And neither are ever silly.”

  He glanced over at her, seeing her face set in solemn lines, and wondered who in her life had taught her such an important lesson. Then he smiled, eyes twinkling. “Ah, but you forget. I’m a guy. If I have emotions, my guy card gets taken away.”

  She slanted a friendly, teasing look at him. “Of course. It’s just your delicate shape. I forget you’re male.”

  Cole barked a surprised laugh, glancing down at himself. He wasn’t the biggest or strongest person ever, there was no doubt about that—but he doubted anyone had ever described him as delicate. “And my breasts,” he agreed mock solemnly. “People are always mistaking me for female because of my breasts.”

  “Hmm.” Nat smiled at him. “They threw me. I thought we were expecting a Mr. Masterson, and then you showed up.”

  He chuckled, falling easily into the relaxed banter. It was a little different than teasing his brother—that usually ended in a scuffle—and not quite like flirting with other women he’d known. Joking, smiling, laughing, sure, that was all normal. But the wry, not easily impressed look in Nat’s gaze, or the way she didn’t giggle and dimple but rather treated him with a no-nonsense air, was fresh and new, and a welcome change from the games he normally tried not to play.

  Now, he didn’t have to try. He wasn’t sure Nat would know a game if it came up and sneezed on her.

  By the time they got back to the ranch several hours later, having ridden the edge of the fenced property at an easy walk, he found himself appreciating her not just for what she did with the horses, not just for her quick mind and very attractive body, but for the things she said when she wasn’t teasing, the quiet conversations they’d had about family and childhood escapades interspersed with laughter and ease.

  He was sorry to get back, sorry to return to the daily work of dealing with ranch work and other hands—and that wasn’t something he’d have ever expected. There was a visible mantle Nat picked up as they walked up to the barn, losing the relaxation they’d ridden with and carrying instead a preparedness for whatever might happen, a leadership quality that was as attractive as their ride had been, if less approachable. As Shumway wandered up with a question about a horse, Cole led Taylor away, leaving Nat to start her job once more.

  He took his time rubbing the horse down, hauling the saddle off with one arm and slinging it onto its post. It made his opposite shoulder sore, but that was all right. He didn’t take the bridle off, not sure he’d be able to get the halter on with one hand, but just trusted the gelding to stay put.

  Taylor’s coat was short, though small, fine hairs came off as Cole took a curry to him, rubbing circles to increase circulation under the skin, to encourage old hair to fall out, and the oils to spread further. Up close like this he could see the signs of age; gray hairs here and there, chestnuts on the insides of his forelegs that had grown out tough and resistant to falling off, a slight brittleness to the gelding’s mane and tail that young horses often didn’t have. Cole took his time, working down strong, straight legs and being sure to get under the belly, where many people missed. Taylor stood half-dozing, content to be fussed over.

  It wasn’t, of course, that Cole was hoping Nat might join him. Certainly not that he thought she might come into the barn rather than taking Jasmine straight out to pasture. He knew she generally took excellent care of her mare, but sometimes duty called. They hadn’t ridden hard. The only sweat the horses had broken was due to heat, not work. There was no physical reason to groom Jasmine. It would help solidify bonds, but theirs was secure, and if the place was busy enough…

  He remained anyway, taking first a soft brush and then a cloth to Taylor until not a speck of dirt was left, then starting on his mane and tail. He even dug up a can of hoof oil and spread it carefully on the horse’s feet, but only because in this heat they probably needed the moisture. Not because he was hoping for another glimpse of Nat.

  At last, when there was nothing left to do, Cole took the horse’s reins and led him back out into the sunshine. His pasture was a fair walk across the ranch, and on the way Cole caught sight of Nat in with three or four other people, crowding around a downed horse. There was an ATV sitting nearby, and a vet’s truck. The urge to swing in and see what was going on was great, but Cole banished it in favor of putting Taylor away.

  The old horse spat out the bit gratefully and headed off to roll in the grass, spreading chunks of mud and green stains across the coat Cole had so thoroughly cleaned. Cole only huffed a chuckle, shaking his head at the nature of horses.

  He lingered on the way back, craning his neck to see what was going on with the other horse. Finally, though, his own sense of duty overrode his curiosity, and he headed to the small barn to check on Fleet before continuing on to the main barn to check on Emma.

  Perhaps she wasn’t his horse, and therefore not his responsibility, but he felt a connection to her anyway. Fleet was well adjusted; he was always happy to see Cole, but he didn’t really need the help. Emma, on the other hand, needed every bit of encouragement she could get.

  “You’re a bit like our lovely horse rehabilitator,” he murmured, sliding into her stall and closing the door behind him.

  She stood, though her head hung low. A pile of hay sat in the corner, and various buckets were attached to the walls, all untouched. They’d turned off the automatic waterer and given her a large tub instead, so they could monitor how much she was drinking. The IV had been unhooked earlier in the day, though the catheter remained taped in. Too much fluid was as disastrous as too few.

  He stepped to the white tub and glanced at the water level, noting that she’d had something to drink. It was a good sign, though hard to remember when her ribs were blatant under her skin and her eyes looked so listless.

  She didn’t flinch when he put his hand on her neck, petting slowly down the length of it, over the shoulder that was beginning to look concave, and to the spine that stuck out like a blade. Her hipbones protruded so much that no amount of shavings kept them from rubbing when she laid down, and there were rust red scabs at the points. More such bedsores decorated her hocks and ankles, along with white marks where she’d had them before and they’d healed over. A spot of pale fur on her withers indicated an ill-fitting saddle, and again on her chest—possibly a breast collar. Maybe she’d been a trail horse, then, or belonged to someone who thought they could do endurance rides with her. Something where they’d need a breast collar to keep the saddle from slipping back—and from the bone structure on her hindquarters, he didn’t think it would have slipped unless they were at high speeds or working up and down hills.

  Or maybe it had been a rider who didn’t know what they were doing, and simply used it because they thought they should. He didn’t know, and he couldn’t create enough theories to make one fit. It wasn’t
possible.

  Emma still wasn’t eating.

  He left the stall, closing the door softly behind him, and walked across the springy rubber mats to Beauty. Her door opened with the thrum of metal rolling across metal, and he stepped inside after plucking her lead rope off its peg. She was still wearing her halter so they could grab her quickly if anything went wrong. Grateful for small favors, Cole clipped the lead on under her chin and walked her out, moving slowly to give her room to limp as they headed across and down the aisle. Even her shod feet made barely any noise on the rubber. He made a mental note to look into padding his whole ranch with the stuff, and paused outside Emma’s door.

  Beauty reached over his shoulder, blowing as she caught the other mare’s scent. Emma didn’t respond beyond a flick of her ear.

  Then Beauty caught the scent of the sweet feed nearest her, and suddenly the other mare was significantly less important.

  With a chuckle, Cole opened the door and led the mare in, watching carefully for a flattened ear or a swishing tail. But Beauty was only interested in the food, and Emma didn’t seem to care. He put himself at the doorway, leaving it open far enough to dart out and drag Beauty with him if things got ugly, and waited.

  Beauty shoved her nose into the nearest bucket, banging it against the wall in her zeal. He cringed at the noise and the responding nickers of some of the other stabled horses as they recognized what that sound was.

  Slowly, Emma’s eyes focused on the large black mare in her stall. She reached out her nose and brushed Beauty’s flank, only to have the other mare squeal and tail-whip.

  “Here, knock that off,” Cole muttered at her, giving the lead a quick jiggle to distract her. Beauty dug into the feed with renewed vigor, rolling one eye around to warn Emma away. But the tail swish was all the warning Emma needed. She backed off quietly, though her expression remained more alert, watching what this new horse might do.

  “That’s it, lovely.” He kept his words quiet, soothing. “All you needed was a little companionship, hm?”

  Emma inched toward one of the other buckets, sniffing at the contents as if she’d never smelled such a thing before—even though they’d held it in her face at various times over the last few days.

  He waited anxiously to see what she’d do. When she took another step forward and tipped her head to nose at the grain, Cole nearly cheered. He remained steady and still, though, not wanting to scare the girl off now that she was so close to eating something.

  By the time Beauty had polished off her bucket of feed, Emma had eaten only a few mouthfuls. It was still a few more than she’d had before, and Cole considered it a success. Keeping Beauty from chowing down on what was in the rest of the buckets was more of a trick; they didn’t need one horse to finally start eating, only to have another colic. He dragged her over to the grass hay, planting his feet and keeping her there when she would have yanked him toward the grain.

  He didn’t know how long he stood there with the horses. Long enough for Emma to eat a bit more before growing tired and losing interest again. Then he took Beauty back to her own stall and made a note on the whiteboard attached to the door that she’d had half a pound of Four-Way.

  Emma was asleep, standing upright, when he checked in on her again. He doubted the little bit she’d had to eat would do much, but at least it was a start. Responsibility done for the time being, he turned and started the trek across the ranch to see what was going on with the downed horse.

  Chapter Six

  “Beth?”

  “I’ll go.” The strawberry blond got into the trailer with Buddha, holding his head and murmuring to him quietly.

  The gelding’s tail twitched, his body soaked with sweat. He tried to turn back, to bite at his stomach, and when he couldn’t because his head was tied he kicked instead.

  Then the trailer doors closed on the horse and woman, and Nat took a step back.

  “We’ll get him into the surgery clinic and see what they can do,” Dr. Reeds said, though the frown he seemed unaware of wasn’t soothing.

  If the gelding survived, it would be due to Shumway’s sharp eyes. He’d been the one to spot Buddha rolling in his pasture, turning to bite at his own flank. When walking him hadn’t helped they’d dosed him with Ace and Banamine, and when the horse had only continued to sweat and be agitated they’d called the vet.

  Neither heavier drugs nor a palpation had done anything useful. With colic cases they only had a limited time to save the animal’s life; now Buddha was off for surgery, and they could only hope it would give them something to work with.

  Dust rose from under the tires of the trailer as it headed away, followed by the vet’s truck. From the beige cloud a figure came, head tucked to avoid the worst of the dirt. Nat knew it was Cole even before the cloud spit him out.

  “What’s going on?” he called from a distance away still, turning to watch the automobiles reach the gravel road and thread down between the barns.

  “Colic.” It was all that needed to be said.

  He grimaced, stopping and staring as the trailer vanished, as if it could tell him a little more about how the horse inside was doing. When it was well and truly gone, he finished walking toward Nat. “What happened?”

  “Not sure. The vet thinks maybe there’s a twist in his gut.” She glanced around, uncertain what she was looking for. The day seemed too bright, suddenly, light glaring off the ground and the distant boulders. The wind had died and the sun beat down with a burning intensity. She could practically feel her skin tightening as she stood there.

  “Could it be sand? Some sort of blockage?” Cole’s tone seemed doubtful. The pastures were filled with growing plants rather than hay tossed on dirt.

  She shrugged helplessly. “Maybe.” That would be the easiest solution. “But we oiled him, and nothing came out.” It meant either a severe blockage, or a twist in his gut. Dr. Reeds was suspicious of the latter, and it was far more dangerous. The surgery hospital would be able to tell.

  A blockage could be removed; a twist meant intestinal death, and depending on how much was gone…

  Nat took a deep breath and released it, then started toward the barn. Cole fell into easy step beside her.

  His thoughts had apparently followed the same line as hers. When he spoke it was subdued. “Is there anything I can do?”

  She offered him a weak smile, thinking of the millions of things that needed to be done, and Aaron off driving the trailer while Beth held the horse. Most of those millions of things needed two hands. She suddenly wished Matt hadn’t left already. “Got any good news? A funny story? How ’bout a joke?”

  She was both startled and unsurprised when Cole reached up, his hand landing on the back of her skull and stroking downward soothingly. All the way down her back, to settle on her waist and remain there as they walked. She considered drawing away from him, taking a step to one side to decrease the intimacy. Instead her next step was closer to him, borrowing the strength he offered.

  “Emma ate something. Your idea to take Beauty over there worked perfectly. Beauty buried her nose in a feed bucket and when Emma decided to take a closer look she ended up eating a few mouthfuls.”

  Nat snorted. “I hadn’t meant for Beauty to stuff herself.”

  His smile was relaxed and easy, and she felt herself unwind a little more. “I know, but if it works… And I wrote on Beauty’s whiteboard that she’d eaten, so we won’t feed her extra and end up with another colic.”

  A smile teased at the edges of her mind, something in her chest loosening a little at his “we”. He had no reason to be interested in these horses, and yet he was. Protective of them, invested in their welfare. A few days before it would have made her prickly. Now the knowledge that someone else was pulling for her broken-down beasts—whether or not they came from a monied owner, was a welcome support.

  “Is there anything else I can do?”

  There was so much to be done, Nat didn’t know where to start. The temptation was to te
ll him no, because sometimes trying to work out what could be done one-handed was harder than simply doing it all herself. In the end, though, she gave the question real consideration, knowing that if she and Shumway tried to get everything done, they’d be up until midnight.

  “Do you think you could walk a yearling? She’s been cooped up,” Nat warned. “Full of energy, and she has to stick to a walk.”

  Cole gave it serious thought before he nodded slowly, gaze focused inward. “I can do that. Where is she?”

  “Second barn—where Fleet is—at the other end. Her name’s Kahaia, and if you can’t do it let someone know. She’s supposed to be a great racehorse someday, but she injured her knee. Now she’s on stall rest, to be walked twice a day for twenty minutes each in the indoor arena—it has rubber turf—for the next month. And we can’t trust her on the hotwalker.”

  “If I can’t handle her, I promise to say so.” He paused, turning to face Nat. His hand slid up her arm, fingertips gentle across her collarbones, up the side of her neck, brushing her jawline. She knew in the instant before he tipped her face up that he was going to kiss her, and some small part of her marveled that everything he did was so careful. As if she were as fragile as the horses brought in for healing. It was beyond her experience, and unsettling for that.

  His mouth brushed hers once, twice, and he pulled away slightly. “I’ll take care of the horses that need to be walked. You’ll let me know if there’s anything else I can do?”

  She nodded, still able to feel the tingle on her lips where he’d touched her. She kept waiting for it to get demanding, for him to push, to get angry about something, to steal her strength. It never happened.

  His thumb brushed over her lower lip, and then his hand slid away as he headed off toward the second barn.

  Nat stood for a moment, lifting her hand to scratch absently across her forehead, where sweat gathered. She should be wary of him. Men were not to be trusted. But somehow, this time, the concept carried less weight than it always had before. In a way that was just as scary—she didn’t want to fall into a trap only to learn he was just like the others.