by Laura Moore
A STRANGER IN a strange land, that’s what she was. Tess was on foreign ground. Literally. She had never stepped on a floor covered with inches of straw before, never inhaled the scents teasing her nostrils. She guessed they must be some combination of hay, wool, and manure, this last ordinarily sufficient to revolt her, yet for some reason she didn’t find the scent offensive, just odd. Certainly it was no worse than being passed by a New York garbage truck at high noon during the month of August when the temperatures climbed into the triple digits and the stench of rotting refuse was strong enough to make one’s head spin. Nor was it worse than descending into the bowels of New York and stepping into a crowded subway car full of perspiring bodies. As for the sounds, well, of course, she’d heard them before, but only on TV when she was channel surfing and happened to venture into Animal Planet territory or other stations where nature programs could be found. But the exchange of these lambs’ tiny bleats, answered by the lower, longer ones of their mothers, was like listening to a fascinating if indecipherable conversation.
She loitered just inside the half-lit barn, staring at the different wooden pens that divided the space. Lambs and sheep slept in some of them; in others the lambs were half-buried under their mothers’ bellies, nursing while the sheep systematically picked at hay out of a feeder—Tess had no idea whether there was a specific name for the contraption. Once again, Ward’s notion that she should be the one tweeting about the ranch’s goings-on struck her as pure, unadulterated craziness.
“There you are. Come over here. I’ll introduce you to the newest members of our flock.”
With a start, Tess looked over to one of the pens at the far end of the barn. She had assumed Ward was elsewhere, doing something in another barn. Only now did she realize that he’d been crouching in one of the pens, tending to a lamb or sheep.
Though his features were indiscernible in the darkened interior, the amusement that laced his voice was clear. “I’ll be right next to you to protect you from the wee vicious beasties.”
“Ha. So funny,” she muttered.
She never should have told him about Caesar, the four-legged fascist. She picked her way carefully toward him. She’d changed into shiny patent leather boots that had the distinct advantage of being waterproof so she could wipe them down once she was safely back inside, but she still didn’t mean to get them covered with sheep droppings.
“Climb over the rail.” He held out a hand. Unthinkingly she grasped it, and the heat of his calloused palm transferred to her and spread until she felt hot and bothered all over. The man was an inferno, she thought dazedly. Suddenly she pictured not only his large hand engulfing hers but his naked body wrapped about her, and more heat flowed through her, as unstoppable as a river cascading down a mountain. What would it be like to have his hard length entering her?
Her cheeks burned. This was too much, she thought, panicking. One innocent handclasp and she began imagining the two of them having sex? What was wrong with her? She’d gone through sexual droughts before and it had never made her nuts.
As soon as she’d swung her other leg over the rail, she released his hand. Hurriedly she began unbuttoning her peacoat.
“It’s hot in here,” she said as if needing to justify her action.
“Body heat.”
“Excuse me?”
“The sheep and lambs’ bodies generate a lot of heat.”
Relief made her weak-kneed. If he was going on about sheep and lambs then maybe he hadn’t noticed how she’d reacted to his touch. Right after Carrie liking the dresses she’d found, this would be the best news of the day.
“So come meet these little guys. They’ve just eaten so they’re kind of sleepy. Here, this one could use some cuddling.”
She stared at the lamb. Even in the soft light, its wool seemed snowy white against the gold-yellow of the straw. Its eyes were funny, not round but slightly slanted, and its ears stuck out like handlebars on a bike. It regarded her placidly, its eyes blinking and black nose twitching.
“Sit down. That’s right. He’s curious so he’ll come over to sniff your scent. You can hold him if you like.”
She’d held a cat in her arms before but never imagined enfolding a hooved creature in her lap. But the lamb was small, barely bigger than that nasty dog Caesar had been. It had stepped toward her, its nose outstretched and nostrils quivering. She wrapped her arms about it and felt its heart hammering against its ribs. Luckily Ward didn’t ask her anything because she was too filled with awe to speak.
She stroked the soft warm wool covering its body. When the lamb’s legs suddenly buckled, and it landed in her lap, she caught her breath. Slowly she released it with a sigh of wonder. “It’s so sweet.”
“Congratulations, Tess. You’ve officially passed the lamb test. To celebrate, you get to name this little guy—actually gal.”
“It’s a she?”
“Yeah.”
“And you’re not going to eat her, right?”
“Our sheep are raised for their wool. Now that her mother is letting her nurse, she should have a nice long life. All our stock live the best lives we can give them. When the cattle go to market, we use the most humane practices available. Quinn wouldn’t be able to sleep at night otherwise. But we do raise the cattle for beef. It’s a fact of life on a cattle ranch.”
“It’s okay. I like meat. It just would have been weird if this little sweetie ended up on my plate. Her name should be”—she didn’t have to rack her brains; the name came unbidden—“Angie.”
“Angie she is then.” He cocked his head. “I think that must be Quinn and Frank, one of the ranch hands, returning with Quinn’s new adopted horse. They’ll be turning him out in the nearest corral. Can you bear to leave Angie to take a look?”
Almost too embarrassed to admit that she, who a mere twenty minutes earlier had been essentially anti-animal, was now unwilling to relinquish this tiny lamb with its bowed neck sleeping so innocently in the shelter of her arms. “I wouldn’t want to disturb her.”
“Her belly’s full and she’s warm. We’ll put her right next to her brother and mother.” The straw rustled as he crossed the small pen. He bent over her. His breath mingling with hers, he carefully scooped Angie out of her lap. The scrape of his fingers seared through the denim covering her inner thighs.
“There. I’ve got her.” His husky voice caressed her as thoroughly as his touch had. “You okay?”
No. She was not okay. Something huge had happened in this simple barn filled with the plaintive bleats and sleepy calls of sheep. Ward had given her something precious. A connection she never would have made otherwise. It was something mundane for him, part of his everyday life. To Tess it was like opening a door and showing her a world.
Of course she was bowled over by the experience of holding an adorable woolly baby animal. Such trust and gentleness was extraordinary. It was the man who’d brought her to this unlikely place full of animal noises and odors—full of animals—who she now saw in a whole new light.
“Why wouldn’t I be all right?”
“Okay. Then let’s take a look at Quinn’s new project.”
The shock of leaving the cocoonlike world of the lambs and sheep in all their pungent woolly cuteness and stepping into the raw February afternoon to the agitated snorts of a horse, whose ears swiveled and tail swished, vividly reminded Tess of all the reasons she preferred to keep a safe distance from big animals. Especially the ones that outweighed her by a factor of ten and who possessed huge teeth and enormous hooves.
This was definitely one of those. And for all the fear it roused in her, she also felt a wave of pity for the creature. It had obviously been terribly abused. It looked skeletal, the dull coat stretched tight over its bones. More distressing still—if such a thing was possible—were the gashes covering its coat.
“Holy crap,” she whispered, staring at the wounds. “What happened to it?”
“Most likely it was whipped.” Ward’s voice was flat. “Stay
here, okay?”
If she hadn’t been so disturbed, she might have attempted a pert response about how nothing would have induced her to approach the horse, but all she could do was nod.
She watched him walk to where Quinn was standing and holding the line of rope attached to the horse’s halter. To Tess, the rope seemed far too short. Ward didn’t seem alarmed by the fact that as he approached, the horse had begun tossing its head and pinning its ears. Even she knew that was a bad sign. But if anything, Ward seemed calmer than ever, which was saying something since the man personified cool reserve.
She could just make out his low-pitched words. “Who’s this guy? I thought the horse I adopted for you was a gray. Given up for adoption when the owner lost her job.”
“Glory? Frank and I already turned him out in the corral. He’s lovely. He’s got the potential to make a great trail horse. This one’s Tucker. I couldn’t leave him, Ward. He’s so scared and hurt. He arrived at the shelter three days ago. Betsy Collins, the woman who you consulted about adopting Glory, told me the police found him wandering near a highway. I’d love to get my hands on the sons of bitches that did this to him.”
“Quinn, you realize you may never get this horse to trust a human again?”
“Maybe, maybe not. But at least I can give him the life every creature deserves.”
Ward nodded. “I’ll call Gary Cooney. Tucker will have to be quarantined until Gary clears him.”
Quinn nodded. “I thought I’d put him in a makeshift pen next to the goats. Jim went to set it up for me. That way Tucker will be at a safe distance from the other horses, but he won’t be lonely. And it’ll give him a chance to get used to my comings and goings.”
“Just make sure you don’t allow anyone to use the shovel and pitchfork or barrow you use to clean the pen. Not until he’s been cleared and vaccinated. And have someone with you when you’re cleaning it out. I don’t want him attacking you. Damn, those cuts make me sick.”
“I’ll make him better.” Quinn’s voice was fierce.
“I know you’ll try your hardest, kiddo. Here’s Frank with the grain bucket. The fact that Tucker’s near starving may make it easier to get him into the pen. Here, Frank.” Slowly Ward extended his arm for the bucket.
It took twenty minutes to get the horse to the makeshift metal enclosure, with Ward sprinkling bits of grain on the ground, the horse taking tentative steps forward, and Quinn offering a steady stream of praise. Not once did either Knowles show the slightest impatience with the animal. Though its quivering didn’t cease, it stopped snorting quite as frequently to track Ward’s hand each time it delved into the black rubber bucket.
Ward was right. The horse’s hunger was even more powerful than his fear of humans. The knowledge was profoundly disturbing.
Unable to quell her curiosity as to what Ward and Quinn intended to do with Tucker, Tess followed at a safe distance until they reached a smaller barn constructed of the same weathered wood as the others. Attached to it was a fenced enclosure. Inside it a half dozen grayish brown goats with white markings were milling around. No, they were playing around, on a kind of a jungle gym, Tess realized with a start. One of the goats was butting a tetherball; two others were standing on top of a huge cylindrical hay bale. There was even a balance beam of sorts—a log set on concrete blocks—but no one seemed interested in crossing it at the moment.
The second they spotted Quinn and Ward, the goats on the hay bale jumped down and scrambled to join the others trotting over to the fence. Once there, they stuck their white and brown noses though the gaps in the fence. One energetically rose on its hind legs to peer over the top rail. A chorus of maas filled the air.
The noise had the horse’s tail rising up at a funny angle.
Uh-oh, Tess thought.
Ward stepped into the metal enclosure that was adjacent to the goats’ pen and about half its size. He shook the bucket, redirecting the horse’s attention to him.
Next to Ward, Quinn slowly took in the rope as the horse approached tentatively, its ribs heaving from panic and fear. When the horse had cleared the entrance, Quinn passed the rope to Ward and then quietly slipped through the rails of the pen as one of the ranch hands closed the gate. At the clank of metal the horse reared suddenly, and Tess’s nerves leapt just as violently.
Ward never lost his cool. He kept hold of the rope as the horse pawed the air. When it had all four hooves back on the ground, Ward once again rattled the bucket. The horse stretched its nose and neck out as far as it could, perhaps hoping it could inhale the grain like a vacuum cleaner, but refused to take a step nearer. Still shaking the bucket, Ward somehow managed to close the distance between them. Just before he poured the grain onto the ground, he extended his free hand and unsnapped the rope attached to the halter. As the grain bounced on the hard dirt and the starved horse lowered his head to eat, Ward stepped back, rope in hand.
It was all done so fluidly. Tess had no sooner understood what Ward was about than he was ducking through the metal rails of the makeshift corral with the same quiet and calm he’d demonstrated throughout. He must possess nerves of steel, she thought.
Not so her. Tess could feel her heart slamming against her ribs. She was almost more scared now that Ward was safe and visions of what could have happened to him streamed before her.
As soon as Ward was on the outside of the corral, Quinn disappeared into the barn. She emerged with an armful of hay. After chucking it over the top rail of the pen, she went over to where Ward was watching the horse. Noticing Tess for the first time, she smiled. “Hey, city girl. Glad to see you down here.”
Ward turned. “It’s all right to come closer, Tess. I promise you Quinn’s new horse won’t be coming near us. I doubt he’ll let any human near him for a while.”
Since she’d already figured that much out for herself, she walked over to them. As she approached, Quinn stepped sideways so Tess could stand between her and Ward. “So what do you think of Tucker? It’s criminal what they did to him.”
“Yes, it is. I don’t know a thing about horses. But I guess I’d have to say that Tucker’s lucky to have met you.”
Quinn angled her head. “You know, I like you more and more. So did you take a look at Glory, the horse Ward got me? He’s a sweetie. I’m going to take him on some test rides. I think he’s going to make a good trail horse. Now that spring is nearly upon us, maybe you’d like to go on one.”
She had to nip this one in the bud before any of these horse-crazy people got ideas. “A trail ride? I don’t think so. You ever heard that saying, ‘One ought to try everything once except incest and folk dancing’? Well, I’d rather try folk dancing than horseback riding.”
Quinn snorted then succumbed to full-throated laughter. On Tess’s other side, Ward ducked his dark head, but she caught the smile stretching across his face.
“Riding’s way better than folk dancing. Right, Ward?”
“And way, way better than incest.” Ward’s drawled response provoked another snort of hilarity from his sister. “Tess is going to be tweeting about the ranch for us, Quinn, so why don’t you take her around and introduce her to Alberta, Hennie, and the others? I’ve got to hunt Pete down and find out whether any more cattle have sickened. Oh,” he added as he turned away from the rail. “Tess and you need to brainstorm activities for a cowgirls’ weekend at the ranch. You’re to supply the ideas that don’t involve nail polish.”
Quinn’s grin was wicked. “So he’s got you planning a cowgirls’ weekend, huh? Sounds like my brother wants to broaden your horizons.”
That’s what she was afraid of.
“HI, MOM. IT’S me. I didn’t call too late, did I?” Tess had dialed her parents’ number immediately upon returning to her cabin. Still in the clothes she’d worn to see the sheep, she paced the small sitting area that in one corner was equipped with a sink, a small stove top, and a tiny fridge.
“No, I was just washing the floor before I went upstairs.” Maria Casari
washed the kitchen floor every night. Cleaning offered Tess’s mother the semblance of control in a life that was filled with so much she could neither fix nor straighten. “Your Papa’s upstairs. He told me you got a letter in the mail today. He said it looked businesslike.” Tess heard her call loudly, “Frank, it’s Teresa. She’s on the phone.” There was a long pause and then she returned on the line. “Sorry. He must be watching that show of his.”
“It’s okay. I can talk to him later in the week. I wouldn’t want to interrupt. He might not figure out who dunnit otherwise.”
“Maybe I should go get the letter—”
“No, I’m sure it’s not important.” She paid her bills online, and the bank where she’d set up the fund for Christopher had her cell phone number and email address.
“What if it’s from—”
“It wouldn’t be. David’s parents have no reason to contact me.” The Bradfords had made it clear they had no wish to communicate with her ever again. Perhaps the letter from the lawyer informing her that David was proceeding with a divorce had found her at last. She hardly wanted to read that and dredge up those painful memories. “How are you, Mom?”
“Chris had a good day. Jay let him play on the computer for a half hour in the afternoon and there were hot dogs at lunch.”
“I know hot dogs are his favorite.” It was useless to point out to her mother that she hadn’t answered Tess’s question about how she was doing. It would only sadden her. Besides, how Chris’s day went did dictate the quality of her own.
“And how are things with you, Teresa?”
“They’re good. You know that couple I told you about, the one I’m planning the wedding for? I found some dresses for the bride and she seemed really excited about them. And I’ve been given a new responsibility as events planner and promoter. They want me to post stuff about the goings-on at the ranch. Today I went down to the barns. I held a newborn lamb, Mom.”
“Your great-great-grandparents were farmers.”