by Pam Crooks
The little girl howled at the sight of her mother. Rebecca Ann held her tightly, rocking back and forth, her eyes squeezed shut.
They opened again. Her gaze darted to Reese, Liza, then back at Reese again. Distrust warred with uncertainty and fatigue in her face.
“A horse kicked her, Rebecca Ann,” Reese said. “She was in the corral as free as you please.”
“We could not reach her in time,” Liza added softly. “We tried, but she would not come.”
Rebecca Ann's chin trembled. “I--I must have dozed off. She'd been napping, and I didn't know she--.” She halted and bit her lip.
“Things turned out well enough, as far as we can tell,” Reese said. “Her shoulder will be sore. Better have it looked at. I'll carry her back to the hotel for you.”
“No.” Rebecca Ann shook her head firmly. “I'll carry her myself.”
A muscle tightened in his jaw, but he did not press the issue. “I'll send a doctor up then.”
Rebecca Ann stood and made her way past the crowd. She halted, ran a glance over the townspeople and Reese, a glance that never touched on Liza.
“Thank you,” she said over her daughter's sniffles and left.
It was an acknowledgment that excluded Liza, as if she were as much a part of the dirt as the street they stood on. The rebuff pierced deep. Liza told herself it did not matter.
It did not.
She rose stiffly, slipping the medicine bag back into her pocket. The mayor appeared in front of her, his hand extended to lend her assistance.
“Name's Al Dunning, ma'am. I appreciate what you did for the child. Even if her mother didn't.”
Startled, Liza's gaze flew to his. Compassion lurked within his hazel-eyed depths, and she knew his gratitude was genuine.
“It was an unfortunate thing to happen,” she demurred. “We must be thankful she was not hurt worse.”
“Reckon you're right. That there palomino is gentler'n most. He'd never try to hurt her if he was feelin' better.”
In unison, they turned to the corral and the afflicted horse. Mud clung to the sweat, soaking its gold-colored hide. He continued to jerk and twist, as if trying to expel the demons torturing his insides. Liza clucked her tongue in sympathy.
“Have you called for the vet?” Reese asked.
“Yes, sir. First thing, but he's out on another call. No tellin' when he'll get here.”
“That horse is in pain, for sure.” George Steenson appeared from within the group of townspeople. He moved toward the fence, wiping his hands on a clean white apron.
“Don't I know it.” The mayor grimaced.
“He might hurt someone, the way he's rolling and kicking like that.” Jack Hadley strode forward, a coil of rope in his hand. Liza glimpsed Maudeen and her two young sons near him. “Best to tie him down so's he won't hurt no one else.”
Appalled, Liza sucked in a breath.
“That is the worst you could do!” Everything she had ever learned about horses cried out to deny his intent, no matter how well-intentioned. “You would only injure him further.”
A deep red flush crept up from Jack's collar.
“I ain't kin to a Gypsy back-talkin'me,'' he said with a snarl. “Stay out of this!”
“Jack! Please!” Maudeen pleaded.
He whirled toward her. “She ain't got no right stickin' her nose in our business, Maudeen. She an expert or somethin'?”
“Yes!” Reese flashed him a harsh glance. “She knows more about horses than any of us. She's damned good with them.”
“Pardon me, Mr. Carrison, but this town has managed just fine without her before. And we'll manage just fine now,” he snapped back.
“Jack Hadley!” Her temper piqued, Maudeen gave his shirtsleeve a firm yank. “How dare you speak to Mr. Carrison that way! After all he's done for us!”
“Reckon it won't hurt to see what the Gypsy lady can do, Jack,” the mayor said. “You saw how gentle she was with the child. What've we got to lose?”
Grumbles of agreement rose among the crowd.
Jack's fingers clenched and unclenched over the coiled rope. “All right, then. I've had my say,” he said stiffly. “If the rest of you want to leave the horse in a thievin' Gypsy's hands, then I can't stop you. But I ain't havin' no part in it.”
He spun on his boot heel and stomped across the street to the Empty Saddle Saloon, the door slamming shut behind him. Maudeen's cheeks pinkened in mortification, but she made no move to follow him. Instead, apology pleaded from her freckled features, and her gaze met Liza's.
Liza lowered her lashes. There was much to say to her new friend, things her husband most likely would not understand or agree with. Would their differences ever be resolved? Could their friendship flourish? It all seemed impossible.
“Will you see to the horse?” Reese asked quietly. His fingers tightened on her waist, and Liza could not deny him. She would not shame him in front of his people by refusing to heal the palomino's ills.
“For you, yes,” she said.
His gold-flecked eyes warmed in approval, and he nudged her gently toward the corral.
With scrutiny heavy upon her, she slipped through the fence rails, crooning in the age-old tongue of the Gypsy, as Nanosh had taught her to do. She bent toward the animal, her hand reaching for the sweat-dampened neck.
Without warning the horse whinnied and kicked out, barely missing her. His head reared up and twisted back toward his abdomen. Murmurs of alarm sifted through the crowd. With Reese at the helm, the townspeople sifted into the corral.
“I'm not too sure about this, ma'am,” the mayor said uneasily.
“Leave her be, Al. She knows what she's doing.” Reese's voice was calm, firm.
“But, Reese--.”
“Let her do her work.”
Clearly reluctant, the mayor made no further protest. Liza tried again, stepping with a careful tread toward the horse.
“Easy, my pet,” she soothed. The horse's ears pricked to the lulling sound; for a moment, he laid very still. “Easy.”
Liza knew she must get the horse onto his feet, to walk him to soothe his pain. Her hand stroked his head, slipped along his neck, and then returned to his muzzle. Her fingers gently grasped his halter; she tugged on the leather, trying to get him to raise his head.
He rolled wary eyes toward her, but didn't budge. She continued to croon softly, her voice always even, the gentle sounds inspiring the horse's trust. Still, he refused to get up, and her concern deepened. Was there an injury none of them yet suspected?
She pulled on the halter again and made a soft clucking noise to encourage the palomino to stand. In a sudden eruption he leaped to his feet with a bellowing nicker. Liza hung onto the head piece, his superior strength jerking her upward, her toes clearing the ground by inches before she touched down again.
The crowd rushed to her defense.
“No!” she commanded. “Get back. Give him the room he needs.”
Immediately, they obeyed. With feet braced, Liza clung to the halter, talking softly all the while, until the horse showed no further inclination to bolt.
Even so, he stomped the ground, pawing and kicking at the dirt, raising little clouds of fine dust. His head swung back and forth toward his abdomen.
She glanced at the mayor. “A severe case of colic.”
“I thought as much,” he said.
“Have you ridden him today?” she asked.
“Yes. A brisk ride, out to the river and back.”
“He has sucked in some air, which troubles him. Perhaps he chews the wood in his stall, too?”
The mayor grimaced wryly. “Afraid so.”
Liza nodded. “Colic.”
“She'll get him feeling better in no time,” Reese stated with confidence. Liza warmed at the pride he showed for her in front of his people. “Tell us what you need, Liza. We'll get it for you.”
Her mind sifted through the best treatments. “First, a blanket, cotton if one can be found, soake
d in hot water. We will wrap it around his belly and flanks.”
Reese nodded and swept a gaze over the crowd. He called a tall, lanky youth named Hank to the task. The boy agreed readily and hastened away.
“Do you have any colic medication on hand?” Liza asked the mayor. He shook his head. “We will make a drench of whiskey and water, then, an ounce of each, to give him.
George hustled forward. “Reckon that's my department.” He gave her a broad wink. “Be right back, Miss Liza.”
“Thank you, George.”
Moments later, he returned from the saloon carrying a brown, pint-sized bottle. “Whiskey and water,” he said. “An ounce of each. Just like you wanted.”
Liza took the bottle. From the comer of her eye, she glimpsed Jack Hadley emerging from the saloon, a glass of beer in his hand. He halted on the boardwalk, not stepping out into the street, not joining them.
But his interest was obvious. He stared, sullen and serious, with the look of a lost pup about him. Perhaps he regretted his outburst; perhaps he felt a fool. Liza did not know.
She put him from her mind. The palomino's drenching was more important than a Gajo full of contempt for her; she could not waste the time thinking about him.
“Someone help me hold the horse,” she said, her hands busy with the bottle and her grip on the halter. “We'll need a load line as well.”
Four men appeared and stood on either side of the sick animal. Reese took the horse's head and helped to position the beast's nose horizontal to the ground. Murmuring gently, Liza inserted the bottle into the side of the palomino's mouth, and lifted it slightly to trickle a small amount of watered whiskey onto the back of its tongue.
She stroked the golden neck and throat, encouraging him to swallow. She repeated the procedure until he had taken the entire bottle.
“Here you go, ma'am.” Hank set a metal tub at her feet. “A cotton blanket soaked in hot water.”
“Perfect.” Giving him a tentative smile of approval, Liza lifted a corner of the sopping fabric and began wringing the water out.
The young Gajo was hardly older than herself. A sun-faded shirt hung limply on his spare shoulders; denim pants sagged on his hips. He glanced at Reese, then back at Liza, and seemed tongue-tied and in no hurry to leave. He cleared his throat.
“I've been watchin' you, ma'am. You're doin' real good with that horse,” he said finally. “You ought to be right proud. Most women 'round these parts wouldn't know the first thing what to do.”
“I have lived with horses all my life,” she said. “I know them well.”
“You shore do.” His expression grew reverent. “Need some help?”
“Of course. We must work quickly. He still feels the pain.”
Hank took the blanket and set to work with an efficiency that matched hers. With the excess water wrung out of it, he assisted in wrapping the warm length of cotton about the palomino's abdomen, nudging Reese and the other men aside in his importance. Once his initial shyness fled, he kept up a steady chatter, even among the horse's restlessness.
“This will make him feel better,” Liza said, eyeing their handiwork. “Now we must walk him.” She appealed to the mayor. “If that is all right?”
“By all means, Miss Liza. Do what you must.”
“I'll keep you company,” Hank said. “Mr. Carrison, I'd best take this from you.” He reached a hand toward the lead line someone had found for Reese, so he could more easily hold the horse.
“By all means, Hank.”
A subtle irritation hung in Reese's tone, but he said nothing more and relinquished his control over the horse. Liza's brow rose in silent question. He gave her no answers, setting both hands on his hips instead and sending Hank an annoyed glare.
The horse did not walk easily. Liza kept her lull attention on him, for she had all she could do to keep him from stopping to lie down again. She crooned to him, keeping her arm about his neck while Hank encouraged him from his position near the flanks, rubbing the belly in slow, sure strokes.
She pulled the balking palomino out of the corral gate. With every step, with every passing minute, it seemed some of his discomfort had eased. She kept a tight hold on him and advised Hank to do the same.
The crowd of men and women watched them go. There was no animosity in their faces, but instead a lessening of their uncertainties about her, and she could not help but feel, for the first time, a glimmer of hope for their acceptance.
The horse moved slowly. Maudeen caught her eye and smiled hesitantly, as if she feared her husband had destroyed the fragile birth of their friendship. Their glances held, Liza's full of understanding, free of contempt, and Maudeen visibly relaxed. Swift and genuine, the bond strengthened. The horse would not be sick forever, Liza mused. There would be time to talk when they returned.
“I hear tell you're stayin' at Mr. Carrison's place,” Hank said from behind her.
“Yes.” Liza pulled her thoughts from Maudeen to the lanky youth. “Only until my family returns.”
“That so?”
Liza nodded. As they walked, an iron-clad hoof kicked at a pebble; she watched it skitter across the road.
“Reckon that'll be very long?”
She shrugged. “I do not know. Nor does Reese. We only sent the telegrams this morning.” She considered him. “Why do you ask?”
A slender shoulder lifted. “Talk is that Mr. Carrison plans on weddin' Bram Kaldwell's daughter.”
Her hackles rose. “Reese has done nothing dishonorable. He has not even asked for her hand yet, but when he does, she should be very proud to have him for her husband.”
“Aw, now, Miss Liza, don't go gettin' all fired up. I didn't mean nothin' by it. It's just that--” His mouth tightened.
“Speak your tongue, Hank,” she demanded.
“It’s just that, if Mr. Carrison don't have no claim on you, then maybe I'd--maybe I could--if you don't mind--”
Puzzled over his stammering, she stared at him. “If I do not mind what?”
“Miss Liza, I'd be right happy to call on you sometime, leastways, 'til your family came back.”
Her step faltered. She could hardly believe her ears.
So bold, the Gaje. So impulsive, with little thought to the consequences. This blushing boy wanted to court her. Saints in heaven. Their parents had never even met to arrange it.
“Now I reckon we don't know each other yet, but if you'd like, I'll talk to Mr. Carrison and all. It's just that, well, you most impressed me with how you treated this horse, and it's always been a dream of mine to own a fine horse ranch someday. I was hopin' you could teach me some of what you know. Not that I would take advantage of you or anything, because you're a right beautiful woman with that purty hair and all that there gold jewelry and stuff, and well, I'd be right proud to be with you.”
His long explanation left him breathless. And left Liza stunned.
The palomino threw his head in another fit of colic. Liza was glad for it. She needed the distraction to collect herself.
“Shall I speak to Mr. Carrison?” Hank persisted.
An image of Reese loomed in her mind, vivid and true. An image of raw masculinity and power and strength, of honor and respect, of muscled arms that held her with gentleness, of a mouth that kissed with taut passion. For the life of her, she could not see Hank the same way.
She could not.
“Miss Liza?”
Her head spun. She was tortured by a lifetime of unfulfilled dreams and the yearnings in her heart, by the hopelessness of all the things beyond her control.
Maybe now was the time to confront them.
“That will not be necessary,” she said finally. “I will speak of it to him myself.”
Liza decided a second drenching was needed. Afterward, the mayor insisted upon detailed instructions on the care of his horse and the preparation of his stall. The palomino had stopped sweating and improved greatly, enough to be taken home, and the mayor was most appreciative.
&
nbsp; “You're sure I can't pay you something, Miss Liza?” he asked. “What you've done is worth every dime of a vet's fee.”
His insistence pleased her. She basked in the novelty of having a Gajo, especially one of his prominence, feel gratitude toward a Gypsy.
“Of course not. I would not think of it.” Being gracious came easily; she gladly buried her contempt and disdain for a man as kind as he. “I am happy he is feeling better.”
“So am I. Well, I assure you, I won't forget what you've done. If there's anything I can do for you in return, you have only to ask.”
“I will remember that,” she replied, though she could not imagine herself asking anything of a Gajo, even one who was a mayor.
“It’s getting late, Liza. Are you ready to head home?” Reese asked.
Knowing his impatience to return to his railroad, she made hasty good-byes to Al Dunning, George Steenson, Hank, and even a few Gaje whose names she did not know. They returned her waves with smiles of friendship on their faces, each promising to look forward to seeing her again.
Reese took her elbow to escort her back to the buggy.
“They're besotted. Every one of them,” he said.
“Do you think so?”
“You've charmed the whole bunch.”
She thought of Hank and his enamored attentions. Her mouth pursed. “Is that so bad?”
A rueful laugh tumbled from him. “Let me put it this way.” He paused beside the shiny rig and set his hands on his hips. “Someday, your husband will have all he can do to keep the men away. Half the county will want you.”
She snorted. “Your brain plays tricks on you. Your tongue speaks of lunacy.”
“Ah, my sweet, but you're wrong.”
Wryly, he extended his hand to help her into the buggy. Liza lifted a foot to climb in.
“Mr. Carrison!” A horse thundered down Main Street at full speed, its rider waving his hat wildly. “Mr. Carrison!”
An ominous fear clutched Liza's heart. The Gajo's frantic yell could only mean something terrible had happened. She stepped back from the buggy, her heart thrumming erratically.
Reese's gaze sharpened on the Gajo, a spry man she guessed to be in his forties. He wore a red bandanna around his neck, a sign that he worked for the N & D. “Whoa, Clements. Take it easy. What is it?”