by K. N. Casper
Her dad had a truck, but it was a small one. She was spared answering as Carter and Megan passed them going the other way.
“I’m helping bring in the other horses, Mommy,” Megan called out, clearly enthralled.
“That’s nice, honey.”
“You’ll have farrier fees for shoes every six weeks or so,” Ethan went on.
He led the horse into the barn. Inside a box stall he removed the halter. The mare immediately made for a bucket hanging on the wall and started chomping grain.
“Have you considered feed?” Ethan asked, closing and latching the heavy door and hanging the halter on a peg beside it. “What kind of hay? Coastal or alfalfa? How much oats? What kind of supplements?” His eyes surveyed the room.
“Then there’s time,” he continued. “Are you up to feeding twice a day seven days a week, rain or shine, wind or snow? You’ll need to put the horse out to pasture every morning and bring her in every evening when the weather is fair. Do you have someone competent who can fill in for you when you’re not available?”
They stepped outside. The early-February sun was going down and so was the temperature. Not cold but decidedly chilly.
“These animals are dependent on you for their survival,” he emphasized.
“Other people do it,” she insisted, but she began to wonder if she’d made a big mistake promising her daughter a horse of her own.
* * *
ETHAN HAD BEEN studying his visitor’s reaction to his questions, or rather his relentless grilling. She wasn’t pleased with him, but he suspected she was even more displeased with herself. She’d apparently promised her daughter something she now realized she couldn’t deliver. A dilemma for any parent.
What about Megan’s father? She hadn’t mentioned him. Ethan had noticed she wasn’t wearing a ring. He’d met a few married women who didn’t, but Kayla Price didn’t strike him as that type. Strong, independent, yes, but also one who took a commitment seriously and wasn’t bashful about acknowledging it.
There he was being judgmental again.
Was she divorced, widowed, a single mother who had never been married? Not that it was any of his business. Her private life was her own.
One thing was for sure, he wasn’t about to sell her Birdsong under any conditions. The mare was still sound—sweet, patient and gentle—and would make an ideal horse for a little girl like Megan, but that could change quickly. If all went well, Bird might have another five years left. On the other hand, the next bout of colic could be her last. Ethan couldn’t in good conscience sell a horse of that age to an incompetent buyer, even if he were inclined to part with her—which he wasn’t.
“Look—” he tried to sound friendly rather than negative “—you’re not ready to buy a horse. Maybe when you’ve had some experience and know what you’re getting yourself into. Until then, I recommend giving your daughter lessons and leaving it at that for a while.”
Kayla nodded, but she wasn’t pleased. “I wish you weren’t right,” she admitted. “Megan is going to be so disappointed.”
“And you’ll be in the doghouse.”
She caught his eye and smiled ruefully. “Big-time.”
The girl approached leading a brown horse with three white stockings. “This is Izzy, Mommy. That’s short for Isabel.”
“She’s going to have a baby in a few months,” Ethan told her. “Maybe you can come back then and see the foal.”
“Can I, Mom?”
“We’ll see, honey.”
“I’ve never seen a baby horse, except in pictures. Are they really cute?”
“As a button,” Ethan assured her.
“The second stall on the right,” Carter said and gave Ethan a disgruntled look.
Man, child and horse disappeared into the shadows of the old structure.
“Maybe we can settle on a compromise,” Ethan told Kayla.
“What do you mean?”
“Tell Megan Birdsong isn’t for sale, but I’d like her to ride the horse to see how well they get along. If she’s still interested after a few sessions, I’ll give you a half lease on her.”
“Half lease? On a horse?”
He nodded. “You pay half the upkeep, including feed, shots and shoeing. Megan can ride her anytime she wants, whether she’s taking lessons from me or not. I pay the other half, as well as anything unexpected that might pop up, like vet bills when she colicks. Your monthly tab will fluctuate according to the cost of feed and routine vet charges, but you won’t have any catastrophic bills, and you can terminate the lease anytime you want.”
“Sounds like a good deal.”
“It is.”
“Except Birdsong stays here, right?”
He nodded.
“That’s the part she won’t be happy about. She’s been counting on having her horse in our stable.”
“One other thing. You—or she—also do half the chores. That means coming over here every other afternoon after school and mucking out the stall. Might as well find out if she’s serious about this horse business.”
Kayla laughed. He liked the sound and the way her face lit up.
“Try it for, say, three or four months. After you’ve gotten a taste of the care and feeding of horses and have a better idea of what you’re letting yourselves in for, if you still want to buy her a horse, I’ll help you find one.”
* * *
“BUT YOU SAID we were going to buy Birdsong.” Hands fisted, Megan stomped her foot. “You promised.”
“Megan, I said I would consider it if we could afford to and if Birdsong was available, but Mr. Ritter doesn’t want to sell her. I can’t make him.”
“You promised,” she shouted, red-faced. “You said I could have my very own horse. I love Birdsong and she loves me.”
Under different circumstances Kayla might have laughed at her daughter’s notion of instant love.
“Calm down, honey. You’re going to make yourself sick.”
Megan glared at her, her mouth pinched. She didn’t often throw temper tantrums, but when she did they had serious consequences. Her breathing was already becoming rapid, raspy.
Kayla led her to a bench beside the old barn, sat her down and reached into her pocket for the extra inhaler she always carried.
“Here, use this,” she said.
“I don’t want it,” her daughter all but shouted, though her voice didn’t carry very well. “I want Birdsong.” Her breaths were coming in quick inhalations now. But it was exhaling that was most difficult.
Ethan finished filling a water trough over by the corral and strolled over. Kayla had been aware of him watching them. “What’s wrong?”
“Her asthma is acting up. She’ll be all right in a few minutes.” She again offered the inhaler.
Desperate now for air, Megan didn’t refuse it a second time. She sucked in two draws from the small canister, and her breathing immediately began to ease.
Kayla stayed with her for a few minutes before getting up. “Wait here while I get your purse. I think you left it hanging near the gate.”
Megan nodded.
Ethan trailed along beside Kayla. “Your daughter has asthma and you brought her to a stable. Don’t you know horses can set off an attack?”
She looked at him, impressed with his knowledge of the disease, displeased by his holier-than-thou tone.
“She’s not having a reaction to the horses, Mr. Ritter. She’s brought this attack on by getting upset.”
“What would have happened if she’d reacted to the horses?”
Kayla stopped and glared at him. “I would have taken her home immediately, put her on her nebulizer and not brought her back. As it is, I may not anyway.”
“I can’t believe you’d take that chance.”
Kayla prayed for patience. “Mr. Ritter, I’ve lived with my daughter’s health problems all her life. I’m well versed on what she can tolerate and what she can’t. She’s been around horses nearly every week for the past year without d
ifficulty. Today has been no exception. She’s upset because she can’t take Birdsong home. It’ll pass.”
He didn’t look convinced.
“You offered to give her riding lessons a few minutes ago. Are you going to renege?”
“I didn’t say that.”
“Then you do your part, Mr. Ritter, and I’ll do mine. Can we agree on that?”
He clearly didn’t like being cornered. Daryl hadn’t liked it, either, when she called him on commitments he’d made.
“Bring her Monday after school. If she has another attack, though, the deal’s off.”
* * *
ETHAN FINISHED hanging up the last piece of tack and scanned the room for anything out of place. Order had always been a trademark of the Ritter barns and stables under Carter Dunlap. The old man had been a ranch hand on the Broken Spoke long before Ethan was born.
Satisfied, Ethan turned off the light as he exited, only to bump into the old cowboy outside the door.
“What do you think you’re doing?” Carter asked.
“Just finishing up.”
“I mean about the girl.”
“Giving her lessons. What are you so upset about? We can use a few more paying customers.”
“You can’t change the past. I’d have thought you’d understand that by now.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” Ethan started to walk around him, but the old man grabbed him by the arm with strength that was surprising and a bit frightening.
“It’s over. She’s at peace. Let her go. Torturing yourself won’t do no good. Get on with your life.”
Ethan yanked his arm away.
“It wasn’t your fault,” Carter called after him.
But it was his fault. Nothing could change that, either.
Ethan’s heart was pounding as he strode toward the back of the ranch house.
Was Carter correct? Should Ethan put distance between himself and this girl with the uncanny resemblance to Angela? Was he trying to relive history...and get it right his time?
It didn’t matter. He’d made a deal and he would live up to it.
CHAPTER TWO
“THE VINES SHOULD BE arriving around ten,” Kayla’s father reminded her over the breakfast table Monday morning.
“Looking forward to getting your hands dirty?”
He grinned. “Yeah.”
Boyd Crawford had been skeptical when she’d found this land opportunity in Texas, but he’d supported her and agreed to come along for a few months to help her establish her first vineyard. He understood how desperately she needed to make a new beginning after Daryl had walked out on her and Megan.
Over the past month they’d identified the ten acres that had the best potential, the optimum incline and drainage. They’d tested the water, analyzed the soil and installed an irrigation system. Last week he’d flown to California and personally arranged for the shipment of select vinifera vines.
Texas boasted a growing number of flourishing vineyards. All Kayla’s studies indicated this one should be equally successful.
“Finish your milk, honey, and then get your backpack,” Kayla told her daughter. “The school bus will be here in a few minutes.”
“I’m going to ride Birdsong this afternoon, Grandpa,” the girl sang. She’d been grounded over the weekend for her temper tantrum at the Broken Spoke on Friday, yet that was all but forgotten.
“You be careful, now.” He smiled at his granddaughter.
At this point Kayla wasn’t sure she was as thrilled with the idea of Megan riding. Facing Ethan Ritter again wasn’t something she particularly relished. The man had a sharp tongue, which was aggravating, and other aspects she found disturbing in a different way. His good looks, for instance. The shape of his mouth and the warmth in his green eyes made her entertain possibilities she thought she’d dismissed from her life when she’d divorced Daryl last year. Distractions she didn’t have time for now.
She couldn’t deny that she found Ethan’s personality intriguing, too. He projected strength and self-confidence, but also vulnerability. He was obviously good with kids—at least he’d been with Megan—which added to his appeal. Still, something about the man unsettled her, something she couldn’t put her finger on.
He was opinionated and critical, yet she felt safe with him, perhaps because of the protective way he’d reacted to Megan. Whatever it was, it had her spending too much time thinking about the guy.
“We’ll go over to the Broken Spoke right after you get home from school and change clothes,” she told Megan.
She was tempted to add that this first lesson might not last very long but decided not to dampen the girl’s enthusiasm. Megan would be preoccupied enough in class today without worrying about how long she’d get to ride her precious horse. “Now hurry. You don’t want to miss the bus.”
Ten minutes later the house was quiet.
“Are you sure about this riding business?” her father asked over his second cup of coffee.
“Maybe this is just a phase, like Ethan says, but, Dad, how can I deny her the opportunity to find out?”
“Is that what Ritter thinks?”
She didn’t miss his use of the neighbor’s last name. “He says adolescence will probably distract her—”
“Woo her away, huh?” He smiled at her over the rim of his cup.
“Something like that.”
“How much time is this latest obsession of hers going to eat up?”
His tone was more amused than critical. Megan wanted to see and try everything. Most of the time her interest waned after the initial experience, but her fascination with horses hadn’t so far, and his concern had merit. Work on the vineyard, this first year especially, would absorb all Kayla’s spare time, another reason why Ethan had been right in discouraging her from buying a horse—for a while at least.
“Three one-hour lessons a week, Monday, Wednesday and Friday. We’re only a few minutes away—it’ll actually be less intrusive than having to take her to soccer or basketball.”
Boyd drank down the last of his coffee and got up from the table. “I’m going to walk the lines one more time.”
There was nothing wrong with the miles of wire they’d strung for the vines. But starting from scratch was a new adventure for both of them, and he was as nervous about it as she was.
“Thanks, Dad.”
He turned at the door. “For what?”
“Being here for us.”
His expression, often so intense and pensive, softened. “I’m the one who should be thanking you—for having me.”
Kayla got up, walked over to him and kissed him on the cheek. “I’ll let you know when they call.”
* * *
IT TOOK A MINUTE for Kayla to recognize the white Ford crew cab barreling up the long driveway that afternoon. It was common for neighbors here to visit out of friendliness and curiosity. Several people from town had already dropped by to welcome her and ask how she was fixing to use the land.
“Hi.” Ethan opened the truck door. “I thought I’d take a look at how things are going. Hear you got your vines delivered today.”
“Welcome to Stony Hill Vineyard,” Kayla said, not sure why she felt so pleased to see him, or why she thought he looked so good in a red plaid flannel shirt and a down-filled vest.
He hooked his thumbs in the corners of his jeans pockets. “I don’t know anything about vineyards, or wine, for that matter, except I can tell what I like when I taste it.”
“That’s a good start. White or red?”
“White mostly. But I like a hearty red with a thick, juicy steak, too.”
“A man after my own heart.” In more ways than one. “Come on, I’ll show you around.”
She led him to the tin barn they were using as a warehouse. Large, wooden crates were lined up, open, each with dozens of clipped shoots sticking out like porcupine quills. A few showed green nubs ready to burst, but most were still dormant. Her father was in the far corner fr
owning over the contents of a damaged crate.
“Dad!”
Straightening, he saw their visitor and began walking toward them. At fifty-six he was beginning to develop the rounded shoulders of a man who spent his days bent over. He wasn’t overweight, but what he carried was beginning to settle.
“This is Ethan Ritter, our next-door neighbor.”
Boyd removed his work gloves and they shook hands. Kayla watched as the two men sized each other up.
“He’s here for the grand tour,” she said.
“Not a lot to see right now,” her father commented. “We just got these in a couple of hours ago. Wait a few months after we get them in the ground, though, and everything greens up. Prettiest sight you ever did see.”
Ethan surveyed the rows of oblong boxes, apparently surprised by the large number. “How many...vines do you have here?”
“Six thousand,” Boyd said. “Enough for ten acres.”
“What kind are they?”
“Chenin blanc.”
“Come on,” Kayla said. “I’ll show you where we’ll plant them.”
“I’ve got to get back to work. You two run along.” Boyd waved as he returned to the damaged crate. “Nice meeting you, Ethan. Stop by anytime.”
“He loves this, doesn’t he?” Ethan commented as they stepped out into the bright afternoon sun.
The remark pleased Kayla, perhaps because she also heard approval in it. The two would get along fine, she decided.
She led him to a slope that was out of sight of the house and the road.
Ethan took in the rows of poles and wires as Kayla explained that her father had used the augur on their tractor to make holes in the ground every eight feet.
“Our initial yields won’t be very high,” she acknowledged, “and of course we won’t know the quality until we taste it, but even poor grapes can be used in blending bulk wines.”
“The kind that comes in cardboard boxes.” At her shudder, he grinned. “Hey, I told you I’m no connoisseur.”
“You’re right—” she laughed “—about the market for them, I mean. And that’s where our first few harvests will undoubtedly go. As the vines mature, we hope our grapes develop the kind of complexity that’ll allow us to bottle under our own label.”