Three river ranch, p.14
Three River Ranch, page 14
As he spoke, Stormy’s legs buckled and she sank to the ground.
“Okay, this is our chance,” Carson said. He spoke quietly but his voice was filled with urgency. “The mare likes you. I need you to distract her so I can get close enough to check the foal.”
“How am I supposed to do that?” Her voice rose in alarm.
He led her around the fence to where Stormy lay on her side, groaning. “Go up front so she can see you, and sing to her again. Stay about ten feet back and if she gets up, you get out of the way. Go.”
He crawled under the fence. It had been too long; something must be wrong. He’d witnessed enough foals being born to know the many ways those long limbs could get tangled up. Stormy groaned through another contraction, keeping her eyes on Rory, suspicious but not panicking. Carson stayed low, shimmying toward her tail end. He could hear Rory murmuring at the front of the horse.
When Stormy strained again, Carson flicked the flashlight on. He saw the tissues of the birth canal bulge until a small black nose and one black hoof protruded, still enclosed in the membrane. As the contraction abated, the foal retreated.
Damn. One foot was caught.
He watched for a few more contractions, but the foal made no progress. Carson propped the flashlight, slipped on a pair of latex gloves, and squirted some lube onto his fingers.
He’d helped many foals into the world, but never a wild one.
Stormy lifted her head in alarm as he crawled toward her, carefully staying upward of her back legs. But she sank to the ground as soon as another contraction hit. Carson reached out and slid his fingers in alongside the wet black nose, feeling for the missing foot.
“Come on,” he muttered. “Where are you?”
Suddenly he felt it. One little tug, and the hoof was free. Almost immediately, with a rush of fluid, the next contraction broke the sac and a small, dark nose and two small, dark pointed hooves emerged. Carson’s heart swelled.
“Rory,” he whispered. “Come to this side.”
She crept around to join him, and clutched his arm in excitement. A minute or two later, the foal slid out entirely, wet and glistening.
“Okay, that’s it. Let’s give her some space.” Quickly, Carson and Rory backed away from the mare. Within moments of the foal’s arrival, Stormy scrambled onto her feet, shook herself, and began nuzzling the foal, now trembling and blinking on the rough grass.
Ignoring their presence, Stormy licked and nudged the floppy new arrival until it waggled its little ears and made a tentative squeal.
“Carson.” Rory put a hand over her mouth. “It’s so beautiful.”
“I know,” he breathed.
…
Rory hadn’t done much. Simply been with the mare and allowed her to feel safe, just long enough to let her body do the work of birthing. If Carson knew anything about biology, he’d know that reproduction in the wild usually takes care of itself.
Just like sex in the wild.
Where did that thought come from? Rory wondered.
But she couldn’t stop her hand from moving, slowly and smoothly, up behind Carson, hovering just far enough not to make contact. His body was relaxed and still, focused on the mare. She could feel warmth radiating off him, pulling her like a magnet. She had to fight to keep from touching the muscles in his back.
He was focused, and excited about Stormy. But there was something else, too. Worry, confusion, and something more…tentative. She wished she could do something to help, but she had no idea what. She stood still and let herself feel him, imagining herself in his shoes.
But all she could do was imagine herself in his arms.
…
Stormy bullied her baby until it wobbled its way to a standing position and began nuzzling her flank. From the dirty looks the mare now threw their way, Carson figured that mom and baby were doing fine and wanted to be left alone. He took a few steps back, then turned for a last look. Rory was right: they were beautiful. The foal was a perfectly lovely specimen—a colt. Stormy’s baby would one day reign over a harem of his own, out here on the sanctuary.
As Carson watched them move to the far corner of the corral, he reminded himself to stay objective. This foal was not his any more than Stormy was. They were both wild and free. And it was almost time to let them fend for themselves.
But as he watched the foal stagger alongside the mare on legs that would be strong and sure within hours, Carson felt a swell of pride that, he imagined, was like that of a father. But how ridiculous was that? He shook off the uncharacteristic sense of wonder and hope that had come over him. He knew better than to get sentimental.
“We need to celebrate,” Rory said, picking her way over the path toward the house. “What are you going to name him?”
“I’m not naming him,” Carson answered. “He’s wild.”
Rory slowed to a stop.
“What?” He turned to look at her.
She tilted her head sideways, eyes narrowed, and even in the darkness, he felt naked.
“You named Stormy.”
“I shouldn’t have. It’s harder to stay objective once you’ve named them.”
“But you’re not objective,” she said. “You love them.” She said it so matter-of-factly, as if it wasn’t terrifying to care, as if opening your heart wasn’t risking everything.
For a moment they stared at each other. Then, Rory lifted one eyebrow and smiled. Something uncurled in Carson’s stomach, a knot he hadn’t been aware of. She reached for his hand, and the touch of her skin electrified him, just as it always did.
“Carson,” she whispered. “It’s okay.”
“What are you talking about?” He pulled his hand away.
She took another step closer to him and reached for his collar.
“Maybe I was wrong earlier,” she said, her expression unreadable. “Maybe whatever this is…won’t break me.”
She kissed him; her lips were soft, yielding, her breath sweet. Then she stepped back, holding him at arm’s length, her head tilted at him again. What was she looking for?
“I’m still in one piece. You?”
“I’m fine.” Better than fine. Moonlight reflected in those knowing eyes. “But you’re not…you know. Available. Are you?”
“Unless we’re talking about skydiving, yeah, I’m available. I’m single. Well, except for Junior.” Her eyes narrowed. “Am I wrong? There’s chemistry here, isn’t there?”
He stroked her hair and she leaned into his hand. “Yeah…there’s something. I just think it’s a bad idea. The timing’s all wrong. You, with the baby. Me, with the sanctuary. I shouldn’t start something right now.”
“With me, or with anybody?” Rory pressed her hand against his for a moment, then straightened up and gathered herself, drawing away from him again. “It’s okay, Carson. I get it.”
They walked back to the house in silence. Once inside, he watched her as she checked the puppies, her face composed, her movements gentle but firm, determined.
“You’re gonna make one hell of a mother. You don’t need anyone else messing things up for you. Least of all me.”
“Oh, Carson,” she said, her voice low and tender. She placed a soft, gentle kiss on his cheek. “So protective.”
She went into her room then, closing the door with a soft click. He expected tears, rage perhaps, embarrassment for sure. But instead, she looked like she felt sorry for him.
Carson had the weird feeling that she had somehow gotten inside his head.
And he didn’t like that one bit.
Chapter Fifteen
Rory was changing the bedding in the whelping box the next evening when Carson came into the house. By tacit understanding, neither of them had referred to the conversation they’d had earlier, but she knew he was avoiding her.
Now, however, his face was open again, excited, and Rory felt something inside her light up in response.
“What is it?” she asked.
“Come with me.” He held out his hand and pulled her to the door. “You’ve got to see for yourself.”
Quickly they walked up the path to the corrals. Stormy stood alert and still, her ears pricked, her eyes focused on something off in the distance.
“He’s back,” Carson said, pointing toward the hill. In the sunset, Rory could see the outline of the stallion, tossing his mane in the fiery light. He pawed the ground and let out a whinny again, calling for the mare who stood quivering, pressed against the pole fence.
“She wants to go,” breathed Rory, moving ever so slightly closer to Carson.
“Oh, yeah. But she can’t. Not yet.”
“Does he know she’s foaled?”
Carson nodded. “See how he puts his head up like that? He’s scenting the air. He can smell her. You bet he knows.”
“The foal heat you told me about?” She cleared her throat and swallowed.
“About a week from now,” he said, his voice rough and low, “she’ll tear down that fence, crazy to get to him. Her baby will be able to run with her by then. And I’ll let her go.”
She felt like she was having a hard time catching her breath. “You will?” To her own ears, her voice sounded like the mare’s anxious answering call to the wild stallion.
“That’s what I brought her here for.” He turned around and leaned back against the fence, facing Rory. “Besides, you can’t stand in the way of that kind of passion. It’s unstoppable.”
Heat pulsed through her body at his gaze. She felt it run the length of her, from her tongue to deep in her belly.
“Carson.”
At the sound of his name, he reached out a hand and grasped her wrist, ever so gently pulling her close to him. The roughness of denim scratched against the bare skin of her arms. Her flesh felt hypersensitized, like all her nerves were on guard, waiting for something, something.
“I can’t seem to figure out what’s going on with us,” she whispered. “Is it my imagination? Should I just blame it on pregnancy hormones?”
“No. You were right.” His eyes glittered with the reflected crimsons and golds of the setting sun.
She swallowed and looked away. Why did she react to him like this? The last thing she needed was to complicate her life with a fling.
But what if he wasn’t a fling? She squeezed her eyes shut, trying to will away the thought, but it was no use. Images of him flashed through her mind: Masterfully handling the wild horses, his desperate courtesy with the committee ladies. Cradling little Golden Boy. He was a far better man than he knew and that was the problem. He was trying to protect her.
And she didn’t want to be protected.
The stallion called again, and Stormy responded immediately, tossing her head and trotting back and forth against the fence. Rory and Carson turned to look at her at the same time, and as they did, their bodies connected. Her hand went up to touch his side just as his landed lightly on her shoulder, and without taking time to think about it, Rory reached up and kissed him.
Carson’s eyes widened, but he caught himself quickly. She stepped back, embarrassed, but he reached for her arm and pulled her to him.
“Now it’s my turn,” he said, running his rough knuckle over the line of her jaw. His fingers meandered through the wispy hair at her neck, kneading softly until he had her face cradled in his palm. He pulled her to him and bent his head until his lips just grazed hers. He tipped his chin, nibbling gently at her lower lip, and against her will, she felt herself melting against him, opening up. A little sound escaped her throat and he laughed against her mouth.
“That’s what I was waiting for,” he said, and then tightened his grip, crushing her lips, dipping his tongue in, sending sparks shooting through her, down to the core of her body.
Finally, Rory pulled back. She tucked her head down and put the back of her hand to her mouth, suddenly feeling way out of her depth. She’d been trying to understand Carson, when she should have been trying to understand herself. “There must be something in the air out here.” She tried to laugh, but the effort fell flat.
“Rory, this could be exactly what we need.” His voice was even. “Both of us.”
She took a deep breath and forced herself to meet his eyes, those beautiful eyes, and watched as the blaze faded away. She had no business getting involved with someone now, good guy or not. Her life wasn’t her own anymore. It wouldn’t be fair to the baby, or to Carson. That was the sensible response, she knew it was. She should feel relieved, like she was avoiding some fateful event. Like drowning. Or leaping off a tall building.
Or, her heart nudged, learning to fly.
…
Right then, a horn sounded from the yard and Carson heard Mistral barking inside the house. Reluctantly, he pulled back from Rory.
“That sounds like Zach’s truck.” His face was still so close to hers he could feel her breath.
“What’s he doing here so late?” she whispered.
“Can’t be good.” He sighed. “Come on.”
As soon as he saw Zach, he knew what it was. “Another band of mustangs being displaced,” Zach said, speaking around his cell phone. “We’ve got until the end of the week to move them out or they’ll be shot.”
“How many?” Carson let go of Rory’s hand, thinking of trailer space, rearranging corrals.
“Not sure,” said Zach. “The volunteers who watch over them say there used to be twelve mares, a stallion, and some yearlings but some of them have disappeared.”
“Mares might be off foaling,” Carson said.
“Yeah.” Zach grimaced. “But the herd will be gone when they come back.”
“What are you going to do?” Rory asked.
“Same thing we did with Stormy’s band,” Carson said. “We’ll bring back as many as we can.”
“And the rest?” Rory looked from one to the other. “What happens to them? You just let them die?”
“We need to go,” interrupted Zach. “I’ve got gear packed. The volunteers have horses for us.”
“Rory,” Carson said. “Can you watch over things for me while I’m gone? The water’s automatic and everyone’s grazing or free-feeding.”
“No!” She put up both hands and backed away from him. “What if something happens? I don’t know horses!”
“Walk out with Bliss when she’s over; she’ll know if there’s any problem,” he said over his shoulder as he and Zach walked to the truck. “I’ll be back soon. Don’t worry.”
She ran ahead of them, forcing them to stop.
“Carson!” She planted the flat of her hand against his chest. “You can’t leave me.”
“You’ll be fine.” Her eyes gleamed and for a moment, it was as if Zach wasn’t there, it was just the two of them bound by their own confusion and fear and need. “Hey.” He put a hand on her shoulder. “Nothing will go wrong. Trust me.”
“We’ll be back soon,” Zach said, climbing into the cab of his truck. “Oh, and Rory?”
She looked at him questioningly.
“You’ve got a smudge on your cheek.”
Carson felt heat flood his face as she reached up to brush off the telltale mark of his fingers.
“Told you, man.” Zach’s laughter floated over the sound of the truck engine.
“Shut up, Zach.”
But he couldn’t resist turning to look at her, hands on her belly, her figure getting smaller and smaller. She was afraid.
He wished he didn’t have to leave her.
…
Rory reflected on her situation the next morning. Carson was gone. She was alone, just her own pregnant self, a cranky housekeeper, a dog and a litter of puppies, a wild horse and a newborn foal.
Perfect.
At least it gave her time to focus on what she’d intended to focus on, before she’d gotten distracted by Carson and the little twist in her plans.
“Okay, my girl,” she said to Mistral with a sigh. “Before you know it, your babies will be heading off to school. We’ve got a bit of work ahead of us.”
She spent the afternoon talking with the head of the service dog association that would be taking the puppies. Each pup would spend its first year in a foster home prepared to lay the groundwork for training: basic obedience, socialization, being exposed to a wide variety of people, places, and experiences. At the end of the year, the pups would be evaluated. Those that passed went on to be trained as service dogs. Those that didn’t were sold as companions.
Rory looked at Mistral’s sleeping form and felt her throat tighten. It would be hard to let her babies go. But the joy and security they would bring to their families was worth it. Such a dog would have made all the difference for her own.
Memories of Lesley were not as grief-filled as they once had been. Now Rory could remember the happy times they’d had, when they were just two sisters, instead of one normal girl and one autistic girl.
But first, before she did anything else, she had to check on Stormy. As she walked up to the corral, Mistral at her side, she wondered if the horse would tolerate her presence without Carson. Even though Stormy was by no means domesticated, she clearly recognized Carson as a familiar and cautiously trustworthy person. The intuitive connection Rory had felt with the mare might not happen if Rory showed up on her own.
She shouldn’t have bothered worrying. As soon as they reached the rise, Mistral bounded toward the corral.
“Mistral!” Rory shouted. “Where do you think you’re going?”
But the dog knew exactly where she was headed. Into the glen, where the sun shone through the trees, dappling the ground with gold. Where Stormy stood, motionless, watching, waiting. Mistral barked sharply, sat down on her haunches, and looked at Rory.
Then, to Rory’s amazement, the foal danced on spindly legs toward the dog, his ears pricked forward in curiosity. Stormy nickered and shook her head, but didn’t come between them. The baby pushed against a fence post, creating a gap large enough for him to squeeze his head through just far enough to touch Mistral’s nose. After a couple of tentative snorts and head-bobs, he scampered back to the safety of his mother, his little tail flicking in excitement. Mistral’s tail flopped lazily in the dirt, her panting mouth wide open in a doggy grin.
