A perfect match...or sworn enemies?

Only time will tell at Shepherd’s Crossing.

Horse breeder Isaiah Woods can’t believe his only ally in helping a neglected mare is the descendant of his family’s bitter enemy—veterinarian Charlotte Fitzgerald. Despite the feud, Charlotte risks everything to save the horse. But as she falls for Isaiah—and the orphaned niece and nephew in his care—the mare isn’t the only one who needs saving.

Multipublished bestselling author RUTH LOGAN HERNE loves God, her country, her family, dogs, chocolate and coffee! Married to a very patient man, she lives in an old farmhouse in Upstate New York and thinks possums should leave the cat food alone and snakes should always live outside. There are no exceptions to either rule! Visit Ruth at ruthloganherne.com.

Also By Ruth Logan Herne

Love Inspired

Shepherd’s Crossing

Her Cowboy Reunion

A Cowboy in Shepherd’s Crossing

Healing the Cowboy’s Heart

Grace Haven

An Unexpected Groom

Her Unexpected Family

Their Surprise Daddy

The Lawman’s Yuletide Baby

Her Secret Daughter

Kirkwood Lake

The Lawman’s Second Chance

Falling for the Lawman

The Lawman’s Holiday Wish

Loving the Lawman

Her Holiday Family

Discover more at millsandboon.co.uk

Healing the Cowboy’s Heart

Ruth Logan Herne

www.millsandboon.co.uk

ISBN: 978-1-474-09673-7

HEALING THE COWBOY’S HEART

© 2019 Ruth M. Blodgett

Published in Great Britain 2019

by Mills & Boon, an imprint of HarperCollins Publishers 1 London Bridge Street, London, SE1 9GF

All rights reserved including the right of reproduction in whole or in part in any form. This edition is published by arrangement with Harlequin Books S.A.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, locations and incidents are purely fictional and bear no relationship to any real life individuals, living or dead, or to any actual places, business establishments, locations, events or incidents. Any resemblance is entirely coincidental.

By payment of the required fees, you are granted the non-exclusive, non-transferable right and licence to download and install this e-book on your personal computer, tablet computer, smart phone or other electronic reading device only (each a “Licensed Device”) and to access, display and read the text of this e-book on-screen on your Licensed Device. Except to the extent any of these acts shall be permitted pursuant to any mandatory provision of applicable law but no further, no part of this e-book or its text or images may be reproduced, transmitted, distributed, translated, converted or adapted for use on another file format, communicated to the public, downloaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of publisher.

® and ™ are trademarks owned and used by the trademark owner and/or its licensee. Trademarks marked with ® are registered with the United Kingdom Patent Office and/or the Office for Harmonisation in the Internal Market and in other countries.

www.millsandboon.co.uk

Version: 2020-03-02

MILLS & BOON

Before you start reading, why not sign up?

Thank you for downloading this Mills & Boon book. If you want to hear about exclusive discounts, special offers and competitions, sign up to our email newsletter today!

SIGN ME UP!

Or simply visit

signup.millsandboon.co.uk

Mills & Boon emails are completely free to receive and you can unsubscribe at any time via the link in any email we send you.

Note to Readers

This ebook contains the following accessibility features which, if supported by your device, can be accessed via your ereader/accessibility settings:

 Change of font size and line height

 Change of background and font colours

 Change of font

 Change justification

 Text to speech

Was Charlotte wondering about him?

Isaiah couldn’t help but notice how her expression changed. She’d been angry when he’d approached the paddock, but not now. She was caring. Lovely. Beautiful.

When he reached a hand to her cheek, she almost leaned into it. But not quite.

Instead she took a firm step back. “Don’t mess with my head, cowboy.”

He lifted one eyebrow.

“And don’t do your strong, silent cowboy nonsense on me, either. I’m here to do a job, and I’ve already managed to tuck myself into a very Hatfield-and-McCoy-style land feud and into your family scandal, and I’ve created a chasm between me and the old-guard veterinarian. I don’t need casual flirting to muddy the already churning waters.”

“No one mentioned the word casual.”

She shot him a skeptical look as she came around the front of the horse.

“And for the record?” He paused just ahead of her, blocking her way. “I don’t do anything casual. Ever.”

Dear Reader,

Thank you so much for reading this beautiful romance! I love Char and Isaiah’s story, and not for the obvious happy ending, but for the mix of cultures and thoughts that become our normal because we live them...and sometimes we don’t see that “normal” can be a relative thing.

Isaiah is a peacemaker, but he’s strong, too. He wants a happy family and he’s sacrificed to encourage that.

Char has longed for a happy family all of her life. In her eyes that’s the normal she craves. Not expecting to find that in Idaho, she doesn’t come west with illusions. Where better than the American West to polish a horse vet’s expertise, to build her résumé?

But people can be petty or angry anywhere, and when faced with animosity, Char has a lot on her plate. She doesn’t measure success in dollars. She grew up seeing the futility in that. But she’s practical enough to know a gal’s got to pay her bills and that requires clientele with patients.

I hope you love this book. I’ve thoroughly enjoyed working in this town and with these families, and I hope you’ve treasured their stories!

You know I love hearing from readers, so email me at loganherne@gmail.com or friend me on Facebook and/or follow me on Twitter, @RuthLoganHerne. And my bosses love it if you follow me on Bookbub! Just go here and click follow: https://www.bookbub.com/authors/ruth-logan-herne.

And may God bless you and yours each and every day!

Ruthy

He that covereth his sins shall not prosper:

but who so confesseth and forsaketh them

shall have mercy.

—Proverbs 28:13

This book is dedicated to my good friend Becky Prophet. We share three grandchildren and a love of God and good stories. Becky, the good Lord sure blessed us when He brought you into the family. This one’s for you. Thank you for being a great “Mimi” and a great friend.

Contents

Cover

Back Cover Text

About the Author

Booklist

Title Page

Copyright

Note to Readers

Introduction

Dear Reader

Bible Verse

Dedication

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Seventeen

Epilogue

Extract

About the Publisher

Chapter One

Charlotte Fitzgerald might be a big-animal vet, schooled to remain unemotional when things go bad, but the scene in front of her sent a chill of misgiving through her despite the Idaho midsummer’s day. She was facing seven critically ill horses who had found their way into a paddock adjacent to a well-known riding academy at the height of summer-camp season. On her right were a dozen young steeplechasers, hoping and praying for the stray horses’ survival.

Charlotte had spent a lot of years praying as a child. Wishing her mom hadn’t died shortly after giving birth to her. Hoping her father would become the kind of dad every child wanted and needed.

But her Mama did die and her prayers regarding her father went unanswered. As a result the intuitive horsewoman and veterinary surgeon learned to stand on her own two feet. For now that was enough.

“That one needs to go down.” Braden Hirsch had been the only local farm-animal vet until Charlotte rolled her mobile-veterinary-clinic van into town less than forty-eight hours before to fulfill the terms of her uncle’s will: if she spends a year helping to keep Pine Ridge Ranch solvent, she would inherit 25 percent of the ranch’s value next summer. She’d give the mixed horse and sheep venture free veterinary care as needed, but right now her focus was here, watching the crusty vet perform a half-hearted medical triage on the depleted animals.

She’d intended to meet Dr. Hirsch later today, a polite gesture. One professional to the other. He was in his sixties, according to the internet, and maybe considering retirement.

Only here they were, caught at a scene of horrific neglect and tragic circumstances, and she was about to make the whole thing worse by disagreeing with him.

He jerked a thumb toward a hobbling chestnut gelding. “Too far gone.” Then he waved to a group of three miserable creatures that were huddled together. “The palomino might have a chance. The rest...” He scowled at the remaining horses, and Charlotte understood his expression.

He wasn’t mad at them.

He was furious that they’d been left to struggle for however long it took to put them in this wretched condition.

“Braden.” The woman who’d called for help kept her voice purposely soft. “You’re going to put six of them down?”

He glared at her, then the horses. “You wanted a professional opinion, Bitsy. You got it. Any idea where they came from?”

She shook her head. “None. Which means they’ve probably been wandering throughout winter, based on the state they’re in. You’d think that with the conditions we’ve had for the last two months, they’d have recovered somewhat, wouldn’t you?”

The veterinarian huffed. “Some are smart enough to do that. Some aren’t. And sometimes it becomes survival of the fittest.”

Survival of the fittest? Char bit back a protest.

He was wrong.

Char was sure of it, but she was the new kid on the block, just arrived from veterinary school and a stint on a Western New York farm specializing in horse care. There was no way these seven had been open grazing anywhere for the past few months, because they’d have had abundant food and water, even if rain had been scarce. And they would have been noticed, wouldn’t they?

“What do you think, Doctor?” The woman turned toward Charlotte, seeking a second opinion. An opinion that wasn’t going to win her any points with the other veterinarian. She began to answer as a pair of sheriff’s cars pulled into the equine academy’s driveway, followed by a pickup truck hauling a two-horse trailer.

The older vet’s narrowed eyes challenged her to disagree. The last thing she wanted was to begin her new career on the wrong side of the established veterinary practice, but she put her comfort on hold to do what was best for the horses. “Where there’s life, there’s hope.”

The woman—Bitsy Armbruster—let out a sigh of relief as Chad Armbruster tried to distract the campers behind them. There were about a dozen teens and preteens in attendance, and whatever happened next wasn’t something a bunch of horse-loving kids needed to see.

A man climbed out of the pickup truck and came their way. He walked big. Straight. Tall. Sure of himself and square-shouldered. Crazy good-looking. Black hair, a touch long, as if taking time to get haircuts didn’t make the short list. Great cheekbones and a square jaw suggested Native American lineage. Warrior shoulders completed the image.

“Isaiah!” One of the girl campers jumped the fence and tore across the pasture. “I knew you’d come!” She threw her arms around him and held on tight, and when he hugged her back, the look of love he gave her...

Charlotte would have given anything for a father who loved her like that. She got a cheating conniver instead, a man who came from money and managed to lose it all once he was running the family publishing business. She had learned a lot as the youngest daughter of an esteemed Kentucky horse-breeding family, though. She went into veterinary school at Cornell with an intimate knowledge of horses. That knowledge was about to put her toe to toe with the old man at her side.

“Isaiah.” Bitsy motioned him their way. “I’m so glad you’ve come. And you brought a trailer.” Hope raised her voice slightly.

The girl started to come forward with him.

The man paused, saw Dr. Hirsch’s expression, then indicated the other side of the fence with a simple thrust of his chin. His message was clear. Would the girl follow the silent directive?

She frowned, then trudged across the field and hopped the fence to join the other campers on their way to a barn set a fair distance away.

Neat trick, thought Charlotte.

“I don’t think you’ll be needing that trailer, Isaiah,” said the old man.

“Better prepared than wishing I was, Braden.” He kept his voice low, and walked with quiet authority. “If I left it at home, J.J. would think I made up my mind before I took the time to have a look, and what kind of man does that?” He didn’t look like he expected an answer and didn’t get one. He indicated the electric fencing surrounding the pasture. “Has anyone blocked the way they got in here?”

“We called the sheriff as soon as we discovered them,” Bitsy answered, “but both deputies were at the other end of the county and we didn’t want to leave either the campers or the horses unsupervised, so I asked Ty Carrington to help,” she explained. “He knew that Charlotte had just come to town to open a veterinary practice, so he asked her to come over. He’s fixing the fencing on the northwest corner. He’ll give us a high sign when we’re ready to power up. We had shut the power down to save money because our horses are kept closer to the practice jump areas right now.”

“So, breaking through the wire wasn’t a big challenge.”

“No.”

Bitsy’s phone buzzed a text. She read it and gave them a thumbs-up. “Fencing is powered up.”

“A lot of waiting for horses who aren’t likely to try to get anywhere fast,” said Braden. “I’ve got office hours in thirty. Let’s get this done.” He began moving forward with a worn black bag.

“Hold on.” Charlotte crossed the distance quickly and stood between him and the first horse. “You’re going to put them down without giving them any kind of examination?”

Braden huffed, impatient. “I might not have a fancy van with pretty letters on the side, but I’ve got eyes and experience, girl. That’s what bears weight around here.”

The other man—Isaiah—took a moment to look behind them. She’d parked her brand-new mobile veterinary van on the back side of the Armbruster house. The words CMF VETERINARY stood out in a large font, over the peaceable image of a horse, a cow and an ewe with lambs. A trusty dog sat off to the side, while a mother cat looked after tumbling kittens. He studied the van, then her without a speck of emotion for either.

Charlotte stood her ground. “They deserve the courtesy of an examination.”

The older man glared at her, then Bitsy. “I came here as a favor.”

Bitsy swallowed hard but sided with Charlotte. “We should check them over, shouldn’t we, Braden? If you don’t have time, maybe Charlotte would do it for us.”

Charlotte motioned toward the sad-looking group of horses. Six were standing, listless, as if too tired to walk or eat. The seventh was down, on her side, an aged mare that might have been pretty in her day. She wasn’t pretty now. “I’d be happy to do the exams, Doctor, so you can get to your office hours on time.”

He glared at her, then the horses, then her again. He turned as if to leave, then swung back. “Let’s get to it.” Sour-faced, he started for a horse.

“We’ve made him angry.” Bitsy sounded genuinely distraught, as if the old veterinarian’s anger was a bigger worry than it should be. “I didn’t mean to do that.”

Neither had Charlotte, but to declare such a permanent decision without making an examination seemed wrong.

“Braden has given years of time and expertise to help reestablish the ranches in this part of Idaho,” Bitsy added as they followed the old man. “I’d never want to hurt his feelings.”

“Put the blame on me,” declared Charlotte, and she didn’t keep her voice all that soft, either. “Because if I’m going to have half a dozen dead horses on my conscience, it’s going to be for a good reason.”

Bitsy looked surprised, but then not so surprised, as Charlotte’s words hit home.

The cowboy tipped back his hat slightly. He met her gaze briefly, then moved up alongside the older vet. “How can I help, Braden?”

A peacemaker.

Well, good for him. Charlotte had a lot of respect for a serene existence, but the cheating father and then the law-breaking ex-boyfriend made her realize that peace at any cost wasn’t peace. It was capitulation, and where these poor horses were concerned, she wasn’t about to give an inch.

The cowboy turned. “Do we have any placements, Bitsy?”

“The Council Rescue can take two.”

The old vet snorted.

Bitsy ignored the sound as Charlotte moved forward to examine the horse.

“Ty said they could house two for the interim.”

The old vet shot her an incredulous look over his shoulder.

“Young Eagle texted that he could take one and his sister would tend another. He’s coming right down.”

Braden Hirsch’s scowl deepened. “A couple of weeks back, that might have been the way to go, but I’m telling you straight, you’re causing more harm than good to try to rehabilitate animals like this. You get ’em healthy and then someone tries to ride one and gets thrown because the horse has lost its trust of humans or just spooks easy, and then your happy ending goes up in smoke.”

“It’s a valid point.” Char felt the heat in the first horse’s leg, then moved on to the group of three. They scattered, but they scattered quickly enough to make her assessment fairly easy. “Any horse that can shy that quickly deserves a chance.”

“Being scared doesn’t make them healthy, girl.”

“Doctor,” she replied smoothly. “And I have the Cornell University diploma to prove it.”

“High-faluting schools don’t always mean good,” he retorted. “Sometimes they just mean overpriced and overdressed.”

Two men had joined Bitsy. They were putting halters on the horses to aid in moving them, but when they approached a dun gelding, Charlotte shook her head. The dun was too far gone for help at this point. And that left them with the inert horse on the ground.

“Oh, baby, I’m so sorry.” Char ran a gentle hand along the horse’s neck when she got to the prone Appaloosa. “So very sorry.” She did a quick exam. The mare’s heart and lungs sounded fair, but she was little more than bones. Bones and...in foal, Charlotte realized.

And yet so debilitated at this point that the idea of getting her healthy enough to have the foal, much less care for it, seemed impossible.

A shadow fell over her. She looked up.

Isaiah shifted slightly, then squatted beside her. He didn’t try to hide his brokenhearted expression. He laid a hand along the horse’s neck as if in benediction, then met Char’s gaze. “Two to put down? And five to attempt healing.”

She started to nod when the horse lifted her head. Looked around. She seemed disoriented for brief seconds, then rolled slightly to see Isaiah.

He stared at the mare.

The mare gazed back.

And when the big Native American swallowed hard, Char had to fight off a thrust of rising emotion. “You know her.”

Gaze firm, he laid a hand against the horse’s face.

“She knows you.” Char read the horse’s reaction. And the man’s.

He blinked once, a silent assent.

Braden came up behind them. “I knew this one was an easy decision, even for someone fresh out of the classroom.” He stopped. Stared. Then his look went from the horse to Isaiah and back again. He swallowed hard. Really hard. “She can’t be here. She was put down a long, long time ago.”

Isaiah kept his face flat and a comforting hand along the horse’s jaw. “Clearly not. But maybe that would have been the better choice, considering.”

“I’ll get things ready.” Braden set down a medical bag that had seen better days and opened it. With shaking hands, he withdrew what he needed to inject the mare.

“No.”

Braden paused. He stared at Isaiah. So did Charlotte.

“We’re not putting her down. If she can get up and walk, we’re not putting her down.”

“Well, she can’t or won’t—stubborn to the end—and you know every reason why we can’t let her live, Isaiah. Better than most.”

Charlotte stayed quiet, but when Isaiah stood, tall and firm, she stood, too.

“Come along, Ginger. Come along.”

The horse seemed to brighten up. She blew out a breath, stared up at him, then tried to roll.

She couldn’t make it.

Her eyes went wide, as if the mare realized how much was riding on this single maneuver.

“Come along, girl. Home’s waiting.”

Braden rolled his eyes. “Standing or laying isn’t the question here. It’s who she is, Isaiah. Some things are better left as is. You’ve got two kids on that ranch to think of. Neither one of your brother’s kids deserves to be around a crazy horse that’s hurt kids before.”

“Hey, girl.” The rugged cowboy ignored the old man’s caution and stooped a little. “It’s up to you. Stay? Or go?”

The horse stared up at him, as if weighing his words. Then with a mighty surge, she rolled fully and almost sprang to her feet, suddenly energized.

“Don’t do this, Isaiah.” Braden stood between the cowboy and the upright horse. “There’s no reason to bring this all back up. It won’t bring Alfie back, but it will rile up a whole lot of emotions for people we both love. Your mother. Your family. You know it as well as I do.”

Isaiah smoothed a hand along the horse’s scabby, dirt-crusted neck. “She’ll come with me.”

The old vet’s eyes flashed. “I won’t be a part of this, Isaiah. Not one part. You know what happened that day. We both do. You would bring this mistake back to your mother’s door? Lay blame at her feet?”

The cowboy kept a light hand on the mare. “That’s exactly why I have no choice.”

“Isaiah.” Braden changed his tone slightly. He moved forward, imploring. “I’m your godfather, and I’m asking you. Begging you. Don’t do this. Please. It’s foolishness. It changes nothing, so what’s the point? She’s beyond help. Beyond hope. It’s time to do the right thing.”

The square-shouldered Native American faced the smaller doctor. His expression mixed remorse and conviction. “Which is why she’s coming home with me. Live or die, she’ll be where she should have been all along.”

The old man grabbed his bag so hard that it banged Charlotte’s leg, almost toppling her into the horse. “Out of my way!” He stormed past her and crossed the field, his bag half-open.

“I’m out.” He barked the words at Bitsy, but made sure they all could hear as another horse trailer arrived. A local-news car followed. “And I hope your new horse vet does well by the lot of you because I won’t be part of any of this nonsense.”

Nonsense?

A flash of fear gripped Charlotte.

What if she lost them all? What kind of reputation as a horse-savvy vet would she have then? Was she laying her career on the line for a hopeless cause?

One of the men motioned for her.

She began to move that way.

The mare swayed, as if weak. Then she caught herself, drew up her neck and stood firm.

Charlotte did the same. She was in a way better spot than the horse, and if the horse could muster up courage, then so would the doctor.

* * *

Saving Ginger was nonsense?

Cool anger chilled Isaiah’s veins, while the July temperature mounted.

The horse tipped her head and looked at him. If he’d had a choice, he lost it at that moment.

Bitsy approached with another halter. He ran his hand up the horse’s nose and murmured soft words to her. Would the aged mare trust his words after being betrayed long ago? Did she really recognize him?

She leaned her poor, thin face into his hand and breathed softly, an equine sigh.

Maybe she knew him. Perhaps she’d forgiven him for standing by and saying nothing all those years ago. For letting her be taken because he was caught in a tough spot between the horse and his mother.

His mother.

She would recognize the horse. Maybe not initially, but once she filled out—if she lived—Stella Woods would recognize the horse she’d accused years ago. And that wouldn’t go well.

Bitsy sweet-talked Ginger while the new veterinarian gathered information from Ty Carrington, Young Eagle and a woman from the horse rescue just south of Council. She offered initial instructions to each one as they guided the horses into their respective trailers. Curious, the campers had moseyed their way again once the horses were being loaded. The young doctor noticed that and glanced over her shoulder.

She was blonde. Blue-eyed. A lovely face, with the kind of figure that made a smart man take note, and wasn’t that funny because he hadn’t had time to take notice of a woman for a while. Partly his fault. Partly God’s timing in parking two orphaned kids in his care.

So yes, she was beautiful with her long golden ponytail, a wisp of fringe around her cheeks and forehead, and the plain T-shirt over thin blue jeans. She’d chosen a good outfit for animal work and long summer days. But Idaho farms and ranches were tough by nature. To start off at odds with his godfather, a man who shared history with 90 percent of the area’s ranchers, wasn’t just risky. It probably sounded the death knell of her professional career, because the Hirsch family carried clout in Adams County and they weren’t afraid to use it.

A second news car pulled in behind the sheriff’s cruisers. Neglected farm animals were big news in Western Idaho and a case like this would make headlines. And if the rescues failed, his godfather would use those headlines to his own advantage.

Braden didn’t like to be second-guessed. To have this young woman challenge his decisions wasn’t something he would forgive easily, even though he sat in the front church pew every Sunday, with his wife and her sister right there beside him.

Ty and Young Eagle had situated their rigs to receive their cargo. Word had spread, more people arrived and Isaiah hung back purposely. As the other horses were being carefully loaded, the young veterinarian came his way. She stripped off her gloves and shoved them into a pocket before donning a new pair.

“Bitsy said your name is Charlotte?”

She nodded toward her van with a jut of her chin. “New big-animal vet in town and already making enemies with the establishment.”

“Not all of the establishment.” He noted the men loading trailers, Bitsy and the kids, none of whom had really stopped watching.

“And you are?”

“Isaiah Woods. Rancher. Horse breeder.”

She frowned quickly. “Can you segregate her at your place so she’s quarantined for the first few weeks, Mr. Woods? You don’t want to track something into your herd.”

“Isaiah. And yes. I’ve got a spot.”

She accepted the correction with a brief nod. “You know this horse?”

“Yes.”

She slanted a quick look of assessment his way. “And?”

He stayed silent.

She didn’t. “You’re Native American.”

“Nimiipuu. Or Nez Percé, as we’re known now.”

“The Last Indian War.”

Few people remembered the native history, how a band of Nez Percé was hunted over a thousand miles of rough terrain, caught after much fighting and then sequestered on a hot, dry plain in Oklahoma, far from their cooler mountainous homeland. She surprised him and he didn’t surprise easily. “Someone paid attention in eighth-grade history. Many don’t.”

“Well, right now I’m paying attention to her.” Charlotte moved along the mare’s flank. She closed her eyes and gently probed the animal’s body. “She’s due to foal soon.”

Now she got his attention. He stared at the horse, then followed the skinny line of her curvature until the familiar sway beneath her confirmed the doctor’s diagnosis. “That can’t be good for her.”

“Babies do tend to steal whatever they need from their mothers, leaving the mother drained. In her case, drained equates starving.”

The horse gulped as if swallowing was hard.

“Do you have a place ready for her?” she asked as she smoothed her hand along the mare’s flank.

“A hay barn with three stalls I use when I need to segregate.” He watched as she did a quick exam from the horse’s side.

“Baby’s heart rate is strong and steady. Mother’s is shakier considering her condition. Let’s get her moved, get her in a clean area and we’ll start a care regimen right away.” She stood up, jotted notes into her phone, then faced him. “I won’t pretend I’m holding out a lot of hope.”

“Because she’s so far gone.”

“That and an almost full-term pregnancy puts a significant strain on the mother. How old is she?”

“Twenty-six.” He didn’t have to stop and think because he hadn’t stopped thinking about Gingersnap—her formal name—since the day they hauled her away, twenty-one years ago. He’d been nine years old and had just witnessed what no child should ever have to see, the loss of his cousin and best friend.

And then he experienced the loss of another dear friend when they sent the horse to be euthanized. Nearly every moment since had been timed from that fateful day. Alfie gone, and Gingersnap hauled away to her death.

Only here she was, so someone else must have realized the horse wasn’t at fault.

He didn’t know how this happened, but seeing his old friend neglected and starved, he knew it was long past time to fix things. Starting today. “I’ll get the trailer now that the others have loaded.”

“Is your daughter strong enough to handle this?” She jutted her chin toward the group of watchful teens.

“My niece, actually. And yes. She’s quite strong. Why?”

“Watching animals die is no picnic. And you and I both know this one’s on shaky ground.”

Regardless he still had to try. “We’ll do our best and leave the rest in God’s hands.”

Doubt clouded her features. “Whoever left the fate of these animals to God didn’t give them much of a fighting chance, did they?”

He faced her, calm and cool, and made sure she understood exactly what he wanted to say. “He brought them here, where they’re surrounded by helping hands. I’d say He’s done all right.”

She didn’t argue with him, but her expression indicated she wasn’t buying into his reasoning.

No matter.

He needed her help. She needed work. They didn’t have to get along or be friends, but when she murmured soft words of encouragement as they moved the mare forward, he wondered how someone so innately gifted with horses could be that far removed from God?

That was her business. Not his. And he would have enough on his plate once people realized that he’d just gone against a two-decades-old death sentence. A sentence that had never been carried out. A sentence decreed against a horse who hadn’t done one thing wrong.

God had given him the chance to fix an old mistake. One way or another he was going to make up as much of that error as he could, and that would depend on how long Ginger and her baby lived.

Chapter Two

Isaiah Woods’ ranch was about the prettiest thing Char had ever seen, and that was saying something for a girl raised on an elite Kentucky horse farm.

She drove her van beneath a wooden arch that read Dancing Meadows and was pretty sure she’d taken a step back in time. An L-shaped rustic log cabin stood to her right, shaded by towering pines. Wind chimes hung from the braces connecting the wooden porch pillars. They jangled a mix of sounds into the afternoon breeze as sunlight bathed the western side of the house. The natural light deepened the golden tones of the wooden logs. The whole thing created a suitable-for-framing Western-ranch image. As she followed the graveled drive to a system of pristine barns, she angled the van to the left and then paused.

Three meadows spread out behind the barns. Two lay fairly flat, with an occasional dip and roll. The third went up a hill toward the deepening forest that served as the backdrop to this beautiful landholding. But it wasn’t the pretty green pastures that brought her to a stop.

It was the amazing array of colorful Appaloosas that made Char catch her breath.

Grays. Chestnuts. Buckskins. Blues. It was like viewing her favorite childhood poem, the one Corrie would sing to her, lulling a busy girl to sleep with promises of a new day coming. Hushabye. Don’t you cry... Go to sleep, little lady... When you wake, you shall have all the pretty little horses.

Her heart went tight, remembering. Corrie Satterly had cared for all three of the Fitzgerald girls, from the time her oldest sister, Lizzie, was a baby. She had surrounded Lizzie, Melonie and Char with faith, hope and love. And yet...despite Char’s love for her surrogate mother...it never seemed to be enough. Someday she’d have to take some time and figure out why. But not today.

“You like our horses?”

She turned, surprised.

A copper-haired boy faced her, and then he hopped up on the fence and pointed. “See that blue roan?”

There were several, but she saw the one he meant right off. “With the wider blanket.” To the right a gorgeous horse stood slightly apart. The blue-gray coloration faded as it reached the horse’s back, then merged with a wide blanket of pale cream, lightly speckled. “She’s a stunner.”

“She’s named after me. Liam’s Little Lady because we were born on the same day. Only I’m eight and she’s four.”

“A birthday present.”

His eyes shined when he looked at her. “Yes, that’s right. And I remember my daddy holding me up and saying, ‘Well, then, what do you think, boy?’”

“And what did you think?” asked Char.

“I thought we would be like that forever.” His voice went soft. He stared out at the horses as if suddenly watching a different kind of scene. “All of us here, with Uncle Isaiah, eating rice pudding and raising horses.”

Sadness wound through his words, enough to keep Char from asking questions.

“Doctor?” The teen girl—he’d called her J.J. at the Armbrusters’—came their way from a service barn. A big red-gold dog trotted alongside her, ears up, tail wagging. A family kind of dog, happy and healthy. “We’re over here.”

Char indicated the passenger seat to the boy. “Want a lift?”

The boy shook his head. “Uncle Isaiah says if you can walk it, walk it. And if you can run it? Better yet.” He dashed off in the direction of the older barn.

Wise words.

Char followed, then pulled the van near the broad, open doors facing the driveway. In a time when many old barns were in a state of neglect, this one wore its age with dignity. Three extra-large stalls lined the western wall, while neatly stacked hay and straw did the same on the opposite side.

“You came straight over.”

Oh, that voice. His voice.

It drew her, but it wasn’t just his voice. There was something else. Something in the firm, strong way he stood. His quiet demeanor. No excessive movements, as if simple stoicism meant more than meaningless activity. She didn’t mention that she hurried this way because Ginger’s prognosis was the trickiest. He already knew that. “I wanted to see her settled.”

He led her to a big stall. The floor was thick with clean yellow straw. The chestnut roan was snatching hay from a wall-mounted hayrack. Nearby a clean water trough was full. A broad Dutch door faced the outdoors. The top half of the door stood open, bathing the stall in fresh air and light, while the bottom half of the door was firmly latched.

“Hey, pretty.”

Ginger perked her left ear when Char spoke, but kept right on eating.

“I hate to interrupt the first solid meal she’s had in who knows how long.”

Caring. Kind. A man of conviction. Not exactly the kind of man she was used to. Was that her fault? Or theirs?

“Can we put off the testing for a day?” he continued.

She faced Isaiah as the two kids came into the barn. J.J. came their way. Liam hung back, close to the haystacks. The dog sat by his feet, quietly watching the scene unfold.

“My thoughts exactly. Let’s let her get her bearings, and we’ll run tests tomorrow. Right now good hay, fresh water and a clean stall are her best friends, and you’ve taken care of that.”

“That was all J.J.” He settled that look of pride on the girl again. “She’s my right-hand gal with horses and she’s already determined that Ginger’s going to make it.”

Char could write the girl a list of reasons why the horse probably wouldn’t make it, but they’d face those hurdles in the days to come. “I like a solid optimist,” Char told her as she extended her hand to the girl. “Especially when optimism is paired with a good work ethic. I’ll come by first thing in the morning and take some samples. In the meantime I want to do a general deworming and start a course of antibiotics for whatever is causing that runny nose and cough. We’ll go more specific if needed when we have the test results.”

“Shouldn’t she have a bath?” asked J.J. “I think she’d feel better after one, don’t you?”

“She’d look better to us, but for her comfort’s sake, let’s just worry about food, water and the cleanliness of her surroundings right now. I promise you if this works, she’ll look a lot better four weeks down the road.”

“I hope so,” said the boy.

He sounded worried. And when she shifted her gaze to him, his expression showed deep concern.

“She looks sad to be in here,” he explained. “All cooped up with scratches and things when all the pretty horses are out there.”

All the pretty horses. There it was again, from a child’s lips, a phrase from that beloved poem. “She can’t be near our horses right now, Liam.” Isaiah squatted to the boy’s level. “She’s sick and she might make them sick. That’s why we’ve got to keep her over here for now, okay?”

“Like when Grandma puts me in time-out?”

“No,” said Isaiah kindly. “This is more like being in the hospital. Separated so we can give her time to get well again.”

“If you’d behave yourself, you wouldn’t be put in time-out,” noted J.J., sounding so much like Char’s big sisters that Char had to add her piece.

“We all outgrow time-out, Liam.”

He lifted his brows, encouraged, and Char smiled at him. “It’s part of growing up. Do you help with the horses?”

Another look of disappointment darkened his face. “I want to but Grandma says I’m too quick and they’re quicker yet.”

“He helps with chickens over at Grandma and Grandpa’s house, up the road.”

“They smell,” Liam told her. “Like, really bad.”

“Especially during rainy times,” Char noted.

The boy wrinkled his nose and nodded as she administered the first dose of antibiotic. Then she offered Ginger a quick dose of dewormer.

“We had turkeys on our horse farm down south,” she explained. “It was a thing with my grandfather, to give turkeys as gifts in November. And in those long, hot and humid days of summer, tending the turkeys was not a whole lot of fun.”

Liam smiled when she flashed him a look of commiseration. “When is her baby due?” he asked. “Like soon?”

“Pretty soon. I can’t tell exactly, but I’d say sooner rather than later.” She finished the parasite application and tucked the empty vial back into her pocket. “We’ll do some measurements tomorrow.”

“Then I’ll skip camp and stay here to help,” J.J. declared.

Isaiah’s face stayed calm, but his voice pitched down. “Jodie June, I do believe we’ve discussed this.”

“You discussed it by telling me what to do, but you know this changes things, Uncle Isaiah,” the girl insisted. “She needs someone checking on her and caring for her. She’s got to be more important than equine camp, isn’t she?”

“Except the camp is paid for and you made a commitment. And we don’t take commitments lightly. But the horse does raise a significant problem these next few weeks.” Isaiah turned toward Char. “J.J.’s gone during the day and I’m knee-deep in work with hay and oats, on top of caring for our herds and dealing with scheduled visits of potential buyers. I can install a mare camera in here, but with her deterioration she shouldn’t be left without regular supervision. Would it be possible to hire your services for the next few weeks, between your other patients? Stop over here, supervise her care, make sure we’re not missing something vital because we’re busy?”

Char knew how easily that could happen during crunch time on a farm or ranch. “I’d be happy to.”

He didn’t smile, but he did look relieved. “Good. J.J., can you go check the pasture troughs for me?”

The girl gave a reluctant look to Ginger, but nodded as she moved toward the broad door. “Sure. I’ll make sure they’re clean, too.”

“I’d appreciate it.”

“Hey, Rising.” J.J. motioned to the big red dog. “Wanna come?”

The dog trotted after her, clearly at home. The slight swagger to his movements suggested his importance to the farm and this family. “Pretty dog.”

“That’s Rising,” Liam told her. “He was my dad’s dog.”

“Rising, huh?” She aimed a quizzical look at Liam. “How’d he get such a cool name?”

“Red Moon Rising,” said Isaiah. “My brother picked the puppy out of a litter up in McCall, and that night he saw a red moon rising so he used an old custom of integrating nature into the name.”

“But you don’t call him ‘Red,’ which would have been most people’s choice of a call name, wouldn’t it?”

“Probably. Andrew got the dog to round out our family, and he saw the dog and the horses and this growing farm as a new hope rising. So that’s why we started calling him ‘Rising’ and it stuck.”

It wasn’t just a good reason to nickname the dog. It was a great one.

Isaiah had turned back toward the boy. “And, Liam, how was summer school today?”

The boy’s face answered that clearly.

“That bad, huh?”

“I don’t know why I have to go to stupid summer school when almost everybody else in the whole world has vacation. I think Grandma just wants me out of the way.”

“Liam—”

“I think you know it, too,” the boy went on, “because little boys are too busy, too noisy and too pesky.”

“Are you?” asked Char.

“Am I what?”

“Too busy, noisy and pesky?”

He frowned. “Sometimes. I guess. I just don’t like being alone mostly.”

Oh, she understood that kind of a problem too well. “So the good side of summer school is not being alone. The bad side is that it’s school, right?”

“Half days. Then lunch. Then nothing but me stuck at Grandma’s. With the chickens.” He shoved his two little hands into his pocket and trudged off, the image of a lonely child.

“Ouch.”

Isaiah winced, watching him.

“So, Isaiah.” She was probably going to regret what she was about to do, and she went right ahead and did it, anyway.

“Yes?”

“Here’s the plan. You do whatever is needed first thing in the morning. Text me an update. Then I’ll come around late morning and hang out. What time does his bus bring him back?”

He followed her gaze toward Liam. “You mean Liam?”

“Yes.”

“No bus, we carpool with one of the other families whose kids take summer classes. He gets dropped off at eleven fifty, but he’ll be with my mother, up the road. And she’s not going to let him come down here and help you. Not at his age.”

“So, your mother is his guardian?”

That question got his full attention. “No. I am.”

“Then as his guardian, why not bring him over here for the afternoons?”

“It’s complicated.”

“Only if you make it complicated,” she supposed. She walked toward her van as she spoke. “A simple ‘yes’ could make it quite easy. He’d be company for me and out of Grandma’s hair.”

His face went tight. “My mother loves Liam.”

“Even though he’s busy, noisy and pesky.”

She knew she hit a nerve when his eyes narrowed.

“Just a thought,” she told Isaiah as she climbed in and started the van. “He’s obviously lonely and sad and wishes life was different. I thought a change of pace might be good for him.” She pulled away, but when she glanced into the rearview mirror, he was standing there. Not watching her. Not watching anything, really. Just standing there, looking as sad as the little red-haired boy now sitting quietly on the beautiful front porch.

* * *

So, she thought changing things up with his mother would be easy?

Dealing with his mother was never simple. Stella Woods was a stubborn personality, from tough Native American roots, and when it came to children, she drew a firm line. Especially with boys.

That realization cost him sleep that night.

She was tougher on Liam than J.J. He’d chalked that up to maturity, but the veterinarian’s words were a wake-up call.

Liam wasn’t a happy child. He didn’t act out. He didn’t pester others. He loved to ask questions, and Isaiah liked answering questions, so that worked out well. But there was clearly a problem with the boy’s current situation. Unhappy in school. Unhappy at his grandmother’s. Unhappy with summer.

He climbed out of bed early the next morning. J.J. was already up and at the barn, checking on Ginger. The stall was freshened up. So was the hay and the water trough. She was inside the stall with the emaciated horse, whispering encouragement while she ran a gentle brush over the horse’s body. “You beat me here.”

She flashed him a resigned smile. “I wanted some time with her before Mrs. Rodriguez picks me up. I know I need to go to camp.” She kept her voice soft as she stroked the horse’s side and back with the soft bristles. “But I don’t want to leave her alone.”

“I’ll be close by for the next few hours. And I got the camera installed last night.” He motioned to the inter-barn system they used to monitor pregnant mares in the big barns. “I can keep an eye on her even if I’m not right here. And the doctor’s coming later this morning.”

“I’m glad she wasn’t afraid to try to help the horses after Dr. Hirsch wanted them all put down.”

“You heard that?”

“Yes. So did Brian and Jamie and Alex.”

Her three best friends on the planet, and they all liked to talk, especially when it came to anything equine-related. “Professionals don’t always agree on things,” he reminded her. “And she seems to realize this is a dicey business for all of these horses, but for Ginger in particular.”

“Well, I like her. She’s not afraid to speak her mind.”

J.J. was right about that, but Isaiah wasn’t stupid. Going against Braden would have repercussions that could ripple across the tightly knit horse community and make things difficult for the new veterinarian. Braden had friends on ranches and farms, and a few in high places, and he wouldn’t be afraid to use them.

He was also close with Isaiah’s parents. He’d grown up next door to Isaiah’s mother. Their families did everything together. On top of that, he knew everything about Ginger. Before too long Isaiah’s parents would realize he was helping an old foe. And there would be reckoning.

His reckoning. And theirs.

He owed the horse. From the moment he realized who was lying in that field, he understood his need to face the guilt of the past.

A text from the veterinarian buzzed in. He opened it as he went back to the house to get Liam to school. How’s she doing?

Holding her own, he texted back. Still eating and drinking. All functions appear to be working.

Good. ETA eleven.

I’ll monitor until then.

A thumbs-up emoji came back to him. He put away the phone and smiled.

He stopped smiling when he spotted Liam’s face smooshed against the front window, as if dreading the day.

Should he be forced to go to summer school? Was third-grade reading readiness that important? What if he was just a late bloomer?

How many battlefronts can you maintain at once?

Isaiah heard his grandfather’s voice in the mental question.

Adam “Gray Cloud” Woods knew people even better than he knew horses, and no one knew horses better than him. He died too young—Isaiah could use a dose of that aged wisdom right about now.

“Do I have to go, Uncle Isaiah?”

The fact that Liam didn’t cry, whine or carry on should have made the decision to say yes easier.

The opposite was true because a healthy, happy boy might have raised a ruckus about being shipped off to the three-week program geared to help students who were struggling in school. His quiet resignation showed how unhappy he was.

Would he mess up Liam’s future by keeping him home? Keeping him here? Was he tempted to baby the boy because he’d been orphaned over two years before and still seemed to be floundering?

Yes. Which meant he should send him. “Not much longer, pal. Then you’ll have almost a month of summer vacation left.”

Liam said nothing.

Chin down, he got up from his seat at the broad kitchen island and picked up his backpack.

“Do you have your snack?”

A quiet nod. Then the boy walked slowly to the car.

Silent sadness.

The very worst kind, Isaiah realized as he climbed into the driver’s seat. The kind that wore a person down like water on rock. It could either smooth out rough edges or turn the rock into sand. Which was it doing to his brother’s precious son? He longed for the former, but something inside of Isaiah sensed that the boy’s hopes and dreams were being withered away, and he wasn’t at all sure what to do about it.

Chapter Three

“So, you’ve managed to rile up the horse community, insult the local veterinary surgeon and tackle an impossible task in less than forty-eight hours.” Melonie Fitzgerald Middleton raised a coffee mug in mock salute to Char when the three sisters gathered in the Pine Ridge Ranch kitchen early that morning. “Well done. Even I didn’t ruffle that many Idaho feathers my first forty-eight hours in town. It might be a Fitzgerald record.”

Charlotte poured a mug of coffee and frowned. “I blame Lizzie. She read Ty Carrington’s text about the horses and called me instantly. Totally her fault. I could have stayed in the stable apartment and been clueless. And blameless.”

“Feel free to thank me, dearest, because you did the right thing.” Lizzie looped an arm around Char’s shoulders and hugged her. “While Braden Hirsch has been the go-to man for decades, he’s not up on the newest things in horse care, and we need someone well-schooled in current findings. Uncle Sean put a lot of money and love into our equine barns, and I want solid medicine on my side. Which means I’m hoping you’ll stay, little sister.”

Lizzie had taken over management of their late uncle’s fledgling horse-breeding business, an amazing enterprise modeled after the choicest Irish horse farms. While the girls’ father had squandered his wealth and position in Kentucky, Uncle Sean had come north to make his own way in the world. And he’d done well. Char had moved into the apartment above the horse stables when she arrived. Lizzie had lived there before she married Heath Caufield, her old love and the farm manager. Then Mel had occupied the two-room living space until she fell head over heels in love with Jace Middleton and his two baby nieces. Now it was Char’s place to call home while she tested the Western Idaho waters.

“Heath and I are thrilled to have you on board, Char. This could be the perfect opportunity for you. God’s opened a big door, ready for you to shine.”

“Or some horrible person neglected a crowd of lovely animals and I was in the right place at the right time,” Char mused. She sent Lizzie a wry look. “Science refuses to bear out your lofty celestial ideas, sis. But I respect your right to have them.”

“Didn’t DNA testing recently indicate that all men are related to one man? One single man from way back when?” asked Melonie. “That’s gotta count for something, Char, when science proves the book of Genesis to be correct.”

“Darlings, I love you.” Melonie and Lizzie had both taken their coffees to the angled breakfast bar separating the wide kitchen from the equally wide dining room. “But it’s too early to be throwing down this kind of talk—although you’re both praying women—so I’d appreciate it if you prayed for these horses. It’s a sad and sorry bunch they are, and I’d like to meet the person who let them get into this kind of shape.”

“It’s heartbreaking, for sure. And you said one of them is in foal?”

“An old mare with local history and a sad face. But she perked right up when she heard Isaiah Woods talking.” Char sipped her coffee as she double-checked her leather bag. “Like one of those old-time reunion stories that make great movies.”

“I love those movies.” Melonie put a hand to her heart.

“Me, too,” added Lizzie. “But I think talk time is over,” she said as Corrie brought Ava and Annie their way. “Zeke never sleeps long once Mel brings the girls over for Corrie to watch.”

“I’m ducking out quickly, then,” said Char. “I’ll play with them when I get home tonight, but if I hang around, I’ll never want to leave, and duty calls.”

“Go in peace.” Lizzie paused and gave Char a big hug. “I love you. I’m so glad you’re here.”

“Me, too.” Melonie reached up for a hug as Char went by. “See you tonight. And I’ll be praying, Char. For you and the horses.”

“I’ll take all the help I can get.” Char began her rounds up near McCall to check out the horse Young Eagle took home. Then she came back south, ran by the Carrington Ranch and then on to the horse-rescue farm just south of Council. When she finished she had just enough time to get back to Dancing Meadows. She pulled into the drive, parked and opened up the sliding side door of the mobile clinic. She didn’t look around for Isaiah. She was here to see the horse. Nothing more. But when she spotted him coming her way, her heart jumped, so she tamped it right back down before he reached the barn.

“Right on time.”

She carried a small tray of supplies into the barn and set it next to Ginger’s stall. “I like being punctual, but I may have driven somewhat too quickly on that last stretch. I should have realized that curvy, winding mountain roads slow one’s pace.”

“And there’s no such thing as a New York minute in Idaho.”

“Well, I’m a blend of Old South and New York, busy so I’ve become my own conundrum,” she admitted. “We’ll see if I can reconcile the polar opposites here in the Great Northwest. Oh, sweet thing.” She moved into the horse’s stall with a sigh. “You look unhappy.”

The horse blew out a breath. Her eyes watered, and then she stomped her back left foot twice before reaching around with her head toward her belly.

“Bellyache.” Isaiah folded his arms like he’d done the day before. “Did we overfeed her, or is there something else going on?”

“With a horse in her condition, there could be a lot of things going on,” she told him honestly. “We’ll start with simple fixes first. Her digestive tract is oversensitive because of what she’s been through, so let’s change things up. No hay right now. We can walk her for five minutes every couple of hours. That way she grazes on fresh grass, but not too much. We’ll keep the water in her trough on the tepid side to prevent cold-water cramping. The fresh grass will help reactivate the stomach so the intestines can do their job.”

“I should have thought of that, but J.J. was out here early to take care of her.”

“And no parent wants to discourage industry like that.”

A horn tooted softly in the distance. “That will be Liam. I had them drop him here and I texted my mother that I’m going to keep him the next few days.”

“Oh, good,” she said, approving. “He can walk her with me. And maybe show me around? If you don’t mind.”

“He’d love it. He loves the horses and the ranch. He is truly his father’s son, but my mother gets nervous about boys and horses.”

“Not girls? Isn’t that a little backward in the Wild West?”

“She finds girls to be more levelheaded.”

Char aimed a skeptical look his way. “Clearly she’s never frequented the suburban stables back east. There is an overpopulation of not-so-levelheaded girls at some of the loftier places.”

“Not exactly National Velvet?”

“No, but that was one of my favorite horse books as a child.” The thought made her smile as she took samples from the horse’s nostril once she’d drawn blood. “I grew up thriving on horse stories. The classics and the not-so-classics. When I wasn’t reading about horses, I was living with them. Given that, in some ways I had the world’s most idyllic childhood for a horse-lover.”

“So, you were raised with horses?” he asked while she slipped the samples into a mailing sleeve. “That explains the natural affinity I see.”

“My grandfather started a Kentucky horse farm when he became successful. He and my father bred racehorses,” she told him. “Great-grandpa, too, but I never knew him. He died shortly after emigrating from Ireland. They loved horses. Maybe too much, in some ways, but yes, there’s something in the blood. A predisposition that made becoming a big-animal vet a no-brainer. Equine doors tended to open quickly in the South and East when your last name is Fitzgerald.”

* * *

Fitzgerald.

No.

Could this situation possibly get any worse than it already was? It just did.

She dropped the name as he was leaving, giving him plenty of time to think it over while he went up the gravel trail to the house to intercept Liam.

Was it a coincidence?

Most likely not.

Was she related to Sean Fitzgerald, one of the men who took advantage of the hard times nearly thirty years back and bought up Idaho ranchland when it was dirt cheap? Land that included his mother’s family farm when her parents were strapped for cash three decades back.

Now the Fitzgerald holdings were valued in the millions, and all because Sean Fitzgerald staked a claim at the right time. But between his ranch, the Hardaway Ranch and Carrington Ranch, outsiders had come in and purchased multiple parcels of land as they became available. Some Native American land. And Middleton land, too, from another old homesteader’s family.

Her van had only offered initials. CMF. But it couldn’t be a coincidence that she bore the last name Fitzgerald.

“I can’t believe I get to be with you today, Uncle Isaiah!” Liam had already ditched his school clothes, donned ranch clothing and sprang out the door like a meteor on a clear night. “How’s the horse doing? Can I see her? Is the doctor lady here?”

She was here, but she couldn’t stay. His parents weren’t the only ones bearing grudges about those land deals. Thirty years later it was still a “what if” in many roundtable discussions.

And yet she had to stay.

With Braden’s stance on Ginger, the new veterinarian had to oversee the mare’s care. There was absolutely no other option.

“What’s wrong?” Liam gripped Isaiah’s hand. “Are you okay?”

“I’m fine.” He wasn’t, but he’d pretend for the moment. When they drew close to the barn, Liam sprinted ahead. “Hey! Doctor lady!” he shouted.

Charlotte turned and put a hand up, palm out. “Rule number one. We use inside voices around horses. Their hearing is sensitive and we don’t want to upset or rile them.”

“Is that why they have such big triangle ears?” he asked in a much softer voice.

“To hear predators coming. Yes. Horses instinctively listen, all the time. Our job is to keep our voices soft and nonthreatening. And you don’t have to call me doctor lady. Just call me Char. All right?”

“Yes, ma’am.” The boy aimed a sincere look her way. “I can be loud someplace else. Okay?”

“Perfect.” She smiled down at him. “For right now I need you to be my gofer.”

Liam made a sour face. “Uncle Isaiah doesn’t like gophers. Not one little bit. They make tunnels that trip horses.”

“Ah.” She raised her gaze and aimed it straight at Isaiah. And then she smiled and he stood right there, wishing she didn’t. Wishing the smile didn’t draw him in. Make him want to smile back and maybe keep smiling. “Well, I can see how that would be problematic with so many beautiful horses. But you’re going to be a different kind of gopher, more like an assistant to me. When I need something, you run and get it. When I have questions, you answer them.”

“Like about Uncle Isaiah? And the ranch?”

“Exactly like that. And you will be the official guardian of my bag.” She kept brushing the mare in gentle, sweeping motions, as if she had nothing better to do than brush a horse. “That bag has all my emergency supplies in it, so if we have an emergency, you need to know exactly where the bag is.”

“Like carry it everywhere?” he asked, eyes wide.

“Nope. No sense in that, is there? Not if we know where it is.”

He grinned. “You’re smart!”

“I agree.” She smiled down at him, looked up, then paused, gazing over Isaiah’s shoulder.

Her eyes went still. The hand moving the brush faltered slightly, and her pretty smile faded just enough for Isaiah to turn around.

His mother stood ten paces back. Her expression said she was ready to do battle. He braced his legs and folded his arms, because if Stella Woods had a gripe with anyone, it was with him. Not the beautiful veterinary surgeon who was trying to establish a much-needed new business.

And not the softhearted little boy whose smile had disappeared the moment he spotted his grandmother coming their way.

Stella glared as she strode forward.

He met her halfway. “You come in peace for a poor neglected animal, I hope.”

“What are you doing, Isaiah Michael?” she hissed, and he hoped Liam couldn’t hear the venom in her voice. “You know better than to give shelter to a mean horse.” She uttered a bad phrase in her native tongue, a phrase he’d never heard come out of her mouth before. “She has already taken a life from us, one that was precious and good. Now we should let her give up her spirit and be done with it. Isaiah, I’m begging you.” She clasped his arms with her hands and gripped hard. “Do not save a murdering horse. It cannot be done.”

It would be so much easier to play along.

He’d stayed quiet all these years, knowing the truth and realizing there was little a child could do to change things.

But he was a child no longer, and God had put this opportunity in his path. Only a soulless man would shrug off this chance. “We would condemn a beautiful creature because of an accident, Mother?”

Her brow drew down. “A thrown child is no accident.”

And here it was, the moment he’d been destined to face for twenty-one long years. “But a horse spooked by careless humans may react. And then the blame lies not with the animal, but with the person who knew better.”

Her mouth dropped open.

She stared at him. Her eyes went wide before they narrowed in stark anger. “You cast blame with your words, Isaiah.”

“Then I apologize because there is no blame intended, Mother.” He hoped his tone offered assurance. “Accidents happen. We understand that. But it was wrong to lay blame on an innocent horse. It’s been twenty-one years. The horse is sick and old. We should care for her the way you did for my grandfather in his time.” She’d taken good care of Gray Cloud and set a beautiful example of how one should treat the aged. But his words didn’t seem to hit their mark.

She stared at him.

Then the horse and Charlotte and the boy.

And then she scraped her feet against the stony drive, spinning fine gray dust into the air. “If you do this thing, I shake the dust of your existence from my feet. You can no longer be a child of mine. It is either the horse or your mother, Isaiah. There is no room for both in your heart.”

And there it was.

The ultimatum. An ultimatum she’d made to others when angry. He’d heard it several times over the years and now it was his turn. And because she was a grudge holder, it was a promise he knew she’d keep. “But there is room.” He stepped forward, hoping for a compromise with the woman who had borne him. The mother who had raised him. She loved him and loved these children. An enforced separation wasn’t good for him, but it would be especially hard on Andrew’s two kids. “My heart has room for both. It’s time to let the truth set us free. Especially for her.” He indicated the horse with a slight nod.

“You are young and foolish and wrong.” Exasperation hiked her voice. “You think you see, but you do not, and your actions bring grief and harm to so many. Do as you will.” She threw her hands into the air. “From this day forward you mean nothing to me.”

“Grandma?”

She’d raised her voice on purpose. Liam heard. And Charlotte must have heard, too.

Stella ignored the longing in the boy’s voice and stomped away.

“Grandma!” Liam began to dart her way.

Isaiah caught him up and held him close. “Let her go, Liam. She’s angry right now. We’ll give her time, okay?”

“But why is she mad? Is she mad at me? Again?” He buried his face against Isaiah’s shoulder. His body shook but no tears came.

And when Isaiah raised his gaze to Charlotte, she looked from him to his mother and back as if the whole thing caused her way too much pain.

And then she quietly went back to brushing the poor, neglected horse.

Конец ознакомительного фрагмента.

Текст предоставлен ООО «ЛитРес».

Прочитайте эту книгу целиком, купив полную легальную версию на ЛитРес.

Безопасно оплатить книгу можно банковской картой Visa, MasterCard, Maestro, со счета мобильного телефона, с платежного терминала, в салоне МТС или Связной, через PayPal, WebMoney, Яндекс.Деньги, QIWI Кошелек, бонусными картами или другим удобным Вам способом.