The Prodigal Texan. Lynnette Kent
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when Jud looked at her. “The mare trusts her more than anyone else.”
Carrying the phone, Martinez came to stand beside Jud. “I’ve got Doc Shaw,” he said. “He’s on his way.”
“What do I do?” Miranda looked up, and her gaze caught Jud’s for a second before shifting to Cruz. “He has to coach me.” Face sheened with sweat, eyes wide, she looked desperate. Terrified.
Flora strained, then relaxed. Miranda took hold of the hooves just visible through the amnion and pushed them back into the mare. “It’s tight,” she said through gritted teeth. “Mom…”
Nan knelt beside her and the two of them worked through the next contraction. Then again, and again. Martinez conveyed instructions from the veterinarian in a low, tense tone. Despite the December chill outside, the humid air in the barn made breathing a chore.
Jud watched for what seemed like eternity as Nan and Miranda pressed and pushed against the mare’s belly, trying to manipulate the body within. Though he’d grown up with horses, spent years riding rodeo broncs, he’d never witnessed a breech birth, never seen anyone turn a baby in the womb. He had no idea whether to expect success—or tragedy.
Headlights flashed in the darkness outside the front of the barn. A car door slammed and then an older man with a surprisingly full head of dark brown hair came striding down the barn aisle. “How’s it going?”
Martinez said, “Not good,” just as Flora groaned with palpable force. Nan and Miranda shouted at the same time. When Jud looked into the stall, he saw the two women flattened against the wall…and two horses where before there’d only been one.
“Looks like I’m too late,” the vet said, grinning. “Miranda does seem to make things happen fast, don’t she?” He shot Jud a sideways glance as he brushed by. “Jud Ritter. Never thought I’d see you in this town again. Can’t find anywhere else to cause trouble? Now what’s going on with this baby?”
Miranda was gently rubbing the dark bay foal with towels provided by Martinez. “He’s sluggish,” she said, frowning. “You better come in, Doc.”
The vet moved into the stall as Nan stepped out, rubbing her face with a towel. “Damn, I don’t know why I go through this torture every year.”
“Because you love watching them grow,” Martinez said with a smile. “What would spring be like without a couple of weanlings driving us all crazy?”
“Peaceful? Worry-free? Profitable, without all the medicines to pay for?” She gave a tired grin.
A gasp from Miranda drew Jud back to the stall. Flora was on her feet again, nuzzling the foal as it clumsily, precariously levered itself to stand. With a few nudges from its mom and a guiding hand from Miranda, the baby latched on to a teat and began to suck.
Jud squeezed his eyes shut to clear his suddenly blurred vision.
Once the vet had checked over the colt, Miranda and Dr. Shaw came out of the stall. Miranda turned to slide the door shut and Nan stepped up and put her arms around her daughter’s waist from behind. “Isn’t he beautiful?”
“Bailey makes great babies. What are we going to name him?”
Nan glanced at Martinez again. “Espresso?”
He tilted his head. “Cocoa?”
Miranda looked at Jud. “Bailey is Baileys Irish Cream.”
“Ah. How about Kahlúa?”
They all looked at the dark brown foal, and back at Jud. “Perfect,” Nan said. “I love it. Don’t you, Miranda?”
Miranda had buried her face in a towel. She mumbled words that might have been anything and continued to hide behind the red terry cloth.
The veterinarian left with promises to return in the morning to check up on Kahlúa, and Martinez walked him to his truck before heading back to his place. After a short argument, Miranda agreed to let her mother take the first watch on the new arrival, with Dusty for company.
“I’ll be out at three,” she promised, walking toward the barn door, rubbing a hand over the nape of her neck. Jud studied the sway of her hips, the cling of her thin, damp T-shirt to the smooth curves of her back, and felt a hollow develop under his ribs. This reaction to Miranda Wright was something else he hadn’t remembered. Wasn’t prepared for.
He took a step forward, only to trip over her jacket, still lying on the floor. With his next stride he grabbed the coat and kept walking until he caught up with Miranda outside.
“You forgot this.”
She looked dazed as he handed over the garment. “Oh. Thanks. It’s cold out here.”
A full moon poured light over the winter grass, the white clapboard house and Miranda herself. As she shrugged into the jacket, Jud could see just how chilled she’d been in the pucker of her nipples against the inadequate T-shirt.
That hollow inside threatened to swallow him. He drove his fists deep into the pockets of his jeans.
When he continued to walk beside her toward the house, Miranda stopped and faced him. “What are you doing?”
“Just escorting the lady home.”
“I am home. This whole spread is my home.”
“You never know what might come out of the dark.”
She walked on. “So I’ve learned,” she said in a dry voice.
He deserved the comment, so he didn’t say anything. At the back porch, he opened the door to the house and ushered her in. “Thanks for letting me watch tonight.”
She climbed the steps, then faced him from just inside the threshold. “At least you weren’t totally useless. You made the phone calls, and you brought me my coat.”
Jud gave a short laugh. “So happy to be of service. You might yet be glad you changed your mind and let me stay.” The question remained as to whether he would come out of the experience intact. He doubted it.
“I doubt it,” she echoed, retreating into the kitchen shadows. “Just keep out of my way, unless you want me to change it back.” The thud of the house door punctuated her order.
“Good idea.” Jud walked across the open ground toward the foreman’s cabin, about a quarter mile down the gravel drive. “The last thing I need in my life is an argumentative, bossy, overbearing…”
He glanced over his shoulder just as a light in the corner upstairs room of the farmhouse winked out. He thought about that lavender lace bra.
“…warmhearted, sexy and absolutely untouchable woman.”
CHAPTER FOUR
JUD SLEPT LATE the next morning and had to break the speed limit driving into town in order to reach the church steps as the steeple bell rang the beginning of the Sunday service. Once inside, he leaned back against the door for a moment, allowing his eyes to adjust to the dimness of dark wood and stained glass. He felt too dressed up when he saw the open-collared shirts and slacks worn by most of the men—an interesting change from the days when every little boy put a noose around his neck for church on Sunday.
His suit and tie were not, he was quite sure, the reason several people gawked at him over their shoulders, then leaned toward their neighbors to pass the news. Before the whispering could drown out the music of the organ, he planted himself in the first empty seat he saw, as near to the back of the church as possible.
When he looked to his right, he found Miss Frances Haase, the town librarian, on the other end of the pew, staring down her nose at him as if he were a fifth grader who’d forgotten to return his library book. Jud sent her a smile and got a sniff and a frown for his effort. Facing forward again, he immediately recognized the slope of the shoulders, the set of the ears and the