The Rancher's Promise. Jillian Hart
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sat as neat and as clean as any kitchen. A small battered dinette set huddled in the center of the area. Frank slid the tray onto the faded pink Formica top and the rest of the Grangers plus the vet descended on the table.
“Want to come see her?” Justin’s voice rang low, but even with the clang of dishes, rise of voices and cheerful conversation it was the only thing she heard.
“I’d love to.” She floated after him, excitement tingling through her. It had been ages since she’d seen a newborn foal. She loped down the aisle, the stalls empty this time of year, and felt the fingers of the past trying to grab hold of her. She was at home with the warm scent of horseflesh and grain in the air and the concrete beneath her feet. Maybe she’d never realized how much she loved country life.
“Hey, there, Wildflower.” Tender-toned, Justin knelt down at the stall bars. “We just want to get a good look at your baby.”
“Your beautiful baby,” Rori corrected, wrapping her hand around the rail and kneeling beside him. Wildflower nickered low in her throat, a proud mama who turned to lick at her little filly’s dainty ear.
Nothing could be sweeter than the little gold-and-white bundle curled up in the soft clean hay. The newborn stared at them with a surprised expression, as if she didn’t know what to think about the strange faces staring in at her. She blinked her long eyelashes and stretched toward them as far as her neck would allow.
“That’s a pretty girl,” Justin soothed, holding out his hand, palm up, his motions slow.
The filly gave his fingers a swipe with her tongue and drew back, as if her own boldness startled her. Wildflower nickered gently to her baby and, as if encouraged, the little one’s head bobbed down as she scrambled to get up on her spindly legs and point them in the correct direction.
Sunshine tumbled through the open top half of the stall door, gleaming on the mare and foal’s velvet coats. Wildflower rubbed her chin on her daughter’s shoulder, a congratulatory pat, and nickered proudly. The tiny filly wobbled on her thin, impossibly long legs and flicked her bob of a tail joyfully. She took a few proud steps. Her front knees gave out and she landed in the soft hay.
“Poor baby.” Rori reached through the rails instinctively, making sure the newborn was all right. The foal looked up at her with big, wondrous eyes, and Rori felt her chest catch. Hard not to fall in love with the wee one. She couldn’t help brushing her fingers across the soft velvet nose. “You will get the hang of it. I promise. Keep at it.”
The foal’s eyes drifted shut, as if she liked the gentle stroke.
“You still have a way with animals.” Justin’s low voice moved her like the brush of the summer air and the peace of the morning. Familiar, and it was what she’d missed over the years.
“I do all right.” She didn’t have a gift, just love for creatures large and small. “Not the way you do.”
“I got it all from my dad.” No way to hide the affection in his voice. “I learned a lot growing up at his knee. One day, I might be good enough to take over the place when he retires.”
“Word is that he’s cutting back, handing over a lot of the responsibilities of the ranch to you and Autumn.”
“Your gramps was talking about me, huh?” He paused as the filly opened her eyes, set her chin with determination and positioned her front hooves for another go at walking. “Dad wants to retire, but truth is, he loves the work. It’s not like he has anything else to do. He’s single, and he’s done raising all of us.”
“It’s good that you’re close. You must spend a lot of time with him.”
“A perk of the job.” He’d sacrificed a lot for his dad and for this ranch that had been in his family for five generations. “It’s what I like most about ranching. Long hours in the saddle talking with my dad.”
“I can’t picture you doing anything else but ranching.” She gazed up at him with those big blue eyes.
He felt the impact like a touch to his cheek. Her gaze raked him, as if she were trying to see past the titanium barrier he’d put up.
“You still love the work,” she stated, not questioning. That’s how well she knew him.
“Truth is, I would have liked a lot of things, but this is what I chose.” He paused as the filly pulled herself up and swayed, but what he was seeing was Rori. The changes in her—more mature and seasoned and longing for something he couldn’t name. “Truth is, after you left town I couldn’t take it. I missed you so much.”
“You missed me? But you said—”
“That I wouldn’t even notice if you were gone?” he repeated his horrible words, angry at himself for saying what could never be taken back. She didn’t even understand what she’d been to him. “No one knew I applied to college and got in. A late admission for the winter quarter in agriculture sciences at Washington State University.”
“Where I was.” Her hand covered his, warm and comforting, a connection he did not break.
“I was all set to accept when Dad took a bullet. Rustlers. They got away with about a thousand head of cattle. I was too busy trying to save my father to stop them.”
“I’d heard he was hit. I remember Gram and Gramps talking about it. I called several times, but no one was home. I didn’t feel right about leaving a message. When I heard he was all right, I didn’t call again.”
“It was touch and go for a while there. We almost lost him. I ended up staying and pulling my weight around here, so Dad could recover. The bullet nicked his heart, so there was no question. He had to take it easy to heal right.”
“You’re a good son to him, Justin. A good man.”
“Looks can be deceiving.” He grinned, fighting the moment, because the way she peered up at him made him feel ten feet tall, the way he used to feel when she loved him.
Careful, knowing he needed to put the brakes on his thoughts, he extricated his hand from hers a little too quick and rough. Her face fell as if he’d slapped her, but he couldn’t help it. The tenderness that had taken root in his chest ached, tenderness he had no right to feel, and he’d better figure out a way to pluck it right out. It would not be wise to have gentle feelings for Rori. When summer ended, she would be out of here. Wild Horse, Wyoming, was too small for her—that hadn’t changed.
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