Healing The Cowboy's Heart. Ruth Logan Herne
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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