Healing the Cowboy's Heart

by Ruth Logan Herne

  “Now, Mae, no one said anything about you leaving your house,” the deputy told her. He kept his voice and demeanor quiet and easy. “But you might want to consider downsizing the animal side of things. Making things easier on yourselves,” he finished in a kindly tone.

  “First the animals. Then the old folks. Then the bulldozer. You can’t say enough words to sweet talk us about Braden, Dewey.” The old man’s hands shook with tremors or fury. Char wasn’t sure which. “He always thought this piece of land should be his. He was wrong then and he’s dead wrong now.”

  “Did Braden ask you to step in, Dewey?” Isaiah posed the question straight out. “Did he lodge a complaint when he heard about the wolf attack?”

  “You know I’m not free to say who did what, Isaiah.”

  “That’s answer enough for me,” the old man sputtered. “Tell him Mae and I are doin’ just fine and if he wants to see me in a court of law, I’ll be there. But this property is ours and will stay ours until the undertaker says otherwise. You can tell Braden Hirsch I said so.”

  The old woman hurried to his side. “Now, now, Father, don’t be getting yourself all wound up in knots over Braden. You know better. We both do. First things first, like always. All right, old fellow?”

  She didn’t use the term to challenge or tease...

  It was clearly a sweet endearment and when Howard seized her hands in both of his, his face relaxed. “I hear you, Mae. I hear you. Right as always and I’m grateful for that. Doc, what about Shep?” He turned her way. “He’s going to be all right, ain’t he? He didn’t look as tore up as the sheep.”

  He was right, the aged white dog wasn’t as torn up, which meant he probably backed off the predators, and that created its own dilemma. A dog that couldn’t protect the sheep didn’t have much value in a sheep pen, but that was a discussion for a different day. “He’ll be okay but he’s going to be on limited work capacity for some time. That means he won’t be limber enough to guard the sheep.”

  The deputy cleared his throat. “I can take him down to the barn for you once he’s ready.”

  “We’ll have Shep in the house, Dewey.” Mae sounded firm. “He’s not used to it, but if he’s gotten too old to do the job then he’s just right to keep us company over a long winter. Only the good Lord knows how many of those any of us have left.”

  “The house it is, Mae.”

  The men from Pine Ridge came up the path toward them. They had fencing tools in hand.

  Her phone buzzed a text from Heath. Sorry, missed call, was up top, chasing a few rogue sheep. Sent Harve, Aldo and Harve Jr. to help. We’ll handle stuff here for the morning.

  Heath was a good man, a strong shepherd. What would he think about this mess over here? Was it salvageable, or should the old folks be closed down? She wasn’t sure and a big decision like that required certainty.

  The less-injured sheep had been moved to the barn below. John and Isaiah had put the critically injured sheep into the van for transport. They came back around while she snipped and cleaned the dog’s wounds.

  Howard watched from his spot. The morning’s tragic events had unnerved him, but they’d have unnerved a younger man, too. He clasped his hands, then unclasped them as John ran the buzzers to clean another area of thick, blood-crusted fur. “He’s never been an inside dog.”

  “But if he could use a rest, that’s the best place for him,” said Mae. “He might get a little bored if winter drags on. Same as us.”

  “Although last winter seemed hard on him. Kind of lonely like,” added Howard.

  “We can make all of these decisions over the next few days,” counseled Isaiah. “Let’s get the animals moved and things cleaned up.” He turned to Char. “If you’re not able to head down to Nampa to see that horse tomorrow, J.J. will understand.”

  “I promised and I’m not big on broken promises, but it isn’t the best timing with so many animals needing care, is it?”

  John spoke up as he worked to disinfect the surgical area. “I’ll keep an eye on things at your place, like always.”

  “And you’ll call if Ginger foals?”

  “I didn’t see signs this morning, but I’ll call right away. Although you’ll be hours away.”

  He meant that the foal would arrive before they got back, but how nice to have a skilled tech like John on hand. Char worked tiny stitches, eyes down, as she spoke. “You’ve watched over a lot of deliveries in your time, I expect.”

  John didn’t deny it. “More than most obstetricians, I figure.”

  “And we’d need to leave first thing in the morning,” noted Isaiah. They’d scheduled a ten o’clock visit to see the beautiful Dutch Warmblood horse outside of Nampa. “I figured a 6:00 a.m. start, with time for a quick coffee on the way. To go, of course. And then we see.”

  “Liam can stay with me if he doesn’t want the long drive,” added John. “He might like hanging on the ranch better than driving more than four hours each way.”

  “You’re probably right,” agreed Isaiah. “Especially if he’s on foal watch. He’s pretty excited about finishing summer school today. Being on the ranch with you will probably sound better than a day-long road trip.” He motioned Harve over to them while Howard and Mae followed Harve’s son and the deputy to the barn. “Harve, can you guys get this fence up to par? I’m pretty sure the sheriff’s going to have to shut Howard and Mae down if Dr. Hirsch has his way, but we might be able to keep them afloat for a while if we’ve got solid fencing in place. Dad and I are transporting the most injured ewe over to my barn.”

  Harve clapped his brother, Aldo, on the back. “Compared to stringing miles of fence at Pine Ridge, this is simple. We’ll get it done today. Then we’ll see.”

  “Thank you.”

  John and Isaiah transported the injured sheep to Dancing Meadows while Char treated the other ewes. She was almost done when Corrie and three local ladies arrived with sandwiches and sweet tea for everyone.

  She glanced at her watch. Nearly five hours had gone by.

  And when Corrie and Sally Ann, the kindhearted cook from Carrington Acres, offered to help organize the small house, Mae welcomed the help, while Howard stomped off toward the small pasture.

  So much had changed for the old couple in a matter of hours, a problem she’d seen throughout veterinary training. She’d witnessed kindhearted folks with too many animals or people who didn’t have the physical or financial means to care for livestock any longer.

  She drove Isaiah’s truck back to his place once she set the final suture. Helpful neighbors were assisting Harve and Aldo with the renovations needed to return the remaining sheep to their pen safely.

  Isaiah had given her the keys to his truck. The adrenaline of an on-site emergency was fading and she needed/wanted was a shower and a strong, hot cup of coffee, despite the summer heat. And who would have thought Idaho would be this hot during midsummer? Not her.

  She pulled into Isaiah’s driveway after a short drive.

  Braden Hirsch’s car was parked between the house and her van.

  She didn’t want to see him. She wasn’t in the mood for a confrontation or a scolding after a difficult morning, but he was in the barn with her patients, so she had little choice. She parked the truck, climbed out, grabbed her medical bag and walked forward.

  Chapter Eleven

  Isaiah spotted her first. Concern deepened his gaze. “Braden, while I appreciate your opinion, Char’s here now and she’s got patients to check. Let’s take this outside.”

  “Well, if she’s going to green light unsafe conditions and ignore laws of human decency in the treatment of animals, I say she should be in on the conversation.”

  She didn’t want to discuss this after saving multiple animals and having her own restive feelings about the Waggoners’ abilities. “Treating animals and buying that old couple some time isn’t exactly in
decent, Doctor.” She didn’t pause to engage him. She walked by to check on Ginger.

  “You have a heart for animals.”

  That was about the first decent thing the man had said to her.

  “But this isn’t about the grandiose act of saving starving horses. Horses whose owner ran out of money and time nearly a year ago.”

  “The sheriff found the owner?” asked John. “I hadn’t heard that.”

  “Up in the hills, an old-timer who used to run horses and couldn’t let go. Then he ran out of money. Got sick. He was put into a skilled-care facility. The horses were supposed to be sold by his son, but that never happened. So they starved until they broke free a few weeks back and wandered into Bitsy’s side pasture.”

  Char wasn’t ignorant to the similarities to what had happened to the sheep today, but the cases were dissimilar, too. “Howard and Mae have local friends. That was made obvious today in the outpouring of help that came right over.”

  “But friends aren’t there 24/7 and that’s the kind of care animals require.”

  “Those sheep were in good shape,” she corrected him. “The remaining few were alert, well-fed and clean enough to pass a standards inspection. The fencing’s being fixed. A good fence would have made all the difference last night.”

  “A useless dog and sheep without proper protection.” He stared at her as if her words were preposterous. “I’m all for farmers’ and ranchers’ rights, but we have an obligation as professionals to make sure our patients are being treated right.”

  “You own land near them, correct?” She stopped trying to examine the horse and turned toward Braden. “How often have you stopped by to help? To be a good neighbor?”

  “Don’t pin this on me.” He drew himself up. Braden was a tall man, but she refused to be intimidated by his size or his ego. “The fact that I own land nearby doesn’t make this my fault. And it’s unlikely they’d take help from me in any case.”

  From what the elderly couple had said earlier, she was pretty sure any offer of help from him would be seen as suspect. “Look.” She moved close to him purposely. “I don’t care what your little feuds are. Frankly I’m pretty surprised that folks up here dig in their heels the way they do. I thought this kind of pettiness was a more Southern tradition. Clearly I was mistaken.”

  He started to interrupt, but stopped when she raised a hand. “I don’t care about your grudges and resentments. Or festering mistakes. I’m here to do a job in the present, not the past, so if you’re asking me to sign off against the Waggoners so the sheriff can commandeer their remaining few head of livestock, the answer is no. I’ll continue to assess things as the situation moves on. In the meantime I want to check my patients and I desperately need a cup of coffee. If you’d like to join me in that, you’re more than welcome, Doctor. Otherwise I need to get back to work.”

  “Us, too.” John started toward the door and motioned for Braden to follow. “I’ll make the coffee, Char. Braden, you’re welcome to join us.”

  The older vet stared at John. Then he gave John a look of disgust and strode out of the barn and to his car. He climbed in, engaged the ignition and spun the car around in a cloud of dry, gravelly dust, then drove off.

  John didn’t get upset by Braden’s actions. He walked to the house quickly, as if his old friend’s hissy fit meant nothing.

  Char looked from him to the dust, then back to Isaiah. “That went well.”

  He shrugged as he made sure the injured sheep was resting comfortably in the thick bed of golden wheat straw. “You called him out justifiably. He’ll get over it or he won’t, but I think we’re all tired of the tirades.”

  “Just so you know...” she said, without trying to hide the aggravation in her voice as he moved her way, “you guys up here have nothing on the Hatfields and McCoys.”

  The reference to the infamous feuding Southern families softened his jaw. He almost smiled. Then he reached out, stroked Ginger’s neck and sighed instead. “I never thought of how an old wrong could dog so many days and weeks and years of the future. How it becomes that snowball racing downhill, just growing and growing.”

  “That either plows into something and explodes into frozen fractals, or sits, big and lumpy and imposing, until the seasons change and the snow melts. Either way,” she told him softly as she soothed a hand along the old mare’s neck. “The snowball disappears and life goes on.”

  He moved his hand at the same time she did.

  His fingers touched hers. Just a graze. Finger to finger. Then palm to palm. And then he drew her hand up, away from the mare. Turned it over. He studied a scratch she’d gotten from the fencing earlier, then gently—so gently—he laid his mouth against the small wound and kissed it.

  Her heart melted.

  He brought his head up, but didn’t release her hand. He didn’t bring his gaze to hers.

  He paused at her mouth, wondering...and when he laid his mouth on hers, neither one wondered any longer.

  The kiss—his kiss—was like nothing she’d ever known. And when he angled his head and gathered her into his arms to deepen the kiss, Char knew she was exactly where she wanted and needed to be forevermore.

  Call her crazy.

  She wasn’t crazy.

  She was at home in this man’s arms. In his grasp, in his life. And when he paused the kiss, she might have whimpered softly...

  Which made him smile and kiss her all over again. He broke the kiss when the slap of the back screen door announced someone coming their way. He dropped his forehead to hers and stood there, just like that, quiet and comforting for long, beautiful seconds. And then he said one single word. “Well.”

  She stepped back as footsteps dashed closer. Small, quick steps, which meant Liam was coming.

  Isaiah didn’t let her go. Not right away. As the footsteps hurried closer, he raised one thick, dark brow and smiled down at her. Then he released her, just before the boy skidded to a stop at the barn door. Liam raced in, oblivious to their emotions. The boy’s bright-eyed excitement gave Char time to rein in her feelings.

  “Grandpa said we have a sheep in here?” He spoke softly as he rushed to Freda’s stall. “What’s her name? Can we keep her?” he whispered, as if having a sheep was a lifelong dream. “We’ve never had a sheep before, Uncle Isaiah!”

  “We can’t keep her,” Isaiah told him. “She’s a patient and we had room for her. That way Char can take care of her while she’s taking care of Ginger and Rising.”

  “Like an animal hospital, right?” Liam reached around and gripped Char’s hand. “So, why don’t you just stay here? With us? Then you can take care of all of them and I can be your helper!”

  Isaiah hummed softly. Purposely. Then he slanted a smile her way.

  But this wasn’t a fairy tale.

  This was real life. She hadn’t come to Idaho with an agenda. She’d come for experience and to gain a reputation. She’d gotten experience, yes. But at the cost of her professional standing because she’d gone against the establishment. “I think we’re doing okay so far.” She squeezed his hand lightly. “I’ll keep coming over and we can care for the animals together now that summer school is over.”

  “I’m so glad!” Liam spun as if finally unconstrained. “We can have all of August together and I promised my teacher that I would read something every day, like to a grown-up. And if you’re over here, I can read to you, right?”

  “I’d love it,” she told him. “But now I’ve got to check Rising. Isaiah said he was trying to lick the wounds, so we’ll need to put a collar on him.”

  “He’s got a collar from my dad.” Liam frowned. “My dad got it for him special.”

  “A different collar,” she explained as she moved to the van. “One that keeps him from reaching the sutures.”

  The boy didn’t like the idea of more constraints on his beloved pet. He scow
led while she put the collar on Rising, and when the dog banged the plastic shield into the coffee table a few minutes later, tears sparked the boy’s eyes. “He can’t see things now, Char. You blocked him!”

  She sat down next to Liam and tried to take his hand but he shrugged her off. “I did block him, Liam. For his own good. It will take him a while to get used to it, but if he keeps reaching that wound, he could get a nasty infection and that’s a lot worse than bumping into things for a week or so.”

  Liam wasn’t buying it. He stood up, frustrated. “I don’t want him stumbling and I don’t want the stupid collar on my dog. He can’t see!”

  “He can see as he moves forward,” she corrected him. “And he can see from side-to-side if he turns his head.”

  “It’s to keep him safe, Liam.” Isaiah kept his voice mild. “It doesn’t hurt him and gives him time to heal.”

  “I think you guys don’t care about what it’s like to be a hurt dog and bump into things and have people you love shoot you!” Liam stared at them, hands fisted. Tears streamed down his cheeks. “Maybe you should think about how Rising feels, huh? And not just your stupid ways to make him sadder than he is.” He banged through the door and dashed off.

  “I’ll see to him.” John had been on the back porch. He slapped a hand to the nape of his neck. Regret darkened his countenance. “He’s mad about the accident and I don’t blame him. If I could go back and fix it, I sure would.” Chin down, Isaiah’s father followed the boy out to the horse barns.

  “Sorry.” Isaiah looked from the recovering dog to Char. “I know the collar’s necessary. Liam will work through it.”

  He’d have to because it was a necessary obstruction. “Kids don’t understand the gravity of infections, especially after surgery. But—” Her phone rang just then. She took the call and hurried to the door. “Problem at Carrington Acres. Gotta go.” She hurried to the van and drove fifteen minutes. Ty Carrington directed her to a barn on the right. Angus cattle grazed the upper sections of their ranch, black and red with a few spotted ones tucked in for good measure. But the inviting summer pastoral scene was diminished by what was going on in the foremost horse barn and when Ty gave her the lowdown, Char’s heart sank.