Snow Melts in Spring

by Vogts, Deborah

  Gil followed the doc to her office where she retrieved a few more supplies. As a boy, he’d witnessed horses with colic, and it was always of great concern to the owners. He knew it wasn’t a disease, but rather an indication of stomach pain. “What were you looking for during your exam?”

  “Dusty’s been under a lot of stress this past month. He’s not eating normally, and he’s lost a lot of weight. Plus, he’s been on several anti-inflammatory medications — a big indicator that this could be ulcer-related. I’m guessing that’s what has triggered the colic, but I need to rule out a few more causes.”

  “You mean like a stomach ulcer in a human?”

  “Yeah, horses get them, too.”

  When they returned to Dusty’s side, they found him kicking at his stomach, obviously still bothered. The doc administered a pain reliever to ease Dusty’s anxiety. Gil then helped pass a tube through the horse’s nostrils, and they flushed out his stomach. When finished, Dusty seemed more content. The doc wasn’t satisfied, however, and stuck him in the stomach with another needle.

  Gil stayed behind while she went to her office to test the fluid. “Hey boy, sorry to make you go through all this.” He smoothed his hand down Dusty’s neck and shoulder, careful of the wounds that were still healing from his accident. “You need to get well, so you and I can go out for a ride. We could go down to the creek, just like when we were young. Would you like that boy?”

  Dusty shifted his weight to the opposite side and breathed a heavy sigh through his nostrils, as though agreeing the suggestion sounded like a good idea. Gil sat on a nearby bale of hay and stared at the animal, wondering if his old friend understood. Maybe Gil’s presence would have an effect on Dusty’s healing after all, as the doc said?

  A short while later, Mattie came out of her office, all business. “In the old days, Doc Bryant would have given Dusty laudanum and linseed oil and let time be the judge. Thanks to modern medicine, we can rule out a lot of guesswork — but not all. I’ve consulted a colleague of mine, and we agree that performing a gastroscopy on Dusty is warranted.”

  “I take it that’s another test?”

  Mattie nodded and sat beside Gil on the hay bale. “I’m ninety percent sure we’re dealing with ulcers, but this would tell us for certain. The problem is I don’t have an endoscope long enough to do the job. They’re rather expensive . . .”

  Gil straightened. “Where can we get one? I’ll buy one for you.”

  She grasped his hand and smiled. “You don’t always have to be in control, Gil. My colleague is going to try to borrow one from K-State. Until then, all we need to do is keep Dusty comfortable.”

  Gil clenched his jaw. As a quarterback and owner of his foundation, he knew what it took to be in control, to find the answers and call the shots. It defined him as a man and gave him purpose. He stared down at the doc’s hand, not sure what to do with the helplessness that washed over him and called him weak. “That’s all? Just sit and keep him company?”

  Mattie squeezed his hand, and a measure of strength and assurance passed between the two. “Yeah, just sit and be his friend.”

  FOR THE NEXT TWO HOURS, MATTIE WAITED WITH GIL IN THE BARN, taking turns walking Dusty to help ease the horse’s discomfort. Her colleague arrived as the north wind howled against the side of the barn.

  “I do believe we’re under a winter storm advisory.” Jim Wilson removed his wool cap and gloves, then greeted Gil with an enthusiastic handshake. “It’s nice to meet you, Mr. McCray. Dr. Evans told me all about you and your horse. I’m glad I could help out, even if it is cold enough to freeze a well digger’s — ” He stopped suddenly as though remembering Mattie’s presence.

  “Pardon my language, Dr. Evans,” he said, then continued. “You wouldn’t believe the paperwork I had to fill out in order to borrow this gadget. According to those boys at the university, this baby is worth its weight in gold. It’s a good thing I have connections.” The older veterinarian lifted a hard plastic case onto a wooden bench.

  Mattie removed the flexible endoscope and waited while her colleague from the next county examined Dusty for himself. Gil came to her side to view the contraption, and she wondered what he thought of the vet. Though Dr. Wilson came off a bit rough around the edges, his reputation in equine science made him the best choice for the job.

  “That poor fellow has been through the wringer, hasn’t he? It looks like you’ve patched him up well.” He lifted Dusty’s eye bandage and nodded his approval. The gelding jerked his head in agitation. “I assume the patient hasn’t eaten? Twelve hours at least?”

  Mattie raised an eyebrow and indicated Dusty’s gaunt size.

  “Yeah, that’s what I thought,” the doctor said, then immediately went to work by injecting Dusty with a tranquilizer.

  For the next thirty minutes, Dr. Wilson and Mattie performed the gastroscopy, which allowed them to view Dusty’s stomach lining with a small camera. What they found confirmed Mattie’s suspicions that the horse had multiple ulcers.

  “Thank you for all your help, Jim.” She shook the vet’s hand an hour later and heard the first wave of sleet spit against the metal roof.

  “You best be getting home before the roads turn bad,” Gil added.

  “I’ll take the back way. The gravel won’t be nearly as slick,” the man said. “You be sure and let me know how Dusty gets along. Treat him with those tubes of medicine I gave you, and we’ll examine him in another month to see if the ulcers have healed.”

  Gil helped carry the doctor’s equipment to his truck. Mattie waved from the barn entrance and saw Gil slip a bill into the man’s hand.

  To her surprise her colleague gave it back. “I don’t want your money, Mr. McCray. But if it’s not too much trouble, I would love your autograph.”

  THIRTY

  TWO SEVERE ICE STORMS HINDERED GIL’S PROGRESS IN FEBRUARY, BUT by the end of March, the weather had stabilized enough for him to get some serious work done on the ranch. Dusty’s health had stabilized as well, and Gil witnessed progress in the horse’s recovery every day.

  He wiped the sweat from his brow as he stretched the new barbed wire between corner posts. Jake clipped the wire to the steel posts while his dad’s blue heeler lounged on the damp earth.

  “Can you believe this weather?” Gil stopped his work and met Jake at the four-wheeler where he took a swig from the water jug.

  “Spring is in the air.” Jake took his turn at a drink and gave some to the dog. Hank lapped it up as it streamed from the jug. “Good weather for calving too. Counted four baby calves this morning and looks like several more will follow right behind. There’s rain in the forecast. A change of weather always brings on a few births.”

  Gil checked the puffy clouds in the blue sky, then stared out at the rolling hills. He recalled the days when he and Frank rode the pastures in search of baby calves. Usually found them in the gullies or brush, all wobbly and shiny new.

  Good memories.

  His gaze followed the ridge of the hill and stalled when Mattie came riding toward them on Tulip. He tried to hide his delight. Ever since Dusty’s colic incident, he and the doc had grown closer as friends, though he couldn’t deny the deep attraction he felt for the woman. Some days, much to his embarrassment, he found himself staring at her, admiring her thick pretty hair and her controlled movements as though she had everything in life perfectly measured. He knew a romantic relationship with the doc would never work and had tried to drown his yearning in ranch labor. Despite his efforts, he didn’t know how much longer he could continue the ruse.

  Mattie drew the gray mare to an abrupt halt a yard from where they worked and slid from the saddle in one effortless motion. She smiled at Gil, and heat blazed through him hotter than the afternoon sun.

  “Mildred thought you guys might be hungry.” She reached into her saddlebag and pulled out a plastic sack filled with cookies.

  Jake whistled. “That Mildred — she’s a good woman.”

  “None bette
r,” Gil said, though if there was a contest, the doc might come in a close second.

  Mattie handed the cookies to Gil, and her fingers rested on his to send another jolt of fire clear to his toes. “You’ve been working real hard lately. If you don’t already have plans, I thought I might fix you supper tonight . . . that is, if you’d care to come over?” Though soft, her voice had an uncertain edge, as though daring him to accept.

  He blinked his astonishment as he considered her invitation. But what was there to consider? The doc was pretty, smart, and strong enough to endure the hardships in life. She’d proven that by how well she’d dealt with the clinic fire. And she didn’t let people bully her either — not even him. Her humor made him smile, and the love she offered her patients was a sure sign she’d make a good mother. What more could a man want? Already anticipating an evening in Mattie’s company, he cupped his other hand over hers before taking the cookies. “What time?”

  “Seven?” She smiled up at him with the exuberance of a young filly who’d been cooped up in a stall too long and wanted to be let out to run.

  The dry grass crunched behind him, and Gil cocked an eyebrow.

  “Tell her yes, already, and quit mooning over the little lady,” Jake said, the smell of wintergreen tobacco on his breath. “And if you ain’t gonna eat those cookies, hand them to me.”

  LATER THAT EVENING, GIL KNOCKED ON MATTIE’S CABIN DOOR, THEN checked his pocket watch. Seven o’clock sharp.

  Mattie opened the door, and the smell of fried chicken greeted him. “Come in.” She stepped aside and tucked a stray curl into place. “Did you and Jake finish the fence?”

  “For today, but we have two more pastures before we’re done.” He revealed the yellow rose from behind his back, and her smile made his chest swell. “A pretty rose for a pretty lady.”

  Mattie took the flower, then buried her nose in its petals. She closed her eyes as though immersing herself in the scent. “It’s lovely. I can’t remember the last time someone gave me flowers.”

  He kicked himself for not offering her a dozen. If he’d known the reaction one little rose was going to bring, he would have filled the entire cabin. The sizzle and pop of fried chicken drew his attention to the other side of the room. “I see you’re getting along with the old cast iron stove.”

  Mattie placed the rose in a quart jar and set it on the table. “It suits me.” She pulled out a chair for him and returned to her work.

  Rather than sit, Gil followed her and lifted the lid on a pot of mashed potatoes. “Thanks for having me over — though I have to admit, your invitation surprised me.”

  She turned the golden pieces of chicken with a fork, then her small hands stilled. “I’ve been trying to build up the nerve for a few weeks now. But why not? We’re grown adults. Live on the same property. I don’t see why we can’t do things together every once in a while — do you?”

  “No, I don’t. Not at all,” Gil said, determined to enjoy this moment without worrying about the future.

  A timer went off, and Mattie opened the heavy oven door to reveal a pan of golden biscuits.

  “Can’t have fried chicken without homemade biscuits.” She grinned, and Gil realized he was in heaven.

  When they sat down at the table, Gil tasted every creation —buttery potatoes, crisp pan-fried chicken, flaky biscuits topped with strawberry preserves. The doc cooked like an angel. She looked like one, too, dressed in jeans and a sweater with her hair pulled back in a loose ponytail, little wispy curls on each side of her face.

  “I wanted to talk to you about Dusty,” she said. “He’s doing much better now that his stomach ulcers have healed. His appetite has improved as well. Almost as good as yours,” she teased and tore off a piece of chicken with her fork.

  “Sorry about that. I guess I got carried away.” Gil wiped his mouth on a napkin, conscious of how quickly he was devouring the meal. That’s one thing about football players — we like to eat, and this meal you made is very good.” He smiled, then made an effort to slow his eating.

  Mattie set her fork down and rested her chin on her hand, studying him. “What you’ve done for that horse’s recuperation ought to go in medical books.”

  Gil stopped chewing. “I’m not sure what you mean.”

  “I’ve observed you and Dusty together. You’re connected. It’s like he knows you’re rooting for him, and he finds the strength to go one more step. It’s been amazing to watch.”

  “I’m just being his friend like you instructed.”

  “And I’m telling you, it’s made a difference. You’ve impressed me with how much you care.” Her gaze drifted to her lap, her skin glowing with admiration.

  Gil cleared his throat, starting to feel embarrassed yet loving her attention. “I called that ranch in Central Kansas and arranged to see the horses on Saturday. Do you think you’d be able to go with me? Maybe Jake could check on your patients and take care of Dusty for the day?”

  The thought of spending an entire day with Mattie made Gil’s heart beat faster.

  “That’s not much notice, but I think Travis could handle it.”

  Gil stopped chewing. “Travis?”

  The doc nodded. “I hired him back part-time to help with the patients. He’s supposed to start next week, but I could ask him to come in early.”

  “Well, if it’s not too much trouble,” Gil said, but the potatoes in his mouth changed to paste at the thought of the handsome college intern.

  THIRTY-ONE

  SATURDAY MORNING, GIL TURNED HIS TRUCK ONTO A PITTED GRAVEL road north of Russell and headed for the Chappell Quarter Horse Ranch near the Saline River. He and Mattie soon passed through the entrance of a spacious property consisting of several barns and a brick ranch house, surrounded by a fenced pasture.

  When Gil shut off the diesel engine, a sturdy woman exited the barn, followed by a tall, lanky man wearing a ball cap.

  Gil caught the fresh, damp scent of rain as he stepped from his truck onto the sodden gravel. He grabbed his hat and jacket from the backseat.

  “You the fellow that called about the mares?” The woman held out her hand to greet him, and he noted her graying blonde hair, firm grip.

  “That’s right. Gil McCray.” He turned to the doc, who was getting out of the truck. “This is Mattie Evans, the vet I spoke of on the telephone.”

  “Nice to meet you. My name’s Yvonne, and this here’s my husband, Wayne.” The woman smiled, her face tan and wrinkled. “I take it you’ve traveled all morning. Probably like to stretch your legs a spell?”

  At Gil’s nod, the couple headed for the metal barn, which housed an indoor arena where a girl with long, jet-black hair worked a bay mare. They watched as she sped through a reining pattern. The young lady rode with precision and sat the horse well.

  Yvonne moved to a nearby table and spoke into a speaker system. “You need to practice your rollbacks some more. They’re sloppy. Slide to a complete stop and don’t rush through it.”

  “That’s Natalie Adams,” she said when she returned to her husband’s side. “She’s riding some of our horses to train for the Miss Rodeo Kansas competition.”

  Mattie rested her foot on the bottom rail of the arena fence and observed the rider. “How did you get involved in such training?”

  Yvonne chuckled with a low, throaty voice. “We’ve been helping pageantry competitors for years now, ever since our daughter ran for a title. I was a queen myself, a long time ago.”

  Gil studied the older woman, who probably made quite a sight in her day. Of course, Mattie would have made a fine queen too, with her long hair and flashy smile. Especially dressed as she was today in tan jeans and a suede jacket with fringes that swished and swayed with her every move. In his estimation, the only thing missing was the gold crown.

  MATTIE TURNED TO GIL, WHO MOTIONED TOWARD TWO HORSES TIED up to the arena. She recognized the determined line of his brow and knew he had business on his mind.

  “Are those the mares?” h
e asked.

  Yvonne nodded, then frowned, her attention drawn to the rider in the ring who pranced backward on the bay, the horse’s head beating up and down in agitation. “Wayne, you want to show them around? I need to help this gal in the arena.”

  Yvonne headed toward Miss Adams, while Mr. Chappell led Mattie and Gil to the other side of the barn. “Over here, we have the two mares you mentioned on the phone. Some of their offspring are out in the pasture.” He stopped a few feet from a red roan, and Mattie had to admit the mare looked dynamic. She stood about fifteen hands tall with nice conformation.

  “I’m not sure how much you know about foundation bloodlines, but this ten-year-old has some Driftwood in her. She placed first and second at the National Finals Rodeo two years straight.” The man seemed quite pleased, but Gil remained poker-faced.

  “If you’d like, you can ride them after lunch,” Mr. Chappell said. “Yvonne’s got ribs in the oven.”

  “Thanks for your hospitality,” Gil said without consulting Mattie.

  “The wife and I like to treat our guests when they come. Gives us a chance to visit and get to know them better.” He smiled and moved on to where a big bay mare stood tied. “This girl’s refined, with good bones and mind. She has some Doc O’Lena in her and placed in the AQHA World Show a couple years ago. Both our son and daughter have earned top money on her in roping and barrels at the pro level. That’s her dam out there that Miss Adams is riding. Quite versatile in the show ring.”

  Mattie stepped up to the mare and ran her hands down the front legs. Nice and straight, and her forearms were long and muscular. She circled the mare for overall conformation.

  When she’d finished her inspection, Mr. Chappell turned to leave. “We can load up in my old truck to look at the others in the pasture. Wouldn’t want to get your shiny rig all muddy.” He gave an impish grin, then led them to his truck outside.