Montana Hearts

by Darlene Panzera

  Now he and Bucky toured around pro rodeos and often agreed to help one another when it wasn’t their own time to ride for score. For there had never been nothin’ like the thrill of bulldogging. Nothing else that could pump him with as much adrenaline and heart-­pounding excitement.

  “Hey, watch the leathers,” his gatekeeper warned, pointing to the dangling leather strips hanging down below his stirrups.

  Jace adjusted his weight in the saddle and glanced down toward his boot. “Yeah, I had a strap break right before I mounted up and had to replace it. Didn’t have time to trim off the excess.”

  Because he’d spent too much time thinking about Delaney.

  But he’d be all right. After all, he was a pro. And once he and his horse raced out of the chute to chase down the steer, Delaney’s eyes would be focused solely on him, her camera zooming in to bring his expertise into vivid clarity. Maybe then . . . she’d be impressed enough to give him her phone number.

  He leaned down and gave his horse, Rio, a good pat. Then he signaled the gatekeeper with a nod of his head, the chute opened, and the steer burst into the arena. Careful not to cross the breakaway rope barrier until the appropriate time, Jace chased after the five-­hundred-­pound Corriente, riding up on one side of the animal, while Bucky rode up on the other.

  Turfing the steer within four to five seconds usually got him a paycheck, but to win the big money he had to move lightning fast to flip the steer over onto its back within three. His left hand released the saddle horn as he slid off his horse . . . dropped down . . . and got a firm hold on the steer’s horns. Everything was perfect. Everything had gone the way they had a thousand times before. Except this time, his foot got hung up in the stirrup.

  He kicked with his toe but his boot wouldn’t slip out. One of the leathers had wedged itself tight beneath the sole, trapping his foot inside the bell-­shaped metal ring like a rabbit in a snare. His horse veered to the left, trying to balance his weight as he hung down the opposite side, and Jace had to let go of the steer to try to free himself. Rio stumbled, and Jace bounced twice along the ground, almost hitting his head. Then with a gut-­clenching squeeze, he reached up and grabbed his leg, only half-­aware of the roar of the crowd and pounding hooves around him.

  “Jace, hang on!” Bucky rode close enough to lay a hand on his shoulder.

  His friend tried to hold him up so his own horse wouldn’t kick him, but by the time Rio slowed to a stop, he’d already been dragged halfway around the arena.

  DELANEY GASPED AND clutched the rail in front of her, her pulse racing. She’d stopped taking pictures after Jace, hanging upside down with his foot caught in the stirrup of his galloping horse, hit the ground a second time.

  “He could have been killed,” Sammy Jo exclaimed, her eyes wide. “He could have been trampled by the steer or if he’d slipped his foot out any earlier . . . run over by his own horse!”

  “They’ve cut the leathers,” Delaney said, her voice breathless. “Jace is standing. Wait. Look.” She sucked in her breath and held it, unable to breathe. “His horse is favoring his left leg. He—­he can barely walk.”

  Her stomach squeezed tight as the rodeo star knelt in the dirt and ran his hands over Rio’s left hock. The animal flinched and pulled his hoof away. Oh, no. That wasn’t a good sign. A few of the other cowboys also bent down to take a look, and as Jace glanced her way, his worried expression played havoc with her emotions. Even if he was a hunter and as conceited as she supposed, one thing was certain—­he cared about his horse.

  “I have to go down there,” Delaney said, turning around and scanning the stands behind her for the nearest exit. “I know he’s not my horse, but I can’t stand seeing any animal in pain and I won’t be able to sleep tonight until I make sure Rio is going to be all right.”

  “But, Del,” Sammy Jo called after her. “Security won’t let you through.”

  “I’ll find a way,” Delaney said, weaving in and out among the crowd. She glanced left, then right, spotted the arched tunnel, and hurried through.

  “Del, wait up,” Sammy Jo urged from behind.

  “There’s no time to lose,” Delaney said, dodging several more groups of ­people as she wound her way around the stadium to the private competitor grounds. “You know what kind of poor decisions some of these rodeo veterinarians make!”

  She almost bumped into a concession stand boy carrying a large boxed tray of lemonade, but she swerved just in time. Sammy Jo wasn’t so lucky. Behind her, there was a crash, followed by a high-­pitched squeal. A flurry of irate voices followed, but Delaney didn’t turn around; she kept going, and kept a sharp look out for the buckskin horse with his magnificent black mane and tail.

  There! Straight ahead, not far from the area behind the roping chutes where they’d first met, Jace stood with a group of others, his face drawn as they examined Rio’s injury. At least the horse had managed to walk out of the arena. She couldn’t bear the thought of what would have happened if he couldn’t.

  She considered both the helpfulness and limitations of various homemade healing remedies as she picked up her pace, but just as she flew past the last metal fence post she was brought to an abrupt halt by two men dressed in blue security uniforms who had moved toward one another to block her path.

  “Sorry, miss,” one of them warned, holding his hand up in front of her. “No media beyond this point.”

  Delaney glanced down at her camera. “I’m a friend of one of the competitors. I have to see him. You have to let me through.”

  The security guard shook his head, then raised his walkie-­talkie to his mouth to respond to an incoming message, signaling their conversation had come to an end. Delaney wished she had the courage to stand up to them, but what else could she say? What else could she do?

  Behind her the ground shook with the thunder of running feet and she turned around just in time to catch a glimpse of the incoming stampede. The herd was led by Sammy Jo. And a small band of angry concession workers chased after her like bulldoggers after a steer, threatening to plow right into them.

  The security guards separated as they threw out their arms to prepare for the onslaught, and after reading the silent word, Go, on Sammy Jo’s lips, Delaney took the opportunity to slink around and sneak right on by.

  JACE’S BODY ACHED. He’d have some serious bruises come morning, but it was the ache inside that hurt worse as he looked into Rio’s eyes. He ran a hand over his horse’s sleek, golden neck, guilt twisting his gut into a tight knot.

  It was his fault. He hadn’t heeded the gatekeeper’s warning about the loose leather straps hanging below his stirrups. He couldn’t blame it on his preoccupation with the pretty blond photographer either. No, it was his own ego that was to blame. Taking out his pocket knife to shorten the leathers only would have taken a second, but he’d thought it wouldn’t matter . . . that he was too good . . . that something like this would never happen to him.

  Rio stood stock-­still, his left foreleg slightly bent as he held it a ­couple inches off the ground. Thank God he’d been able to hobble along and make it out of the arena. One of the rodeo workers had the flatbed truck ready to drive in, in case they’d had to put the horse down, but Jace waved them away.

  Now he wondered if he’d just delayed the inevitable.

  He’d just stepped back to stand beside Bucky, and an assortment of other concerned rodeo pals to let the veterinarian conduct a thorough examination, when a small blond head popped into their midst. Delaney?

  She glided toward him and shoved her camera into his hands. “Here—­hold this.”

  Didn’t she see that he was busy? That he had other things to—­

  He hesitated as she spun around, dropped to her knees beside the vet, and asked, “What do you need?”

  “Not sure yet,” the on-­site rodeo vet told her.

  “A cold pack?” she asked, withdr
awing one from his black bag. “Or a splint?”

  “Who are you?” the doctor demanded. “A veterinarian?”

  Jace had been wondering the same thing.

  Avoiding the question, Delaney continued. “Maybe you want to wrap the leg first with a flexible bandage?”

  Frowning, the doctor took the roll of gauze and tape Delaney offered him, and said, “Jace, there’s a good amount of swelling and the horse is in obvious pain. There’s a possibility the bone fractured from the pull of balancing your weight when you were hanging off the other side.”

  Jace spit out the remaining dirt he’d collected from the arena floor and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. Although he’d suspected as much, that wasn’t the news he wanted to hear. “But you’re not sure?”

  “I’ve seen worse,” Del assured him, running her hand over his horse’s leg. “The fact Rio walked out of the arena on his own says something. He can be given painkillers. And there’s no outward signs that it’s an injury that can’t heal. There’s heat and a little swelling, but—­”

  “Are you a veterinarian?” the rodeo vet demanded again, narrowing his gaze upon her.

  Delaney hesitated. “No, but I—­”

  “Jace,” the vet said, cutting her off in annoyance, “I can take the horse to the hospital for a comprehensive evaluation with an MRI and CT scan, but before you put out the money you might want to consider the quality of life he’ll have afterward. Even if it’s just a torn ligament there’s a good chance Rio will never compete again. You might want to just put him out of his misery right here and move on.”

  “Move on?” Delaney shouted, rising to her feet, her expression incredulous. “Jace,” she pleaded, her big, blue, beautiful eyes full of heartfelt concern. “You can’t make a decision like that without knowing all the details. Certainly Rio deserves a chance, doesn’t he?”

  Some injuries couldn’t be healed and left the horse in continuous pain. Putting a horse down under those conditions often seemed the better fate. However, she was right. Rio deserved a chance. No matter the cost. They’d competed together at pro level the last five years and Rio was solid in the box, scored well, and ran hard. He was also a friend, one who had never let him down, and now it was his turn to return the favor.

  “I want him tested,” Jace told the vet. “And if the results are promising—­”

  “He may never race out of a chute again,” the vet warned.

  Jace continued. “And if the prognosis looks good—­”

  “Even then,” the vet said, shaking his head. “It could take months to recover.”

  Jace nodded and held Delaney’s gaze. “He’ll have his chance to live a long, happy life.”

  Chapter Two

  DELANEY CARRIED THE brown rabbit she’d found outside Cabin 5 to the laundry room and set it on the counter where the guests at Collins Country Cabins usually folded their clothes.

  Her daughter stood on her tiptoes, gripped the edge of the flat surface with her small fingers, and peered over the edge. “Is he going to be okay?”

  “Yes, Meghan,” she said, giving what she hoped was a reassuring smile. “After I clean the wound, he’ll be back hopping around in no time.”

  Taking a lukewarm water bottle from her shoulder bag, Del held the rabbit still with one hand and flushed the leg wound clean with her other. She figured her furry friend got in a fight with another animal. Maybe a cat, a hawk, or maybe even another rabbit. The lacerated skin had opened up to a one-­inch circle and looked terrible, but it would heal fast. She didn’t see any bite marks and the affected area only had minimal swelling.

  The rabbit flinched and jerked forward to escape her hold, but she held tight. Then she put the water bottle down and stroked the soft fluffy hair along its back to ease some of his tension. “Meghan, can you get me a towel off the shelf in the corner?”

  The screen door screeched open and Delaney’s slender, fair-­haired mother walked in, her eyes wide as she warned, “Not our guest towels!”

  Meghan hesitated, as if unsure what to do. Her lower lip trembled. “The bunny needs a blanky.”

  “Oh, honey,” Loretta Collins soothed, her face instantly contrite. “I wasn’t yelling at you.”

  “It’s okay, Meghan,” Delaney said, avoiding her mother’s gaze. Shrugging off her jacket, she wrapped the thin blue cotton material around the animal to dry its leg. “This will work the same as a towel or blanket.”

  “What is that creature doing in here?” her ma demanded. “Delaney, if your father finds out about this—­”

  “He won’t,” Del said, hugging the rabbit close.

  Meghan put a finger to her lips. “Don’t tell.”

  Delaney’s ma glanced back and forth between them. “I won’t tell,” she conceded, “this time. But, Delaney, you know how your father feels about you turning this place into an animal shelter.”

  Yes, she knew. Her gruff, hard-­nosed father often said, “It’s not safe or sanitary for our guests.”

  “And, Delaney?” her mother continued, meeting her gaze and nodding toward the counter. “Make sure you spray that with sterilizer to get rid of any rabbit germs.”

  “Rabbit germs are pee-­yew?” Meghan asked.

  “Yes,” Delaney’s ma said with disgust. “Rabbit germs can make you sick. Why don’t I take you into the house to wash your hands?”

  Delaney wished she had the courage to speak up and voice her opinion about what made a person sick. But she didn’t dare talk back to her ma. Or do anything to cause a scene. Her older brother and sister had done that on more than one occasion and it never led to anything but trouble.

  Taking the rabbit outside, she released it in the brush behind the row of cabins lining the river, then shook out her jacket and put it back on. The air grew cooler each week, reminding her fall was on its way. Big change from last year when she and Meghan were living in San Diego. Southern California never got as cold as Montana.

  Except when one was going through a divorce.

  Her cell phone buzzed and she pulled it out of the back pocket of her jeans. “Hello?”

  A noisy tirade of angry words assaulted her ears. The only information she clearly picked out was that her caller was one of the editors from True Montana Magazine.

  “Didn’t you get the pictures?” Delaney asked, hardly daring to breathe.

  “Most of them, but what about the competitors after Jace Aldridge?” the editor demanded. “We don’t have any images of them.”

  Because she hadn’t taken any. She’d known when she left her post she was putting her job and any hope of future work for the magazine in jeopardy, but her concern for the golden gelding had been greater.

  “When I saw Mr. Aldridge’s horse was injured, I went to assist the veterinarian.”

  “Miss Collins, we wanted you to photograph the rodeo, not care for the animals. We thought you were a professional.”

  Delaney stiffened. “I’m sure you’ll find the photos I did send are top quality, and the real story from the rodeo is all about Jace Aldridge anyway.”

  “I’ll decide what the real story is,” the editor said in a huff. “Not you. That’s my job.”

  Glad this was not a face-­to-­face conversation, Delaney swallowed hard and nodded. “Yes, ma’am.”

  “Since your photography of the event did not live up to our expectations,” the editor continued, “I’m not sure we can pay you the amount we agreed on.”

  “I’ll take a pay cut,” Delaney offered, hoping to appease the woman.

  However, by the end of the phone call, it was clear the editor did not intend to pay her anything at all.

  Delaney thought of her mad dash through security, with Sammy Jo’s help, of course, to get to Rio’s side. Was it worth it?

  Of course it was. If she hadn’t intervened, that brash rodeo veterinarian
would have had everyone thinking the horse might be better off if he were put down. Her actions might not have gained her a paycheck, but it might have saved a life.

  And she could live with that.

  Sliding her phone back into her pocket, her thoughts turned to Jace and the devastated look on his face after the horrendous ride. The cowboy’s earlier flirtatious banter hadn’t had any real effect on her but that look—­when she ran up and saw him beside his injured horse—­did.

  His suntanned face had paled, the muscles in his cheeks and jaw pulled tight, and he’d pressed his lips together like she did when she was about to cry. Except cowboys as tough as Jace didn’t go around shedding tears in front of each other. No, he held it in, and it was at that moment that her heart went out to the rodeo hero.

  She also liked the wise, diplomatic way he’d answered the veterinarian. Instead of jumping the gun and putting a perfectly sound horse down for no good reason, he’d ordered the tests. Which saved her from having to protest. Whew! She would have done it, if she’d had to. But the horse didn’t belong to her; it wasn’t her call.

  Her wildlife rescue group would have had a fit if they knew she’d taken on the photography job. They’d warned her many times about the sport’s cruelty to animals. But Delaney wasn’t sure she shared their view. After all, Sammy Jo had raced barrels and always had the utmost concern for her horse’s welfare. And it didn’t appear as if the accident in the arena had been Jace’s fault. She’d ridden all her life and she, too, had got her foot caught in the stirrup once or twice.