Matt

by R. C. Ryan

  “Six. I counted them.”

  “I did, too. They’re so cute. I could hardly keep from dashing into their midst and hugging them.”

  “I wouldn’t advise it, Nessa.” Grace gave a dry laugh. “Did you see the roan mare? The red one? She looks like she’ll foal any day now.”

  “Do you think you’ll get to capture it on film?”

  “Oh, I hope so.” After walking around their campsite, quietly studying the truck and their gear, Grace went to her camera equipment, sorting through lenses and cameras. “I hope you don’t mind if I delay fixing something to eat until after I’ve assembled everything I’ll need to take along tomorrow.”

  “You do that, and let me handle fixing our supper.”

  “You don’t mind, Nessa?”

  “I’d love to. After all, Yancy did all the hard work. All I have to do is choose what to heat up.” Vanessa opened the metal container and began rummaging through the labeled packages of prepared food. “Do you have anything in particular you’d like to eat, or would you like to be surprised?”

  “Surprise me.”

  Later as they sat around the fire, contentedly enjoying Yancy’s thinly shaved roast beef sandwiches with thick potato wedges and creamy coleslaw, Grace looked over. “Excellent choices, Nessa.”

  “Thanks. Not that it matters. I don’t think Yancy is capable of fixing anything except the best.” She bit into her last potato wedge. “How long has he been your ranch cook?”

  “I guess it’s over thirty years now.”

  “How did you find him? Did you advertise for a cook?”

  “Advertise? I’m afraid not. It didn’t happen that way.” Grace sat back, sipping coffee. “It was late October or early November, as I recall. My son Patrick heard a knock on the door long after dark. He opened it and we heard him let out a furious oath.” She shook her head. “Frankie hurried over to see who was there. Burke was carrying a boy, who looked to be about ten or twelve, who had blood dripping from a gash on his forehead, and he was barefoot. I don’t know which was more shocking—the blood or the bare feet on such a cold night. Burke said he found the boy collapsed in our barn, trying to hide under the straw. The boy could barely walk, he was so exhausted and wounded, so Burke carried him inside and set him in front of the fire, while I ran around looking for a blanket to wrap him in. Just about that time there was a pounding on the door, and Frankie opened it to a man with a rifle in his arms and fire in his eyes. He said he was Rhys Martin, looking for his no-good son Yancy. Frankie told him he had to leave the rifle outside if he wanted to come in. So he dropped the rifle, and when he spotted the boy he was across the room in a flash and hauling him up so he could pound his fist in his face. Burke and Patrick pulled them apart, and when they got the man to settle down enough to say his piece, they learned that this boy was actually eighteen, even though he was no bigger than a ten-year-old. Rhys Martin blamed his own son for all the setbacks in his life. Because of ‘this scrawny kid,’ as he called him, his wife had died while giving birth to him. And ever since, all manner of bad things had happened. Cows were dying. Crops were failing. He was losing his ranch.”

  Vanessa couldn’t hide her shock. “He thought it was all his son’s fault?”

  Grace nodded. “His whole life, according to Rhys Martin, was ruined because of this boy. And he was going to beat some manliness into him, if it was the last thing he ever did.”

  Vanessa was wringing her hands, clearly caught up in what she was hearing. “What happened then?”

  Grace gave a soft smile. “We all listened in silence, and then Frank asked Yancy if what his pa said was true. Yancy said it was. Nothing had ever gone right since he’d been born. And his father held him accountable for every bad thing that had ever happened. Then Frankie asked the father if he loved his boy. Rhys Martin asked how anyone could love a misfit like that. He said not only did he not love Yancy, but he wished he’d never been born.” Grace’s voice lowered. Softened. “For my Frankie, that was the last straw. He told Burke to call the sheriff. Rhys Martin ran out the door, knowing he’d be arrested for abuse. Frankie raced to the door to let him know that Rhys would never be allowed to come close to his boy again. And if the sheriff found him, we would all testify against him.”

  “Did the sheriff find Rhys Martin?”

  “There was no sign of him. He left his failing ranch behind, without a trace.”

  “Did Yancy ever see his father again?”

  Grace shook her head. “And never wanted to. He once confided in Frankie that he believes he was born on that fateful night. Living with us, taking such joy in cooking, he found the life he’d always wanted, and he was never going back.”

  Vanessa poured herself another cup of coffee. “My dad likes to say that everyone has a story to tell.”

  “I’m sure, as a district attorney, your father hears more stories than most.”

  Vanessa nodded, deep in thought. “You realize you saved Yancy’s life.”

  “We did. But he has more than repaid us in his loyalty and generosity to our family.”

  “I can understand why. What a hellish childhood he must have had.”

  “And what a good man he’s become.”

  A short time later, as the two of them cleaned up the remains of their supper and slid into their bedrolls, Vanessa thought about the sweet cook who always had a big smile and an even bigger heart.

  However painful his childhood had been, he’d risen above it.

  And it was no surprise to her that the Malloy family had been Yancy’s guardian angels. From everything she’d seen of them, they had the most open, loving, welcoming hearts for anyone fortunate enough to enter into and be touched by their lives.

  Chapter Seventeen

  Grace was up before dawn, and the sounds of her movements had Vanessa sitting up and shoving hair from her eyes.

  Grace set a coffeepot over the fire before looking up. “Good morning. How did you sleep?”

  “I don’t think I moved all night.”

  “Are you sore from all that hiking?”

  “A little.” Vanessa rolled her shoulders. “Nothing I can’t manage. I just feel…eager to get back to the herd.”

  Grace laughed. “Spoken like a true adventurer. Let’s eat and get started.”

  Within minutes Vanessa was dressed and had stored her bedding in the back of the truck.

  “We’ll need to bring along enough food and water to get us through the day and night.”

  Vanessa’s eyes went wide. “We’re staying with the herd?”

  “Possibly.” Grace gave a mysterious smile. “It will all depend on our mare. She may have already given birth. If so, we’ll be there and back in no time. But if I get a chance to photograph the entire delivery, we’ll stay until it’s over, regardless of the time it takes.”

  Vanessa put a hand to her heart. “Oh, Grace, I hope we get there in time.”

  They ate quickly, then filled their backpacks with what they would need for the day and night, choosing to leave their bedrolls at camp and take only warm parkas for the night.

  They were on the trail within the hour. And by the time they reached the herd, the sun was just climbing above the peaks of the nearby mountains.

  They quickly scanned the horses, holding their breath as they counted the mares and their foals.

  “The same number as yesterday,” Grace whispered.

  “That’s good. Right?”

  Grace nodded and pointed. Not far away was the mare they’d spotted the previous day, so swollen it looked as though she might explode if she didn’t soon give birth.

  Grace began assembling her equipment.

  Vanessa watched with interest as the older woman set up a tripod, chose from an array of lenses, and then fixed one to a camera that she then mounted on the tripod. She kept a second camera dangling around her neck. In a bag at her feet were several more cameras and dozens of lenses.

  The two sat down beside a boulder and watched the herd in sil
ence.

  Following Grace’s lead, Vanessa learned to remove her water bottle, or a packet of food, with as little sound and movement as necessary, so as to not draw attention. Though the stallion, whom Vanessa had secretly named Ghost, continued to stand watch, he had also begun moving among the mares, even turning his back on the women to graze.

  “You see,” Grace said in a low tone. “He’s beginning to accept our presence here.”

  “That’s good?”

  “That’s very good.”

  In the hours that followed, the two women shared food and several long, impassioned discussions about the wild horses, and what role animal groups and the government ought to play in their lives.

  It was clear, from the fervor in Grace’s tone, that she believed the mustangs should be left alone as much as possible, to roam free and live as they always had.

  “What about the freezing cold? What about starvation when snow covers their source of food?” Vanessa pressed the issues that were uppermost in the minds of the members of her various animal associations.

  “These are wild creatures. Nature equips them to survive the cold. Unlike domestic animals, they grow a thicker, coarser coat that can see them through the coldest temperatures. They’ve learned to adapt. Whether it’s a blizzard or a raging summer storm, they figure things out.”

  “Are you saying you’ve never fed them?”

  Grace gave a mysterious half smile. “Frankie and I have hauled tons of hay up here on a flatbed truck when Mother Nature turned on us and delivered a killing winter. But if we didn’t help out, most of these horses would survive, just as they have all these centuries.”

  Vanessa pressed her. “But some would die.”

  The older woman leaned close. “Here’s the difference between hauling some feed, and meddling. Some years back, someone concerned about the herds of wild horses decided that they ought to set up some feeding stations and put birth control in the food. It stands to reason that would be the humane method of curbing the size of the herds. Right?”

  Vanessa nodded. “Sounds sensible to me.”

  “Consider this.” Grace’s tone took on that of a lecturer. “Nature dictates a time for everything. That’s why, in the wild, creatures give birth in spring, when there’s an abundance of food for the mothers who nurse, and a gentle climate in which to raise up the young so they’re strong enough to face winter’s wrath.”

  “Well, yes, that makes sense.”

  “Except to the agency who messed with nature. Within a year or two, after the herds wandered hundreds of miles from the feeding stations, the birth control wore off, and many of the animals began conceiving at the wrong time of year. I came across mares that had foaled in the dead of winter, long before their natural cycle would have dictated. With little food, the mares’ milk dried up. With several feet of snow on the ground, the foals couldn’t move. Since a mother couldn’t leave her foal behind, often both mare and foal froze to death in a blizzard. Those poor, vulnerable animals never had a chance.”

  Vanessa put a hand to her mouth, her eyes wide with shock. “Didn’t those in charge research all of this before they started the project?”

  “Apparently the clever committee that dreamed up the plan never gave it a thought. Often, within large agencies, compassion for the very ones they’re supposed to be taking care of isn’t high on the list.” Grace paused. “I sent some of the photos to Washington to let them see the damage that had been caused. I never got a response.”

  “Oh, Grace.” Vanessa was clearly moved. “I’m so sorry.”

  The older woman touched a hand to her arm. “Actions have consequences. So often we want to do the right thing, but if we don’t think things through, we pay a high price for our well-meaning decisions.”

  Seeing the herd moving closer, the two women fell silent. But it was clear that the things Grace had told her left Vanessa deep in thought.

  Grace lifted a hand in a silent signal.

  Vanessa glanced across the field to where the heavily pregnant mare was standing. At first there was nothing to set her apart from the other mares nearby, except her size. Though Vanessa would expect the mare to be agitated, or breathing heavily, all she could see was a calm, quiet horse circling a patch of grass, but not eating.

  Circling. Circling.

  As though seeking a soft spot to recline.

  Within the hour the mare folded her forelegs, kneeling, before dropping down in the grass. She remained very still, lying on her side, though her breathing had increased considerably.

  Vanessa glanced at Grace. Between the camera mounted on the tripod and the wide-angle lens on the camera around her neck, Grace was busy catching each amazing moment on film.

  A short time later Vanessa realized that the foal was coming quickly now. A gush of water, a tiny hoof visible through the opaque film of fluid, and suddenly, the foal slipped free of its mother and lay in the grass, while the mare licked it clean.

  “It’s so tiny and helpless.”

  “Only for a short time.” Grace kept her focus on the mare and foal. “You won’t believe how quickly that little one will be on its feet and trailing after its mother.”

  “Oh, Grace.” Vanessa clutched the older woman’s arm, so caught up in the beauty of the birth she could hardly speak.

  “I know.” Grace’s smile was radiant. “Isn’t it the most amazing sight? Every time I have the good fortune to witness such a miracle, I’m humbled and grateful.”

  As Grace went back to snapping off photos, Vanessa’s attention was riveted on the mare and her foal.

  As a girl she’d loved horses. So much so, she’d used every argument she could think of to persuade her parents to allow her to ride jumpers. And despite her mother’s great fear that her only child might be seriously injured partaking in such a dangerous activity, she had reluctantly given her permission. But only, she insisted, because she could see the passion that burned in her daughter for the horses.

  That passion had never died, but it had faded in her teen years. She’d thought her efforts on behalf of the animal foundations had been enough to feed that passion. Now, suddenly, in this amazing moment, it was back, and stronger than ever. Now, finally, she understood why she’d forsaken criminal law to become an advocate for the protection of wild animals. And why she’d been drawn to interview Grace Anne LaRou Malloy, the foremost expert on the West’s wild horses.

  She needed to be here. Right here in the Montana wilderness, watching the birth of a foal, and thrilling to the very fact that a wild stallion, feeling edgy and protective of his herd, was allowing her to be this close to them.

  Because of her father, and her government association, she’d met many famous dignitaries, even world leaders. But none could even come close to this singular experience.

  Her heart was beating overtime just knowing she was, right this moment, living her childhood dream.

  “Oh, Grace. I’ll never be able to thank you for this experience. For this day.”

  “I believe this is the hundredth time you’ve thanked me, Nessa.” Grace hefted her backpack, relieved to see their campsite up ahead. It had been a long, emotional day, and now that the adrenaline was wearing off, she could feel her energy flagging. She would be grateful for the chance to relax and unwind.

  Vanessa’s laughter trilled on the air. “I know. I just can’t stop thanking you. This has been the most amazing day of my life.” Seeing the older woman’s concentration, Vanessa stopped her. “Here. Give me your pack.”

  “I can manage. I always—”

  Vanessa took it from her and draped it across one shoulder. As she started to bolt ahead, Grace put a hand to her shoulder. “Wait. I’d like to…”

  Vanessa paused. “What?”

  Grace’s smile stayed in place. “Nothing. I just like to check out my surroundings before I go stumbling into camp.”

  “Did you do this the other times we returned?”

  “Of course. I arranged certain things in ce
rtain ways, knowing if they were altered, it would mean we’d had visitors.”

  Because she was wearing sunglasses, Vanessa couldn’t see the older woman’s eyes. But she could see her swivel her head slightly, taking in the lay of the land.

  Vanessa felt a prickling at the back of her neck. “Do you see something?”

  “It could be nothing.” Laying a hand on her arm, Grace signaled her to remain behind as she paused to pick up a zipper pull that must have fallen from a parka. “Did you lose this?”

  Vanessa shook her head.

  “I don’t believe it was here this morning.” Holding it in her hand, Grace walked to the truck and tested the driver’s side door.

  Though it was locked, she dropped to her knees and retrieved a piece of thread from the grass. When she stood, she plucked her phone from her pocket. Seeing that it had no signal, she lifted her rifle in the air and fired a shot.

  The sound of it echoed and reechoed across the hills.

  Vanessa flinched at the sound of the thunder of the gunshot matching the thundering of her heart. She hurried to stand beside Grace. “What’s wrong? Are we in trouble? Has somebody been here?”

  Grace nodded. “I need to see if anything’s missing.”

  While the two worked side by side checking their supplies, a horse and rider appeared over a ridge.

  Vanessa stared in stunned surprise to see Matt dismount and hurry over.

  “Your grandmother only fired her rifle a minute ago. How could you possibly get here so quickly?”

  “I was…nearby.”

  He turned to his grandmother, who pointed to the truck. “I did what you told me, Matthew. I tied a thread to the door handle.” She held out the piece of thread. “I found this in the grass. Torn in two. Have you seen anything out of order?”

  “Not a thing.” He walked a short distance away, studying the ground. “The grass isn’t flattened by tires or hooves. No tracks. If anyone tried to jimmy the lock, they came here on foot.”

  “In the middle of the wilderness?”

  He nodded. “I know it sounds crazy. But we’ve been guarding the perimeter since you arrived. No vehicles in or out. That doesn’t mean they couldn’t have come in by horseback. If there were only one or two of them, they may have managed to sneak past us.”