Flynn!
She hadn’t mentioned coming this weekend.
He checked in with Harlan and delivered the cold drinks, all the while keeping an eye on the truck with Flynn. When it came to a stop, the side door opened and she scrambled out. She then jogged around to the rear of the trailer and began directing her father as he backed up to a row of empty pens.
Ace hastened over and waited until Earl was finished parking before addressing Flynn.
“Hey, what are you doing here?”
“Same as you. Bringing stock.”
Ace was prepared to toss her over his shoulder and carry her off if she attempted to help unload the horses. Fortunately she didn’t, leaving the task to her dad and his trio of ranch hands.
Ace hadn’t seen Flynn’s father since the auction and braced himself for a stern talking-to. It’s what he’d do in the other man’s shoes.
“Afternoon, Earl,” he said with a nod, and waited.
Earl went about his business, ignoring Ace.
He glanced at Flynn.
She shrugged.
“Sir, about the baby—”
Earl straightened, walked calmly over to Ace and stuck a finger in his chest. “I like you. But if you hurt my little girl, mark my word, there will be hell to pay.”
“I won’t hurt her, I swear.”
“Glad that’s settled.”
“Me, too.”
Earl poked Ace in the chest again before leaving.
Flynn laughed under her breath.
Ace wasn’t amused and wiped a hand across his damp brow. “Is that a good idea, you being here? What with the baby and all?”
“What do you mean?”
“Bucking stock aren’t known for their manners.”
“I’m not going to ride the horses.” She laughed again.
Though, in Ace’s opinion, the situation was serious, her gaiety was a welcome change from their recent strain.
“Just being near them is risky. They kick. Bite. Charge.”
“I promise to be supercautious if you promise to be less obsessive.”
“I care about you, Flynn.” Much more than she realized.
Instead of becoming prickly, she smiled softly. “Thank you.”
Grateful for whatever had caused the change in her, Ace let the cozy sensation her smile triggered wind through him.
If only it could be like this between them every day.
“Speaking of taking risks.” She pointed to the entrant number he carried in his hand. “I should scold you for the same thing. What if you get hurt?”
“I’ll withdraw,” he said immediately.
“No.” She laughed again. “I don’t want you to change just because we’re having a baby.”
We? He liked her referring to them as a couple.
“Our child is more important to me than bronc riding.”
“Rodeoing’s a big part of your life. It’s your business.”
“But not competing. I won’t be any good to either of you if I’m injured and unable to make a living. This gives me the excuse I need to quit without embarrassing myself.”
“Compete, Ace. You like it and, be honest, you miss it.”
“Sometimes.” He’d been at the peak of his rodeo career back in college when they’d dated. He gave it up after his father died, like he had Flynn.
What if he’d been wrong all those years ago on both counts?
Their attention was drawn to the McKinley horses, who fussed and squealed and nipped at each other as they settled into the pen.
Flynn knitted her brows as she scrutinized them. “Hmm.”
“Something wrong?”
“It’s Fancy Gal.” She started toward the fence. Ace followed her, determined to intervene if a horse so much as looked sideways at her. “She’s been acting out of sorts all morning.”
“Which one is she?”
Flynn pointed to a stout dun mare standing at the far end of the pen. Ears pinned back, teeth bared and swinging her head from side to side, she sent an unmistakable warning to her pen mates: stay away.
“She’s one of my favorites and is usually pretty docile outside the arena.”
“Want me to examine her?”
Relief lit Flynn’s features. “Would you? I don’t want to be a bother. You have your own string to worry about.”
“I don’t mind.”
“I’ll get her.”
“You’re not going in that pen with all those horses.” Ace put a hand on her arm. “Your dad can do it.”
She sighed. “All right.”
Ace liked her when she was agreeable.
He was rather confident it wouldn’t last.
Chapter Six
Pregnancy suited Flynn. She’d woken up that morning on completely the right side of the bed. Not that her doubts about the future had vanished. Far from it. But she felt good. Happy. Optimistic.
Her exuberance, however, dimmed as her concern for Fancy Gal escalated. The mare was clearly distressed and in pain.
It didn’t take long for her father to separate the mare from the rest of the string, bring her out and tie her to the side of the trailer.
Flynn hovered near Ace as he conducted his examination. She had her suspicions about what ailed the mare and was curious to see if she was right.
“We probably shouldn’t have brought her today.” She stroked Fancy Gal’s nose. Away from her pen mates, the mare was gentle as a lamb and calmly tolerated Ace’s poking and prodding. “She’s nineteen. Too old for competing.”
“Not really,” he said. “If they’re in good health, horses can be competed into their twenties. But if you want to retire her, she’d make a nice broodmare.”
“I hope whoever buys her does exactly that.”
Ace ran a hand along Fancy Gal’s abdomen. “Besides irritability, what are her other symptoms?”
Flynn pointed to the mare’s shuffling hooves. “She keeps shifting her weight.”
“I checked her feet,” her father added, coming over. “No stones or abscesses or any problems that I saw.”
“You won’t take offense if I also have a look?” Ace picked up the mare’s front hoof, braced it between his knees and dug around the soft underside with a penknife.
“I’d think you were a sorry vet if you didn’t.” Her father carefully supervised Ace’s every move. Fancy Gal was one of his favorite horses, too.
Ace repeated the process with the remaining hooves. “They look fine.” He took a step back and considered the mare. “Any signs of colic?”
“Nope.”
“Yes,” Flynn interjected. Colic was her guess. “She’s been biting her flanks.”
Ace placed his ear against Fancy Gal’s abdomen.
Flynn held the mare’s head firmly in place. Fancy Gal might be a lamb but sick animals often spooked and behaved out of character.
Ace straightened, his mouth set in a firm line. “Sounds like a war zone in there. I don’t think you should compete her today.”
“Poor girl,” Flynn cooed, and scratched Fancy Gal behind the ears.
“Have we caught it in time?” her father asked.
He had reason to be concerned. Several years ago they had almost lost a prize gelding to a sudden and aggressive case of colic.
“I think so,” Ace said. “Can you arrange for a separate stall or pen? She shouldn’t be with the other horses.”
“I’ll talk to the barn manager.”
“I can walk her,” Flynn offered when her father left.
When their gelding had colic, she and her father had taken turns walking him all through the night. It had probably saved the gelding’s life.
Ace shook his head. �
�I’d feel better if you got one of the men to do it.”
“Fancy Gal won’t hurt me.”
“Not intentionally.”
“I appreciate your concern, but I’m going to walk her and—”
“And I’m not stopping you,” he finished for her.
“Something like that.” Flynn squared her shoulders.
Ace’s glance traveled from Fancy Gal to Flynn. “I don’t like it.”
“You have to trust me.”
He groaned as if giving in to her caused him pain. “I’ve got some bute paste in my truck. That should help her with the discomfort.” He promptly returned, a tube clutched in his hand, and administered the bute paste.
Fancy Gal didn’t like the taste or the texture. She worked her jaw and rolled her tongue until the medication had dissolved.
Afterward, Ace accompanied Flynn and Fancy Gal to the vacant pasture on the far side of the warm-up arena. She started to tell him to leave, that she was fine on her own, then reconsidered. She liked him walking beside her. She reconsidered again the third time his arm brushed hers.
At the end of their first circuit, Flynn told Ace, “You should probably go. Your event is the first one after the opening ceremony.”
“If she worsens or shows any other symptoms, call me immediately. I don’t care what I’m doing.”
“We’ll be fine.”
He acted as if he hadn’t heard her. “I’ll stop by in an hour to check on her.”
“You don’t have to do that.”
“Yes, I do. You were lucky today. She’s in the early stages of colic. A few more hours, her chances of making a full recovery would be a lot less.”
Whatever personal issues she had with Ace, she couldn’t deny he was a good vet.
“I know it’s a lot to ask, and you just acquired all those horses at the auction…”
“Tell me.”
“Dad’s selling all the livestock. I want Fancy Gal to go to a good home, one where she can live out the rest of her life.” Flynn fiddled with the mare’s lead rope. “She’s really almost never sick. And she would make a wonderful broodmare. I can get you a copy of her registration papers—”
“You want me to buy her?”
“Yes.”
When he didn’t answer right away, Flynn’s heart sank.
“It was a stupid idea.”
“No, it isn’t. I just don’t like doing anything that will make your leaving easier.”
She glanced away, hiding her disappointment.
He took her chin in his fingers and tilted her face to his. “But I’ll buy her.”
“Seriously? Because I don’t want you doing this strictly for me.”
“Of course I’m doing it for you. And she’d be a sound investment.”
“Thank you, thank you!” Flynn threw herself at Ace and squeezed him tightly around the waist with her one free arm.
“Before you get carried away, we should probably talk price.”
“I’ll make sure Dad gives you a smoking deal.”
Flynn sighed contentedly. This hug was so much nicer than the stiff one they’d shared at the fishing hole when she’d told him about the baby.
“In that case, maybe we should buy more of your father’s horses.”
“Oh, Ace.” She stood on her tiptoes and impulsively pressed her lips to his cheek. The familiar scent of him instantly assailed her, weakened her knees so that she was forced to lean on him.
He went still.
Uh-oh. Big mistake.
She was about to pull away when he bent his head and sought her lips.
The kiss, light, tender and achingly sweet, lasted only a few seconds before he abruptly withdrew.
Not again!
Why was he always doing this to her?
Flynn stepped away, only to spy her father at the edge of the pasture, his gaze riveted on her and Ace.
* * *
FLYNN GAVE FANCY GAL one last thorough inspection before permitting herself to relax. The mare was better, nosing around the corners of her pen for a tidbit of hay rather than exhibiting signs of distress.
True to his word, Ace had stopped by earlier and examined her, noting her progress and advising Flynn to continue walking the mare at intervals for the rest of the afternoon, possibly into the evening. He also brought some warm bran mash to settle Fancy Gal’s stomach, though where he acquired it Flynn had no clue.
“I have my connections,” was all he’d admit before returning to the arena.
She glanced at her watch, straining to hear the announcements coming from the direction of the arena. Ace’s event, bareback bronc riding, would be starting soon. She was just locking up the truck when her father strode over. He hadn’t mentioned seeing her and Ace kissing earlier, but she wouldn’t put it past him.
What a mistake! Why did she continually lose her head with Ace?
Unfortunately, there was no going back now.
“Did I tell you Ace drew True Grit?” her father asked.
“Seriously? No, you didn’t.”
The gelding was one of her father’s best bucking broncs—or worst, if you were the cowboy trying to ride him.
When her father began reciting the other bronc/cowboy matchups, Flynn cut him off.
“Ace hasn’t been in a rodeo since last fall. True Grit’s a lot of horse, even for someone who competes regularly.”
“That’s how rodeo works. It’s the luck of the draw.”
Bad luck, Flynn thought. “What if he gets injured?”
“He’s a big boy.”
“He’s also the father of my child. Your grandchild.”
Her father chuckled.
Flynn took off at a brisk walk.
He chased after her. “Where you going?”
“To tell Ace not to compete.”
“What with the way you’re acting, a person might suspect you have more feelings for him than you’re willing to admit.”
“This has nothing to do with me or my feelings.”
Her father’s persistent chuckling grated on Flynn’s nerves.
She seldom ventured behind the bucking chutes where the participants gathered to assess the horses and their competition and to while away the time while they waited—usually nervously—for their turn.
Ace was there, along with his brother, cousins and Austin Wright. The moment he saw her, he broke away and met her halfway.
“Is Fancy Gal all right?” he asked.
“She’s great.”
“Are you all right?”
“Ace, don’t compete.”
“What?”
“Dad told me you drew True Grit. You know his reputation and his ranking.”
“I’ll be fine.”
“See,” her dad said, catching up with Flynn. “I told you.”
“Please, Ace.”
A twinkle lit his eyes. It also warmed her heart.
She was such a sucker.
“Weren’t you just saying I shouldn’t change because we’re having a baby?”
“Yes, but True Grit is—”
“It’s okay.” He reached out and stroked her cheek.
“Promise me.” She closed her eyes and sighed softly.
“I tend to agree with my daughter,” Earl said. “True Grit probably has more giddyup than you’re used to.”
“Dad!” Flynn’s eyes flew open.
Ace let his hand drop and turned to appraise her father. “I might be a little rusty, but I’m pretty sure I can sit that horse for eight seconds.”
“That boast has all the makings of a wager.”
Now Flynn was really upset. “No betting!”
Ace grinned. “What do you have in
mind?”
“Flynn mentioned you’re interested in buying Fancy Gal and maybe a few more of my string. I’ve got another potential buyer lined up. Hoyt Cammeron.”
“Yeah?” Ace visibly perked up.
“You last the full eight seconds on True Grit, and I’ll sell you any of my string you want and throw in Fancy Gal for free. You eat dirt, I sell the string to Hoyt, including Fancy Gal if he wants her.”
“You can’t,” Flynn objected.
“You’re on.” Ace stuck out his hand to her father.
“Ace, get over here,” Colt hollered. “Beau’s up next.”
“See you at the stock pens when I’m done.” Ace squeezed Flynn’s arm, then nodded curtly at her father.
“I’ll be there, too. With Hoyt,” Flynn’s father added.
She waited a mere second after Ace left before whirling on her father. “How could you, Dad? A bet? Really? And what’s this with Hoyt? You told me you’d no more sell that man a broken-down pony than any of your string.”
There was that chuckle again.
She groaned with frustration.
“Come on.” He placed a hand on the small of her back and guided her toward the stands. “We’d better hurry before it’s Ace’s turn.”
At her wit’s end, Flynn went with her father to the crowded bleachers where they found two empty seats. Second to the last row, unfortunately. She couldn’t remain still as one cowboy after the other went. Beau did well, his score landing him in the lead. His position lasted only until Austin Wright’s turn. Austin had also drawn a McKinley horse and was the first competitor that day to successfully ride one.
Finally, after what felt like forever, Ace’s name was called.
Flynn gnawed her lower lip as she watched him straddle the fence and sit True Grit. The horse, raring to go, shifted nervously in the narrow chute, bumping into the side panels and tossing his head.
Ace didn’t hurry.
He was too far away for Flynn to see, but she imagined him testing the rigging and adjusting his grip on the handle until it satisfied him. He’d place his feet above the horse’s shoulders, correctly marking the horse before entering the arena so as not to be disqualified before his ride even started. He’d listen to the advice of his brother and cousins and buddies who were clustered together and hanging on the fence.
Aidan: Loyal Cowboy: Aidan: Loyal CowboyThe Family Plan Page 7
