Heart of a Cowboy

by Kristin Vayden

  Laken moved aside and watched as Cyler knelt beside the mare.

  “Okay, Margaret. Don’t make this more difficult than it needs to be, alright? I’m going to get you up, and you’re going to walk. That’s it. Not hard, but I’m not taking no for an answer. Got me?” He whispered softly, but there was intensity in his voice that was unmistakable.

  Margaret must have heard it as well, because she sighed heavily, as if already tired of trying.

  Cyler took the lead rope and grasped under her halter, much like Laken had done, but as he tugged on the halter to get her up, he placed his shoulder under her head, helping her rise. The mare groaned, faltered, but managed to get her feet beneath her, even as her head was almost resting on Cyler’s shoulder.

  “Good girl, that’s a girl…” Jack murmured, striding toward the stall.

  Margaret sighed, moved one back hoof, and started to lie back down.

  “Aw hell no, you don’t.” Cyler growled, pulling her head back up and shoving her shoulder so that she stumbled to correct herself, standing once more. “Let’s go. No rest for you.” He crooned softly as he continued his firm grasp on her halter then led her from the stall out into the open area of the barn. “You’ve been lying about all day from what I hear, and we need to get that twist out of you, okay, girl? Let’s walk a bit.”

  Never once releasing her halter, he led her around a wide circle within the barn. The usually surefooted horse tripped often, leaning some of her weight against Cyler as he walked beside her. “C’mon, lazy ass, don’t knock me over,” he’d reply, but there wasn’t any heat to his words, just a dogged determination lacing the tone.

  Jack took a few steps to stand beside Laken. “She’s up. That’s good,” he muttered, then Laken watched as he heaved a big breath. “I’m sorry I yelled at’cha. You did the right thing calling him. As much as I hate to admit it, I’m not in any shape to be shoving around big mares, and sorry, sweetie, but you’re not big enough to push around a fly, let alone this stubborn thing. So yeah.” He shrugged then turned back to watching Cyler and Margaret make circles.

  “I’m sorry I didn’t ask you first.”

  Jack gave her a sideways glance. “Well, I probably wouldn’t have asked me either, so we’ll just call it good, ’kay?”

  “Okay.” Laken bit back a grin then turned to Margaret. The mare kicked a leg up as if trying to thrash at her stomach again.

  “None of that now,” Cyler scolded as he reached up with his free hand and patted her leg encouragingly.

  “Have you checked her gums yet?” Jack asked, his white eyebrows drawing together.

  Cyler shot a glance to Jack and shook his head. “We need to get her moving first, then I’ll check that once she’s up for a bit. There’s no way I can tell if it’s a twist or something else.” He gave Jack a small shake of his head and turned his attention back to the mare.

  “Is there anything we can do?” Laken asked.

  Cyler regarded her as he and Margaret continued the circle in the middle of the barn. “Yeah, actually, check her stall. Is there much manure there, or is it pretty clean?” He jerked his chin toward the stall.

  Laken strode to the open gate and glanced in, kicking around some straw to check fully. “Looks like there’s some.” She regarded the floor. “But not a lot.”

  “That’s good,” Jack replied, his words giving Laken some hope.

  “That means she’s probably backed up. Check her water.” Cyler spoke next, continuing the circle.

  Laken glanced to the basin; it was nearly full. “She hasn’t drunk much.”

  “Vince will need to pump her stomach then. He’ll bring the tube, but Laken, can you take that bucket over there, wash it out, and fill it with warm water? We need to get her to drink a bit. Not a lot, but some. If she’s impacted from dehydration, then she’s going to need to get some water inside to help things move along.”

  Laken nodded, then took off for the house with the bucket in hand. In less than five minutes she was returning to the barn. Water sloshed as she set down the bucket, glancing at Cyler.

  Margaret’s legs were quivering, and she was leaning heavily on Cyler as she walked.

  “C’mon, girl, you can just take a few more steps.” He spoke softly, one hand still on the halter while the other braced her shoulder against his. Sweat trailed down his temples as he continued to shove against the horse, making her carry her own weight when she was reluctant.

  “Damn, it’s hotter than hades in here.” Cyler used his shoulder to help Margaret’s weight, and with his free hand, started to unbutton his shirt. With a quick toss, it landed on the barn floor and as he continued to walk in the wide circle.

  Laken couldn’t ignore the way his shoulders created the perfect V into his back, or the way his collarbone defined the hard planes of his chest, accentuating the perfectly sculpted abs that her fingers itched to touch. A smattering of chestnut hair added to the allure. Biting her lip, she forced herself to glance away.

  Client’s son, client’s son, client’s son! She reminded herself, only to have her gaze stray once more to watch as he carefully led the horse around and around.

  “Eh, I looked better in my prime,” Jack grumbled, giving a snort.

  “You wish, old man,” Cyler retorted.

  Jack gave him a glare, though his gaze looked slightly surprised, as if he hadn’t expected his son to hear.

  “Not all of us are deaf,” Cyler added, shooting a grin over his shoulder.

  “Not deaf,” Jack whispered then gave a narrowed gaze to his son, probably wondering if he heard that one.

  Laken smirked, unable to help herself, yet as she glanced at Jack, she noted the change in his coloring and the increased sag of his shoulders. Pride was important to Jack, that much was clear, but how did she get him to rest without wounding that pride?

  She pursed her lips, thinking. “Hey, Jack?” Laken pulled out her phone then held it out to him. “My phone is almost dead, and I don’t want to miss any calls from the vet. Can you take it inside and plug it in? You’ll have to stay by it though, just in case.”

  Jack took the phone tentatively; his blue eyes narrowed suspiciously. But to her surprise, he didn’t argue. He must be even more exhausted than he let on. She’d have to remember that.

  “Fine. Just come and get me if anything changes.” He gave a quick nod to Cyler and slowly walked to the house.

  Margaret made another loop before Cyler spoke. “He was dead on his feet. Good thinking.”

  Laken shrugged, not wanting to own up to her slight manipulation.

  “Yeah, okay, play the game. I know what you did. You’re not fooling anyone.” He chuckled softly, his boots pounding the familiar rhythm.

  “My phone was dying.” Laken shrugged, thinking of a way to change the topic of conversation. “Is there anything I can to do help? I feel kinda useless just standing here.” Even if the view is amazing.

  “Bring that bucket over here. Let’s see if she’ll drink.” Cyler pulled up on the halter, and Margaret happily stopped. The mare tried to tuck her legs under, but Cyler was quicker and jerked her halter so that she stood upright once again.

  “Don’t even think about it.”

  Laken lifted the bucket and took it to where Cyler and Margaret waited, careful not to spill any more of the water.

  Cyler loosened his grip on the halter, and Margaret leaned down, sighing into the water, creating a ripple across the surface. A moment later, she dipped her muzzle in and slowly drank. Water dripped from her lips as she lifted her head, and Cyler patted her neck. “Good girl.”

  Laken smiled, thankful for Margaret’s cooperation. “Is that a good sign?”

  “Yeah, we don’t want her drinking too much, but we don’t want her dehydrated either.”

  “Is she hungry? Should I get some hay?” Laken started to walk toward the
covered stack.

  “No, no! The last thing she needs is more food. She’s probably impacted, which means she’s constipated, and the gas is filling her belly. That’s why we need to move her around to get her body to work through the food that needs to finish digesting.” Cyler started the circles again.

  “Oh, okay.” Laken stopped and turned back to Cyler. “So, we wait?”

  “Yup. Pretty much.”

  Laken watched as they continued their circles, the only noise the plodding of Margaret’s hooves and her occasional sigh.

  “So, I was pretty shocked to—” Cyler was interrupted by the sound of gravel crushing under tires.

  “The vet.” Laken turned toward the barn doors, a mix of relief and annoyance filling her. Whatever Cyler had been going to say was long gone now.

  Soon Cyler was working with the vet to put a nasogastric tube down Margaret’s nose to relieve some of the gas built up in her stomach. Laken simply watched in wonder as the two men worked together to save the horse’s life, seeing so many similarities and differences in the way one worked with animals versus people. Yet they all had the same goal: care. And it was so much more than simply medicine. It was a kind word, a gentle touch, all combined with the right mix of fluid and medicine to try and make the difference between life and death. Laken rubbed her arm absentmindedly as she watched, then she slowly backed out of the barn. She’d let the vet take care of the horse while she went inside and took care of the horse’s owner.

  Because while that horse needed the vet, she knew that right now, Jack needed her even more.

  Chapter 11

  Several hours later, Cyler shuffled toward the house, his shoulder aching from dealing with Margaret’s weight, and his hands sore from pulling the lead rope each time she tried to lie down. It was a fight, and it wasn’t over, but before Vince left, he’d said Margaret would probably pull through just fine. Cyler couldn’t remember hearing sweeter words. Stupid horse meant the world to him, even if he hadn’t seen the old girl in a decade till this past week. She was getting older, and this bout of colic had been a sober reminder, one that threw him off-balance.

  He paused on his way to the house, studying it with a new perspective. For so long, he’d only saw that building as a place of pain and betrayal. Yet there were good memories too, ones of Margaret, ones of his mother, and recently, of Laken. He shook his head, wiping his hand down his face. Stupid girl had gotten under his skin, and as much as he had tried to forget her, it only made him remember her more. He’d already been trying to find a valid excuse to check in on the ranch when she called. Margaret being down wasn’t exactly the excuse he was looking for, but it had gotten him here.

  As he climbed the front steps, the acrid scent of something burning alerted him that Laken was in the kitchen. “Here we go again.” He opened the screen door and strode to the kitchen.

  Sure enough, as he drew closer he could see that smoke had created a light fog in the house. “Just what are you trying to burn now?”

  Laken looked up and glared at him. “I’m not trying to burn anything.”

  “Could have fooled me.”

  “Be useful. Fix this. Again.” She waved toward some charred burger buns on a broiler pan.

  “Uh, do I want to know?” he asked as he walked forward.

  “Sloppy Joes. I can usually handle that, but the broiler is super-hot in this oven and I, uh, didn’t know that.”

  “Yeah….” Cyler drew out the word as he studied the buns that resembled hockey pucks. “That explains the smoke. And the smell. Do you have more?”

  “Yes.” Laken nodded then rummaged through a white plastic sack and pulled out another bag.

  “Perfect. So, not to be an ass, but why don’t you, uh, check on Jack? Or do something…really, anything else.” He smiled, trying to soften his words.

  “Gladly.” She sighed in relief and disappeared out the door. He was just opening the bag of buns when she called to him once more. “And Cyler?” She popped back into the kitchen. “Thanks. I’m really glad you’re here.”

  He watched her face flush with a pink blush before she escaped into the hall. His lips bent into a grin. Maybe, just maybe, he had gotten under her skin as well. He could think of several ways to find out.

  His body responded to the simple thought with a powerful intensity creating a massive exodus of blood flow to his southern regions. With a shake of his head, he tried to focus on the mess of a meal that Laken had attempted. Yet the task at hand wasn’t enough to distract him fully.

  Fine ass? Check.

  Sweet smile? Check.

  Loves horses? Check.

  Cook? Hell no.

  Hates Jack? No.

  Well, three out of five wasn’t exactly a deal-breaker.

  He opened the oven door and peeked in, checking out the progress of the bread. Perfectly golden, he turned off the broiler and used an old towel to pull out the pan. After setting it on the counter, he turned his attention to the simmering cast-iron skillet. He slid a spoon from the drawer nearby, and dipped it in the simmering tomato and beef sauce. Steam swirled as he blew across the spoon then took a tentative taste.

  “Eh.” He squinted, his lips puckering. Damn woman must have put a bottle of vinegar in the mix. Heaven only knew why. He shivered slightly and made quick worked of adding molasses, brown sugar, and ketchup into the mix. Once it tasted better, he started to put together three plates.

  He was whistling when he heard soft footsteps from the hall. Glancing over his shoulder, he watched Laken approach the kitchen, her stocking feet quietly padding along the hardwood floors and her hair pulled up in a messy bun. She appeared more relaxed than before. He turned back to the plates, but he couldn’t shake how much Laken fit. He forced the thought into the back of his mind.

  “Smoke’s clearing.” Laken walked up beside him, her green eyes studying the food.

  “You’re welcome.”

  “Yeah, yeah.” She made a dismissive gesture with her hand.

  He chuckled, lifting two of the plates and walking them over to the kitchen table.

  Laken picked up the last plate and set it beside the others. “I’ll get Jack.”

  “Can’t wait,” Cyler muttered.

  Laken arched a brow.

  “Well, what’s stopping you?” He arched his own brow, baiting her.

  She placed a hand on her hip, and he waited for her to give him a set-down, reminding him that Jack was dying, giving him some guilt trip or holier-than-thou sermon.

  But she didn’t. Rather, she tilted her head slightly, gave a small smile, turned, and left down the hall.

  Damn if that woman didn’t ever do what he expected.

  And damn it all if he didn’t like that about her—a little too much.

  Cyler went to grab a few forks when he heard Jack and Laken approaching.

  “Are we having smoked, er, something?” Jack asked, and Cyler bit back a chuckle at the man’s wary approach to dinner.

  “Uh, no. I don’t know how to use a smoker.” He could hear Laken’s answer as they stepped into the kitchen.

  “Could have fooled me,” Jack whispered to Cyler in passing then walked to the table.

  “Could have fooled us both,” Cyler muttered, but a grin teased his lips.

  Laken huffed. “For your information, Cyler saved the food. Again.”

  “Damn it all, girl. I have to thank the boy twice in one day? You trying to kill me?” Jack grumbled.

  “If only…” Cyler replied, shrugging as he took a seat. He could see Jack’s glare from the corner of his eye.

  “Gah, here we go again.” Laken sighed. “How about them Mariners?”

  Jack gave Laken a glare as well. “Cyler, what did Vince say about Margaret?”

  Cyler swallowed then explained the vet’s instructions. As Jack listened, Cyler studie
d him, really studied. Jack had lost weight. A lot. The man was a solid brick at 210 and only six feet tall. But by the looks of him, Jack had lost at least thirty pounds. His clothes were baggy, and the weathered lines of his face were no longer their usual sunbaked brown, but more of an orange tone that reminded him of the shade one gets from using cheap sunless tanning lotion.

  Jack turned to Laken, and Cyler noticed that his hand was still bandaged from when he’d taken a swing at him. Then Jack lifted his cup to take a swig and started to cough, sloshing water on the table, but that wasn’t what drew Cyler’s attention. It was the spray of blood that covered Jack’s hand as he covered his mouth.

  Cyler’s gaze shot to Laken.

  It was like she was waiting for it to hit him, to really and fully grasp that Jack was dying. Really, truly dying.

  As she met Cyler’s gaze, he saw her nod softly, as if affirming his realization. A moment later, she handed Jack her napkin and left the kitchen. Cyler watched her leave then turned back to Jack, who was still coughing some.

  Laken returned, a small device with a mask attached in hand. She set the machine on the table and quickly handed the mask to Jack. With a nod, he placed the mask on his face and inhaled deeply. A small whizzing noise came from the machine, and Jack sat back, his face relaxing as his breathing grew more regular and the coughing ceased completely.

  “Take it easy now. A few more minutes and you’re good to go, alright?” Laken spoke softly, her tone the perfect mix between compassion and reassurance.

  “It’ll get cold. Eat, you two.” Jack’s voice was muffled from the mask.

  “Only because I’m starving, and I want to eat something that I didn’t make,” Laken joked, and Cyler shook his head.

  She was good at what she did. He had to hand it to her. She didn’t get wound up, and she kept things moving. He didn’t realize how important it was, but it would be really easy, normal, to just sit there with Jack and stare at him while he took his breathing treatment, which would do nothing but make Jack more anxious. Damn it all, he should be staring at him, making the bastard as uncomfortable as possible. Yet, he found himself scooping up a forkful of ground beef and sticking it in his mouth.