“Rawlins.” Estefan lifted a hand then let it drop. “Do you accompany her in case the treatment causes injury to a person?”
“Not happened yet.” He thumbed back the brim of his hat. “I escort my fiancée on all her evening calls outside of town.”
“Smart man.” He’d probably do the same—when that time came in his life.
“Mister del Vado, let your animal come to a stop so I can examine him.” She looped a stethoscope around her neck and waited. “Tell me his name.”
“Tronar. Translated to English, it means thunder.” Within five paces, Estefan shortened his strides then stopped.
Tronar came to a stand, his chest just touching his owner’s back. He blew out a long breath.
Missouri approached, her hands at her sides. “You are a magnificent animal, Tronar.” She ran a hand over the horse’s shoulder. “Such good muscle definition. Part Quarter horse?”
“Spanish Barb, bred with an Andalusian dam three generations back.” No matter his concern, he couldn’t keep pride from infusing his voice as he provided his stallion’s lineage.
“I see your horse is well trained. Will he stand for being massaged and prodded?”
“As long as I’m here.” He reached up and scratched his stallion’s favorite spot, wanting to keep contact while the doctor did her examination.
Ten feet or so away, Savina sat in front of the tack room, with her left foot elevated. She gave a little wave.
That small gesture eased his anxiety, but he returned his focus to watching the doc tend his horse.
Doc Harper positioned the cup of the stethoscope in several places on both sides of Tronar’s stomach and closed her eyes to listen. Then she straightened and glanced at the group who’d formed a semi-circle. “Who first found the horse in distress?”
“That’d be me, Doc.” Hans stepped forward, running the brim of his hat through his fingers. “I heard whinnying and found him pawing at the ground of his stall.”
Estefan winced and scratched under Tronar’s chin.
“Any other symptoms?”
“Raising a hoof to his side.” His blue-eyed gaze shot to del Vado and then returned to the lady doc. “Stopped him from lying down and rolling. That’s when I yelled for McVale and Durham to keep him walking, and I hightailed it to find the boss.”
Hearing about Tronar’s attempt to roll on his back sent a chill through Estefan. Three Rancho del Cielo horses died a couple years ago from eating jimsonweed and getting gut twisted from trying to relieve the belly ache.
“Good. We don’t want to be dealing with torsion.” As she talked, she smoothed a hand over the stallion’s side. “Was this horse ridden this morning?”
Estefan felt a little like a kid facing a school principal, but he knew she was just doing a thorough job. “I had him out in the north paddock for a couple hours.”
Doc Harper looked over the horse’s back. “When you ride out, do you let the horse free graze?”
“Sometimes.” Estefan thought back to his time with the mustangs and turned to look at Savina. “Tronar was with you for a while. Did you notice anything?”
Her body went rigid, and her green eyes widened. “We watched from under an oak. B-both horses g-grazed some, I g-guess.”
Hans dug a hand into his front pocket. “I found these leaves stuck to the underside of the stallion’s blanket.” He handed several long skinny leaves to the veterinarian. Then he hustled into the tack room and exited with a yellow flower in his palm. “I rode out to the paddock and found this yellow toadflax growing at the fence line.”
Doc collected the plant pieces and nodded. “Ah, that’s probably the culprit.”
Frowning, Estefan stepped close to look at the unknown specimen, jamming fisted hands on his hips. “So, this plant made my horse sick? Tell me you have a remedy, Doc, because I can’t lose Tronar.”
~**~
Staring at the flower in Hans’ palm made Savina’s vision blur. Blood pounded in her ears, drowning out anything the doc said. Those yellow flowers that grew in clusters on tall stalks had been near where she’d waited with the horses. Her attention had been fixated on the way Estefan moved among the horses. The process was mesmerizing. Her stomach plunged and knotted. Had her inexperience caused Estefan’s precious horse to become ill? Guilt wracked her, and she eased away from the group. Estefan would want nothing to do with her now.
Fading sunlight radiated in long rays from behind the purplish western mountains. As she crossed the yard toward the ranch house, the air of the gloaming helped cool her flushed cheeks.
Chickens squawked and fly-hopped out of her way. Flapping the hem of her skirt, she herded them into their pen, scooped feed into their trough, and set the latch on the gate.
Maybe she was better off sticking to what she knew. All those people in the barn would need supper. That was one task she could accomplish adequately without endangering anyone. Tears formed, but she lifted her chin and blinked them back. I will not feel sorry for myself.
Returning to the familiar kitchen calmed her jumpy stomach. The pot roast she’d left in the coolest spot on the stove had cooked at least an hour longer than planned. All the liquid was gone. When she stabbed the crispy meat with two forks, it fell apart in shreds. She blew out a long frustrated breath and thought of a way to salvage the dish and make the overcooked meat more palpable.
Hash, it is. Savina set to chopping more potatoes, onions, and carrots, making the pieces small to hasten cooking. Once those sizzled in the cast iron pot, she whipped up a batch of buttermilk biscuits and slid them into the oven. Her foot ached, so she resorted to using the crutch again as she set the table and hauled two chairs in from the office.
Twenty minutes later, the kitchen door opened and people spilled inside, bringing laughter and teasing conversations.
So maybe Tronar is not so sick? As was her habit, she planned to listen to other people until her questions were answered.
“Savina, whatever you’re cooking smells wonderful.” Trent stepped close and squinted at her face. “You all right?”
“B-busy. Now move b-back.” She bent over and removed the golden brown biscuits from the oven and shook them into a waiting bowl. The second tray filled the bowl to overflowing. After tossing a clean towel over the top, she gestured toward the bowl. “C-carry that, p-please.”
Those who lived on the Rolling M knew her routine and stood in line, holding their plates. She dished out ladles of hash as each one passed. The veterinarian and the doctor caught on and moved through the serving line then found places at the crowded table. Savina looked around but didn’t see Estefan. Of course, he’d stay behind in the barn. Quickly, she served a portion, grabbed two biscuits, and put the plate in the stove’s warmer. After filling everyone’s coffee cup, she sat and ate, although worry kept the tastes from fully registering on her tongue.
“So, Doc Harper…” Trent pointed his knife toward the crock of butter in front of McVale. “You think it’s only a case of colic?”
“Don’t say only, Trent.” The redhead squinted in his direction. “If undiagnosed or unattended, horses have died from twisted intestines.”
Savina bit back a gasp and focused on tearing off pieces of her biscuit.
“Those spearmint leaves I fed him will help. And any grain he’ll take will diffuse the effects from the noxious weed he ingested.” Missouri glanced at the cook and held up a biscuit. “These are so fluffy. My compliments.”
Savina forced an answering smile, but her thoughts were with the man absent from the table. “Excuse me. I’m taking a p-plate to the b-barn. Second helpings are in the p-pot.” As she gathered the dinner items, she heard the doctor recommend getting goats to graze away any weeds in the pastures.
“Goats have stomachs like iron. Almost nothing bothers them.”
After collecting the scrapbook from the living room and holding it like a tray, Savina loaded the plate and a pint Mason jar three-quarters filled with coffee on top. Unconve
ntional, but the liquid probably wouldn’t slosh out like it would from a cup. Without her crutch, she had to walk slowly.
Darkness had fallen, but her path to the barn was lit by pale moonlight and a lantern hung near the doorway. She hesitated at the end of the first stall. What if he didn’t want to see her? Taking a deep breath, she rounded the corner and spotted Estefan on the hay bale, holding a cupped hand to Tronar’s nose.
Low melodic words whispered through the air.
His voice was hypnotizing, and she wished she could ask him about what the song meant. But the subject would be Tronar’s health. As was appropriate. She approached and watched the horse for clues on how he felt. His head and neck looked relaxed, and he’d quit stomping his feet.
“Oh, you’re back.” Estefan looked up and nodded. “I wondered where you went.”
“Hungry p-people needed food.” She walked the last few feet and set down the book onto the bale. “And here’s your supper.”
“Isn’t this great? Tronar is eating grain, which the doctor says is a good sign.”
Seeing the horse eat brought back the guilt, and Savina wrapped her arms around her middle. “I-I’m so sorry, Estefan. I should have p-paid c-closer attention in the p-pasture. I should have k-kept him from eating the f-flowers.” The backs of her eyes burned.
“No, Savina. You have nothing to apologize about.” He stood and brushed his hands against his pant legs. “The plant was one I’d never seen before back home.”
“You’re just saying that to make me feel b-better.” Unable to meet his gaze, she turned away. Warm hands on her shoulders guided her to face him.
“I swear I’ve never heard of yellow toadflax before this very night.” He moved his hands to the base of her neck. “I wouldn’t have known to keep Tronar from munching on the flowers.”
A single slide of his thumb up the front of her throat sent tingles along her skin. Learning he didn’t blame her released the tightness in her chest and allowed her to take in a full breath. “Thank you for saying that.” She tilted her head and looked into his dark brown eyes, relishing the intensity of his gaze. “I feel less g-guilty.”
With a gentle stroke, he tucked a strand of hair behind her ear and leaned forward. “Please don’t run away again, mi mariposa. You can talk to me, and I’ll listen.”
The intimacy of the moment swept her into its spell. Her ear heated from where his finger skimmed it. The thumb he rubbed along her jaw enticed her to press against his touch, like a tactile-seeking cat.
Then her world narrowed as Estefan lowered his head and brushed his lips over hers. Once, twice, and on the third time, they lingered, moving as if he tasted their essence. Her heart pounded, and she swayed, grabbing tight to his rough-clothed shirt. To keep herself from begging for another kiss, she pressed her cheek against his chest and let out a sigh.
He enfolded her in his arms and rested his chin on the top of her head.
Unable to resist, she wrapped her arms around his back, inhaling a hint of rosemary.
They stood, entwined, for seconds or minutes, she didn’t know. His warmth seeped into her body, heating clear to her heart. Her softness mashed against his strength.
Tronar snorted and nudged his nose against Estefan’s arm, effectively breaking their embrace.
She giggled and pointed toward his plate. “Eat, although the food is p-probably c-cold.”
Estefan grinned as he flipped the towel to the side. “Doesn’t matter. I’m sure it’s delicious.” He grabbed a biscuit and ripped off a big bite. “Exactly as predicted.”
“May I ask why your shirt smells like rosemary?”
“I toss a few sprigs into my luggage. Moths hate it, and my clothes don’t get little holes.”
Tronar leaned down close to the plate, his lips curling toward the food.
With a laugh, Estefan yanked back the plate. “Maybe you can offer him a handful of oats.”
“Me?” She stilled. Riding the animals was one thing, but hand feeding one? She glanced at the scrapbook and remembered the inspiring posters that had started her on this new career path. Determination replaced her hesitation. “P-point the way, teacher.”
Chapter Six
The raucous crowing of a rooster startled Estefan awake. He jerked, hitting his head against the stall wall. Tight muscles and a crick in his neck wrenched a groan from deep in his throat. As he looked over his stallion for signs indicating his condition, Estefan rolled his shoulders as best he could.
The horse dozed, his left hind leg in a relaxed position.
Estefan breathed out a grateful sigh. A weight on his thigh reminded him Savina kept him company all night and had shared the tasks of tending Tronar. Only when the horse stopped all erratic behavior had they agreed they could sit for a few minutes and close their eyes.
By then, Trent had been out to check on the stallion’s progress.
Estefan pulled him aside and received his consent to having Savina remain in the barn. He glanced down at her tousled brown hair that spread over his trousers and couldn’t resist fingering the silky strands.
During the long night, she showed him the scrapbook and pointed out images of what she planned to do and all the places the traveling exhibition had visited. As she talked of her goals, he appreciated listening to someone with motivation similar to his own. What she wanted was to challenge her abilities the same way he wanted to test his breeding acumen and skills with the horses he’d nurtured. Never had he enjoyed the sharing of hopes and dreams as those wishful words spoken in the darkest hours of the night.
A horse nickered and stamped a foot.
Savina let out a moan and shifted, her left hand pressing on his thigh.
He chuckled. “That’s as soft as my leg gets.”
“What?” She rose on stiffened arms and looked around. “Oh, that’s right. How is Tronar?”
“He appears to be fine, but I want to have a closer look.” He rolled to his right and then shoved to a stand. A walk around the animal showed he had clear eyes, no nasal drainage, no excessive stomach rumblings, and his stools were normal. “A day of rest will make sure he’s gotten the weeds out of his system. Then I can put him to stud.” Rustling behind him indicated she was doing what she could to make herself presentable.
“That is g-good news. Yech, straw is everywhere.”
Laughing, he turned. “You should see what’s in your hair.”
Eyes wide, she clamped her hands on her head. “D-don’t look.”
“Savina, you wouldn’t be much of a horsewoman if you minded a bit of straw.” He crossed his arms over his chest. “No student of mine should be that fussy.”
A smile stretched her mouth. “After all this”—she waved a hand to encompass the barn and them—“You’ll honor your agreement?”
“del Vados are men of honor. You helped me last night so I will return the favor.”
“Thank you.” Savina rushed him and threw her arms around his middle. “Estefan, you won’t be sorry. I’m a fast learner.” Then she tilted up her head and kissed him, dragging her teeth over his lower lip.
By the time they broke apart, Estefan needed to suck in a lungful of air. “Mmm, you certainly have learned to kiss well.”
Each day for the past week, Savina appeared at the barn as soon as the breakfast dishes were cleared. The first day, because the saddle wasn’t ready, Estefan let her use the reins for the buckboard while sitting on Cinnamon’s rump. The intention was for Savina to get used to the jolting of the trot. Within an hour, she’d moved to a kneeling position but maintained her balance.
Once they collected the saddle, her training progressed quickly—almost a new skill a day. A simple squat became a standing position, kneeling changed to balancing on one knee and kicking out with the free leg, and then she combined kicks and little hops into her standing position. After she performed a new trick twice without major imbalances, she shooed him away so she could perfect it.
He walked away from the meadow where
she trained to get to his work with the harness pacers. As he strapped the youngsters into the sulky’s harness, he rolled an inspired idea around his thoughts. The pacers with their naturally smoother gait of lifting the legs on the same side in unison were better suited to the tricks she wanted to accomplish. Not to mention, if Savina showed up at her audition with a pair of trained Appaloosas, she was bound to be hired. In the photographs and clippings in the scrapbook, William Cody was shown an Appaloosa in his show performances. Another article mentioned he owned a closely matched pair to pull his carriage.
What a boon to Estefan’s name in breeding circles if horses from his breeding program were showcased before hundreds of people each week. Tonight, he’d offer Savina the use of two of his three-year-old horses that didn’t meet his racing criteria.
One night, as the group lingered over coffee after supper, Trent held up an envelope. “Received a letter from Dad today.” He pinned a look on Estefan. “He’s asking when to expect the next string of green-broke horses.”
“How I hate that term.” His whole body tensed. “Horses aren’t broken—they’re trained or befriended.” Estefan blew out a breath. That question put into focus a subject that he’d been avoiding. His departure date. When he’d left the ranch, he’d planned on competing in a pacers race in Lexington, Kentucky during the first week of September. Now that he’d met Savina and come to care for her, he debated about the rightness of following through with those plans. “Can we discuss this later in the den?”
Trent frowned but nodded. “Sure.
“Those three year olds I worked in the paddock this afternoon are almost acclimated to the sulky and harness.” Estefan didn’t dare look toward Savina because she’d suspect the sudden change in topic. “Which horses should I choose for the alternate pair?”
“Does the coloring have to match?”
“Not a rule. Just my preference. Helps with the appearance of a real team.”
“Hey. I almost forgot.” Gordon jumped up and dug in his back pocket. “Picked this up in town today.” He unfolded a piece of paper, set it in the middle of the table, and broke into an impromptu jig before sitting again. “Dorrie’s putting on another one of those dances.”
Montana Sky_Hearts In Rhythm Page 6
