Late afternoon dragged, lengthening shadows out in front of the wagon. William took in the surroundings as they went. Tumbleweed rested against a section of fence, and out here midsummer dust replaced much of the grass. Things were greener up near the corral, where he’d had to restrict his two dozen head while repairs on the fencing were underway. None of that captured his attention, however. His eye was drawn to the open range just beyond his fence line, where a mesmerizing display was underway.
Catapult, the nickname he’d given to the largest wild mustang he’d ever seen, was fighting off a white stallion intent on the band of mares comprising Catapult’s personal harem. The horses reared and crashed, their manes and tails flying while the males battled for the right to mate. Catapult’s shiny chestnut coat rippled with flexing muscle, and he twisted his powerful body to deliver a sharp kick to the other stallion’s flank. In a flash he was back around, half mounting the beast and sinking teeth into the gristle of its neck. The challenge was soon over, and the bested animal retreated back to the fold of bachelor stallions, no closer to answering the call of reproduction but likely a good deal wiser for the effort.
The horses passed his line of sight, and he focused on the ranch up ahead. William had been bequeathed this ranch after Jed’s death, a property that was already half laid to ruin with most of the hired hands let go before the raid. With the main house and inferior cattle fencing about the only things still intact, getting things in order was no easy matter. He’d heard more than one cowboy accuse him of being all hat and no cattle for worrying about fencing at a time like this. Let ’em shoot bull. The last thing William wanted was his few remaining cattle injured and picked off. So he’d single-handedly replaced the fence with new, shorter-barbed devil’s rope, a task he was grateful to call complete. Now he could get back and see to a couple other tasks before the sun drew a curtain on the day. He wanted to check on Windstorm’s leg and on his other mare, Misty, as well. The latter was ready to foal any time now, thanks to Raven not long after he’d been acquired from the range.
As if the thought of a tornado brought the storm, William saw dust rising near the corral. The hooves of his hired hand’s mount were in a hurry. William sped his wagon up to meet Jack Stone, who reined his horse up beside him.
“Is it Misty?” William asked.
“Definitely time,” Jack said, but the look in his fiery brown eyes soured in William’s stomach.
“At least we have daylight to our advantage. So what’s that look for?”
Jack pulled his hat off to wipe sweat off a dirty brow that his dark hair was plastered to before spitting in the dirt. “Somethin’s not right. She’s been at it too long, fer one thing.”
“How long?”
“Sac’s been pokin’ out near an hour, not gettin’ much farther.”
William swore. “You should have gotten me sooner.”
Jack shrugged powerful shoulders. “Mares don’t tend to appreciate company for foalin’, especially ones that weren’t hand raised from birth.”
“I wager they don’t appreciate dyin’ in foal, neither,” Will said. “Let’s go.”
“Heard tell of a new hoss doc nearby,” Jack added as they started off. “Want I should fetch him?”
William eyed the man and then nodded. “Wouldn’t hurt none. I trust your instincts.”
Jack was off in a flash, and William pressed on to the ranch. Once he was back at the stable and had unhitched the wagon, he wasted no time hustling to the stall where his red mare was pacing and grunting softly. Sure enough, a sac bulged from beneath her tail. Within the membrane he could see what appeared to be a front fetlock, normal for a foaling. But the time Jack said this was taking was not.
“There, girl,” he crooned, clucking to her softly.
Far from reassuring her, she let out an agitated whinny and swiveled around to face him.
“It’s okay, Mist,” he said. “You’re okay. It’s just me.”
He made no move to enter the stall, but held his hand over the gate for her and waited. She stepped forward as if she wanted to push her snout into his palm, then tossed her head and circled around, looking back toward her flank. She flopped down on the straw with her rear visible to him. She straightened her legs and pushed, and he saw the sac begin to elongate. Perhaps things were going well after all. One hoof, then two became evident through the sac. She strained harder, and a third foot poked out. Then all three retreated a bit.
William frowned. Three hooves and no snout was not a normal presentation for a foal, which might well be why the mare was having such a rough time. He watched for a while as Misty rolled back and forth, then got up to pace her stall before dropping again. Her coat glistened with a sheen of sweat that was quickly coated with bits of straw when she turned over again.
She wouldn’t like it one bit, but someone was going to have to intervene. Probably one of the legs was bent wrong, and delaying the birth could cost him both the mother and foal.
He was rolling up his sleeves when he heard the scuffling of approaching boot steps. William turned and frowned at the stranger beside his hired hand.
“Who’s this?” William asked.
“Doc Marsh,” Jack said. “The one I told you about.”
“Not Doc Marsh, really,” the woman said. “I got training, but I’m not a licensed vet.”
“I’d be plum shocked to hear otherwise,” William said, walking closer. “I didn’t think they let women into animal college.”
The bluest eyes he’d ever seen flashed with a dangerous fire. “Oh bosh,” she said, hands settling on nicely rounded hips. “They’d have let me in, don’t you doubt that. I just got myself into a bit of a spot on the way to formal education.”
Not-doc Marsh was quite the looker, and he saw Jack’s eyes taking in her attributes appreciatively as well. Her delicate features seemed a stark contrast to a fiery tongue. She wore her shiny coffee-brown hair pulled back into a plaited bun that might have been prim and neat that morning, but now was dotted with runaway strands. Several curled attractively around her determined cobalt blue eyes, curls he had a sudden urge to tuck back. She wore a pleated riding blouse that fitted round, yet slim curves, and a tan split skirt a few of the bolder women up in the city were wearing these days. William didn’t care for them much. The splits were more like men’s trousers than ladies’ proper attire, and he much preferred a woman’s skirts being open to the imagination underneath. Then again, these garments were made for practicality, not sexual appeal.
“Thank you for comin’ so quick, Miss Marsh,” he said.
“Hardly had a choice, what with Mr. Stone ridin’ like wildfire.” She pushed past him and peered into the stall. “She’s well along in the labor, all right.”
“Foal’s not settin’ right.”
The woman frowned. “So I see.” She turned to Jack, who had wandered up behind them. “I could use some towels and coffee.”
Jack’s gaze flicked in question to the snorting mare, then back to the woman. “Coffee, ma’am?”
She smiled. “Not for the dam. I was at the Wilson’s all night with sick cattle. ’Fraid I haven’t had much sleep.”
He tipped his hat. “Right.”
William watched the man depart with a smirk on his face. The man sure seemed eager to do the bidding of a woman doc. Then again, he’d heard the man’s erotic moaning late the previous night as he rubbed out some relief in his room across the hall. Sleep hadn’t come easy for any of them. No doubt they could all use a coffee boost.
He turned back to her, and his smile gave way to wide-mouthed shock. “What on the ball of mud are you doin’?”
The woman had unfastened her skirt and wiggled it halfway down her thighs. “Relax, Mr. Tyler. I am wearing garments beneath this.”
And so she was. A man’s denim trousers hugged every curve of her legs like a second skin. His heart restarted and then pounded hard enough to set his blood on fire.
“Miss Marsh, I don’t think you sho
uld be doin’ that.”
“Don’t get all in a dither,” she said. “I have no intention of getting my good riding skirt filthy while helping your mare foal her young.”
A dither? On the contrary. He was far past dither and fast approaching full-on lust. He swallowed and tried to will the already rising cock in his jeans from making itself too obvious. Bold little filly, wasn’t she? Still, there was naive innocence about her actions. He had little doubt that if she knew what he or Jack were really thinking about her, she would tug that skirt back on and make like blazes for home. Oh, the fun the two of them could have taming this wild one.
He frowned at the strange thought. He and Jack, both pleasuring the same female? Since when had the idea of sharing a bed like that ever occurred to him?
She shrugged out of the skirt and tossed it over one arm, then began unbuttoning her shirtsleeves and rolling the white fabric back to reveal tanned, yet creamy smooth skin. He took off his Stetson and wiped sweat from his brow.
When she glanced up at him, her laugh brought a new wave of heat to his face. “The way your eyes are goggling makes it look like I’d just flashed you my ankles.”
She tossed her skirt on a hay bale and approached the stall, still rolling her sleeves. Without hesitation she lifted the latch and opened the gate. William snapped out of his shock to intervene. “Misty’s fairly tame,” he said, “but you should know she was born and raised in the wild. I got her from a mustang herd and gentled her myself.”
The doc turned and cocked her head at him. “Not many men do that sort of thing around here.” She gave a slight sneer. “Most cowboys are shooting mustangs since the law passed.”
He shrugged. “Folks say the wild herds take too much land and food. But I figure killin’ ’em’s a waste.”
She stared at him for another moment, but Misty’s increasing grunts drew her attention back. Without apparent concern for his warning she entered the stall, cooing in soothing tones to the animal. William found himself drawn to the sound of her voice and wasn’t surprised when Misty seemed to calm to the woman’s presence as well. Miss Marsh crouched down by the mare’s backside, though wisely away from the horse’s legs in case Misty got a mind to kick out. She stroked a gentle hand over the animal’s body, still uttering calm words.
“I really could use those towels,” she said, then reached down to feel where foal’s feet were again trying to emerge.
“I’ll see what’s keepin’ Jack.”
He headed off to do just that, but turned back when he heard the odd words she whispered to the mare.
“Qat ung?” she asked. “Xhatlewha do niwho:n?”
William stiffened. “What did you just say?”
She spun around with a gasp. “Nothing. I thought you’d gone.”
He walked closer and gripped the stall gate. “Dixwe:di ante:n?”
Blue eyes flew wide. “You speak the language of the dining’xine:wh?”
He nodded. “I’ve spent some time around the Hupa.”
“Hupa gave me some of my animal training.”
“Same here. Like you said, not many cowboys tame wild mustangs in these parts.” Her smile in response caused a new twitch behind the fly of his trousers. “And I’ll lay you high stakes none of ’em use my method.”
She backed out of the way when the horse stood up again. “Well, that’s quite a coincidence.” She came over to the edge of the stall, keeping an eye on Misty while the mare paced and circled. “How did you fall in with Indian company, if I might ask?”
He smiled back. “I saw a small group of braves working a mustang herd near my land. They gentled a pair of stallions enough in a couple hours to ride ’em off bareback. I’d never seen nothin’ like it.” He shrugged and hung the hat in his hand on a hook near the stall door. “Figured I could use a skill like that, so I approached ’em next time I spotted ’em near the herd.”
“You weren’t afraid of having an Injun add a red handprint to one of their new horses?”
William knew by the teasing glint in her eyes that she was toying with him. A red handprint painted on a native’s horse meant the warrior had killed a man in hand-to-hand combat.
“I had little to lose at that point. The ranch was pretty much up the spout when I got it. Thought if I could barter with the Hupa for knowledge on fast horse tamin’, I could turn things around here.”
Misty threw her body down again. “And did you?” the doc asked. “Turn things around.”
He looked around. “I’m still here. And finally startin’ to rebuild the cattle herd.” He watched the swell of the woman’s ripe buttocks sway back and forth while she returned to kneel by the mare. Maybe pants on women weren’t such a bad deal after all. Damn, was she ever fine.
“What about you?” he added. “How did you find the Hupa?”
“They found me. Four years ago, I was headed to Chicago to petition for entry into the veterinary college. My stage was robbed on my way to the train station.” She frowned as the foal’s feet protruded more, then retreated back again in response to Misty’s efforts. Miss Marsh took hold of the front feet with both hands, but left her grip slack.
“Sorry to hear that,” he said. “Were you hurt?”
“I fared better than the rest. I was the sole survivor, something the bandits didn’t realize when they rode off and left me for dead. A band of Hupa came by and took me in, saw to my care until I was well again.”
“And you stayed on to learn from them.”
She shook her head with a small laugh. “No, I left at the first opportunity. I spent the next two years up in Redding, studying animal medicine with a veterinarian. Unfortunately, I found it necessary to leave in a hurry before I was finished. On my way back, I decided to return to the Hupa and ask them to fill in some gaps in my training. Stayed for close to two years, then came back here.”
“You had to leave Redding in a hurry, but had time to live with the tribe that long?”
She shot him a glance. “I left because the vet got some unsavory ideas as to what I should be offering in return for my schooling.”
Before he could answer, she bent back over her work. She tugged firmly on the foal’s front legs while Misty bore down. They watched while a third leg again protruded behind the others. After a moment, the woman released her grip and cocked her head. “Huh.” She stuck her hand in the mare and prodded around, then turned to William with a pale expression. “Afraid we got a big problem.”
“That’s why we called you here, ma’am.”
“This isn’t just a bad presentation, Mr. Tyler. Misty got herself with twins.”
“Twins?” Jack said from behind him. The man carried towels, a coffee urn, and a pair of metal mugs—and had found time to wash his face and run a comb through his normally unruly tangle of mink brown hair. “That’s the devil’s luck, Will. Sorry.”
William shook his head and turned back to her. “Are you certain?”
“I’d bet my dinner there’s two foals here in a race to be the first one out.”
The news set William’s teeth on edge. Twins not only meant the foals would not likely survive, but Misty was in trouble as well.
“Can you save the mare?” Jack said. “Been a right lot of work, gettin’ her hand-tamed and all.”
“Let’s not dig a hole for the young ’uns just yet,” Kate said. “I just want you to be prepared.” She glanced up at the men with a determined expression. “I could use another pair of hands.”
Jack moved forward, but William held a hand out. “I’ll do it. You get Raven and the wagon put up.”
His eyes flashed, but he nodded. “Already done. I suppose Raven could use a good rubdown.”
“Fine. Do it and then stick around, I guess. We might need you.”
William rolled up his shirtsleeves and got in the stall. He knelt beside Miss Marsh, and despite his worry for the mare, he felt a keen sense of the woman’s nearness. An almost palpable heat radiated back and forth between them.
> “Here,” she said. “Take hold of the front legs. When I tell you to, pull firmly, but even on both.”
He nodded and waited. Kate leaned over and grasped what was apparently a second foal’s front leg. After a minute she grunted. “Now.”
He pulled while she gingerly pushed the other leg back in. Miss Marsh soothed the horse with her velvet voice. Misty snorted and strained, but didn’t get up again. The legs in his hands—still encased in a whitish sac—came forward a good six inches this time.
“Good. We’ve got a snout,” she said, and he could see the nose of a foal protruding between its front legs. “Just let me get in on your other side.”
Her body brushed his back as she came around, and he felt his skin prickle. Once on his left, she leaned over in front of him and he caught the honeyed citrus scent of her hair. His stomach tightened.
“One or two more good pushes and we’ll hopefully have this one out,” she said. He could only nod, torn between his concern for proceedings and the intimate proximity of the woman beside him.
Misty stiffened again. “Pull,” Kate told him, and he complied. For her part, the animal doc thrust a hand inside the mare, stretching the birth opening while pressing back the other foal. The body of the foal in his hands surged out over the straw and onto both of their thighs.
“Towels,” she said. William had already slipped out from under the animal and gotten on his feet.
“We got one, Jack,” he shouted toward the front stall, where his hired man was rubbing down Raven.
“Stillborn?” he called back.
William grabbed the towels tossed on a hay bale and started back. “Not sure.”
“Live as can be,” she corrected. She hooked a finger inside the birth sac and carefully stripped it from the foal’s head. The animal was slick black just like its sire, and was sticking its snout around in the straw.
Kate took a towel from William and rubbed the foal, which Misty had taken no interest in yet. The mare lay on her side, resting.
“The pains will stop a spell now,” the woman said while she dried the babe half in her lap. “Hopefully not for long. She has to push the other one out before it drowns. Breeches sometimes start breathing in the sac.”
To Tame a Wild Mustang Page 2
