High Meadow, page 2
Jonas
* * *
“Easy, boy.”
Doc Evans finishes wrapping the foreleg of the sedated stallion. It was the only way Doc could get close to his leg.
The high-strung quarter horse is my most prized stud, and as soon as I know he’ll be okay, I’m going to have a talk with the idiot who let him escape and fire his ass.
The good news is that Phantom’s leg is badly sprained but not broken, yet he also sustained a deep gash that needed to be cleaned and stitched.
“It’ll need to be cleaned daily. I suggest you give him plenty of stall rest and light walking exercise a few times a day.” Doc comes out of the stall and closes the door before he turns to me.
“He’s got a busy stud schedule coming up,” I note, thinking about the appointments lined up for next month.
“He’s gonna need some time to heal. Let’s see how he recovers in the next couple of weeks. We can reassess then,” he adds regretfully.
Shit. Hope it doesn’t come to that.
Phantom stands at a decent fee. Last year the seven-year-old bred sixty-two mares. That goes a long way to keep the ranch going. Of course we breed our own mares as well, and the offspring makes a decent penny at auction, which helps. I’m hoping next year Blitz will be settled enough to go on the stud roster, but until then we’re dependent on Phantom for the bulk of our income.
“I’m gonna leave you a five-day course of antibiotics he’ll need to finish,” Doc says, packing up his bag. “Clean those dressings daily, and I’ll be back in a few days to see how he’s doing.”
We walk out of the barn and he points at Missy, my paint mare, who is due in a month or two, lazing in the smaller paddock.
“She’s looking good. You have her on enriched food, right?”
“Started two weeks ago.”
“Good. When I come back to look at Phantom, I’ll quickly check her as well.”
“Sounds good, Doc. Thanks for coming out.”
“Not a problem. Esther Grimshaw from up the road saw him and left me a message so I was already on my way over when you called.”
“Still, I appreciate it.”
The older man tips his hat and climbs into his rusty 1970 Ford F-100. He calls it a classic, but if you ask me, it’s a miracle the thing still runs. He won’t consider an upgrade though, stubborn old coot.
I watch him drive off, slap my leg for Max—my Bernese mountain dog—to follow, and make my way over to the hay barn. Sully, my foreman, was supposed to sit on Dan, the moron who was working on the fence at the north pasture. Phantom’s pasture. The kid’s only saving grace is he beelined it straight back to the ranch when Phantom slipped past him. I know my horse; he’s skittish around people and would never have come close had Dan been right there. I’m guessing he was either taking a piss with the fence not secured, or he was playing with his damn phone, which he does every chance he has. Luckily, the trailer had still been on the back of my truck and I hauled right out of here to look for the horse.
The kid is mucking stables when I walk in and peers up with a guilty look on his face.
“Do you like working here?” I ask him.
A sound draws my attention and I catch Sully leaning a shoulder against the doorway to the tack room.
“Yeah,” Dan mumbles, ducking his head.
“Hmm,” I grunt. “You’re gonna have to do better to convince me. See, that horse you let escape pays for your wages. He coulda been killed. What do you think woulda happened?”
“I’da lost my job?” He glances up.
I bark out a bitter laugh. “Fucking right you would have. Who’s to say you won’t anyway? You better hope and pray Phantom heals up good in the next three weeks or I may not have a choice but to send you packing.”
“I’ll do anything to keep my job.”
I hold his eyes for a moment when I recognize desperation in his voice.
“Yeah, you will. You’ll be the one walking Phantom around the ring at least twice a day. Once in the morning before your regular shift, and once more when your shift is over.”
“He hates me.”
“Fuck, son, then you better make sure you win him over, because your future at High Meadow depends on it.”
“Yes, sir,” he concedes meekly.
Christ, he’s young. Nineteen, maybe twenty, his body may be strong like a man’s but his face looks like a teenager’s.
“And every day you are to hand your phone in to Sully here. He’ll hold onto it until you’re ready to go home.”
Shock steals over his features.
“But…”
“You want this job? Then that’s a condition. Can’t have you around my horses when you’re distracted playing games or chatting up girls,” I state firmly, but a moment later my conviction wavers when he mumbles something. “What was that?”
“It’s my mom. Not games or girls.”
“You’re on the phone half the day with your mom?”
Some disbelief may have filtered through in my tone, because the next minute his earlier drooping shoulders snap straight and anger fills his eyes as he juts out his chin.
“Yes, I am. She’s sick. She ain’t got no one else.”
Well, shit. The kid is fighting tears, making me feel like I’ve kicked a puppy.
Part of me wants to ask what is wrong with her, but Dan isn’t volunteering more and I don’t want to pry. Still, I’m gonna have to come up with a solution.
“Like I said, Sully’s gonna hold your phone so you don’t get distracted, but you’ll have it back during lunch break. Also, you’re gonna give your momma the house number so she can get hold of Ama in case of an emergency.”
And I’m going to have a talk with Ama to find out a bit more about Dan’s situation as soon as I’m done here, but I keep that to myself.
“Yes, sir,” he mumbles.
I nod at him and share a meaningful look with Sully before I turn on my heel and head for the house, Max following at my feet. I glance over at the corral where the stallion is still tied up.
“And get Phantom into a stall!” I yell over my shoulder.
“Yes, sir!” comes back firmly.
I’m tempted to stay and make sure the kid can handle it, but I trust Sully to keep an eye on things.
Getting Phantom into the trailer had been a challenge, even for me. His full body had been shaking, and he couldn’t put weight on that leg. God, I was worried he’d be done for.
Needless to say, by the time that woman from the new rescue place showed up, I wasn’t exactly in a good mood; I may have been a bit curt.
Pity, from what I could tell, under the baggy flannel shirt and that ball cap, she was mighty pretty.
Alex
* * *
“How about Buttercup?”
“How about no?” I fire back at Lucy, who is trying to keep the heeler from escaping the big galvanized-steel trough we’re trying to bathe him in.
Both dogs were filthy when we found them, but we wanted to wait until they were a bit settled in before subjecting them to the trauma of a bath.
We’ve been trying to come up with names, but Lucy keeps going for the cheesy ones.
“Buttercup sounds like the name of a cow,” I add.
“Well, then you come up with something,” Lucy snips as she wrestles the dog, while I try to pluck another tick out of his fur.
The shepherd is cowering on the porch, keeping a close watch on what is being done to his buddy. We’re going to have a hell of a time getting that one in the tub.
“How about Hope for the mare? We can name the shepherd Chief—he seems to be in charge—and we can call this one Scout?” I suggest, glancing at Lucy.
“I guess I can live with that,” she grumbles and I grin at her.
Lucy is like a pineapple: a prickly, hard exterior to protect the soft and sweet on the inside. It put me off at first, until I saw how she was with the animals. She doesn’t hold back with them, not even a little. Over time she’s become a good friend. My best friend, probably. We get each other, share a passion, work shoulder to shoulder, share the same ideals, and it wasn’t really a surprise she was already packing to come to Montana before I had a chance to bring up the possibility.
Sharing the large rambling farmhouse these past four months—she had her own place in Billings—has been an unexpected pleasure. I had no idea Lucy could cook like a freaking gourmet chef, and we even have the same taste in Netflix shows. In the mornings neither of us is particularly approachable—especially pre-caffeine—so we tend not to get in each other’s way.
All in all, it’s a pretty sweet setup. At least for now.
I fully expect some handsome cowboy to notice the treasure behind the barbed wire Lucy is wrapped in and snatch her up. All that blonde hair, those feminine curves, and that pretty face draw enough attention. I, on the other hand, look more like an aging tomboy. The once dark red hair now is streaked with silver, more freckles dot my skin, and even age hasn’t added any curves. Still no hips, no chest to speak of, or that hourglass figure I used to dream of. Not that I care anymore, though, I’ve already known the love of a good man who thought I was perfect just the way I am.
I hope Lucy finds someone who feels that way about her, but in the meantime I’m happy for her company. It’s been nice having someone around the house again, especially since Jackson left to join the army two years ago.
Thinking of my boy is like a punch to the chest. I’m in equal measure proud as hell and terrified beyond belief. I remember when he told me, after his second year of college, he’d changed his mind and decided to follow in his father’s footsteps. Bruce was killed by a roadside bomb in Afghanistan when Jackson was only eleven, but now that little boy is grown and serving his country in Iraq.
I shake to clear my head. If I think on this too long the fear becomes crippling.
“I think his pads are starting to prune,” I comment. “Why don’t you get Scout out and I’ll go grab Chief.”
When we’re done both dogs are clean, but Lucy and I both need a shower and a change of clothes.
This time when I walk inside, I hold the screen door open so the dogs can follow me in. They hesitate briefly before stepping over the threshold, but once inside move more quickly, their respective noses inhaling every scent they can catch.
By the time I get downstairs, Lucy is already outside heading for the barn, both dogs by her side. We have the stalls to muck today and there’s a fence on the south field that needs a few new boards. I grab my bottle and fill it with cold, filtered water from the fridge, when the phone on the counter rings.
“Hart’s Rescue.”
“Alex? It’s Doc Evans.”
“Hey, Doc, how are you?”
“Good, good. How are your new guests doing? Any problems?”
This is part of what I love about living out here. Find me a vet in the big city who’ll call to see how his patients are doing? I certainly never encountered one.
“They’re coming along. No longer looking quite so gaunt. Lucy is working with the mare daily and the dogs seem to be adjusting well. We actually just brought them in the house for a bit.”
We kept the dogs in the old chicken coop at night the past week, mostly because they were clearly used to being outside. Now they’ve attached to us, I’d like to see how they do being indoor dogs. Overnight anyway.
“Great. Listen, I have another reason for calling. One of my ranchers has an injured horse. He was spirited already, but since getting hurt he’s almost impossible to approach. Dressings need changing daily, which is becoming a bit of a problem. Any chance you could go have a look? See what you can do with the animal?”
A little bubble of excitement forms in my stomach. This is the kind of stuff I live for but I haven’t been given much of an opportunity to do since moving here. Behavioral adjustments were our bread and butter in Billings, and I’m hoping to build up that same reputation here.
“Absolutely,” I respond, trying not to sound too eager. “Where do I go?”
The easiest would be to bring the horse here, where it’s easier to look after and work with him but without first earning their trust, there isn’t a rancher who’d let me take their animal.
“High Meadow. It’s only about ten minutes south of you.”
That’s not bad at all. I could head out there this afternoon, after we tackle the barn and that stretch of fence. Should only take us a couple of hours.
“I can be there…” I glance at the kitchen clock. “Between three and four?”
“I’ll get them to give you a call to sort that out.”
I’m grinning wide when I head outside. I can’t wait to tell Lucy we may have landed our first paying gig.
Three
Alex
* * *
Oh, hell no.
I almost do an about-face when I see who is leaning casually against fence around the horse corral, a smug grin on that annoyingly handsome face.
That arrogant bastard on the side of the road last week.
“Well, I’ll be damned. To what do I owe the pleasure?”
His voice, rich with a lazy Southern drawl, is as attractive as the man himself and thus grates on my nerves.
Guess now I know who owns High Meadow Ranch. When the woman called twenty minutes after I hung up with Doc Evans, she mentioned someone named Jonas. I had no idea she was referring to J. Harvey, the name given to me by the officer. She also indicated this morning would be better for me to drop in, which worked out well for me since the fence took us longer than anticipated.
What a shitty bit of luck it’s the same guy. Still, I can’t let that incident get in the way of this opportunity, so I straighten my shoulders and lift my chin. I can do this. Hell, I’ve always had an affinity with animals, especially with horses—something Doc Evans has been able to see firsthand—and combined with my training as a veterinary assistant, it comes in handy. All I need to do is show this guy what I can do.
The woman who called didn’t give me many details, but assured me that the horse’s owner would fill me in.
“You’re Jonas Harvey? Doc Evans called the rescue center, said you needed help with a horse.”
“I am, and I do.” I bristle when he scrutinizes me from the tips of my boots to the ball cap covering my hair as I walk up to him. “You’re Alex?”
“The one and only.”
“Well, shit, I thought—”
“Short for Alexandra,” I interrupt him.
I don’t tell him a lot of folks think they’re dealing with a man when my name is mentioned. I like it that way. Archaic as it may seem, some of these ranchers would sooner deal with a guy than a woman, so I use the confusion to my advantage. All I need is an opportunity to show them what I can do and by then they hopefully won’t care what gender I am.
“Ahh.” He grins and lifts his hat, running a hand over the bald head hiding underneath. A very nice bald head that suits the lined face and silver scruff. If I had to venture a guess, I’d say he’s late forties, not that much older than I am. “I have to apologize then, I automatically assumed—”
“A man,” I finish for him. “Yes, I get that a lot, but there is no man. I’m sorry to disappoint.”
“I’m far from disappointed,” he assures me with a smile.
Oh, he’s a charmer, this one, and I can’t say I’m unaffected. From the way his eyes crinkle, it’s clear smiling is something he does a lot. Hmmm. Seems a far cry from the asshole who blew me off. Maybe I caught him on a really bad day last week, but he almost doesn’t look like the same man.
I catch myself staring and quickly avert my eyes over his shoulder, where a pregnant paint leans her head over the fence of a small paddock.
“Is she your problem horse?” I tilt my head in her direction.
“Missy? God no, she’s a sweetheart. A little slow now, with only a month or so to go, but her disposition never changes.”
The gentleness in his voice as he talks about the mare does more to break down my defenses than his charming smile does. Actually, that’s probably a lie; both seem to be effective, but I can’t forget the growling bear from before. I don’t know this man and would do well not to get distracted. I’ve got a job to do.
I walk up to the fence and reach out my hand. The mare lifts her head, sniffs my hand, and moves her lips restlessly over my skin, probably looking for some treat.
“I don’t have anything for you, honey,” I mumble before turning to Jonas. “She’s beautiful.”
“She is, isn’t she?” he says with fatherly pride. “But she isn’t the problem. It’s her foal’s sire, Phantom. He’s in his stall.” He points at a large stable. “I’ll show you.”
I’m very much aware of the man beside me as we walk through the large doors of the gorgeous green barn. This whole place is amazing, with well-tended grounds and nicely kept buildings. Aside from this barn there is a second, smaller one on the other side of the exercise ring, and I noticed a nice house sitting on a hill overlooking the property when I drove in.
“This is Phantom,” he says, indicating the stall farthest back in the barn.
I peek over the half-door to find a beautiful quarter horse huddled in a far corner. His nostrils are flared, and his eyes are wild and restless. A tremble seems to ripple over his dark buckskin hide. A stunning animal.
Then he stomps his hoof in the straw and I notice the wrap around his foreleg.
I glance at Jonas, who looks amused at my shocked expression. I’d been so sure the horse was going to be euthanized.
“Is that the horse injured out on the road?”
“One and the same.” He slightly tilts his head. “You thought I’d put him down.”
I’m slightly embarrassed having jumped to conclusions, but more so that he could read me so easily.
“I did,” I admit, but then add a bit defensively. “But you have to admit that’s what most ranchers would do.”
“Not me,” he counters. “And not when the horse in question is a working stud.”
