“Now he’s your own personal horse?” Rorie asked Clay.
He nodded. “We’ve got an understanding.”
“But it’s only between them,” Skip added. “Hercules doesn’t like anyone else getting close.”
“He doesn’t have anything to worry about as far as I’m concerned,” Rorie was quick to assure both brothers. “I’ll give him as much space as he needs.”
Clay grinned, and once again she felt her heart turn over. This strange affinity with Clay was affirmed in the look he gave her. Unexpected thoughts of Dan Rogers sprang to mind. Dan was a divorced stockbroker she’d been seeing steadily for the past few months. Rorie enjoyed Dan’s company and had recently come to believe she was falling in love with him. Now she knew differently. She couldn’t be this powerfully drawn to Clay Franklin if Dan was anything more than a good friend. One of the reasons Rorie had decided on this vacation was to test her feelings for Dan. Two days out of San Francisco, and she had her answer.
Deliberately Rorie pulled her gaze from Clay, wanting to attribute everything she was experiencing to the clean scent of country air.
Skip’s deep blue eyes sparkled with pride as he started to tell Rorie about Elk Run’s other champion horses. “But you’ll love the King best. He was the five-gaited world champion four years running. Clay put him out to stud four years ago. National Show Horses are commanding top dollar and we’ve produced three of the best. King’s the sire, naturally.”
“Do all the horses I saw in the pasture belong to you?”
“We board several,” Skip answered. “Some of the others are brought here from around the country for Clay to break and train.”
“You break horses?” She couldn’t conceal her sudden alarm. The image of Clay sitting on a wild bronco that bucked and heaved in a furious effort to unseat him did funny things to Rorie’s stomach.
“Breaking horses isn’t exactly the way Hollywood pictures show it,” Clay explained.
Rorie was about to ask him more when Skip planted his elbows on the table and leaned forward. Once again Rorie was assaulted by the overpowering scent of his aftershave. She did her best to smile, but if he remained in that position much longer, her eyes would start watering. Already she could feel a sneeze tickling her nose.
“How old are you, Rorie?” he asked.
The question was so unexpected that she was too surprised to answer immediately. Then she said, “Twenty-four.”
“And you live in San Francisco. Is your family there, too?”
“No. My parents moved to Arizona and my brother’s going to school back east.”
“And you’re not engaged or anything?”
As Rorie shook her head, Clay shot his brother an exasperated look. “Are you interviewing Rorie for the Independent?”
“No. I was just curious.”
“She’s too old for you, little brother.”
“I don’t know about that,” Skip returned fervently. “I’ve always liked my women more mature. Besides, Rorie’s kind of cute.”
“Kind of?”
Skip shrugged. “You know what I mean. She doesn’t act like a city girl…much.”
Rorie’s eyes flew from one brother to the next. They were talking as if she wasn’t even in the room, and that annoyed her—especially since she was the main topic of conversation.
Unaware of her reaction, Skip helped himself to another roll. “Actually, I thought she might be closer to twenty. With some women it’s hard to tell.”
“I’ll take that as a compliment,” Rorie muttered to no one in particular.
“My apologies, Rorie,” Clay said contritely. “We were being rude.”
She took time buttering her biscuit. “Apology accepted.”
“How old do you think I am?” Skip asked her, his eyes wide and hopeful.
It was Rorie’s nature to be kind, and besides, Skip had saved her from an unknown fate. “Twenty,” she answered with barely a pause.
The younger Franklin straightened and sent his brother a smirk. “I was seventeen last week.”
“That surprises me,” Rorie continued, setting aside her butter knife and swallowing a smile. “I could’ve sworn you were much older.”
Looking even more pleased with himself, Skip cleared his throat. “Lots of girls think that.”
“Don’t I remember you telling me you’re helping Luke Rivers tonight?” Clay reminded his brother.
Skip’s face fell. “I guess I did.”
“If Rorie doesn’t mind, I’ll introduce her to King.”
Clay’s offer appeared to surprise Skip, and Rorie studied the boy, a little worried now about causing problems between the two brothers. Nor did she want to disappoint Skip, who had offered first.
“But I thought…” Skip began, then swallowed. “You want to take Rorie?”
Clay’s eyes narrowed, and when he spoke, his voice was cool. “That’s what I just said. Is there a problem?”
“No…of course not.” Skip stuffed half a biscuit in his mouth and shook his head vigorously. After a moment of chewing, he said, “Clay will show you around the stable.” His words were measured and even, but his gaze held his brother’s.
“I heard,” Rorie said gently. She could only speculate on what was going on between them, but obviously something was amiss. There’d been more than a hint of surprise in Skip’s eyes at Clay’s offer. She noticed that the younger Franklin seemed angry. Because his vanity was bruised? Rorie supposed so. “I could wait until tomorrow if you want, Skip,” she suggested.
“No, that’s all right,” he answered, lowering his eyes. “Clay can do it, since that’s what he seems to want.”
When they finished the meal, Rorie cleared the table, but Mary refused to let her help with cleaning up the kitchen.
“You’d just be in the way,” she grumbled, though her eyes weren’t unfriendly. “Besides, I heard the boys were showing you the barn.”
“I’ll do the dishes tomorrow night then.”
Mary murmured a response, then asked brusquely, “How was the apple pie?”
“Absolutely delicious.”
A satisfied smile touched the edges of the woman’s mouth. “Good. I did things a little differently this time, and I was just wondering.”
Clay led Rorie out the back door and across the yard toward the barn. The minute Rorie walked through the enormous double doors she felt she’d entered another world. The wonderful smells of leather and liniments and saddle soap mingled with the fragrance of fresh hay and the pungent odor of the horses themselves. Rorie found it surprisingly pleasant. Flashes of bright color from halters and blankets captured her attention, as did the gleam of steel bits against the far wall.
“King’s over here,” Clay said, guiding her with a firm hand beneath her elbow.
When Clay opened the top of the stall door, the most magnificent creature Rorie had ever seen turned to face them. He was a deep chestnut color, so sleek and powerful it took her breath away. This splendid horse seemed to know he was royalty. He regarded Rorie with a keen eye, as though he expected her to show him the proper respect and curtsy. For a wild moment, Rorie was tempted to do exactly that.
“I brought a young lady for you to impress,” Clay told the stallion.
King took a couple of steps back and pawed the ground.
“He really is something,” Rorie whispered, once she’d found her voice. “Did you raise him from a colt?”
Clay nodded.
Rorie was about to ask him more when they heard frantic whinnying from the other side of the aisle.
Clay looked almost apologetic. “If you haven’t already guessed, that’s Hercules. He doesn’t like being ignored.” He walked to the stall opposite King’s and opened the upper half of the door. Instantly the black stallion stuck his head out and complained about the lack of attention in a loud snort, which brought an involuntary smile to Rorie’s mouth. “I was bringing Rorie over to meet you, too, so don’t get your nose out of joint,” Clay
chastised.
“Hi,” Rorie said, and raised her right hand in a stiff greeting. It amused her that Clay talked to his animals as if he honestly expected them to understand his remarks and join in the conversation. But then who was she to criticise? Only a few hours earlier, she’d been conversing with a cow.
“You don’t need to be frightened of him,” Clay told her when she stood, unmoving, a good distance from the stall. Taking into consideration what Skip had mentioned earlier about the moody stallion, Rorie decided to stay where she was.
Clay ran his hand down the side of Hercules’s neck, and his touch seemed to appease the stallion’s obviously delicate ego.
Looking around her, Rorie was impressed by the size of the barn. “How many stalls are there altogether?”
“Thirty-six regular and four foaling. But this is only a small part of Elk Run.” He led her outside to a large arena and pointed at a building on the opposite side. “My office is over there, if you’d like to see it.”
Rorie nodded, and they crossed to the office. Clay opened the door for her. Inside, the first thing she noticed was the collection of championship ribbons and photographs displayed on the walls. A large trophy case was filled with a variety of awards. When he saw her interest in the computer, Clay explained the system he’d had installed and how it would aid him in the future.
“This looks pretty straightforward,” Rorie told him.
“I’ve been meaning to hire a high-school kid to enter the data for me so I can get started, but I haven’t got around to it yet.”
Rorie sorted through the file folders. There were only a few hours of work and her typing skills were good. “There’s no need to pay anyone. If I’m going to be imposing on your hospitality, the least I can do is enter this into the computer for you.”
“Rorie, that isn’t necessary. I don’t want you to spend your time stuck here in the office doing all that tedious typing.”
“It’ll give me something productive to do instead of fretting over how long it’s taking to get the MG repaired.”
He glanced at her, his expression concerned. “All right, if you insist, but it really isn’t necessary, you know.”
“I do insist.” Rorie clasped her hands behind her back and decided to change the subject. “What’s that?” she asked, gesturing toward a large room off the office. Floor-to-ceiling windows looked out over the arena.
“The observation room.”
“So you can have your own private shows?”
“In a manner of speaking. Would you like to go down there?”
“Oh, yes!”
Inside the arena, Rorie saw that it was much bigger than it had appeared from above. They’d been walking around for several minutes when Clay checked his watch and frowned. “I hate to cut this short, but I’ve got a meeting in town. Normally I wouldn’t leave company.”
“Oh, please,” she said hurriedly, “don’t worry about it. I mean, it’s not as though I was expected or anything. I hardly consider myself company.”
Still Clay seemed regretful. “I’ll walk you back to the house.”
He left in the pickup a couple of minutes later. The place was quiet; Mary had apparently finished in the kitchen and retired to her own quarters, a cottage not far from the main house. Skip, who had returned from helping his friend, was busy talking on the phone. He smiled when he saw Rorie, without interrupting his conversation.
Rorie moved into the living room and idly picked up a magazine, leafing through it. Restless and bored, she read a heated article on the pros and cons of a new medication used for equine worming, although she couldn’t have described what it said.
When Skip was finished on the phone, he suggested they play cribbage. Not until after ten did Rorie realize she was unconsciously waiting for Clay’s return. But she wasn’t quite sure why.
Skip yawned rather pointedly and Rorie took the hint.
“I suppose I should think about heading up to bed,” she said, putting down the deck of playing cards.
“Yeah, it seems to be that time,” he answered, yawning again.
“I didn’t intend to keep you up so late.”
“Oh, that’s no problem. It’s just that we start our days early around here. But you sleep in. We don’t expect you to get up before the sun just because we do.”
By Rorie’s rough calculation, getting up before the sun meant Clay and Skip started their workday between four-thirty and five in the morning.
Skip must have read the look in her eyes, because he chuckled and said, “You get used to it.”
Rorie followed him up the stairs, and they said their good-nights. But even after a warm bath, she couldn’t sleep. Wearing her flower-sprigged cotton pyjamas, she sat on the bed with the light still on and thought about how different everything was from what she’d planned. She was supposed to be in Seattle now, at a cocktail party arranged for the first night of the conference; she’d hoped to talk to several of the authors there. But she’d missed that, and the likelihood of attending even one workshop was dim. Instead she’d made an unscheduled detour onto a stud farm and stumbled upon a handsome rancher.
She grinned. Things could be worse. Much worse.
An hour later, Rorie heard a noise outside, behind the house. Clay must be home. She smiled, oddly pleased that he was back. Yawning, she reached for the lamp on the bedside table and turned it off.
The discordant noise came again.
Rorie frowned. This time, whatever was making the racket didn’t sound the least bit like a pickup truck parking, or anything else she could readily identify. The dog was barking intermittently.
Grabbing her housecoat from the foot of the bed and tucking her feet into fuzzy slippers, Rorie went downstairs to investigate.
As she stood in the kitchen, she could tell that the clamor was coming from the barn. A problem with the horses?
Not knowing what else to do, she scrambled up the stairs and hurried from room to room until she found Skip’s bedroom.
The teenager lay sprawled across his bed, snoring loudly.
“Skip,” she cried, “something’s wrong with the horses!”
He continued to snore.
“Skip,” she cried, louder this time. “Wake up!”
He remained deep in sleep.
“Skip, please, oh, please, wake up!” Rorie pleaded, shaking him so hard he’d probably have bruises in the morning. “I’m from the city. Remember? I don’t know what to do.”
The thumps and bangs coming from the barn were growing fiercer and Blue’s barking more frantic. Perhaps there was a fire. Oh, dear Lord, she prayed, not that. Rorie raced halfway down the stairs, paused and then reversed her direction.
“Skip,” she yelled. “Skip!” Rorie heard the panic in her own voice. “Someone’s got to do something!”
No one else seemed to think so.
Nearly frantic now, Rorie dashed back down the stairs and across the yard. Trembling, she entered the barn. A lone electric light shone from the ceiling, dimly illuminating the area.
Several of the stalls’ upper doors were open and Rorie could sense the horses becoming increasingly restless. Walking on tiptoe, she moved slowly toward the source of the noise, somewhere in the middle of the stable. The horses were curious and their cries brought Rorie’s heart straight to her throat.
“Nice horsey, nice horsey,” she repeated soothingly over and over until she reached the stall those unearthly sounds were coming from.
The upper half of the door was open and Rorie flattened herself against it before daring to peek inside. She saw a speckled gray mare, head thrown back and teeth bared, neighing loudly, ceaselessly. Rorie quickly jerked away and resumed her position against the outside of the door. She didn’t know much about horses, but she knew this one was in dire trouble.
Running out of the stable, Rorie picked up the hem of her robe and sprinted toward the house. She’d find a way to wake Skip or die trying.
She was breathless by the time she
got to the yard. That was when she saw Clay’s battered blue truck.
“Clay,” she screamed, halting in the middle of the moonlit yard. “Oh, Clay.”
He was at her side instantly, his hands roughly gripping her shoulders. “Rorie, what is it?”
She was so glad to see him, she hugged his waist and only just resisted bursting into tears. Her shoulders were heaving and her voice shook uncontrollably. “There’s trouble in the barn….”
Four
Clay ran toward the barn with Rorie right behind him. He paused to flip a switch, flooding the interior with bright light.
The gray mare in the center stall continued to neigh and thrash around. Rorie found it astonishing that the walls had remained intact. The noise of the animal’s pain echoed through the stable, reflected by the rising anxiety of the other horses.
Clay took one look at the mare and released a low groan, then muttered something under his breath.
“What’s wrong?” Rorie cried.
“It seems Star Bright is about to become a mother.”
“But why isn’t she in one of the foaling stalls?”
“Because two different vets palpated her and said she wasn’t in foal.”
“But…”
“She’s already had six foals and her stomach’s so stretched she looks pregnant even when she isn’t.” Clay opened the stall door and entered. Rorie’s hand flew to her heart. Good grief, he could get killed in there!
“What do you want me to do?” she said.
Clay shook his head. “This is no place for you. Get back to the house and stay there.” His brow furrowed, every line a testament to his hard, outdoor life.
“But shouldn’t I be phoning a vet?”
“It’s too late for that.”
“Boiling water—I could get that for you.” She wanted to help; she just had no idea how.
“Boiling water?” he repeated. “What the hell would I need that for?”
“I don’t know,” she confessed with a shrug, “but they always seem to need it in the movies.”
Clay gave an exasperated sigh. “Rorie, please, just go to the house.”