“Luke, I’m here. I’ll help you back to bed.”
“Why’d you leave me so long? I’m so cold I’m shuddering.”
Even though Mandy believed that Luke could find his way back to bed alone and that his tears were of the crocodile variety, he truly was shivering. Guilt settled over her like thick fog. She strained to help him gain his feet. And then, together, they went to his room. As Mandy helped him into bed, she accepted on some level that they would probably live like this for the rest of their lives, Luke deliberately helpless, she his faithful caregiver, bound to him by chains that were no less real for being invisible.
At seven a.m., Zach was still slumped on a kitchen chair, staring with reddened, aching eyes at his horse. She’d stirred during the night, mostly to move her legs a bit before going back to sleep. Now she tapped her hooves, not energetically, but with listless sidesteps. She looked expectantly at him. This morning, he said to hell with the stairs and picked her up to carry her outside. She dumped a huge load, the size of which amazed even Zach, who was accustomed to big horse droppings.
He scooped a measure of the dung into a bag. Tucker would want to know how much sand settled in the bucket. Zach didn’t relish the thought of stirring manure water, but a guy had to do what a guy had to do.
Cookie called at seven thirty on Zach’s cell. “Well, son, how’s our little girl doin’?”
“I think she’s a bit better,” Zach replied. “Not kicking at her belly or staring at her flanks. But she still isn’t back to normal. I’m taking the day off to keep an eye on her.”
Cookie huffed into the phone. “Well, friggin’ hell! If you think she might still go down, maybe you should call Tucker and take her to the clinic. We don’t want to lose that pretty little lady. She’s a sweetheart.”
Zach passed a hand over his eyes. “I’ll ask Tucker what he thinks.”
“Keep me posted,” Cookie said gruffly. “If you need help, just holler.”
“Thanks, Cookie. I appreciate the offer.”
Zach disconnected and settled a bewildered gaze on Rosebud as she proceeded to drain what remained in her water bucket. More strawberry Gatorade, coming up. After refilling her pail, he gave her a dose of Banamine and fed a tube into her nostril to administer more psyllium mixed with water. As he worked, he envisioned sand flooded with enough water to break it apart and prayed Tucker’s remedies would work.
By noon, Rosebud’s appetite was picking up. When Tucker called to check in, Zach couldn’t keep a note of exhilaration out of his voice. “I think she’s better, drinking tons of water and passing sand. The psyllium seems to be moving it out of there.”
“Good, good. What’s her temp?”
“Normal,” Zach replied. “Her heart rate is still a little fast, but nothing alarming now, and her gums look better.”
“Belly?”
“It feels softer to me. She’s not tensed up from the pain like she was.”
Tucker laughed. “Congratulations. You’re going to pull her out of it.”
“I hope so.” Zach’s sincerity alarmed him. He’d come to love the horse far more than was wise. When training ended, she would become someone’s service animal, and Zach would never see her again. “I’ll keep a close eye on her.”
“Good man.” The sound of a honking horn came over the airwaves, and Tucker mumbled expletives under his breath. “People are driving like maniacs.”
“Full moon. You out making farm calls?”
“I am. You can reach me on my cell if anything goes wrong.”
After the call, Zach carried Rosebud outdoors. Winter sunlight pooled like melted butter on the frosted grass, and the breeze carried scents of pine and hay to Zach’s nostrils. Walking beside the mini, he drew in deep breaths, savoring each smell, which had become part of the fabric of his life. He couldn’t imagine living where exhaust fumes overrode nature’s fragrances. Even the odor of horse dung appealed to him.
Rosebud’s movement was firm, but Zach still collected it for analysis, hoping he’d find more sand. An hour later, he’d just drained off the water and was grinning over the substantial amount of grit he’d found in the bottom of the bucket when his landline phone rang. He grabbed the portable, hit the talk button, and said, “The Crooked H, Zach Harrigan speaking.” His main line was essentially for business, the number listed in the phone book for the public. Only family, friends, and business associates with whom he was already interacting had his cell phone number. “How can I help you?”
“Hi, Mr. Harrigan,” a woman said. “This is Miranda Pajeck, the lady with the fake car trouble last night.”
Zach had already recognized her soft, lilting voice. Pajeck? Somehow that rang a bell, connected with something vaguely unpleasant, but he couldn’t think why. When he’d heard her surname last night, it had gone in one ear and out the other.
“I waited to call as long as I could stand it. How’s Rosebud doing today?”
The concern in her voice tipped Zach’s lips into a grin. Maybe he was nuts, but something about this lady spoke to him, and it sure as hell wasn’t only her looks. He’d bedded some gorgeous women. None of them had ever made him feel this way. Just the sound of her voice over the phone got to him. Almost as much as the gentleness in her tone last night when she soothed Rosebud.
He glanced down at the mini. “She’s eating and accepting her treats. Not eagerly, mind you, but she seems to be on the mend, and Tucker thinks she’s out of the woods.”
Zach heard her breath catch. Then she whispered, “Oh, thank you, God.” Then she laughed shakily. “I was so afraid you’d tell me she was dead. I know zip about horses and even less about colic, but it sounded extremely dangerous.”
“It definitely can be.” Zach settled his hand on Rosebud’s head, threading his fingertips through her forelock. “But Tucker thinks we caught it in time. She’s probably going to make it. Keep your fingers crossed.”
“I think I’ll just continue to say Hail Marys,” she replied. “I’ve found that to be more effective than finger crossing.”
She was a Catholic? He couldn’t remember seeing her at St. Catherine’s, the only Catholic church in Crystal Falls. “Well, I’m glad you’ve been saying Hail Marys. I’m so sleep deprived I caught myself saying the meal blessing instead.”
She laughed lightly, the sound almost musical. “Uh-oh, you must be on autopilot. That’s okay. I’m sure God understands how exhausted you are.”
Zach grinned, then turned his mind to their conversation last night. “If she makes it, and it appears that she will, maybe your brother will end up with her as his guide horse.”
“Oh, I hope so.” A long silence ensued. Then he heard her sigh. “I just hope Luke behaves himself when you first meet him.”
Zach frowned slightly. “Do you have a reason to think he might not?”
“When it comes to getting an assistance animal, Luke is ... well, resistant, I guess is the word. To be fair, we were talking about a dog when he got his back up, and he has good reason for fearing dogs. I can only pray that he’ll feel different about a horse.”
“He’ll have no reason to be afraid of Rosebud,” Zach replied, “so you’re probably worrying about nothing.”
“Would you object to a meeting? A casual, no-pressure kind of thing? I’d love for Luke to meet Rosebud to see how he reacts to her and how she reacts to him. I think Rosebud is the perfect answer for him, but he has to be on board. You know?”
Did he ever. There was no way his mini was going to end up with anyone who wasn’t enthusiastic about getting her. “I see no harm in letting the two of them meet.”
“I’d be happy to drive out to your ranch. Name the day and a time that’s good for you, and Luke and I will be there.”
Zach was thinking about a few months down the road. Rosebud still had so much to learn. Conditioning the mini to large cities would take time, and that wasn’t to mention all the different modes of transportation that the horse hadn’t yet experienced.
“How does next Wednesday sound to you?” she asked.
Zach’s first thought was that next Wednesday was too soon, but then he envisioned Miranda’s lovely face, that glorious hair, and those huge hazel eyes. Wednesday wasn’t soon enough. Okay, maybe he was thinking with his hormones, but he heard himself say, “Sure, next Wednesday works. Just please bear in mind that Rosebud is still in the early stages of training. It will be months, possibly as much as a year, before she’ll be ready for placement.”
“I understand. Luke is only nineteen. If he has to wait a year for college, it won’t put him that far behind. And in a way, the time lag may be a good thing. It’ll give him and Rosebud a chance to become friends long before anything is finalized.”
Zach liked the thought of Rosebud going to someone she already knew and loved. He didn’t want the move to be traumatic for her. “I’m tied up with my quarter horses until midafternoon. How does three o’clock next Wednesday sound?”
“Three sounds fabulous!” Her voice rang with pleasure and excitement. “We’ll be there with bells on our toes. Unless, of course, Rosebud isn’t completely well by then. You’ve got my number on your phone now. If she’s still a bit peaked, just give me a call, and we can plan it for another time.”
Just then, Rosebud nuzzled the treat pouch on Zach’s belt with an eagerness that lifted his spirits. “I think she’ll be feeling great by next Wednesday. See you then?”
“Absolutely. I’m so excited for Luke to meet her!”
After ending the call, Zach put down the phone and offered Rosebud a treat pellet. She gobbled it down and nudged him for more. He chuckled. She was definitely on the mend. He started to enter his appointment with Miranda and her brother into his BlackBerry, but before he could punch a button, Cookie’s signature ring pealed.
When Zach answered, Cookie gave him no opportunity to speak. “Get your ass over here,” he yelled, almost blasting out Zach’s eardrums. “Tornado’s throwin’ another fit! He broke through his stall gate and has Mike penned in the tack room!”
Tornado was a stallion Zach had purchased recently for breeding purposes, a decision both he and his employees had regretted ever since. “I’m on my way.”
Zach raced for the stable. Rosebud would be okay for a little while, and she’d be safer at the house. When that big sorrel stud went ballistic, it was best to stay clear unless you had to intervene, and that was Zach’s responsibility. If anyone was going to get hurt, it was going to be him.
Over the next few days, Zach issued frequent stern reminders to himself: Rosebud was not a permanent resident. He was training her to be a service animal. She would leave the ranch when her training was finished. But the lectures did no good. As soon as she’d recovered from the colic, she was ready to work again, so eager to please him that Zach found her almost irresistible. Each morning when he led her to her stall and exercise paddock in the stable, she walked at his side like a well-trained dog. It was only when he started to leave her to work with his other horses that she exhibited anything close to bad behavior, whinnying, nickering, and neighing as he walked away. She didn’t want Zach to leave her. The feeling was mutual.
Zach fell into the habit of carrying Rosebud’s treat pouch, target wand, and clicker with him in order to sneak moments with the palomino throughout the day. His heart always lifted when Rosebud ran to the gate to greet him, shoving her nose through the slats and nickering with delight. No matter what he asked of her, she responded. Sometimes it was nothing more than asking her to touch her target. Other times he’d think of something else—dropping an object on the floor of her stall and asking her to pick it up, or stepping inside the enclosure and encroaching on her space so he could ask her to give him room. She responded beautifully every time, picking up on new tasks so fast that he was amazed. Either he was a fantastic guide horse trainer or Rosebud was an equine genius.
At half past two on Wednesday afternoon, Zach was working with Rosebud on the overhead obstacle course when his father, Frank, suddenly spoke from behind him. Zach nearly whacked his head on an overhang as he spun around, startled.
“So this is the infamous mini horse.”
“Dad! Hey, nice surprise. I didn’t expect to see you today.”
Except for silver at his temples and lines on his sun-burnished face, the family patriarch was a dead ringer for his sons, sporting a lean but muscular build, jet-black hair, and dark eyes. Tugging on the brim of his brown Stetson to shade his face from the sun, Frank grinned, flashing a dimple in his cheek that had long since become a deep crease, compliments of too many hours of exposure to the elements.
“I just moseyed over to meet the half-pint celebrity.” His eyes warmed with amusement as he perused Rosebud’s stocky body. “I hear she’s sharp as a tack.”
Zach settled a hand on Rosebud’s head. “Sharper,” he said proudly. “I’ve never seen a horse learn as fast as she does.”
Frank folded his arms, took a step back, and cocked a hip. “Show me her stuff.”
Zach tugged on his ear, a habit of his when he grew tense. “Right now, we’re not doing anything too exciting, just some overhead obstacle work.”
Frank gestured with a hand for Zach to proceed. Zach had a course mapped out that led around out-buildings with eaves that sloped low enough to strike a person on the head. He urged Rosebud forward. As she led him around the first corner of a shed, she pressed her body against Zach’s leg to make him swing wide of a support beam.
“Well, butter my ass and call me a biscuit.” Frank whistled softly. “She steered you around that slicker than greased owl shit.”
“She’s doing great, isn’t she?” At just that moment, Rosebud came upon a crisscross of pipes left on the grass earlier in the day. Performing as she’d been trained, she pawed the steel and then angled her stout body in front of Zack’s knees, refusing to let him step forward. Click. Zach gave the mini a treat.
“Good girl.” Using the leash attached to the halter under the mini’s chin, Zach purposely signaled her to circle left. Even he was surprised when Rosebud did the unprecedented, cutting in front of him to walk at his right to keep her body between him and the pile of pipes. Click. Zach couldn’t keep the edge of excitement out of his voice. “Do you see this, Dad? She’s supposed to stay to my left. She’s making an executive decision to break that rule to keep me from tripping over the debris.”
Frank chuckled. “Boy, howdy, she really is quite somethin’, ain’t she? Looks to me like she’s damned near trained.”
“Not even close,” Zach replied. “She still has countless tasks to master before she’ll be bulletproof in any environment. I’ll have to take her where she can learn how to guide on crowded sidewalks and in heavy traffic, how to board transit buses and airplanes, even from the tarmac. I doubt she’s ever seen a train or been in a taxi. Hell, I even need to slick up and start taking her to fancy restaurants.”
“Sounds like you’ll be doing some traveling before this is over.”
“Quite a lot,” Zach agreed as he worked with the horse. “Mostly just weekend trips. When she’s ready, we’ll have to spend at least a week down in Los Angeles, and I’ll probably take her to Portland several times. Even if she’s placed with someone who lives in a smaller town, she may have to work in large cities if her new owner travels.”
“What’s that noise you make?” Frank asked. “Sounds like a frustrated bullfrog.”
Zach explained about clicker training. “I guess you missed the newscast?”
Frank nodded. “That evenin’ I was kicked back in my new recliner, checkin’ my eyelids for pinholes. I learned about the disgrace to our family secondhand.”
Zach signaled Rosebud to stop, braced for the worst, and turned to face his father. “And it’s taken you this long to come over to read me the riot act?”
The breeze kicked up, tugging Frank’s blue chambray shirt against his chest. For a man of sixty-three, soon to be sixty-four, he had well-padded pecs and shoulders, a
result of hard physical labor, which continued even now that he had retired. A horseman never stopped being a horseman. Frank ran a calloused hand over his jaw.
“Well, now, put like that, I reckon I’m about to disappoint you. I’m not here to scold. I think what you’re tryin’ to do is a fine thing. So does Dee Dee.”
Dee Dee had been the Harrigan family housekeeper for aeons, a position she’d finally relinquished to become Frank’s wife. “Seriously? You both approve?” Zach asked.
“Hell, yes.You’re takin’your God-given gift with horses and tryin’ to do somethin’ spectacular with it.” Frank met his son’s gaze. “Maybe you think I haven’t noticed that you’ve backed off on the drinkin’ and carousin’?”
“The thought did cross my mind. Nobody else in the family seemed to notice.”
“I’m not everybody else. I’m your old man. I pay closer attention.” Frank bent his head and dug a trench in the dirt with the heel of his boot, something he did only when he groped for words. When he looked back up, there was a suspicious shine in his eyes. “For a time, you played fast and loose, but I knew you’d come around. I’ve always been proud to say you’re my son, but I’ve never been prouder than now.”
A sting came to Zach’s eyes, too, and he bent his head to scuff at the dirt himself. It was true, he guessed; he and his brothers were all carbon copies of their father. If Frank had a habit, they had it, too. “Thanks, Dad. Means a lot, hearing you say that.”
“You deserve to hear me say it.” Frank inclined his head at Rosebud. “Not every man sets time aside to help someone else. What other tricks does she have up her sleeve?”
Zach was about to demonstrate a few more of Rosebud’s talents when he heard the crunch of tires on gravel. He turned to see a dented gray Honda Element passing through the front log arches. As the car bumped along the rutted road, he glimpsed the silhouettes of two people behind the sun-washed windshield.