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“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 pajamas, 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 (#ulink_ab5e900f-a702-5081-a04e-19f34a7b95eb)
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.”
She made it all the way to the barn door, then abruptly turned back. If anyone had asked why she felt it so necessary to remain with Clay, she wouldn’t have been able to answer. But something kept her there, something far stronger than the threat of Clay’s temper.
She marched to the center stall, her head and shoulders held stiff and straight. She stood with her feet braced, prepared for an argument.
“Clay,” she said, “I’m not leaving.”
“Listen, Rorie, you’re a city girl. This isn’t going to be pretty.”
“I’m a woman, too. The sight of a little blood isn’t enough to make me faint.”
Clay was doing his best to calm the frightened mare, but without much success. The tension in the air seemed to crackle like static electricity.
“I haven’t got time to argue with you,” he said through clenched teeth.
“Good.”
Star Bright heaved her neck backward and gave a deep groan that seemed to reverberate in the stall like the boom of a cannon.
“Poor little mother,” Rorie whispered in a soothing voice. Led by instinct, she carefully unlatched the stall door and slipped inside.
Clay sent her a look hot enough to peel paint. “Get out of here before you get hurt.” His voice was low and urgent.
Star Bright reacted to his tension immediately, jerking about, her body twitching convulsively. One of her hooves caught Clay in the forearm and, almost immediately, blood seeped through his sleeve. Rorie bit her lip to suppress a cry of alarm, but if Clay felt any pain he didn’t show it.
“Hold her head,” Clay said sharply.
Somehow Rorie found the courage to do as he asked. Star Bright groaned once more and her pleading eyes looked directly into Rorie’s, seeming to beg for help. The mare’s lips pulled back from her teeth as she flailed her head to and fro, shaking Rorie in the process.
“Whoa, girl,” Rorie said softly, gaining control. “It’s painful, isn’t it, but soon you’ll have a beautiful baby to show off to the world.”
“Foal,” Clay corrected from behind the mare.
“A beautiful foal.” Rorie stroked the sweat-dampened neck, doing what she could to reassure the frightened horse.
“Keep talking to her,” Clay whispered.
Rorie kept up a running dialogue for several tense minutes, but there was only so much she could find to say on such short acquaintance. When she ran out of ideas, she started to sing in a soft, lilting voice. She began with lullabies her mother had once sung to her, then followed those with a few childhood ditties. Her singing lasted only minutes, but Rorie’s lungs felt close to collapse.
Suddenly the mare’s water broke. Clay wasn’t saying much, but he began to work quickly, although she couldn’t see what he was doing. Star Bright tossed her neck in the final throes of birth and Rorie watched, fascinated, as two hooves and front legs emerged, followed by a white nose.
The mare lifted her head, eager to see. Clay tugged gently, and within seconds, the foal was free. Rorie’s heart pounded like a locomotive struggling up a steep hill as Clay’s strong hands completed the task.
“A filly,” he announced, a smile lighting his face. He reached for a rag and wiped his hands and arms.
Star Bright turned her head to view her offspring. “See?” Rorie told the mare, her eyes moist with relief. “Didn’t I tell you it would all be worth it?”
The mare nickered. Her newborn filly was gray, like her mother, and finely marked with white streaks on her nose, mane and tail. Rorie was touched to her very soul by the sight. Tears blurred her vision and ran down her flushed cheeks. She blotted them with her sleeve so Clay couldn’t see them, and silently chided herself for being such a sentimental fool.
It was almost another hour before they left Star Bright’s stall. The mare, who stood guard over her long-legged baby, seemed content and utterly pleased with herself. As they prepared to leave, Rorie whispered in her ear.
“What was that all about?” Clay wanted to know, latching the stall door.
“I just told her she’d done a good job.”
“That she did,” Clay whispered. A moment later, he added, “And so did you, Rorie. I was grateful for your help.”
Once more tears sprang to her eyes. She responded with a nod, unable to trust her voice. Her heart was racing with exhilaration. She couldn’t remember a time she’d felt more excited. It was well past midnight, but she’d never felt less sleepy.
“Rorie?” He was staring at her, his eyes bright with concern.
She owed him an explanation, although she couldn’t fully explain this sudden burst of emotion. “It was so...beautiful.” She brushed the hair from her face and smiled up at him, hoping he wouldn’t think she was just a foolish city girl. She wasn’t sure why it mattered, but she doubted that any man had seen her looking worse, although Rorie was well aware that she didn’t possess a classic beauty. She was usually referred to as cute, with her slightly turned-up nose and dark brown eyes.
“I understand.” He walked to the sink against the barn’s opposite wall and busily washed his hands, then splashed water on his face. When he’d finished, Rorie handed him a towel hanging on a nearby hook.
“Thanks.”
“I don’t know how to describe it,” she said, after a fruitless effort to find the words to explain all the feeling that had surged up inside her.
“It’s the same for me every time I witness a birth,” Clay told her. He looked at her then and gently touched her face, letting his finger glide along her jaw. All the world went still as his eyes caressed hers. There was a primitive wonder in the experience of birth, a wonder that struck deep within the soul. For the first time, Rorie understood this. And sharing it with Clay seemed to intensify the attraction she already felt for him. During that brief time in the stall, just before Star Bright delivered her foal, Rorie had felt closer to Clay than she ever had to any other man. It was as though her heart had taken flight and joined his in a moment of sheer challenge and joy. That was a silly romantic thought, she realized. But it seemed so incredible to her that she could feel anything this strong for a man she’d known for mere hours.
“I’ve got a name for her,” Clay said, hanging up the towel. “What do you think of Nightsong?”
