Summertime Dreams. Debbie Macomber
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 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....”
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