Outlaw Hartes: The Valentine Two-Step / Cassidy Harte And The Comeback Kid. RaeAnne Thayne
He seemed as reluctant as she to break the hushed beauty of the scene. They walked in silence toward the huge red barn a few hundred yards from the house. When he finally spoke, it was in a low voice to match the magic of the evening. “Mystic likes to be outside, even as cold as it’s been. I’ll check to see if she’s still in the pasture before we go inside the barn. You can wait here if you want.”
“No. I’ll come with you,” she said in that same hushed voice.
They crunched through snow to the other side, with Matt just a few steps ahead of her. She was looking at her feet so she didn’t fall in the slick snow when he growled a harsh oath.
She jerked her gaze up. “What is it? What’s wrong?”
He pointed to the pasture. For a moment, she couldn’t figure out what had upset him, then her gaze sharpened and she saw it.
Bright red bloodstains speckled the snow in a vivid, ugly trail leading to the barn.
Chapter 7
Dread clutched at her stomach. “Do you think it was a coyote?”
“I doubt it,” he said tersely. “Not this close to the house and not in the middle of the day. They tend to stay away from the horses, anyway.”
“What, then?”
“Mystic, I’d guess. She’s probably lost the foal. Damn.”
If the mare was hemorrhaging already, it was probably too late to save the foal, and Matt obviously knew it as well as she did. He jumped the fence easily and followed the trail of blood. Without a moment’s hesitation, she hiked her skirt above her knees and climbed over the snow-slicked rails as well, then quickly caught up with him.
With that frown and his jaw set, he looked hard and dangerous, like the Wild West outlaw he was named after.
“I’m sorry,” she offered softly.
He blew out a breath. “It happens. Probably nothing we can do at this point. I had high hopes for Mystic’s foal, though. The sire is one hell of a cutter, just like—”
Before he could finish the sentence, they heard a high, distressed whinny from inside the barn, and both picked up their pace to a run. He beat her inside, but she followed just a few seconds later. She had a quick impression of a clean, well-lit stall, then her attention immediately shifted to the misty-gray quarter horse pacing restlessly in the small space.
A quick visual check told her the blood they saw in the snow was from a large cut on the horse’s belly, probably from kicking at herself in an attempt to rid her body of what she thought was bothering her—the foal.
It relieved her mind some, but not much. “She hasn’t lost it yet,” she said.
Matt looked distracted as he ran his hands over the horse. “She’s going to, though, isn’t she?”
“Probably. I’m sorry,” she said again. She had seen the signs before. The sweat soaking the withers, the distress, the bared teeth as pain racked the mare.
All her professional instincts screamed at her to do something, not just stand here helplessly. To soothe, to heal. But Mystic wasn’t hers to care for, and her owner didn’t trust Ellie or her methods.
Still, she had to try. “Will you let me examine her?”
She held her breath as he studied her from across the stall, praying he would consent. The reluctance in his eyes shouldn’t have hurt her. He had made no secret of his opinions. But she still had to dig her fingers into the wood rail at the deep, slicing pain.
He blew out a breath. “I don’t know….”
“I’m a good vet, Matt. Please. Just let me look at her. I won’t do anything against your wishes.”
His hard, masculine face tense and worried, he studied Ellie for several seconds until Mystic broke away from him with another long, frantic whinny.
“Okay,” Matt said finally. “Do what you can for her.”
“My bag’s in the pickup. It will just take me a minute to get it.”
Her heart pounding, she ran as fast as she dared out of the barn and across the snow toward the house, cursing the constricting skirt as she went. This was exactly why she preferred to stick to jeans and work shirts. Of course she had to choose today, of all days, to go outside her comfort zone just for vanity’s sake.
She slipped on a hidden patch of ice under the bare, spreading branches of a huge elm, and her legs almost went out from under her. At the last minute, she steadied herself on the trunk of the tree and paused for just an instant to catch her breath before hurrying on, anxious for the frightened little mare.
She hated seeing any animal in distress, always had. That was her first concern and the thought uppermost in her head. At the same time, on a smaller, purely selfish level that shamed her to admit it to herself, part of her wanted Matt to see firsthand that she knew what she was doing, that she would try anything in her power to save that foal.
At last she reached her truck, fumbled with the handle, then fought the urge to bang her head against it several times. Locked. Rats! And her keys were in her purse, inside the house.
With another oath at herself for not learning her lesson the night he had to thaw out her locks, she hurried up the porch steps and through the front door. She was rifling for her purse on the hall table, conscious that with every second of delay the foal’s chances grew ever more dim, when Cassie walked out of the family room.
Matt’s sister stopped short, frowning. “What is it? Is something wrong?”
“Mystic,” Ellie answered grimly. “She’s losing the foal. I’m just after my bag in the truck. Naturally, it’s locked.”
“Oh, no. What a relief that you’re here, though! Can you save it?”
As she usually did before treating an animal, Ellie felt the heavy weight of responsibility settle on her shoulders. “I don’t know. I’m going to try. Listen, we might be a while. Is Dylan okay in here without me?”
“Sure. She and Lucy have ganged up on Jess at the pool table. They haven’t even noticed you’ve been gone. Is there anything I can do to help?”
Pray your stubborn brother will let me do more than look. Ellie kept the thought to herself and shook her head. “Just don’t let Dylan eat too much pie.”
She rushed out the door and down the steps to her truck and quickly unlocked it. Her leather backpack was behind the seat and, on impulse, she also picked up the bag with her sensors and acupuncture needles, then ran to the horse barn.
Matt had taken off his hat and ranch coat, she saw when her eyes once more adjusted to the dim light inside the barn, and he was doing his best to soothe the increasingly frantic animal.
The worry shadowing his eyes warmed her, even in the midst of her own tension. Matt Harte obviously cared deeply for the horse—all of his horses, judging by the modern, clean facilities he stabled them in—and her opinion of him went up another notch.
“Sorry it took so long.” She immediately went to the sink to scrub. “Anything new happen while I was gone?”
“No. She’s just as upset as she was before.”
She snapped on a sterile pair of latex gloves and was pleased he had the sense to open the stall for her so she could keep them clean.
“What do you need me to do?” he asked, his voice pitched low to avoid upsetting the horse more than she already was.
“Can you hold her head for me?”
He nodded and obeyed, then scrutinized her closely as she approached the animal slowly, murmuring nonsense words as she went. Mystic, though still frantic at the tumult churning