Healing The Cowboy's Heart. Ruth Logan Herne

take two.”

      The old vet snorted.

      Bitsy ignored the sound as Charlotte moved forward to examine the horse.

      “Ty said they could house two for the interim.”

      The old vet shot her an incredulous look over his shoulder.

      “Young Eagle texted that he could take one and his sister would tend another. He’s coming right down.”

      Braden Hirsch’s scowl deepened. “A couple of weeks back, that might have been the way to go, but I’m telling you straight, you’re causing more harm than good to try to rehabilitate animals like this. You get ’em healthy and then someone tries to ride one and gets thrown because the horse has lost its trust of humans or just spooks easy, and then your happy ending goes up in smoke.”

      “It’s a valid point.” Char felt the heat in the first horse’s leg, then moved on to the group of three. They scattered, but they scattered quickly enough to make her assessment fairly easy. “Any horse that can shy that quickly deserves a chance.”

      “Being scared doesn’t make them healthy, girl.”

      “Doctor,” she replied smoothly. “And I have the Cornell University diploma to prove it.”

      “High-faluting schools don’t always mean good,” he retorted. “Sometimes they just mean overpriced and overdressed.”

      Two men had joined Bitsy. They were putting halters on the horses to aid in moving them, but when they approached a dun gelding, Charlotte shook her head. The dun was too far gone for help at this point. And that left them with the inert horse on the ground.

      “Oh, baby, I’m so sorry.” Char ran a gentle hand along the horse’s neck when she got to the prone Appaloosa. “So very sorry.” She did a quick exam. The mare’s heart and lungs sounded fair, but she was little more than bones. Bones and...in foal, Charlotte realized.

      And yet so debilitated at this point that the idea of getting her healthy enough to have the foal, much less care for it, seemed impossible.

      A shadow fell over her. She looked up.

      Isaiah shifted slightly, then squatted beside her. He didn’t try to hide his brokenhearted expression. He laid a hand along the horse’s neck as if in benediction, then met Char’s gaze. “Two to put down? And five to attempt healing.”

      She started to nod when the horse lifted her head. Looked around. She seemed disoriented for brief seconds, then rolled slightly to see Isaiah.

      He stared at the mare.

      The mare gazed back.

      And when the big Native American swallowed hard, Char had to fight off a thrust of rising emotion. “You know her.”

      Gaze firm, he laid a hand against the horse’s face.

      “She knows you.” Char read the horse’s reaction. And the man’s.

      He blinked once, a silent assent.

      Braden came up behind them. “I knew this one was an easy decision, even for someone fresh out of the classroom.” He stopped. Stared. Then his look went from the horse to Isaiah and back again. He swallowed hard. Really hard. “She can’t be here. She was put down a long, long time ago.”

      Isaiah kept his face flat and a comforting hand along the horse’s jaw. “Clearly not. But maybe that would have been the better choice, considering.”

      “I’ll get things ready.” Braden set down a medical bag that had seen better days and opened it. With shaking hands, he withdrew what he needed to inject the mare.

      “No.”

      Braden paused. He stared at Isaiah. So did Charlotte.

      “We’re not putting her down. If she can get up and walk, we’re not putting her down.”

      “Well, she can’t or won’t—stubborn to the end—and you know every reason why we can’t let her live, Isaiah. Better than most.”

      Charlotte stayed quiet, but when Isaiah stood, tall and firm, she stood, too.

      “Come along, Ginger. Come along.”

      The horse seemed to brighten up. She blew out a breath, stared up at him, then tried to roll.

      She couldn’t make it.

      Her eyes went wide, as if the mare realized how much was riding on this single maneuver.

      “Come along, girl. Home’s waiting.”

      Braden rolled his eyes. “Standing or laying isn’t the question here. It’s who she is, Isaiah. Some things are better left as is. You’ve got two kids on that ranch to think of. Neither one of your brother’s kids deserves to be around a crazy horse that’s hurt kids before.”

      “Hey, girl.” The rugged cowboy ignored the old man’s caution and stooped a little. “It’s up to you. Stay? Or go?”

      The horse stared up at him, as if weighing his words. Then with a mighty surge, she rolled fully and almost sprang to her feet, suddenly energized.

      “Don’t do this, Isaiah.” Braden stood between the cowboy and the upright horse. “There’s no reason to bring this all back up. It won’t bring Alfie back, but it will rile up a whole lot of emotions for people we both love. Your mother. Your family. You know it as well as I do.”

      Isaiah smoothed a hand along the horse’s scabby, dirt-crusted neck. “She’ll come with me.”

      The old vet’s eyes flashed. “I won’t be a part of this, Isaiah. Not one part. You know what happened that day. We both do. You would bring this mistake back to your mother’s door? Lay blame at her feet?”

      The cowboy kept a light hand on the mare. “That’s exactly why I have no choice.”

      “Isaiah.” Braden changed his tone slightly. He moved forward, imploring. “I’m your godfather, and I’m asking you. Begging you. Don’t do this. Please. It’s foolishness. It changes nothing, so what’s the point? She’s beyond help. Beyond hope. It’s time to do the right thing.”

      The square-shouldered Native American faced the smaller doctor. His expression mixed remorse and conviction. “Which is why she’s coming home with me. Live or die, she’ll be where she should have been all along.”

      The old man grabbed his bag so hard that it banged Charlotte’s leg, almost toppling her into the horse. “Out of my way!” He stormed past her and crossed the field, his bag half-open.

      “I’m out.” He barked the words at Bitsy, but made sure they all could hear as another horse trailer arrived. A local-news car followed. “And I hope your new horse vet does well by the lot of you because I won’t be part of any of this nonsense.”

      Nonsense?

      A flash of fear gripped Charlotte.

      What if she lost them all? What kind of reputation as a horse-savvy vet would she have then? Was she laying her career on the line for a hopeless cause?

      One of the men motioned for her.

      She began to move that way.

      The mare swayed, as if weak. Then she caught herself, drew up her neck and stood firm.

      Charlotte did the same. She was in a way better spot than the horse, and if the horse could muster up courage, then so would the doctor.

      * * *

      Saving Ginger was nonsense?

      Cool anger chilled Isaiah’s veins, while the July temperature mounted.

      The horse tipped her head and looked at him. If he’d had a choice, he lost it at that moment.

      Bitsy approached with another halter. He ran his hand up the horse’s nose and murmured soft words to her. Would