Chapter 8
Thatcher gently placed the mare’s leg back to the ground, then sighed his frustration. “It’s gotten worse.”
Standing outside the stall, Mr. Mintz already had his rifle under his arm. “That’s what I figured. But you told me to call you first before I put her out of her misery.”
Amelia stood beside Thatcher, had been there the whole time he’d examined the bloody hoof.
She’d watched without flinching and was now gently rubbing the mare’s flank, probably attempting to comfort the black Percheron.
The scent of horseflesh and manure lingered heavily in the barn, which was chilly at the early hour, but Amelia didn’t seem bothered by that either.
“The mare doesn’t have to be put down yet.” Thatcher reached into his bag for the ointment he’d put on the wound yesterday. “If you soak her foot a few times a day, keep it clean, and change around her diet, there’s still hope for her.”
Mr. Mintz shook his head. “I told you I don’t have time for pampering a horse like that. I got a business to run.”
The young man Mr. Mintz had sent after them stood in the aisle a short distance away. He was still staring at Amelia the same way he had earlier when he’d noticed her at the cabin. Thatcher hadn’t liked the fellow paying her attention then, and he still didn’t.
Thatcher had wanted to tell him that Amelia was his wife now and he’d better not get any ideas about trying to take her away from him. No one had better.
The jealousy was new to Thatcher and irrational. But he’d done the hard work of getting her to come to the West, and if the fellow wanted a bride, he’d have to do the same.
“What are the mare’s chances of healing from this?” Amelia asked quietly.
“It’s a long shot,” Mr. Mintz replied before Thatcher could. “Even if we go to all the work Mr. Hoyt is suggesting, she still might not get better.”
Amelia didn’t bother looking at the middle-aged man and instead fixed her attention on Thatcher as he rubbed the ointment into the horse’s hoof.
Thatcher wished he could reassure her, but he couldn’t. “Mr. Mintz is right. Even with lots of good care, she may never heal.”
Amelia raised a hand and stroked the horse’s glossy mane.
The lighting in the barn was low, coming from a single lantern hanging from a rafter in the aisle.
It illuminated the dozen or so stalls that held Mr. Mintz’s other horses and livestock.
From Thatcher’s count, the man had eight horses.
Losing one wouldn’t hurt him. Even so, Thatcher never liked to give up on an animal when there was still a chance of saving it.
Mr. Mintz held the rifle out to the young fellow. “Go on, Johnnie, and take the mare out to the corral and shoot her.”
“No.” Amelia took a step toward the stall door, and her expression turned stormy, as if she planned to wrestle the gun out of their hands.
Mr. Mintz paused.
“I’ll doctor her,” Amelia said, drawing her coat closed around her—the coat that was too thin. “I’ll do all the work to help her, and you won’t need to do any.”
Thatcher could only stare at her in surprise, the same as the other two men.
“I’ll come every day and do everything necessary to doctor her.”
Not only was the wound putrid and difficult to look at, but the commitment was enormous for a woman in her condition.
In fact, it was probably unrealistic, since initially the horse would need care at least three times a day, if not more.
Thatcher wouldn’t be able to ride over that often, and he didn’t want Amelia to make the trek by herself.
“I don’t think that would work—” he started.
“I won’t mind the work.” Her beautiful eyes pleaded with him.
He dipped his hands into the bucket of nearby water and lathered up with a bar of soap.
How could he say no to her when she was looking at him like that and so eager to help?
He couldn’t. Especially because he didn’t want to see the horse put down either.
That was why he’d come again, because he wanted to come up with a solution to save the creature.
Maybe he could attempt to take the horse back to his place. She would have trouble walking the distance there, but if he bandaged her hoof with a thick padding and they went slowly, they might be able to do it without hurting her even more.
Would Mr. Mintz agree to it?
He met the man’s gaze as he dried his hands. “Would you allow us to walk her back to my farm? If Amelia wants to doctor her and see if she can help, I’d rather her do it there.”
Mr. Mintz hesitated a moment before pulling back his rifle. “Don’t see any harm in it.”
Amelia’s hand was taut against the horse’s mane. “If we can get her better, we’ll bring her back.”
“No need.” Mr. Mintz tucked his weapon under his arm. “If she lives, you can keep her.”
Amelia stroked the horse’s muzzle. “I couldn’t take her—”
“Mr. Hoyt only has one horse. He’ll need another now that he’s got you.”
Amelia fell silent.
“Besides, I owe Mr. Hoyt for his services—”
“No, it’s okay,” Thatcher cut in. “I didn’t really help—”
“Take her if you want her.” Mr. Mintz pivoted and began to stalk toward the barn door. “Otherwise Johnnie’s gonna put her down.”
Thankfully, Johnnie followed after Mr. Mintz. As soon as they were out of earshot, Amelia leaned in. “Please, Thatcher.” Her voice was low and urgent, and her eyes were once again so full of hope. “Could we keep her?”
Her obvious desire to save the horse was unexpected, but he liked it. A lot. He liked her a lot.
“I promise I’ll do all the caretaking,” she continued.
He lifted a hand and touched her lips to silence her.
She halted her next sentence and watched him with anticipation.
“We’ll bring her back and do the caretaking together.”
The gold flecks in the hazel of her eyes seemed to melt, and her lips curved up into a small smile. “Really?”
“Really.”
She studied his face, her eyes still warm. “Thank you.”
“We’ll have a lot of hard work ahead of us and long hours.”
“I don’t mind.”
He shifted his fingers to her cheek, then dropped his hand, knowing he had no right yet to caress her. “Let’s get going. It’ll take us a while to get her ready to leave, and then the journey home will be hard.”
They worked together to bandage the mare’s hoof with enough cushion that she could walk on it. Even with the padding, they went at a snail’s pace for the several miles home and had to stop twice to redo the bandages and add more cushion.
By the time they reached the barn, the afternoon was half over. They spent the rest of the day tending to the deformed hoof. Thatcher trimmed the flesh and bone as best he could. Then together, they soaked it in water, cleaned it, scoured the stall, and then gathered bland fodder for her to eat.
When her foot was bandaged again and she was resting comfortably, Amelia leaned against the split-rail stall beam and watched while Thatcher examined the other hooves.
The split-log barn was much smaller than the barn on Thatcher’s family’s land in Iowa. It only had enough room for the wagon, the farming supplies, hay and feed, and the few animals he’d collected. It was also much quieter and, with the fall of darkness, was shadowed.
“She seems content,” Amelia said. “But will she get better?”
Thatcher finished with the last hoof and placed it on the ground. “She’s young enough that she ought to be able to heal.”
“I hope so.”
“She’s in good hands.”
“I agree. You’re an excellent veterinarian, Thatcher.”
“No, I was talking about you.” He braced himself against the railing beside her. “You were patient and gentle and persistent.”
Amelia ducked her head, but not before he caught sight of the pleasure on her face.
“I’m not exaggerating. You’re really good with the mare.”
“Thank you.” Amelia kept her focus on the mare, but Thatcher couldn’t stop himself from admiring Amelia’s profile. With her hair pulled back and the top button of her blouse undone, he glimpsed her neck and collarbone. Her cheeks were full and the dimples always so enticing.
After spending the day with her, he would have thought he’d become more accustomed to her beauty and not feel the draw to look at her every chance he had. But the truth was, instead of being satisfied, he wanted to stare at her even more.
“So, what would you like to name her?”
“Doesn’t she already have a name?”
“You saved her, so you get to give her the name you want.”
“Is that how it works?” Her voice contained a note of humor.
“Seems fair to me.” He studied the horse, who was a big girl, probably because of her inactivity. “She looks like a Pudge to me.”
Amelia released a scoffing sound. “With how tall and black she is, I was thinking she’s regal and deserves a name like Queen.”
“I didn’t realize it was that easy to become royalty.”
“It’s very easy and all about the bearing.”
“Then I should qualify.” He straightened and struck a haughty, serious pose. Except he was wearing his duster and Stetson and hadn’t shaved.
“You look more like one of those crooks on a Wanted poster.”
He shifted and lifted a brow at her. “So let me see if I have this right. You think the horse resembles a queen, but I look like a criminal?”
She laughed lightly. “No, that’s not what I meant. You could never be a criminal. You’re probably the kindest and most perfect man I’ve ever met.”
Perfect? He wasn’t perfect. In fact, his record as a veterinarian was far from stellar.
A flood of memories came rushing back—the sleepless nights, the tireless efforts to help the sick foal, and the fire sweeping through the barn and destroying everything.
Should he confess his past to her now? The devastating fire that had started because of his carelessness and destroyed some of the finest horses that had ever lived. And he hadn’t been able to do one thing about it.
He wasn’t a wanted man. No, he was unwanted. He’d tarnished his reputation so badly that no one had wanted him around. No one had trusted him. No one had believed in him.
Thankfully, here in this wild land, he’d been given a second chance.