Chapter 4
Chapter Four
WYATT
The wind is already picking up by the time I reach the barn. I meant to come and check on the animals earlier, but it’s been one thing after another today, and with the storm moving in quickly, it seems that everything needs my urgent attention.
And with Travis gone for the next few days on a rodeo circuit, it’s just me. I’m probably going to regret even thinking it, but it will be nice when my brothers show up to share some of the workload.
It’s not that I don’t love my brothers and want to see them; I do. It’s that I know they aren’t going to like my plans to sell the ranch, and I’ve been avoiding the confrontation that will no doubt come when I fill them in.
Not that there was time to think about that now.
I don’t have long before the thick, grey clouds that have rolled in over the mountains are going to open up and start dumping the first real snowfall of the year on us.
The air already tastes like snow. The wind holds the bite of ice.
It’s been a while since I’ve spent a winter in Rock Creek, but I still know exactly what’s heading our way.
It’s going to be big.
I push the door open, the squeaky hinges groaning, reminding me to add them to the to-do list. The familiar scent of hay and horses meets me.
I switch the overhead light on. It flickers a few times.
There’s a very real chance the power will go out before the night is through.
I double-check the old lanterns hanging by the door before I make my way through the barn.
“Evening, ladies.” I keep my voice as low and soothing as I can. Horses are sensitive, and I know they feel the oncoming storm, too. Hell, they probably knew about it before I did. It’s important to keep them calm.
Blueberry lifts her head, presenting her nose for a scratch as I walk by, but it’s the restless snicker from the far end of the barn that grabs my attention.
Oatmeal.
She’s pacing. Her tail is swishing and her flanks heaving.
It’s time.
“Easy, girl,” I say, stepping into the stall. “You’ve done this before. You know what to do.”
I have no doubt that the mare does know exactly what to do. It’s instinct after all, and she’s not a first-time mother.
Still.
Anna’s words weigh heavily in my mind. She’s an older mare; the risks are higher.
Oatmeal’s sides ripple. She lets out a sharp, anxious sound. I run a steady hand down her neck, hoping to infuse her with some of my calm. The horse is sweating already. Her muscles tense.
I can handle it.
I know I can. I’ve been present for dozens, if not hundreds of cattle and horse births. I know the steps. Hell, I was raised in this barn. Doing exactly this.
Still.
Outside, the storm is picking up. The wind whistles through the barn boards and something in my chest tightens.
You’ll call if Oatmeal goes into labor?
And my response: You’ll be the first to know.
Shit.
I’d promised. Even if it was stupid. And it was.
I’m not the kind of man who goes back on a promise.
Besides, I’d be lying if I said I didn’t want to see her.
It’s been three days since Anna drove away from Rock Creek.
Three days since my hands had been on her bare thigh, tending to her wound.
Three days since every waking thought had been of her and her smooth, soft skin. The way she’d heated under my touch. The little gasp she’d made that had nothing to do with the cut and everything to do with my fingers on her skin.
A sharp whiney cuts through the air and pulls me from my thoughts and back to the moment.
Oatmeal.
Without any further internal debate, I pull my phone from my pocket and press her number.
She answers on the first ring.
“Wyatt?”
“It’s time. She’s in labor.”
“I’ll be right—”
“The storm,” I stop her.
“I’m on my way.” I suck in a breath, but before I can protest, she adds, “Don’t try to stop me, Wyatt.”
I can’t help the grin that twists up my lips. She’s passionate without a doubt.
“Be safe, Anna,” I say instead.
“I’ll be there as soon as I can.”
The call ends before I can add anything else.
I spend the next thirty minutes watching over the laboring mare. I fetch fresh water and hay in an effort to make her as comfortable as possible.
“She’s coming, girl,” I tell her more than once, although I’m not sure who I’m trying to convince.
It was reckless and selfish of me to call her, knowing there’s a bad storm brewing.
I have no idea how bad the roads will be already.
Or how much experience Anna has driving in winter conditions, and I’m just about to grab my truck keys to go in search of her when I hear the squeal of the barn doors.
I spin around to see Anna, shrugging out of her coat and moving quickly toward me.
“How is she?”
I don’t have time to answer as she moves into the stall and drops to her knees next to the horse.
“She’s close.”
I nod.
“She’s doing really well.” I reach out and stroke the mare’s bulging stomach as Anna looks her over. “Aren’t you, girl?”
Oatmeal nudges her nose into my shoulder, and I scratch between her eyes for a moment before looking down at the woman next to me. And the most unexpected sense of calm washes over me as I watch her capable hands move over the horse.
For the first time all night, I stop worrying about the weather, or the ranch, or Oatmeal.
Hell, maybe for the first time in months.
Because right now, she’s here. By my side. It’s unexplainable, but that feels like the first right thing in a long damn time.
ANNA
Oatmeal did great.
The foal is perfect.
I was right to be concerned, though. The mare labored more than was normal, but ultimately, she did what needed to be done, and the baby was born all tiny, wobbly legs and big dark eyes blinking up at me.
Oatmeal was already nuzzling her and urging her to feed.
“Good job, mama,” I whisper, running a hand down her neck before getting to my feet. I have no doubt now she’ll do great and both she and her baby will be just fine.
Wyatt stands by the stall door, where he’s been for the last…
well, I’m not sure how long. He’s got one hand tucked casually into his front pocket, the other resting on the stall door, watching me with careful eyes.
Once I dust the hay from my jeans, he offers me a slight smile.
The first real one I’ve seen from him. It lights something deep inside me.
“You did really well,” he says slowly.
“I didn’t do a thing.” I shake my head and walk out of the stall as he holds the door. “It was all Oatmeal.”
“No,” he says behind me. “You were really great. So calm and steady. I know the horse did the work, but you…”
I turn to see him looking down at me.
“You were great,” he says again. Softer this time. “Take the compliment.”
This time, I nod. “Thank you.”
Outside, the wind howls, rattling the old barn roof, reminding me that I’d only just beat the storm on my way out to the ranch. When we finally step outside, I’m shocked to see the accumulation of snow already, blanketing the world in white, with more—so much more—still coming down. Hard.
“Damn,” Wyatt mutters. “It’s worse than I thought. The roads will be—”
“Do you think I can make it into town?” I squint into the swirling flakes, trying to make out the shape of my truck across the yard.
Wyatt gives me a look. “Absolutely not. You’re staying here.
“I can’t…I need to—”
“There is no way I’m letting you drive away in this,” he stops me. “You’re staying.”
I know he’s right. I can’t even see my truck; let alone the road I’d have to navigate. But it’s far from professional to stay alone with a cowboy in the middle of nowhere. I just hope Uncle Bill will understand.
He nods once, satisfied that I agree and takes my vet bag from my hand, and an old lantern to light the way, in the other. “Stay close. It’s coming down hard.”
He leads the way through the almost knee-deep snow, and I do as he tells me and stay as close as I can without bumping into him.
I’m soaked and freezing by the time we reach the covered porch of the house.
“Wow.” I knock my boots on the floorboards and try to brush as much snow from my coat as possible. “I can’t believe how hard it’s snowing.”
“It’s the mountains,” Wyatt says as he opens the door, and we step inside. The power’s out, the only light coming from the glow of the lantern he carries. Just like the other day when I was inside, it smells of coffee, wood smoke and…him.
“I’ll get a fire going.” Wyatt leads the way into the living room. He hands me an old quilt. “Try to stay warm,” he says. “It won't be long.”
He sets the lantern on the coffee table, crouches in front of the huge rock fireplace and gets to work while I wrap up in the quilt and settle into the couch.
He moves quickly and with skill. It doesn’t take long before a fire crackles to life, filling the room with a warm glow.
The heat seeps into the cold room, and I can feel myself thaw a little.
Wyatt feeds kindling into the fire for a few more minutes before placing a few larger logs in. Satisfied, he finally rolls back on his knees and assesses his handiwork.
He looks softer in the firelight. Still strong and gruff, of course, but this is a different side of him, too. A side I caught a glimpse of the other day, too. Caring and nurturing.
He straightens and glances back. “You want something to warm you up?”
I swallow hard and nod. “Please.”
Without another word, he disappears into the kitchen, returning a few minutes later with two cut crystal glasses and a bottle of whiskey. He pours a little in each and hands me one.
“I don’t usually drink much,” I admit.
“Just take a few sips,” he says. “Go easy.”
I do as he says. The first taste burns when it hits my lips. Smokey, yet sweet. And strong. I cough. My eyes are watering as I choke it down.
Wyatt laughs. It’s a quiet, low sound that at once I decide is my new favorite thing.
“It’s so strong,” I say when I trust myself to speak again.
“That’s kind of the point.”