Debra Holland - [Montana Sky 02] (28 page)

She shook her head, a determined set to her mouth. A tendril of red hair tumbled down the side of her face. She brushed it behind her ear.

The woman was more tenacious than a mule. He’d have to find a way around her. He allowed a look of hurt to show on his face.

Immediately, as he’d known she would, she softened. “I’m sorry. I guess I was just being stubborn.”

Yes, you were.
But he wouldn’t rub it in. “How ’bout if I have the twins and Daniel help me?”

“Good idea. A suitable punishment.”

He cocked an eyebrow. “You call spending a morning working with me a punishment?”

A blush of peach tinted her cheeks, heightening the blue of her eyes. She glanced away, then back. A mischievous dimple peeked near the right corner of her mouth. “Did I say punishment? Forgive me, I misspoke. I meant a suitable
honor
.”

He wanted to lean forward and kiss her dimple, then with his lips, trace the half inch of skin to her lips, until she parted her mouth to him. With difficulty, he brought himself back to the conversation. “ ‘Honor’ sounds ’bout right.”

Her tone took on a worried edge. “Wyatt, the twins didn’t start the fight. Arlie and Ben were teasing Daniel. Called him”—she bit her lip—“called him a half-breed Mexican and threatened to throw him in the outhouse.”

Wyatt’s ardor chilled; he narrowed his eyes, thinking.

Several years ago, he’d warned that bully, Arlie, away from Christine. Threatened to skin the hide off the boy if he ever teased or touched his daughter. He’d seen by the angry respect in Arlie’s eyes that the threat had gone deep, that the boy had believed him.

Although Wyatt hadn’t particularly warmed to Ben, the thought that he’d taken up with the likes of Arlie Sloan disconcerted him. He’d have to warn Edith. “I doubt Mrs. Grayson realizes Ben has taken to Arlie’s company. I’ll make a point to warn her. With her regard for Ben’s associates, I’m sure she’ll step right in.”

Annoyance flashed across Samantha’s face, heightening her color. “The way she’s denounced my twins.”

Wyatt raised both hands in a placating motion. “Did I say a word about Jack and Tim?”

“You didn’t have to. I already know what you think of them. And I’ll have you know that I’m proud”—she tilted her head at a haughty angle—“downright
proud
of them for rescuing Daniel.” She crossed her arms in front of her.

His spitfire Samantha.
Wyatt wanted to shake his head. Amazing how a man could be in trouble with her when he hadn’t even said anything. He fought off the wish to fold her into his embrace, silence her speech with a kiss, feel her respond as the
tenseness drained out of her body. He reached out his hands, cupping her elbows, urging her to unlock her arms.

The sound of running footsteps caused Wyatt to drop his hands to his sides and turn around, silently cursing the interruption.

Samantha turned, tucking wisps of hair back into her bun.

Daniel ran up to the porch. “Mama, Mariposa’s foaling.”

“All right, son.” Samantha’s voice sounded calm. “You know what to do. I’ll be right there.” She smiled ruefully. “I’m afraid the invite to stay to supper will have to wait, Wyatt. I don’t know if we’ll even have time for it tonight.”

“How ’bout if you invite us to stay for Mariposa’s foaling? I’ll help. And I know Christine would like to see the birth.”

She laughed, showing that dimple again. “Manuel’s off with the hands, so I could use some help. But I think the stall’s going to be mighty crowded. The boys will all want to watch too. Maybe I should sell tickets.”

“I’ll put some hay bales on the outside of the stall. The children can stand on them and watch. As long as they’re quiet, it should be all right.” He paused. “That fine with you?”

“Fine with me.” She matched his tone. “You go on to the barn. I’ll speak with Maria, change, and be right there.”

He nodded and strode down the porch stairs. Unlooping Bill’s reins, Wyatt led his horse toward the barn. They’d probably be a while, so he’d better make Bill comfortable.

He shook his head, not quite believing how anxious he was to see the foal’s arrival. Still didn’t see much use for the Falabellas. But, although he wouldn’t admit it to anyone, they were growin’ on him.

Inside the barn, he looked around. Unlike the night when he’d first brought Samantha here, the building resonated with life. The boys’ horses peeked curious heads over their stalls. He
noted with approval the dirt floor swept clean and the hay bales stacked neatly outside each stall, adding their fresh scent to the smell of horses.

Wyatt urged Bill into the nearest empty stall, stripping off the gelding’s saddle, blanket, and bridle. He checked to see the stall held a full pail of water, then left his horse. He looked into the pony’s stall to make sure Christine had taken care of her mount. Then drawn by the muted sound of children’s voices, he strode to the other end of the barn.

In the second-to-last stall, the children squatted in the straw, hovering around the little gray Falabella. Jack knelt at Mariposa’s head, patting her. As Wyatt entered, he looked up. Even in the dim light, Jack’s green eyes appeared haunted, his skin white enough for his freckles to stand out.

For the first time, Wyatt saw Jack as a boy, young and vulnerable, not as a potential troublemaker. “You’ve seen foals born before haven’t you, Jack?”

“Us ’uns never had us a horse. Just Pa’s old mule. But I helped Nanny a time or two.”

“Well, I’m sure Mariposa will be fine.” He looked over at Daniel, stroking the small horse’s dappled gray side. “This isn’t her first one is it, Dan?”

“Her third.”

“See, Jack, she’s experienced. Won’t be a problem.”

The anxiousness eased out of Jack’s face. His stiff shoulders relaxed.

Wyatt’s own chest tightened. Perhaps the twins just needed some parental loving—paternal loving. He’d have to think on the matter. Later.

He crouched down next to Daniel, running his hands in assessment over Mariposa’s distended belly. Under his palms, the
foal heaved. If you divided a regular horse by fourths, what he was touching felt about right.

Samantha entered, clutching several old towels. She’d changed into men’s clothes—white shirt with the sleeves rolled up, tucked into blue denim pants. She’d hitched up the pants with a brown leather belt with a silver buckle engraved with a galloping horse.

Seeing how those clothes molded to her body, Wyatt experienced a sensual rush and made a quick promise to himself. Sometime in the future, when they’d no longer had the chaperonage of children and horses, he’d have to see about peeling those male clothes off her very female form.

Through the open window in the wall, the setting sun cast a puddle of orange light around Wyatt and Mariposa. “How is she?” Samantha kept her tone even, not wanting to betray the happiness that set her pulse to dancing at the sight of Wyatt with the pregnant Falabella. In spite of his offer, she hadn’t really believed that the man who’d castigated her “midget” horses would actually help deliver Mariposa’s foal.

“Feels like everything’s right.” He looked at her, gray gaze glinting. “I’ll line up the hay bales.”

“Good idea.” A lock of brown hair fell across his forehead. Samantha resisted brushing it back. Instead, she glanced around. “Everyone out,” she ordered quietly. “Mr. Thompson is going to put the bales around the outside of the stall so you can stand on them and watch.”

All the children except Jack hustled to their feet.

Samantha touched the side of her forefinger to her mouth. “Mind you go silently.”

The children tiptoed out.

Jack remained kneeling. “Can’t I please stay with her, Miz Samantha? You said she was my very own horse to take care of.”

Unable to resist the pleading look in his eyes, Samantha nodded. She couldn’t help but be pleased at his assumption of responsibility. She stepped closer and ran her hand across Jack’s unruly brown hair, something she wouldn’t have dared before today. “I’m sure Mariposa will take comfort in your presence.”

For her own peace of mind, Samantha needed to check on the foal. Wyatt didn’t have the experience with the Falabellas that she did. She knelt down, feeling the horse’s sides. “You’ll be a mama again soon, my darling.” She repeated the croon in Spanish.

Jack leaned closer. “She all right?”

“She’s doing fine.”

He exhaled in relief.

“You’ll just have to be patient. Babies come at their own time. Mariposa knows what to do.”

The four children climbed on the hay bales. She looked up at them hanging over the wall, crowded as close together as her garden peas in a pod. Just looking at their faces, she could tell what they were feeling: Daniel drew his eyebrows together in interest. Little Feather looked solemn, but had a spark in his brown eyes that betrayed curiosity. Tim’s forehead wrinkled in concern. And Christine’s blue eyes were wide with excitement.

Samantha smoothed her hands over Mariposa’s sides. “Just keep talking to her, Jack, soft and gentle.”

Wyatt returned, dropping into the hay next to her. “Now we wait.”

Time passed. The children whispered together. The illumination from the open windows and barn doors dimmed. The
horse labored. One part of Samantha’s attention focused on Mariposa, but another lingered on her heightened awareness of Wyatt.

He sat only inches away. Her nose, long accustomed to the barn odors of hay and horse, filtered them away, concentrating on his musky male scent. The grayness of evening wrapped around them. She resisted the urge to lean against him.

When the shadows darkened, she looked up at the children lining the stall. “Tim, go and light two of the lanterns.”

“Yes, ma’am.” His head disappeared, and footsteps sounded on the hard dirt floor. Soon a far glow of yellow showed over the top of the walls.

“Miz Samantha!” Tim called, his voice sharp. “I think Pampita’s foaling too.”

“Jack, stay with Mariposa,” she ordered in a low voice. Grabbing one of the towels, Samantha climbed to her feet. “Wouldn’t you know, they’d both decide to foal at once. I just hope the other two don’t follow suit.” She hurried out of the stall, closely followed by Wyatt, and trotted two doors down to reach Pampita.

Inside, the little brown mare lay on her side in the straw. Samantha knelt down by her. She needed more light to see. “Tim, bring the lantern here, and take the other to Jack,” she said softly.

Wyatt dropped down next to her. “She foaled before?”

“No, it’s her first.” Samantha ran her hands over Pampita’s heaving side, softly reassuring the mare in Spanish.

Little Feather peeked around the stall door, his brown eyes wide.

Samantha waved him inside. “Come and sit by her.”

The boy moved as silently as possible through the rustling straw on the floor and settled cross-legged at her head.

“Pampita has become Little Feather’s shadow,” Samantha explained to Wyatt. “It’s comical how she follows him around.”

“I’ve noticed,” he said.

“She’s going to miss him when I finally persuade him to attend school.” She sent Little Feather a teasing glance.

The boy smiled back with his eyes.

Samantha shifted in the hay, making herself more comfortable. “Little Feather, have you helped birth foals before?”

The boy nodded.

“Good, then you know what to do.”

The horse shuddered and moaned.

Time passed.

Voices rose in excitement from the other stall.

“Mama,” Daniel called. “The baby’s coming.”

Torn between staying and going, Samantha looked at Wyatt.

He jerked his head toward the other stall. “Go. I’ll keep an eye on Little Feather and Pampita.”

She signaled her gratitude with her eyes. She briefly touched him on the shoulder, rose, and left, hastening down the aisle.

In the other stall, Jack knelt between Mariposa’s hind legs, and Daniel stroked the horse’s head. Two tiny hooves protruded from the birth canal.

Samantha’s relief relaxed her stomach; Mariposa’s delivery promised to be a normal birth, no complications.

Jack looked up at her, his eyes anxious.

“Go ahead and pull, son,” she said. “Slowly. I’ll help you.” Samantha joined him, placing her hands over his. Together they eased the baby out, until it lay in a slick bundle on the straw.

She heard Jack’s indrawn breath, and the oohs of the other three children.

Samantha handed Jack a towel. “Gently clean out the foal’s nose. I’ll cut the umbilical cord.”

They moved through the finishing of the birth process. In a few minutes, dam and colt stood together. Jack guided the wobbly baby in under the mare’s rear legs and belly, toward the mother’s teats. While the foal nursed, Jack leaned back on his heels, a look of awe brightening his face.

Once again the miracle of birth swept over Samantha. She felt contentment and a connection with the Almighty. She remembered experiencing them even more intensely at Daniel’s birth. She’d thought to experience that joy again, but it was not to be. An ache hollowed her womb, growing stronger to grip her heart in a painful squeeze. With a start, she realized she still wanted a baby. And not any man’s baby—Wyatt’s baby.