High-Riding Heroes (17 page)
Not once did Victoria worry about being seen. The horse would warn them of anyone approaching, which was a long shot. And besides, she couldn’t have prevented their coming together. It just happened naturally. It was a freedom she had never allowed herself to experience.
When he covered her with his body, it was as if she were coming home. A strange mix of the comfortable and the unknown. One of expectations and surprises.
He filled her. A complete union, the feelings as new as if they had never been together like this before. Arching toward him, murmuring his name, she exploded with more love and heat than she ever thought possible.
He was home. Each time he drove hard into her and rode closer to completion, he wondered at it all. Never, never had he loved someone as much.
Later, much later, he kicked his gelding into an easy gallop and they headed toward Glory Town.
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Victoria leaned back into him. She hoped he would think it was the momentum of the gallop but it was her. She wanted to feel his long, lean body supporting hers. It would be nice to know what it would be like to have a man to lean on, mentally and physically.
Glory Town was just stretching into the waking hour. People stirred here and there. They rode to the barn, through the gate and inside. The first thing Victoria saw shot ice water through her veins. Her horse wasn’t in his stall but on the sawdust-covered floor of the barn. Stall door open…feed room door open.
Two and two added up to death.
“Oh God. He’s down. Didn’t you lock the doors?” It was more an accusation than a question as she jumped off his horse and ran to hers. Tonka’s breathing was labored, and after putting an ear to his stomach and hearing silence, she knew. Colic! The dreaded word among horse owners.
Wes was beside her. “Of course, I locked the doors. Do you think I’m a fool?
Horses are my job. Get him up.”
Her groan was almost a cry. “You really screwed up this time and it’s liable to cost me my animal. Damn. Call the vet.”
Her mind skimmed over all she knew about colic. Any time a horse ingested too much of something it wasn’t used to—lush green grass, alfalfa, or too much grain—it ferments before it can be digested, forming gas in the intestines. Unless the blockage can move along the insides and out…the internal agitation causes extreme pain. And if the horse lies down and rolls to relieve the suffering, it can twist the intestine, closing off any hope of passing the blockage. The horse dies.
In a matter of eight to ten hours, the animal is gone. A long, painful death.
Panic threatened to pour in but she held it at bay. Running for a lead shank, she returned and clicked it on his halter.
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It took some coaxing, but she had the horse on his feet and walking as Wes dialed the vet.
He had locked the doors. He was no greenhorn. How the hell could she assume this was his doing? Because he was the one who came in early and fed and took his horse out for a ride. He was the one. Hanging up, assured help was on the way, he hurried to the refrigerator and pulled out a syringe. Sticking the needle in the bottle of Banamine, he withdrew 100 cc’s. Holding the syringe up to the light, he flicked the air out of it and rejoined her in the arena.
Walking on the other side of the horse, Wes injected the muscle relaxant in hopes that they had found him soon enough. Time. Time would tell. He felt his gut tighten up as he stood back and watched Victoria walk the horse around the barn in a wide circle. It was going to be a long, long day. “Let’s hope we found him early enough. If the Banamine relaxes the muscles and the blockage is small, we’ll be all right.”
“Vet coming?” she demanded as she passed him.
“Right away.” Even though he understood her tone of voice, he didn’t like it.
“I didn’t leave any doors open.”
“Hardly matters to me now. Walk him while I run back to the hotel and change.” She needed her jeans and boots on. Not looking at Wes, she handed him the lead, and after patting her horse on the side, she took off at a jog. She wasn’t going to lose this horse simply because someone was careless. Dammit.
Dammit. She wouldn’t.
It didn’t make any sense that Wes would be that lax, she argued with herself, but, she continued the silent battle, he was the only one in there. But he’s been around horses all his life. Hadn’t she mentioned to him that she didn’t like the feed room being accessible from the main arena area? Many a time the horses 132
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were set loose inside so they could run in and out of the paddock area at will. He had assured her it would be all right, and guess what? It hadn’t been.
Returning to the barn, she was relieved to see the vet’s car parked outside.
Running inside, she stopped. They were tubing him now and a bucketful of fluid was coming from the rubber tube in his nose that tapped his stomach.
Squelching a squeamish flow in her own, she marched up and helped hold the gelding still.
“I’m sure you know this only relieves some of the pressure. If he hasn’t already rolled and twisted an intestine, we have a chance of saving him. Later this afternoon, we’ll know more. You know the routine. Walk him fifteen minutes, rest him thirty. Walk fifteen and rest. Don’t let him go down and, for God’s sake, don’t let him roll.”
“We know, Doc, and thanks.” Wes turned to Victoria. “Doc is leaving us more Banamine.”
Victoria offered, hopefully, “I heard a little bit of movement in his gut when I first got him up. Maybe he’ll do okay.”
The vet stripped off his rubber gloves and put the hose and bucket away.
“We’ll see. I’ve done all I can for now. I’ll come back,” he looked at his watch, “at six. If you need me before that, don’t hesitate to call.”
Victoria knew what that meant. If the horse went down and couldn’t get up, if he rolled…it was time to put him down. When the pain got so bad…no, she wouldn’t think of that now. Just walk.
She began circling again and watched Wes walk out with the vet. Both men were about the same age but the veterinarian was small and wiry with sharp features and short legs. They mumbled quietly to each other as they walked, and soon both men were out of sight.
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She rubbed Tonka’s nose and talked reassuringly as they walked. Step.
Another. Another. She felt the horse falter a little and talked louder to him, tightening her hold on his halter. How much feed had he eaten? How much water had he drunk? How bad did his stomach ache? Those questions whirled in her mind. Checking her watch, she led him to his stall and clipped the lead off.
Locking him in, she went to the feed room to look.
The lid from the rubber trash can Wes had installed to hold the high-protein feed was slid aside. The can held fifty pounds. Nearly half of it was gone. There was no way a horse’s system could take a deluge of feed that way. Whoever had coined the phrase “eats like a horse” didn’t own one. A horse’s food was measured and the fields it grazed in were monitored. She groaned and kicked the can. Slamming the feed room door shut, she locked it securely. Too late.
Watching the time carefully, she brought Tonka out again and they started their trek She stalled him once more and got him out again. Wes came in, his hands laden with bologna sandwiches, cans of cola under his arm.
“Eat something,” he coaxed. “I’ll walk him.”
When she just stared daggers at him, he set the stuff on the top of a bale of hay. “It’s going to be a long damn day. You’re going to need energy. That horse is going to need you.” Frustrated and angry, he scowled, “It’s up to you.”
He was right and that grated her even more. She handed over the lead and sat down, mindlessly forcing the food into her system. Wes talked to the horse and kept him moving. When the time was up, he stalled him and joined her on the other bale of hay. Biting into a sandwich, he waited while she popped the top on the cola and took a swig. He hated her silence. And the pain in her eyes.
Hours. Long, tiring hours passed. Buck and the boys appeared in the barn now and again offering to take a turn walking. She shrugged them off. “He’s my 134
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horse. I’ll walk him.” J. Weston Cooper miraculously showed up at regular intervals to inject the muscle relaxant, only to disappear quietly again.
Wes had given up offering to spell her and busied himself elsewhere for a while. But now he was back. It was four o’clock and Victoria was exhausted. He watched from the doorway.
The two of them were dusty and he could see traces of tears swiped away by the streaks on her cheeks. It pained him to see her this way. They both knew how it would probably turn out, but they also both knew they had to try.
Victoria was counting. In her mind, she ticked off the numbers. Seventy-one, seventy-two, seventy-three. Anything to keep from thinking about all this. And the rhythm she set in her mind kept both of them paced. She tripped and went down on both knees. She pounded a fist against her leg and felt the animal at her side go down on his knees. She looked at him, his head near hers, his eyes pleading with her to do something. “We can’t give up, Tonka. We can’t. Get up.”
She pushed herself to a standing position and yanked the lead to get him up.
The horse coughed and grunted but came up and walked when she did. It tore Wes’s heart. He stormed over to her and took the lead. “Rest. I don’t give a damn if you go back to your room or collapse in one of the stalls. But rest.” He shoved an open can of ice cold cola in her hand.
She blinked her eyes and stared at him. A weak laugh escaped her lips. “I don’t think I’ve ever prayed so hard in my whole life.”
She dragged herself over to the hay and slumped against it. In two seconds, her eyes were closed and she was asleep.
She awoke with a start, her heart pounding against her rib cage. When her eyes cleared, she looked first at her watch—6:20—and then at the two men working on her horse. The vet came around from the rear of the horse and
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stripped off his rubber glove. When Wes looked at him hopefully, the vet just shook his head and began to put things away.
Victoria ran over to him. “Well?”
The vet breathed a heavy sigh. “I can put him down now or you can give him another couple of hours. I couldn’t find anything with the palp and nothing is moving through the intestines yet.
I can give you some strong pain medicine to give him. Once again, it’s up to you. He seems to be a fighter.”
She rubbed her damp palms against her thighs and looked at Wes. He nodded. Directing her words to the vet, she answered, “We’ll give it a little longer. We may just luck out.”
In a daze she walked and prayed, listening for the sound that would mean things had worked their way through his system and he would be fine. But the heavy cache of fear that laid in the pit of her stomach and squeezed her heart was always there. The clock ticked on. She put one booted foot in front of the other.
Talking, always talking to Tonka, she walked with him.
The horse nickered very little now. His stomach was bloated and tender. The minute she stopped walking, the horse made one turn and fell down, exhausted.
The boys and Buck were back again, offering to take turns walking the horse.
She shrieked at them as she snapped Tonka on the rear with the riding crop to make him get up again. Fear and heartache made her unreasonable. “Get out of here. He’s mine. Get up, Tonka. Get up.”
Buck watched her and muttered to himself, “Looks just like her father.”
“What?” Wes sided Buck.
“Nothing,” Buck dodged and moved away.
Wes shook his head and went out with the boys. He couldn’t stand to watch her, tears streaming down her face as she had to hit the horse to make him rise 136
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again. But he knew if it was his horse he would be doing the same thing. No one who loves a horse gives up very easily. He walked to the phone and dialed the vet. It was time.
Just as Wes entered the barn, the horse staggered and staggered again. With a snort and a sigh he fell, heavily. Victoria jumped to hold his head down to make rolling harder, but the animal, in his pain, kicked his legs high and rolled halfway.
Wes ran and slammed his body over the horse, glad he had the syringe of pain medicine ready. He punched the needle in the horse’s hide and injected some relief.
Her voice filled with more agony than the horse was experiencing, she looked back at him. “It’s time, Wes. Call the vet.”
“I did. He’s on his way.”
She soothed the animal, as she lay half against him. “You’ll feel better soon now, old boy.” The pain medicine kicked in and the animal lay quieter, his breathing ragged and quick.
They lay there. The three of them. The animal in total distress; Wes and Victoria sad and resigned. She ran her hand across the horse’s cheek and laid her face beneath his ear. “It’ll be okay real soon. Go to sleep, Tonka.” Her voice shook and Wes reached to touch her shoulder. She shrugged him off.
The vet arrived armed with a huge syringe. Handing the tube to Wes, he fitted the needle in the artery at the horse’s neck.
Victoria had no tears now. She sat with the horse’s head in her lap, petting him, crooning to him. The horse looked at her, eyes filled with pain…and love.
Wes felt his breath snag.
“He’ll go right away,” the vet explained as he injected the life-taking medication, “but it will take a full fifteen minutes before his heart stops beating.”
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The horse never made another sound, merely drifted away in the time it took for Victoria to draw a deep breath. Though the animal no longer lived, his eyes remained open and vacant. When Wes offered her his hand, she ignored it and continued to sit with the animal’s head in her lap and stroked and rocked while death took over. The relief that flooded through Victoria came out as silent tears that rolled slowly down her face.