Winter at Mustang Ridge (14 page)

Heart thudding, she hurried toward the sound, reaching the main slider just as Nick swung down from his truck. Wearing heavy layers and a fur-lined hat she hadn’t seen on him before, he looked capable and cowboyish, and like he fit right in with the rugged landscape.

Relief poured through her. “You came.” She walked straight into his arms, needing the contact. “Thank you.”

He gripped her tightly, burrowing in for a moment, then easing away as Gran hurried up, her arms piled with clothes and food. “I take it he’s not back?”

“No,” Jenny said, “and the others won’t be here before dusk.” She looked at him, measuring his worn jeans and sturdy boots, surprised to realize how little she really knew about him. “Can you ride?”

“Try and stop me.”

The rush of gratitude was stronger than she wanted to let on. Inhaling a deep breath, she nodded. “Thanks.” To Gran, she said, “We’ll bring him back in one piece.”

She didn’t promise, though. Didn’t dare.

•   •   •

It had been a few years since Nick had done any serious riding, but the motions came back quickly enough as he slapped borrowed tack on Roman, a solid bay gelding with an aquiline nose and a reportedly unflappable temperament. He was aware of Jenny keeping an eye on him as he buckled on the last of the gear, then double-checked his cinch. “I think I’m good to go,” he said.

“I’d say you are.” Despite the underlying strain, her eyes warmed as she crossed to him, reached up on her tiptoes, and kissed his cheek. “Thank you. Gran is relieved you’re going with me. So am I.”

Dropping a kiss on her forehead, he said, “Two sets of eyes are better than one. Or four versus two, if we’re counting the horses. And we need to get moving if we’re going to beat the dark.” He didn’t think she would want to hear there was no way he would’ve let her go alone, even if it had meant chasing her on foot.

As it was, they would likely be riding past dark, hoping to hell that the sky stayed clear, the moonlight strong enough to light the trail. And hoping they had loaded themselves and the horses with the right supplies. “Give me a minute to grab a few things out of my truck?”

She nodded, face setting in resolute lines. “I’ll meet you around the side with both horses.”

It didn’t take him long to load a battered knapsack with the supplies he thought he might need—the moves were ingrained after so many years of doing his job on the fly, in situations that would’ve made his “sterile field is everything” vet school professors cringe. He had already changed into his heaviest clothes, so he just had to add an extra pair of gloves, and he was good to go.

In the plowed-clear section beside the barn, Jenny sat astride a chestnut gelding who mouthed the bit and stomped a forefoot, wanting to be moving. Beside her, Gran held Roman’s reins and craned to see the horizon.

As Nick took the reins from the older woman, who looked so much smaller out here than she did in her big, homey kitchen, he said, “Go get yourself thawed out and make sure Rex isn’t too worried. We’ll be in touch.”

After giving the cinch a final tug, he swung up into the wide saddle while Jenny bent down to give her grandmother a hug. With Gran raising a hand in farewell, they reined the horses away and headed along the wide hoof-packed trail leading out of the homestead valley, their progress accompanied by the crunch of ice beneath the horses’ sharp-shod hooves, the creak of cold leather, and the jingle of the long-shanked bits.

As they crested the ridge, where the wind had scoured the snow from the three-rock pyramid that landmarked the ranch valley, Jenny reined her horse to a restless halt. Nick rode up beside her and scanned the next valley, where the snow stretched to the horizon, unbroken save for the main trail and the shadowy veins where other riders—or perhaps animals—had broken off and forged their own paths.

“There’s no sign of him,” she said tightly. “I was hoping . . .”

He bumped his knee against hers. “Chin up. He knows this land and its winters better than any of us. If he got into trouble, he’s probably made camp by now.”

Her smile was wan, but real. “And he’ll be ticked that we came out after him. In fact, he’ll probably act like he had planned an overnight all along, wanting some time away after being so sick.” Her voice trailed off on the last, though.

“He’s tough as nails, Jenny. He’s going to be okay.”

“Thanks. I know I’m saying that way too much, but seriously, thanks. For being here. For trying to cheer me up. For looking seriously hot in the saddle. For all of it.”

His grin got real. “I was going to tell you to stop thanking me, but I think I just changed my mind.”

“Too bad, because I’m done.” Centering herself in the saddle, she let out a steadying breath. “Okay. We’re going to follow the main trail until it intersects with the upper pasture, then follow the fence line uphill. That’s Gran’s and my best guess on where he would’ve gone.”

“You got it.”

A nudge sent her horse onward and down the sloping trail, the muscles of its haunches bunching and shifting beneath the supplies lashed behind the saddle. Nick followed, staying back and off to one side, so if one horse slipped and fell, it would be less likely to take out the other in a tangle of legs and equipment. He strained to detect anything out of the ordinary, but heard only the wind. More tellingly, the horses kept their attention on the trail, with none of the pricked ears or whinnies that would indicate they had sensed another horse in the distance.

Over the next hour as they rode along a series of lower, snow-shrouded hills, they kept conversation to a minimum. Jenny’s face was set, resolute, but each time they passed a smaller, offshoot trail and saw the prints of a shod horse in the snow, she patted her horse’s neck and whispered praise to the little chestnut. It reminded Nick of the way his father had sat at his mother’s bedside those last few days, his thumb stroking the back of her hand over and over again, as if afraid that if he stopped, she would, too.

“Come on, old man,” he muttered under his breath. “Where did you get off to?” He was still hoping for that stopped-and-made-camp scenario, but as the yellow sunlight bled from the sky and there was no evidence of woodsmoke up ahead, it got far too easy to imagine that Big Skye had been thrown and stranded on foot, or worse.

“Let’s try the shotgun again,” Jenny said, though he wasn’t sure if that was because she had heard him or not. He hadn’t meant for her to, wanted to keep his input wholly positive. But then again, they both knew the odds.

“The horses going to be okay with it?” he asked as she loosened the scabbard.

“Should be, but I wouldn’t throw my reins away.”

“Noted.”

He took a feel of Roman’s mouth as she aimed and fired three shots over ten or so seconds. The blasts cracked through the cold air, echoed off the surrounding hills, and brought the horse’s heads jerking up, but that was it.

They sat for a moment, straining to hear a far-off reply.

She let out a frustrated sigh. “Damn. Okay, let’s— ” A gunshot sounded suddenly from up ahead, cutting her off. As her face lit, it was followed by two more in rapid succession. “There he is!” Jenny whooped and sent her horse bounding forward, shouting, “Hey! Hey, Gramps! It’s Jenny!”

“Wait! Be careful— ” Nick bit off the pointless warning and gave Roman his head instead. “Go on. Get them!”

J
enny’s heart sang as she and Doobie pounded up a slight rise to the ridge beyond. They had found Big Skye, and he was in good enough shape to fire off a few rounds, and that was the hugest relief she could imagine. Then she crested the hill and started down, and she let loose with a disbelieving laugh at the sight of a strange parade: a bundled human figure trudging along the trail, leading a horse with a leggy black calf tied across the saddle, with a rawboned black cow bringing up the rear, bumping anxiously from side to side.

Not only was Big Skye okay, he was on a flipping rescue mission.

“Hey!” she called, reining in some distance away, not wanting to spook the little herd. “Who do you have there?”

Her grandfather raised a hand in greeting, but didn’t say anything right away, looking torn between embarrassment and relief. After a moment, he grumbled, “Good to see you haven’t forgotten how to ride. Is that the vet with you? Come on down here, Doc. These two could use some help.”

A laugh got stuck in Jenny’s throat. “Nice to see you, too, big guy.” Not that she needed hugs and gratitude, really. All that mattered was that he was in one piece.

She and Nick quickly secured the horses and got a rope on the agitated cow, who wanted to be in the thick of things.

Two, maybe three weeks old, the wolfhound-size calf was limp and exhausted-looking, and had blood seeping from fresh bite wounds on its ribs and neck. “Heard some coyotes getting after something, and went to have a look-see,” Big Skye explained as Nick moved in. “Found them worrying at this guy while his mama tried to drive them off.” He patted the pistol on his hip. “Gave the varmints something else to think about.”

“Late baby,” Nick said, checking the calf’s gums, which were dangerously pale. “Or early, depending.”

“They’re not ours. Must’ve wandered in, or been dropped off.”

“Some folk are looking to be done with their livestock these days, just like their dogs.” Nick unshouldered his knapsack and started rummaging for supplies. “Is this the worst of the bites?”

“Looked it to me. You want to untie him, give him a good going-over?”

To Jenny’s immense gratitude, Nick shook his head. “He’s shocky, but I don’t see fresh blood. I think we should get him stabilized, then head for home.” He glanced over at her. “Want to break out some snacks, and we can do a quick refuel while I get some fluids into this guy and take a quick look at his mama?”

Big Skye visibly perked up at that. “Got any cookies?”

Her heart turned over—not just at how pale her grandfather was, or the little stumble when he turned toward her, but at how Nick had made it the most natural thing in the world for her to break out the thermos of thick, hot cowboy coffee and hand it to her gramps. “Drink up. And, yes, Gran sent cookies.”

He took a deep draught, then exhaled a relieved sigh. “What a woman.”

Jenny handed over a cookie. “She made us bring extra clothes for you, too. You’d better put some of them on, or we’ll all hear about it.”

She doled out extra socks, air-activated hot packs for his hands and feet, a second parka and a fur-lined hat, interspersing the articles with cookie bribes. And, as he struggled with the clothing in a way that was more than the cold and fatigue, she looked away, chest tightening. His hair was so thin, the last of the steel gray turned white seemingly overnight, and his shoulders were stooped beneath the layers of goose down and nylon.

He’s getting old
. No matter how hard she tried to quash the thought, it stayed put, rooting itself in her brain alongside things like
they’re not going to be around forever
, and
what will happen when they’re gone?
Maybe the fears had been there ever since Nick had told her about his mother’s death, bringing the niggling thought that it could’ve been her getting the “come home now” call, only to return and discover that the things she had depended on to stay the same, suddenly weren’t anymore. Or maybe it was all about today—seeing the fear in Gran’s face, feeling it herself as they had ridden over hill after hill without any sign of him. And even now, the nerves wouldn’t let up.

What if he got sick again? What if the next time things didn’t go so well? What if, what if, what if?

Turning away so Big Skye wouldn’t see the sudden film of tears in her eyes, she cleared her throat. “I’ll call Gran, let her know we’re on our way back.”

“Guess we don’t have to put the vet on standby,” Big Skye said, stomping back into his boots, “seeing as he’s already here.”

Yes, he was, wasn’t he? The knowledge eased some of the tightness in her chest as she turned to look at the small mixed herd, where Nick was moving around the skittish black cow, talking soothing nonsense and keeping close, so if the animal did kick him, the blow would lack its full punch. He was big and solid beneath his layers, someone she could depend on. And where at first she had thought him an outsider like her, someone who didn’t fit in with the cow-and-ranch thing, now she realized he was utterly in his element.

Giving the cow a final pat, he looked over at her. “You ready to move out?”

The warmth deepened to an inner glow of gratitude—that he had taken care of the calf without pointing out that the harsh economics of ranching argued for a bullet instead; that he had maneuvered things so Big Skye had accepted food and clothes without a fuss; that he was so darn good at everything he did. Going on impulse, she crossed to him, went up on her tiptoes, and gave him a big, smacking kiss. “Thanks, Doc. You’re the best.”

He grinned down at her. “I thought you were done thanking me for today?”

She patted his cheek. “I am now, hotshot. Let’s get this show on the road. And by the way? I’m riding with you.”

•   •   •

Even with Roman carrying a double load, with Jenny’s arms around Nick’s waist in what he decided was a nice perk, the ride back seemed much shorter than the trip out had been. Still, it was full dark before they crested Mustang Ridge, passed the marker stones, and looked down on the homestead, which spread out in the bowl of the valley in a wash of yellow light.

“Hello, electricity,” Jenny said, leaning to look around him. “Looks like they’ve got every bulb in the place lit.”

“Guess they wanted to give us a big target.” He clucked to Roman and they started down the path. “Looks like there’s a welcoming party, too,” he added as figures emerged from the barn and main house, half a dozen humans with a pair of dogs racing around them in giddy circles. A chorus of barks carried across the snow.

“Stuff and nonsense,” Big Skye muttered behind them. “When this was a real ranch, it was rare for a man to get in before dark. Don’t know why all the fuss now.”

Fighting a grin at Jenny’s low growl, Nick said, “Blame it on the winter. These days, we’ll take any excuse for a little excitement.”

“Humph.”

Nick chuckled at that, and Jenny poked him in the ribs. There wasn’t much of a tickle through his heavy clothes, but he caught her gloved hand in his and held it tight, so her arm was snug against him as they passed through the outer gate, into the fenced-in confines of the ranch proper.

If he had been on foot, he might have hesitated briefly before entering the loose semicircle made of Gran, Rose and Ed Skye, and the wranglers, Foster, Stace, and Junior—which, along with Big Skye and the absent Krista, basically amounted to Jenny’s family and friends, and the heart of Mustang Ridge. But Roman had no such qualms, eagerly marching into the brightly lit parking area and stopping in front of the barn, one ear flicking back in a clear indication of “Okay, that was fun. Now get off and feed me.”

Jenny squeezed Nick’s hand, then swung off the gelding’s haunches. “Look what we found!”

It wasn’t clear whether she was talking about the stray cattle or her grandfather, but the others flocked around her, then surrounded Big Skye as he climbed stiffly down from Doobie, grumbling about having to ride in her too-small saddle. Most everyone was talking at once, asking for details and making lots of “we were so worried!” noises. Foster was the exception, breaking off to give the horses and cows a quick once-over.

Nick hung back from it all, not really sure of his footing. He had crossed paths with each of them in the course of his work on the ranch, granted, but that had been before he got involved with Jenny, making this an odd sort of meet-the-parents-but-not-really moment.

“Hey, Doc,” Foster said casually, “you want to help me get these two into the barn?”

“Sure.” Heck, yeah. Nick took hold of the calf’s back end and between the two of them, they got the limp little creature off Big Skye’s horse and carried it into the barn, followed closely by the black cow, who stepped on their heels, and didn’t at all appreciate being shut in a separate stall. Bumping the wall hard enough to make the two-by-twelves creak, she mooed protest.

Foster straightened away from the calf, which lay quietly on an old blanket, eyes at half-mast. “I’ll get you some warm water. Need anything else? Coffee?”

“I wouldn’t turn down a cup.”

“Coming right up.”

Nick made a trip out to his truck and came back with more fluids, along with his suture kit and a selection of meds. Big Skye had been right about the bite marks—Nick had already seen the worst of them, and if there was other damage, it wasn’t obvious from the outside. The bleeding had stopped on the ride, though a sluggish ooze started up from some of them as the calf warmed up.

Digging into his equipment, Nick came up with a light tranq and a pair of cordless surgical clippers. “Okay, there, little buddy. Let’s see what we’re really dealing with, shall we?”

Over the next hour, he carefully clipped the baby-fine coat down to the dark skin, scrubbed and flushed the wounds, and stitched where stitching made sense. Foster came and went several times, seeing to the horses and tossing hay to the black cow, who settled in quickly enough to suggest she wasn’t anyone’s wild range beef. Then, toward the end, as Nick was snipping off the last of the sutures and feeling the ache in his neck and shoulders, Jenny’s father came in.

Suddenly very aware that he hadn’t gone one-on-one with the father of a girl he was seeing since high school or thereabouts, Nick said, “Evening,” and squelched the urge to tack on a “sir.”

Hands in his pockets, Ed Skye leaned against the open stall door and took a look at the patched-up calf. “Neatly done, Doc.”

“Hope it holds.” Nick smeared on a thick coat of ointment. “Teeth can be nasty things—ragged edges, punctures, and lots of bruising—and coyotes are worse than most. I left plenty of drainage space, though, and I’ll hit him with some antibiotics now and leave you more for later.”

“Think he’ll make it?”

“I’d say he’s got a decent chance.” The warmth and fluids had perked up the little guy’s systems, pinking his gums and filling out some of the hollows, though it would be a little while yet before the calf woke from the tranq. “That’s assuming he doesn’t get sick from exposure, and there isn’t anything going on internally.” He glanced over. “Lot of work for someone else’s calf. Even for one of your own, really.”

Ed shrugged. “A rancher has to pick his battles. Sometimes he picks one that doesn’t seem worth fighting, but that’s okay. It’s part of being human.”

“Ah, a rancher-philosopher.”

“I prefer to think of myself as a tinkerer.”

“That’s right. Jenny said you fix things.”

“Things, maybe, but not people or animals. A living being is a far more complex system, so my hat’s off to you.”

“Thanks, though most of what I do is pretty straightforward—plug this, unplug that, convince owners that it’s in the animal’s best interest to be confined, even if it seems cruel. Hardest part is that my patients can’t tell me exactly where it hurts, at least not in words. So there’s more than a bit of guesswork involved.”

“In my experience, there’s a fair bit of guesswork involved with people, too.” One corner of Ed’s mouth kicked up. “That’s why I like my tools. No opinions to deal with except a stubborn bolt or two.”

Nick chuckled and stood, feeling his knees pop from having been down on the stall floor for too long. “You don’t miss living on the road?”

“I do, but Rosie wanted to come home.” His smile was utterly fond, and didn’t seem to echo any of Jenny’s worries about her mom. “I’ve had my turn,” Ed added, “and now it’s hers. Speaking of which, I should get back in there, make sure Big Skye is playing nice.” Pushing away from the doorframe, he stuck out a hand. “Thank you for riding out tonight, Doc. Mustang Ridge owes you one.”

Nick shook on it, and got a firm, no-nonsense grip in return. “I was glad I could help, and glad it all turned out okay.”

“That it did.” Ed’s eyes went to the black mama cow. “We’ll call around, see if anyone is missing these two. Probably haul the old man back to the doctor tomorrow, to be on the safe side. Couple of days and things will be back to normal . . . but I mean it. We owe you one.”

“Send some cookies my way the next time your mom makes a batch, and we’ll call it even,” Nick said, having learned that, especially as the only vet in such a small, close-knit community, it was better to suggest a small token than refuse gratitude.

“Count on it. And you’re welcome at our table anytime.” With that, Ed sketched a wave and headed for the main door.