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 thequilt 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.
