“Stand back, everybody,” Fred said.“She’s going to get that little fella on his feet.”
“No way.”Quinn surveyed the colt’s spindly legs and couldn’t picture it.“I don’t think he has the engineering for it yet.”
“He has to,” Jo said.“It’s the only way he can nurse.”
“He’s not up to it, I tell you.”Quinn grew agitated as the mare hauled herself to her feet.“Make her lie down and drag him to the right spot.”
Jo walked to the stall door and stood near Quinn.“You can’t interrupt nature like that,” she said gently.“In the wild, a horse’s survival depends on getting upright as soon as possible.This has been going on for centuries.”
“Well, I don’t like it.”Quinn folded his arms across the top of the stall door and frowned as the mare started pushing the colt with her nose.“She’s expecting too much, too soon.”
“She’s acting on instinct,” Jo said.
“She’s pushy, is what she is.”Quinn breathed in the sweet scent of Jo’s hair.It looked as mussed and tangled as it had in the bedroom.She probably hadn’t bothered to comb it in her rush to get to the barn.When she shifted her weight, tendrils of it brushed his bare forearm.If he moved his hand a fraction, he’d be able to wind a lock around his finger.
But he didn’t want such a tame experience.He wanted to grab handfuls of her hair and let the rich silkiness flow between his fingers.He wanted to comb her hair over her naked breasts so that she looked like a brunette version of Lady Godiva.He wanted?—
“See?He’s up.”
“I’ll be damned.”To Quinn’s astonishment, while he’d been fantasizing about a sensuous experience with Jo’s hair, the colt had somehow balanced itself on those four matchstick legs and was sucking vigorously on his mother’s teat.
“He’s going to fall, I tell you.You should prop something under him.A stepladder would probably work.”
Emmy Lou walked over and patted Quinn’s arm.“Relax.These folks know what they’re doing.We’ve had lots of foals born on the Bar None, and not a one of them ever needed to be propped up with a stepladder.Now if you’ll all excuse me, I’ll bring us some coffee.”
Benny turned from his inspection of the colt.“And chocolate chip cookies?”
“Of course.What would foaling be without a batch of my chocolate chip cookies?Before we came down here I took them out of the freezer.”
“Good thing.”Quinn grinned at her.“I can’t stand a foaling without chocolate chip cookies, myself.”
Emmy Lou gazed at him and sighed.“Are you sure you’re not Brian Hastings?”
“Matter of fact, I am.Until somebody blows the whistle on me.”
“That reminds me.”Jo turned to Fred and Benny.“I need to let you two in on what’s happening.In spite of what you might think, this man is not Brian Hastings.”
Fred stuck a plug of tobacco under his lip.“Who’s Brian Hastings?”
Quinn smiled.He’d found a friend.
Benny pointed to Quinn.“He is.”
“No, he’s not,” Jo said.
“Makes no never mind to me.”Fred put his can of tobacco in his back pocket.“He can be Donald Duck for all I care.A man’s name’s not important.It’s how he conducts himself.”
Jo glanced at Quinn.“Fred doesn’t go to the movies, and he hates TV.”
“I gathered,”
She turned to Benny and Fred.“Remember when that guy came by the ranch last fall looking for a place to shoot a movie?”
Benny looked blank.
Fred scratched his beard and finally shook his head.“Guess he didn’t make no impression on me.”
“He was an advance man for Brian Hastings, who is the top box office draw in the country.”
