Diana Palmer - Wyoming Brave

“I can do that,” Merrie assured her.

She talked to Hurricane, smoothing her hand over his face, his ears, his cheek, all the while talking to him. When he felt the needle he started to shift, but Merrie drew him back and laid her forehead against his, talking to him again. He calmed. The vet began to put in the stitches, working efficiently. It didn’t take long.

Dr. Branch came out of the stall with a long sigh. “That’s some bedside manner you’ve got there, Miss...?”

“Grayling,” Merrie said. “My name is Meredith, but everybody calls me Merrie,” she added, with a smile.

“Merrie, then. Thanks for the help.”

“I didn’t mind. I love horses.”

“That one certainly seems to like you,” Dr. Branch said. She shook her head. “I couldn’t get the stupid tranquilizer gun to work. I guess I need more training with it,” she said with a laugh.

“Will he be all right now?” Merrie asked, because she was worried. Some of the cuts had been very deep.

“I gave him an antibiotic,” she replied. “If there’s any obvious infection around the cuts, I may need to come back and see him. You know the signs, I’m sure,” she said to Ren.

“I know them all too well. Thanks for coming, Doc.”

“My pleasure.” She picked up her bag, smiled at Merrie and walked back down the aisle.

“I thought he’d have to be put down,” Ren commented.

“He’s not a bad horse. He’s just been exposed to a bad man,” Merrie replied. She was still smoothing the horse’s forehead. “He’s so beautiful. I drew a portrait of him,” she added softly.

“Did you?” He sounded disinterested. “He’ll settle down now. I have work to do.”

“Am I being evicted?” she asked, eyebrows raised.

“For the time being, yes.”

She sighed, nuzzled Hurricane’s face with her own and left him. He whinnied when she got halfway down the stall. She turned and smiled at him. “I’ll come back again.”

He tossed his head.

“Don’t tell me you can talk to horses, too,” he scoffed.

“I don’t know,” she said honestly. “Daddy never let us near the stables when he was home.”

He scowled, looking down at her. “What sort of horses did he keep?”

Thoroughbreds, but she wasn’t telling him that. She liked being just plain Merrie. “Quarter horses,” she lied. “He sold them all over the world.”

“But you weren’t allowed to ride them?”

“Not the registered ones, no. He didn’t trust us with them.”

“Why?”

She grimaced. “He thought we might injure one, I guess. He kept a few saddle horses for guests. We got to ride those. They were old and swaybacked, but at least we learned how to ride.”

He raised an eyebrow. There was a big difference between riding a quarter horse and a swayback, he thought privately. He wondered if she was bragging, and her father hadn’t had more than one or two horses. Surely, her clothes were an indication that she and her family didn’t have much money. All her attire seemed to consist of gray sweatpants and sweatshirts, most of which had either writing or logos on them.

Her boots, at least, were proper ones. No designer footwear there, he mused, looking down at her small feet. She had on boots that had seen hard wear. They looked a lot like his own, except that hers hadn’t been subjected to smelly substances and too much water.

“The vet seemed nice,” she commented.

“She was. Nice, and quite smart. Her husband is also a vet. They specialize in large-animal calls.”

“Out here, I guess they’d have to,” she commented, looking around at the long, beautiful pastures that led off to sharp, jagged white peaks in the distance. “Is that the Rocky Mountains?” she asked.

“No. Those are the Teton Mountains. We’re closer to Jackson Hole than we are to Yellowstone.”

“I don’t know much about the territory out here,” she confessed. “I’ve never been out of south Texas in my life.”

He scowled. “Never?”

“Daddy didn’t want us out of his sight,” she said simply.

Daddy sounded like a paranoid schizophrenic. But he wasn’t going to say it out loud.

They walked into the kitchen. Delsey had stopped the bleeding temporarily with a large towel, under which bandages could be seen. A tall, good-looking cowboy with blue eyes and black hair was standing beside Grandy. He looked up when Merrie walked in, and his eyes twinkled.

“It is she. The witch woman!” he teased.

Merrie’s eyebrows met her hairline. “Excuse me?”

“Your fame has preceded you, my lady,” the man said, making her a sweeping bow. “I expected choirs of cherubs singing praises...”

She felt her forehead. “I don’t think I have a fever,” she murmured.

“He does Shakespeare at our local playhouse,” Delsey said, rolling her eyes. “That’s Rory Tubbs, Merrie, although none of us ever use his first name,” she introduced them. “He’s playing King Lear.”

“Not King Lear,” he muttered. “Macbeth!”

“I always get those two confused,” the older woman conceded. “There you go, Grandy. You’ll live until Tubbs can get you to the doc.”

“Hurricane didn’t kill you, then?” Grandy asked Merrie.

She smiled. “No. He’s a sweet horse.”

“You’d think so,” Grandy muttered. “He didn’t pitch you headfirst into a pile of tin, now, did he?”

She laughed softly. “No, he didn’t. I hope you’ll be all right,” she added gently.

Grandy actually flushed. He got up and grabbed his hat, nodding at her before he put it on. “I’ll be fine. Nothing but a cut,” he murmured.

“A big cut, but he’ll still be fine,” Tubbs added with a flash of white teeth. He tipped his hat. “See you again, fair maiden.”

She smiled.

“Don’t die,” Ren told Grandy. “I can’t afford to lose you.”

Grandy grinned at him. “Hard to kill a weed, boss.” He grimaced. “Next time, I’ll listen.”

“Next time, you’d better,” Ren said. His eyes smiled at the older man, even if his mouth didn’t. It was impossible to miss the very real affection Ren had for his men.

“I always listen, don’t I, boss?” Tubbs asked. “And I can drive in six feet of snow and ice.” He buffed his nails on his coat. “I’m irreplaceable.”

“I can do that myself,” Ren shot back. “Don’t get cocky.”

Tubbs chuckled and herded Grandy out the back door toward the waiting pickup truck.

“Don’t flirt with the men,” Ren said icily.

She gaped at him. “I smiled at him!”

“Don’t smile at them, either,” he added belligerently.

She just stood there, uncertain and undecided.

“Oh, hell,” he muttered. He turned on his heel and went back out the door. He slammed it behind him, rattling the elaborate glass pane at the top of it.

“He’ll break that one day,” Delsey said with a sigh. She shook her head. “No pleasing him today, is there?”

“Is he always like this with women?” she wanted to know.

She fought for the right words. “Well, not with older women,” she qualified.

“Maybe I can age ten years or something,” Merrie said under her breath.

Delsey laughed. “You really do have something special in you, if you could get that wild horse to let the vet treat him.”

“He’s been hurt,” Merrie said. “He’s just scared.”

“Maybe. But if I were a man, I wouldn’t go in the pen with him.”

Merrie laughed. “Neither would I,” she confessed.

“Want a sausage biscuit?” Delsey asked, peering around her toward the door, just in case Mr. Ren was somewhere nearby.

“I’d love one, thanks, and some coffee. I’ll sneak them up to my room while he’s away.”