Ruth Herne - Her Cowboy Reunion

She didn’t hate men for letting her down. Men like her father. Her grandfather. Heath. But she wasn’t foolish enough to trust one again, either. A movement outside caught her eye as she crossed to the stairs leading to her rooms. Furtive and low, something skulked outside, moving toward the pasture beyond.

Too small for a wolf. Maybe too small for a coyote, too, the creature slipped through the night, but the low profile and the stealthy manner put her on alert.

Foals could be damaged by rogue wild animals. And worried mares might have less milk for their growing babies. She couldn’t afford to risk either, so she’d figure out what this was and how to handle it because she didn’t need reminders about what was at stake within these barn walls.

She’d seen the spreadsheets. No sneaking creature of the night was going to ruin this for her, for the ranch or for those beautiful mares. She’d see to it.

* * *

Heath couldn’t get into the busyness of lambing fast enough, if having Lizzie around messed with his head this much. There was nothing like delivering hundreds of tiny creatures to keep your mind occupied, but tonight images flooded him.

Lizzie, in the kitchen, engaging the men in conversation. Or on the porch, her long, russet hair splayed across her shoulders, smiling at his son. At the campfire, her lyrical voice and the flickering flames taking him back in time.

Heath didn’t have the luxury of lingering in the past. Fatherhood required him to be fully present in today, but that reality had changed when he’d come face-to-face with Lizzie that morning.

The other reality was the massive amount of work that they’d have on their hands after Ben, Aldo and Brad headed into the hills for the last time ever.

He pushed off the rail to return to the house, and there she was, backlit by the stable lights. She stood quiet and still, with a beauty he remembered like it was yesterday. Favor is deceitful, and beauty is vain, but a woman that feareth the Lord shall be praised...

He used to care what the Bible said. He used to pray with his heart and soul.

Now he only went to church because he believed Zeke needed that structure, but the old verse washed over him as they locked eyes. He stood there, unable to shift his gaze while years melted away.

She broke the connection first and kept walking toward the stables.

In a weird reversal of roles, he moved toward the house. It had been different in Kentucky. She’d lived in the grand house and he’d bunked with his drunken father in the upper part of the horse barn, but he couldn’t find any pleasure in the change. It felt wrong on so many levels. Lizzie Fitzgerald shouldn’t be sleeping in a barn. Not now. Not ever.

And yet she was.

He cut around to the back door and slipped inside. He kicked off his shoes and moved into the bedroom he shared with his son.

Anna had made the ultimate sacrifice five and a half years before. She’d understood the dangers to herself, but refused to terminate the pregnancy. And when the resulting heart damage from the previously undiagnosed condition proved too much for her body to bear, she’d kissed him and the perfect baby boy goodbye. And then she was gone. No pain. No suffering. Just wave upon wave of immeasurable sadness.

Zeke rolled over. He brought his hand toward his mouth, an old habit from when he used to suck his thumb, but then his small brown hand relaxed against the white-cased pillow.

Heath kissed the boy’s cheek. Then he went to bed, listening to the sound of his son’s breathing, like balm on a wound. But when he couldn’t get Lizzie’s russet-toned eyes out of his mind, he realized that shrugging some things off was much harder than others.

Chapter Four

D etermined. Troublemaker. Big Red. Night Shadow. Red Moon Rising.

Lizzie stared at the impressive list of stallion names, refusing to be overwhelmed.

Getting eight mares bred to top quarter horse stallions had set her uncle back a cool hundred grand. And based on their lineage, the healthy foals could pay back three times that without a single credential to their record.

That meant each one better hit the ground running, healthy and sound.

You are now responsible for a million dollars in marketable goods . She stood and faced the broad window overlooking the verdant pasture as Heath walked toward the stable the next morning. And your goods aren’t static. They’re impulsive babies who run and jump and cavort. Your job is to keep them alive and unblemished.

Her business major had prepared her for the financial scenario, but she’d assumed she’d be working with publishing spreadsheets and corporate executives, not living creatures. Despite all she knew about horses, she’d never felt less prepared in her life.

“Sticker shock?” asked Heath when he paused at the office door.

“Is it that obvious?”

“Don’t get me wrong.” Heath came through the door. “Sean knew what he was doing. He didn’t play to lose. Ever. And his goal was to bring Saddle Up blood onto the farm one way or another, so three of those mares are bred to Saddle Up stallions. Speaking of which, this just came through the fax.”

He handed her a picture of a magnificent red roan quarter horse. Red Moon Rising, with an offer of sale attached from Rising Star Ranch.

She sighed, staring. “He’s gorgeous.” She noted the western Nebraska ranch named in the corner of the fax. “I have a note here from Uncle Sean saying this was his top choice, and pretty sure they’d never sell. And yet—” She raised the spec sheet higher. “Here we are. How did this happen?”

“I don’t know. Sean approached them over a year ago and got nowhere. Then this appears, out of the blue. Do we want him?”

The perfectly formed horse stood tall and proud, the way a stallion should. But he had a gentleness in his eye, too, an important factor on a working farm. “That’s not even a question. Of course we do. But I thought we were short on money.”

“Short on cash, temporarily. At least until we get things squared away with all the changes. But we’re long on assets,” he told her. “And since this is something Sean tried to do before he died, I think we need to follow the plan.” He tapped the printed sheet in her hand. “I’m glad they decided to share. Sean could be mighty convincing when he needed to be. When it came to horses, he knew what he wanted and where to get it. I don’t have the knack,” he went on. “Sheep, yes. Horses, no. But Sean did. And he thought you did, too.”

“Being an accomplished rider doesn’t make me a breeder.” She clutched the sale offer and gazed at the mares in the near pasture. “And there’s no big name vet on hand to offer advice and testing like other places have. And one groomer to help me, a guy who doesn’t speak horse.”

“Not everyone’s a whisperer, Liz.”

He used to tease her about that when they were young, about her ability to work well with the horses, to understand what they wanted. Needed. “It’s not whispering. It’s just instinct.”

“It’s a gift and not everyone has it. Eric Carrington is expanding his place a little further south in the valley. He’s looking at expanding his cattle breeding operation into horses. He and Sean talked about a partnership, but then—”

“Angus cattle, black and red.” She pointed to the laptop computer. “His name came up in my searches. We passed his pastures on the drive in, didn’t we?”

“Yes. And if you decide to cut the deal for Red Moon Rising, I’ll transfer the money to the equine account. That’s a mighty fine-looking horse right there. And there are three stallion stalls sitting empty at the moment. He’d pay for himself in stud fee savings in a year.”