Wild Horses (Sadie's Montana #1)(31)

“So why are we bothering to spend all this money? All these veterinary bills? The feed?”

Richard Caldwell looked out the window of Nevaeh’s stall.

“It doesn’t mean the owner will be here to reclaim him,” he said flatly.

“But…it’s not our…your horse,” she insisted.

“Sadie, I told you, this horse is yours. I give him to you. I gave him to you a few weeks ago. He’s getting better—improving much faster then I thought possible. Your visits, the grooming, the apples and carrots and sugar cubes you take from the kitchen…”

“I’m sorry.”

Sadie was deeply ashamed. She hadn’t meant to steal, just figured Richard Caldwell wouldn’t mind the few treats from the kitchen.

“Don’t worry about it. You can feed this horse a bushel of my apples if you choose. You’re doing something right.”

“How long until I can try to ride him?” Sadie asked, bolder now by his words of praise.

“You want to try this afternoon?”

Sadie clasped her hands, sighing, before she said, “Thank you! Oh I’m so glad! I think he’ll do just fine. I won’t gallop him—just walk him. He’s still not very strong. Do you have a saddle and bridle I could use? I still have Paris’ tack, but it’s stored away and likely all cracked and dusty. Did you know I could ride Paris without a sadle? I never told you that, did I? Eva and I both did. Her horse’s name was Spirit, but he listened to anything we wanted him to do. Spirit was a unique horse; small, but very muscular. Paris was the beauty, though. Her color was exactly the shade of honey—you know, the good kind that is done right, not that darker, brownish stuff in the grocery store.”

Suddenly, realizing she was rambling and allowing her stern boss to see her with her guard down, she stopped. She was just being herself, but she felt embarrassed about her open display of emotions. She looked down and kicked gently at Nevaeh’s hoof with the toe of her boot.

Richard Caldwell’s eyes crinkled at the corners, and he smiled from the heart.

“You really loved that Paris, didn’t you?”

Sadie nodded.

“And that dad of yours still won’t allow you to have a horse?”

“I guess not. I tried.”

Sadie shrugged her shoulders helplessly.

“Well, if that’s how he feels, we’ll just keep him here. You can ride in the afternoon or stay an hour later—whatever you decide. If that fearsome Dottie allows it.”

“Don’t call her Dottie,” Sadie said grinning.

Dorothy fussed up a storm when Sadie told her she was allowed to ride for an hour each afternoon. Forgetting the ham and beans on the stove, Dorothy waved the wooden spoon she was using in irritation. Her eyes sparked and her hair bounced around for emphasis.

“And who, young lady, is going to help me out? Who? Barbara Caldwell? Gomez? Harry? I can’t cook these gigantic meals myself! At my age? It’s too much! If I didn’t have this good pair of shoes on my feet, there’s no way I’d be here now. No way.”

She returned to the pot of beans, stirring, muttering, shaking her head about the young generation, while Sadie hastily began loading the dishwasher. Guilt swirled around her heart. Maybe riding Nevaeh and caring for him here at the ranch was not a good idea. Dat didn’t approve of the horse, and now Dottie was upset. Perhaps she should just tell Richard Caldwell to allow the horse to finish his journey back to good health and then sell him, or better yet, search for his owner.

Isn’t that what computers were for? Couldn’t Richard Caldwell go on-line or post something about a lost horse, perhaps a stolen horse, and the owner would see it? She’d have to ask him.

Another thing—it would probably be best if she never rode him at all. Once the bond between horse and rider started, there was no turning back. Not for her, anyway. She’d just become attached to this horse, and like Paris, would have to give him up in the end.

But she had to try, just once, just this afternoon.

Sadie glanced at the clock then back to Dorothy. It was two o’clock, and Dorothy was having her afternoon rest, which was a nice way of saying she sat down in the soft rocking chair in the corner of the huge kitchen and fell asleep so soundly, her glasses slid down her nose, her mouth gave way to gravity, and loud snores erupted at regular intervals from her dilating nostrils. But it was not a nap. “No, siree, I never take a nap,” she’d say, “Just rest my eyes, just rest my eyes. Need to go to the optical place and get my lenses changed.”

What a dear person! Sadie wanted to be exactly like Dorothy when she grew old. Like Dorothy and Jim, a love and commitment eternal.

But for now, it was out to the barn.

The everyday coat Sadie wore to work was perfect—warm and loose-fitting, leaving room for her shoulders and arms to move. She wore an extra pair of socks, riding boots, her well-worn pair of jeans beneath her dress, and a warm, white scarf on her head.

Her breath came in little gasps, short puffs of nervous energy. She fully admitted to herself that she was afraid—only a little—but scared nevertheless. Who could know what might happen when she swung herself up on Nevaeh’s back? Horses could be the most docile creatures until the minute someone sat on their back, and then, WHAM!

Sadie went to the tack room, which held all the saddles, bridles, harnesses, brushes, combs, polishes, waxes, and anything else a person—or horse, for that matter—could need or want. She stood hesitantly beside the door, not entirely sure what she should do. There was a dizzying array of saddles in all colors, sizes, and shapes. She wasn’t sure which were to use and which were for display.