A Country Affair(10)

She grinned. Things could be worse. Much worse.

An hour later, Rorie heard a noise outside, behind the house. Clay must be home. She smiled, oddly pleased that he was back. Yawning, she reached for the lamp on the bedside table and turned it off.

The discordant noise came again.

Rorie frowned. This time, whatever was making the racket didn’t sound the least bit like a pickup truck parking, or anything else she could readily identify. The dog was barking intermittently.

Grabbing her housecoat from the foot of the bed and tucking her feet into fuzzy slippers, Rorie went downstairs to investigate.

As she stood in the kitchen, she could tell that the clamor was coming from the barn. A problem with the horses?

Not knowing what else to do, she scrambled up the stairs and hurried from room to room until she found Skip’s bedroom.

The teenager lay sprawled across his bed, snoring loudly.

“Skip,” she cried, “something’s wrong with the horses!”

He continued to snore.

“Skip,” she cried, louder this time. “Wake up!”

He remained deep in sleep.

“Skip, please, oh, please, wake up!” Rorie pleaded, shaking him so hard he’d probably have bruises in the morning. “I’m from the city. Remember? I don’t know what to do.”

The thumps and bangs coming from the barn were growing fiercer and Blue’s barking more frantic. Perhaps there was a fire. Oh, dear Lord, she prayed, not that. Rorie raced halfway down the stairs, paused and then reversed her direction.

“Skip,” she yelled. “Skip!” Rorie heard the panic in her own voice. “Someone’s got to do something!”

No one else seemed to think so.

Nearly frantic now, Rorie dashed back down the stairs and across the yard. Trembling, she entered the barn. A lone electric light shone from the ceiling, dimly illuminating the area.

Several of the stalls’ upper doors were open and Rorie could sense the horses becoming increasingly restless. Walking on tiptoe, she moved slowly toward the source of the noise, somewhere in the middle of the stable. The horses were curious and their cries brought Rorie’s heart straight to her throat.

“Nice horsey, nice horsey,” she repeated soothingly over and over until she reached the stall those unearthly sounds were coming from.

The upper half of the door was open and Rorie flattened herself against it before daring to peek inside. She saw a speckled gray mare, head thrown back and teeth bared, neighing loudly, ceaselessly. Rorie quickly jerked away and resumed her position against the outside of the door. She didn’t know much about horses, but she knew this one was in dire trouble.

Running out of the stable, Rorie picked up the hem of her robe and sprinted toward the house. She’d find a way to wake Skip or die trying.

She was breathless by the time she got to the yard. That was when she saw Clay’s battered blue truck.

“Clay,” she screamed, halting in the middle of the moonlit yard. “Oh, Clay.”

He was at her side instantly, his hands roughly gripping her shoulders. “Rorie, what is it?”

She was so glad to see him, she hugged his waist and only just resisted bursting into tears. Her shoulders were heaving and her voice shook uncontrollably. “There’s trouble in the barn....”



Four


Clay ran toward the barn with Rorie right behind him. He paused to flip a switch, flooding the interior with bright light.

The gray mare in the center stall continued to neigh and thrash around. Rorie found it astonishing that the walls had remained intact. The noise of the animal’s pain echoed through the stable, reflected by the rising anxiety of the other horses.

Clay took one look at the mare and released a low groan, then muttered something under his breath.

“What’s wrong?” Rorie cried.

“It seems Star Bright is about to become a mother.”

“But why isn’t she in one of the foaling stalls?”

“Because two different vets palpated her and said she wasn’t in foal.”

“But...”

“She’s already had six foals and her stomach’s so stretched she looks pregnant even when she isn’t.” Clay opened the stall door and entered. Rorie’s hand flew to her heart. Good grief, he could get killed in there!

“What do you want me to do?” she said.

Clay shook his head. “This is no place for you. Get back to the house and stay there.” His brow furrowed, every line a testament to his hard, outdoor life.

“But shouldn’t I be phoning a vet?”

“It’s too late for that.”

“Boiling water—I could get that for you.” She wanted to help; she just had no idea how.

“Boiling water?” he repeated. “What the hell would I need that for?”

“I don’t know,” she confessed with a shrug, “but they always seem to need it in the movies.”

Clay gave an exasperated sigh. “Rorie, please, just go to the house.”

She made it all the way to the barn door, then abruptly turned back. If anyone had asked why she felt it so necessary to remain with Clay, she wouldn’t have been able to answer. But something kept her there, something far stronger than the threat of Clay’s temper.

She marched to the center stall, her head and shoulders held stiff and straight. She stood with her feet braced, prepared for an argument.