Read Coming Home to Wyoming (Peaceful Valley Series Book 1) Online
Authors: April Hill
Coming Home to Wyoming (Peaceful Valley Series Book 1) (13 page)
“Is the baby going to die?”
“Not if you and I can help it. Now, get ready to pull, and don’t stop until I tell you to. All right?”
She nodded. “Is it too late to change my mind?”
He grinned. “Yep. Now, lift the lady’s tail out of way, and when his—or her—head starts to show, get both hands around the front feet, and…”
“I know,” Elyn said in a half-grunt, “grab, and pull—and
pray
, maybe?”
He nodded. “It couldn’t hurt.”
* * *
Just under ten minutes later, while Ellen’s arm was still inside the mare’s birth canal, trying to maneuver the foal’s leg into the correct position, a flood of brownish water and blood gushed from between the mare’s own rear legs, drenching Elyn from head to toe, and expelling the foal—in one great, sudden push—onto a waiting pile of clean hay.
In an ecstasy of relief and joy, Elyn forgot herself, and exclaimed—at the top of her lungs, “Holy
shit!
”
—
Which turned out to be a very apt description of what had happened. The exhausted mare had lost more than just her “water.” She had also emptied her bladder, and her bowels—into Elyn’s lap.
* * *
It took close to half an hour for the weary mother to regain sufficient strength to begin nuzzling and exploring her firstborn, and for the equally tired foal to struggle to his still shaky legs and totter around her, looking for his first meal. Worried that the new mother was cold, Elyn pulled Amelia’s embroidered coverlet from the pile, and laid it gently over the mare’s body—which caused
Griff
to raise one questioning eyebrow.
“Is that gesture something I need to worry about?” he asked with an amused half-smile. “Or purely coincidence?”
Elyn sighed. “A coincidence, mostly. There’s not a clean blanket in the house now. We might just as well sleep here all night.” She nodded toward the mare and foal. “To look after
them
.”
He walked over to the window and looked out. “The wind’s died down a little. We should probably try to get back up to the house now, if we’re going to. They’ll do fine now. All they need is rest. Being born’s not always an easy thing to watch, but nature usually has a way of taking care of things once the hard part’s over. She’s actually a very strong, healthy lady—just a little too young and inexperienced to know when to let herself be courted.”
“Are we talking about the horse here?” Elyn inquired sweetly. “Or is it more like a pointed lesson about life—for
me?
”
Griff didn’t answer, but pointed to the mare. She had shaken the coverlet off, and gotten to her feet now, to allow the foal to nurse.
“That’s your reward for being here tonight,” he said, smiling.
Elyn got to her feet as well and shook her skirts. “I think I already got my reward—straight from the horse’s…” She laughed. “Well, you know.”
Without another word, Griff swept her up in his arms, told her to reach down and close the barn door, and then started back to the house, carrying her through the ever-deepening snow. He’d been right earlier. Elyn wasn’t leaving anytime soon. By morning, they’d be snowed in—maybe for weeks.
* * *
It took close to half an hour to reach the house, and once they were safely inside, Griff sloshed several buckets of cold water into the bathroom tub, and put two additional buckets of water on the stove to boil. “If I ever saw a woman who needed a Saturday night bath,” he said cheerfully, “it’s you.”
“And afterward, we’ll be sleeping in our clothes,” she moaned. “I took all the blankets to the barn with me.”
He pointed to a large trunk in the corner. “You’ll find a few old quilts in there. Mostly worn out, but better than nothing. The water’ll be hot in a minute.”
“What about you?” she asked. “ It seems to me like you didn’t come out a whole lot cleaner than I did.”
“I’m the hearty pioneer, remember? I’ll wash up on the porch. Get those quilts out. We’re going to need them.”
Elyn knelt on the chilled bedroom floor, opened the old trunk, and grabbed the first quilts she saw. When she stood up, though, something heavy slipped out from between them, and hit the floor with a thud. A large pasteboard box. She swore, afraid that she’d broken a treasured Harper family heirloom. As she was about to open the box to check for damage, Griff came to the door.
“I’m sorry,” she groaned. “I think I may have broken whatever’s in this box. It made a sound like…”
“Open it,” he told her.
“First, tell me it’s not the only picture left of your grandmother,” she said. “Or of you as a baby, naked on a bearskin rug.”
“Open it.”
“Do I get spanked again if it’s in pieces?”
“Could be. It cost more than all the damned parlor furniture put together.”
“You could have lied, you know, and said it wasn’t worth anything—to make me feel better.”
“I thought we agreed there’d be no more lies—even little white ones.”
With a sinking heart, Elyn untied the faded green string that held the crushed box together, and pried off the top. Two layers of discolored tissue paper later, her fingertips touched something smooth and hard, and she pulled out a wooden harp—a two-feet tall, ornately carved,
golden
harp.
She began to cry. “But, when?” she sobbed.
“A few years ago,” Griff explained. “I saw it in a catalogue and figured you might like it.” He pointed to a small leather book that lay in the bottom of the box. “There’s a song book, too. Take a look at page eight.”
She picked up the little book, and leafed through the first few pages. “I can’t read it,” she said sadly. “The writing is in…”
He knelt beside her and opened the little book to page eight. “Gaelic. All the songs are translated at the back, though.”
Elyn smiled as she read aloud the title at the top of the page he’d selected. “
Eileen a ‘Roon.
It’s kind of pretty, now that I see it written on a page like that.”
“I know a valley fair,
I know a cottage, there,
And in the valley shade,
I know a tender maid, Flower o’ the hazel glade,
Eileen a ‘Roon.
“Now wilt thou come away,
Eileen a ‘Roon?
And wilt thy come to stay,
Eileen a ‘Roon?”
Griff took the book from her hand, then stood up and pulled her to her feet.“The tub’s ready,” he said.
She glanced down at the pile of old blankets. “Would it be warmer if we… if we were… If we just slept in the same bed, I mean.”
He nodded. “I’m sure it would. I need to warn you, though. Amos likes to crawl in with me when he gets lonely for company.”
She ran her finger across the tall headboard. “I’ve been meaning to ask about that,” she said, pointing to a design burned deep into the wood. “That’s the brand you use, isn’t it?”
He traced his own finger over the two large letters, one on each side of a central figure. A
‘G,
’ and an
‘H’
—for Griffin Harper.”
“And what’s the other thing?” she asked. “The odd little humped shape between the
G
and the
H
?”
He shook his head. “The blacksmith in Mill City didn’t know what a harp looked like.
That
was his best try. At the County Land Office, the deed to this place is actually registered as The Golden Harp ranch.” Griff’s face flushed. “Like they say, it seemed like a good idea at the time.
“That harp of yours has been in the box for a few years, by the way,” he said, quickly changing the subject, “so, it’s probably going to need some new strings. And knowing Wells Fargo, that’s going to take a while—maybe ‘til spring.”
“I’m not going anywhere,” Elyn said softly. “Unless you still want to throw me out.”
Griff touched his lips to the top of her head—possibly the only completely clean spot left on Elyn’s body. “That could happen faster than you think,” he announced, “unless you get moving and get your backside in that tub. Since I got old enough to know better, I try not to sleep with filthy women.”
Elyn smiled, and then stood on her toes to kiss him. “I won’t be long.”
“Take your time,” he said. “I’m not going anywhere either.”
THE END
April Hill is a best-selling author of women’s romance, known for her wry humor, sensitive character development and of course, the love.
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