Hotel Ladd (15 page)

At the frantic call, Cal pushed from
the fence and started jogging in the direction of the voice. Coming
from the stables, it belonged to a senior stable hand known around
the ranch as “Old Joe.” “What’s going on?” Cal shouted.

“
Ginger is having a
baby!”

He tipped his hat back. “She’s
foaling?”

“
Right this minute!” The
elder man eagerly waved him over. “Come see.”

Without thinking, Cal turned and called
out to Troy. “Troy, come see! One of the mares is foaling!”
Watching a foal come into the world was one of the most beautiful
sights to behold. His daddy used to include the boys in every
birth, teaching them the ways of the ranch, and it seemed natural
to include Troy.

Troy hesitated, his
expression gripped by the confusion of an employee who’d just been
asked to perform a duty outside his job description.
“
C’mon
, son. We
drop everything around here for a new baby!”

Erupting into a wide grin, Troy gave
the animal a vigorous stroke, then adjusted his hat and ran over.
Cal clapped him on the back. “Have you ever seen a foal being
born?”

“
Yes sir. My daddy had
Travis and me practice whenever possible.”

“
He’s a good man, your
father. It’s one of the most incredible events I’ve ever
witnessed.” Cal managed every foaling but missed the birth of his
own daughter. A fact that ate at him to this day. “Let’s
go.”

“
Yes, sir,” Troy replied
gladly and followed Cal back to the stables.

A walnut brown mare paced the center
corridor, taking her time as she walked back and forth, swishing
her bundled tail side to side. Cal could see the first bubble of
white placenta poking free from her rear. He tossed his peanut cup
into a barrel-styled garbage can and looked to Old Joe.

“
Her water broke and she’s
squirting milk,” Old Joe informed Cal and Troy as they
approached.

“
She’s ready,” Cal agreed.
As they neared, he could hear the mare’s mild grunts. The rise of
hay was strong against his nostrils, along with the scent of
leather and horse. “C’mon, Ginger. Slow and easy wins the
race.”

“
She’s a beauty,” Troy said,
admiration shining in his eyes.

“
One of our finest
Arabians,” Cal replied.

“
We have Quarter Horses,”
Troy said, then pointed to her tail bound by hot pink tape. “We
wrap the tails before birth, too.”

“
It’s a practice we began
years ago. Once we began breeding for other folks, my daddy
insisted.”

“
The pink is a nice touch,”
Troy smirked.

Cal winked. “That’s my momma’s input.
No mare should be foaling in anything but pink. Not on her
ranch.”

Troy chuckled and watched with Cal as
the Foster’s senior stable hand guided Ginger into an open,
spacious pen. The horse went without protest. Circling, she dropped
gently to her side. Panting, she undulated, then rolled onto her
back, kicking her legs up and out like a dog scratching its back.
She thrashed her head back and forth across the hay-covered floor,
trying to work her baby free. Powerful rear muscles contracted,
relaxed, and a milky sac emerged. A slender hoof was visible
through the sheer pliable membrane. “Lookee there!” exclaimed the
stable hand. “She’s a coming through!”

Excitement swept through Cal as he
watched the placenta spit out in fits of air and liquid. The mare
continued to grunt as the three men stood idle. In awe, really. The
birth of a foal was an incredibly normal act of nature, yet it
never ceased to amaze him, affecting him in a way words could not
describe. He imagined the same would have been true had he been
there for Emily’s birth instead of passed out at home.

Pushing up to her feet, the mare paced
again, this time with two hooves sticking out from her backside.
Cal figured she must be in serious discomfort. Troy must have been
thinking the same thing, whispering encouragement to the mare as
she walked and pushed. “C’mon, girl. That’s it. You’re doing fine,
really fine.”

Cal smiled. Men were usually out of
their element when it came to things like birth, but not Troy. He
was up close and personal and seemed thoroughly intrigued. He was a
horseman, Cal mused. It was in his blood.

Back down the mare went, rolling and
moaning. “She’s trying to get it into position,” Old Joe
observed.

Cal had seen this before. Some births
came quicker than others, and a mare would do what she could to
help her baby along. Sometimes a man could lend a helping hand by
pulling on the hooves, but that was the last thing he wanted to do.
Cal preferred to let nature take its course.

“
She looks like she’s
struggling,” Troy noted, vigilance entering his gaze.

“
This here’s her first,” Old
Joe told him.

Troy nodded, but remained intent on the
mare and her progress.

It looked to Cal like Troy was
analyzing the situation, summing up what needed to be done and
when. So far, Cal liked what he saw in the young man.

Old Joe pointed to the emerging foal.
“She’s a good size.”

Buttocks contracting, Ginger’s enormous
belly rose and fell with each effort. Her tail twitched and she
moaned louder. Troy didn’t say anything, only watched as the sac
tore open revealing a slick black hoof. Resting, the mare paused
her efforts. Concern rippled across Troy’s features.

“
Should I give her a hand?”
Old Joe asked.

Cal stood by, waiting for the horse’s
lead. “Give her a minute.” He looked to Troy. “What do you
think?”

Without looking away from the horse, he
nodded. “I’d give her a minute.”

Satisfied they were of like mind, the
men watched the animal lying on her side, veins bulging on the
underside of her belly. She grunted, pushed, paused, pushed and
paused. Fluid gushed out over the hay covered floor. Sticks of hay
adhered to the creamy sac. When nothing significant changed, Cal
gave the go ahead. “Give her a hand.”

When Joe went to grab the legs, the
mare snorted, made an evasive roll and pinned her ears flat as she
raised her head to look at him. “Whoa,” he mumbled and
released.

Momma didn’t want
help
.

Troy glanced at Cal’s stable hand, then
to Cal. Pushing again, the mare made an inch or two more progress,
but the foal slipped back inside. It appeared the baby was stuck.
The mare fought to expel it, thrusting and pushing, but came up
short. She dropped her head to the ground, groaning. Troy edged his
way closer and encouraged softly, “That’s it, momma. You can do
it.” The mare eyed him warily. “This ain’t nothin’ but a stroll
through the park for you. You’ve got it,” he said, darting a glance
toward her rear, checking for progress.

“
Careful, son,” Old Joe
warned. “She’s already proven she doesn’t want any help and we
don’t want to upset her.

Troy nodded that he heard, but never
removed his eyes from the mare.

Cal held up a hand to Old Joe, noting
with keen interest that the mare didn’t fight Troy’s close
proximity. She was aware of him but didn’t signal she wanted him
gone. As Troy continued to whisper reassuring words to the horse,
Cal kept tabs on the foal. If it remained stuck for too long, they
were going to have to step in.

“
C’mon, baby, you can do it.
Keep pushing,” Troy continued. Heaving her belly, the mare seemed
to respond. Panting and grunting she pushed, rocking back and forth
as she tried to ease her baby out. Troy stood and moved to her
rear, speaking to her the entire time. “That’s it, momma, we’re
almost there.”

The stable hand looked to
Cal in alarm. Cal shook his head.
Let him
be
.

Troy grabbed the foal’s
hooves and tugged, his movements strong and smooth. The mare
swiftly raised her head, ears twitching. She was alert, Cal
thought, but calm.
Steady as she
goes
. Troy pulled harder and the horse
assisted, pushing in sync with him. “That’s it, momma. You got
this.”

Cal could see the foal’s snout through
the veneer of birth sac, a white star marked the inky black between
the eyes. Moving closer, he could clearly see the nostrils but no
discernible movement. As the foal slid halfway out, Troy began
ripping away the sac. The foal was gasping which concerned
Cal.

Moving to one knee, Troy held the foal
as the mare spit the remaining body out in one big swoosh of sac
and fluid. Within Troy’s grasp the foal blinked. Remaining on her
side, momma was exhausted, her stomach hollowed from giving birth.
Seconds passed and the foal continued to gasp. Cal rushed to Troy’s
side. “She isn’t breathing.”

Troy whipped off his T-shirt and
vigorously dried the baby’s head and neck, wiping fluid from the
nose. The foal continued its gasp-like breathing and Troy extended
its neck, lengthening it along the ground. He quickly examined the
nose, then plugging the downward nostril, Troy drove his head to
the foal’s snout, beginning inhalations into the upper
nostril.

“
Grab the tube!” Cal
commanded Joe as he watched Troy blowing breaths into the foal’s
nose. Glancing sideways as breathed, Troy was watching for the same
thing Cal was—the rise and fall of the foal’s chest.

The stable hand returned with an
intubation tube and a stethoscope. Without being instructed, he
thrust the stethoscope to Cal. Thirty seconds later, Troy lifted
away from the foal. Inserting the ear tips, Cal placed a metal
chest piece on the foal’s upper body and listened for heartbeats.
Troy stood on his knees and Cal instinctively knew the boy was
ready to perform chest compressions if need be. Cal shook his head.
He counted the heart rate to be fifty-five. Sitting back on his
heels, Cal watched and waited and checked again. Pulse was steadily
increasing and strengthening. Sixty-eight. Cal exhaled a sigh of
relief. “Good work.”

The stable was quiet, the scent of
birth and sweat saturating the air within the small confines of the
stall. The mare was alert, partially sitting up on folded legs. As
momma began to move, the men stepped out of her way, giving her
unfettered access to her baby. The slender foal scooted near its
mother, stretching its hay-clad legs as it nuzzled against her
body. Momma licked her baby, grunting protectively. For the next
several minutes, the men shared stories of foaling. Troy explained
how he learned about CPR when he was fifteen. One of their mares
went through the very same thing, delivering a whopping
ninety-eight pound foal.

Cal laughed, relieved the crisis had
passed. “This one here has got to rival that.”

“
I’d say she looks about a
hundred pounds,” Troy agreed.

“
She’s definitely a big
one,” Old Joe said. “And black as night. Careful, Troy, or this
little filly might mistake you for her daddy!”

Cal reached down and lifted
a hind leg. “She’s a
he
,” he announced.

Troy laughed. Cal detected a band
loosening around the boy’s heart. Knots of tension released from
his features and he was glad for it. The boy had done an
outstanding job.

At a nudge from the mare, the foal
began the awkward process of wrangling its legs to a standing
position. Each inch appeared to tax the young horse, gangly limbs
struggling for balance. Wobbling, he fell flat. But the spirited
foal didn’t give up. Without delay, he tried again, held steady,
then took his first step.

“
Woo-hoo!” Joe called out.
“We have a race horse on our hands!”

“
And a fighter,” Troy
added.

“
Delaney’s hands,” Cal
corrected.

“
Delaney?” Troy questioned
in surprise.

“
This one’s already been
promised to Delaney Wilkins.”

Troy gaped at him. “Miss Delaney bought
a horse?”

The mare rose to her feet and the foal
instinctively headed for her teats. Another miracle of nature, Cal
mused. Old Joe went about the business of caring for the umbilical
cord, seeing that mother and baby were taken care of, a sight that
pulled a smile from him. “This one and several others. Actually,
she and Nick.”

Realization loosened the hold on Troy’s
bewilderment. “For the new hotel.”

“
For the new hotel,” Cal
verified. “This one here’s named Vegas.”

“
Vegas,” Troy repeated,
trying it on for size.

“
Mr. Harris and Mr. Ward
like to gamble,” Cal told him, imagining everyone had their vice.
But vices were fine, so long as a man didn’t take them too far,
losing control of himself in the process. Lassoing his thoughts
around Troy, Cal wondered if Troy was continuing his hankering for
alcohol. Annie had relayed the boy’s history, a tidbit about her
daughter Casey, included. She was concerned about the girl dating
Troy and Cal understood why. Mixing alcohol and drugs was dangerous
enough without the added pressure of emotional instability.
Had Troy quit on account of his
girlfriend
?

Cal hoped so. Gerald Foster’s four boys
had blazed a bourbon-soaked swath through two counties and ten
years, dropping the old man’s tolerance to zero. If Troy was caught
drinking, he’d be shown the door. Fixing a hand to Troy’s shoulder,
Cal asked, “What do you say you and Casey join Annie and me for
Thanksgiving here on the ranch?”