How to Lasso a Cowboy (46 page)

More of the head emerged, then the knees, followed by the neck and flanks. Cait gripped the wood rail tight, but she hardly noticed the splinters biting into her palms. Her attention remained focused on the drama in the corral.

The mare pushed again and all but the back legs and hips of the baby were outside the birthing canal.

Cait brought a fist to her lips and gnawed at her knuckles anxiously. She'd seen this happen before and most of the time the back end of the foal was expelled some minutes later. The few times the foal remained locked in this position Cait's pa would help the baby get free of its mother.

Long, fretful minutes passed and Cait considered getting Win, but discarded the idea almost immediately. This
was her ranch now, and her responsibility. Win wouldn't be here much longer and she'd have to know how to care for the horses on her own.

The mare tried a few more times to free the hindquarters of its offspring, but finally gave up, her side heaving up and down with her exertions.

Cait's stomach fluttered, but she resolutely slipped between the rails and very deliberately neared the mare. She could see the whites of the mare's eyes, but there was little strength remaining to continue the struggle.

“It's okay, girl. It looks like you might have a small problem here,” Cait crooned softly, her voice trembling. “I can help, girl. It's okay. Easy now.”

The mare's gaze tracked Cait and she tried to rise once, but was too weak.

“Shhhh. Relax, Mama. You've got a beautiful foal here, but you both need a hand.”

Cait slowly squatted beside the mare and laid her hand lightly on her hindquarters. The mare's skin rippled, but she didn't seem overly fearful, only nervous.

“That's right, Mama, I'm going to help you.” Cait concentrated on what her father had done and gently took hold of the foal's slime-covered front legs.

“It's okay, little one.” With slow steady pressure, Cait pulled downward, toward the mare's heels. Her hands slipped once and she regained her slick hold on the foal. Again she strained carefully, tugging the foal until the hips popped out of the birth canal, along with the hind legs. Cait fell onto her backside with the foal's head in her lap. She remained sitting on the damp earth, eyeing the tiny filly with wonder and joy.

She eased away from the foal and scuttled backward, away from the mother and its newborn. Slipping out of the corral, she tried not to disturb them. The longer the mother lay there, the more blood would be given to its baby through the cord connecting mother to daughter. The mare instinctively would know when it was time to struggle to her feet and break the cord.

Cait observed the new family, drinking in the healthy baby's appearance. The filly's long legs lay tangled beneath her, and it would be a challenge for the little girl when she got around to standing.

It wasn't long before the mare rolled, getting her hooves beneath her to rise. The cord between her and her offspring broke and only a small bit of blood was shed. Mama sniffed every inch of the filly, then began to lick the infant clean.

Cait smiled as her eyes misted. Another healthy foal. There was only one expectant mare left now and she hoped that birthing went as well as the previous four.

“She's a beauty.”

Cait whirled around and collided with Win. He grabbed her arms to steady her.

“You shouldn't go around sneaking up on folks,” she said, pulling away from him.

“I wasn't sneaking. You just didn't hear me.”

She'd been so enthralled by the newborn that she wouldn't have noticed a train barreling out of the trees.

“The foal's hips got locked inside the mare so I had to give her a hand,” Cait said.

“I know.” He motioned toward her. “You could use a bath.”

For the first time, Cait noticed her arms and gown were covered by drying mucus and blood. She wrinkled her nose at the coppery scent that filled her nostrils. “I didn't even notice.”

Win smiled crookedly. “I didn't think you did.” He reached out and scrubbed her cheek with his thumb. “Here, too.”

Although, looking like she did, Cait knew Win couldn't possibly have any type of indecent thoughts of her, she enjoyed his gentle touch. After hating him for so long, she couldn't figure out how she could have tender feelings for him again. Was she that starved for intimate contact that she could be swayed so easily by a simple deed? Even from a man she had considered hunting down and putting out of
her
misery?

“You're right. I'd best go clean up and get some sleep,” Cait said, suddenly not liking where her thoughts were headed. She glanced at the mare. “Everything's gone well so I don't think she'll have any trouble with the afterbirth.”

“Do you want me to stand guard?” Win asked.

Normally, she wouldn't have worried, but knowing there was a mountain lion nearby and that he'd surely smell the blood . . . “It's not what you signed on for.”

His lips quirked upward. “I didn't sign on for a lot of things, but that doesn't mean I mind doing them.”

Even as a boy Win had been generous. While most little boys stuck girls' pigtails in inkwells, Win rescued butterflies and bruised hearts. She blinked at the sudden sting of moisture in her eyes. Why had that kind-hearted, compassionate boy left her without so much as a good-bye ten years ago?

“Are you all right?” The concern in Win's voice only made her more teary. “What's wrong, Caity?”

He hadn't called her Caity since . . .

She picked up her rifle and thrust it at him. “You might need this.” She whirled around and dashed away, her mind aswirl and her emotions seesawing like an uneven teeter-totter.

 
WIN SHIFTED HIS
backside on the cold, unforgiving ground. Even with a blanket wrapped around him, the night's chill had seeped into his bones. The predawn glow illuminated the eastern horizon and gave the surrounding mountain peaks a coral blush.

A butterfly flitted past and Win followed its erratic flight from one resting place to another. Win could almost envision Cait in her pigtails and overalls scampering after it. He'd asked her one time why she tried catching them and she'd told him, in her little grown-up voice, that she wanted to give them a home. He'd told her each butterfly already had a home and if she caught it, it'd never find its way back. She'd thought about that for a full day before she started chasing them again.

Win had spent most of the night thinking about Cait, trying to figure out why she was so prickly one minute and soft and sweet the next. Despite his vow to keep his distance from her, he found himself looking for reasons to get nearer.

And that damned kiss. He tried to tell himself it was to prove her wrong, that there was still something between them. But the honest-to-God truth was he'd wanted to kiss her. He'd wanted to do a hell of a lot more, too, but his napping conscience had finally awakened and kicked him in the ass.

Last night had been a test of his resolve, and he'd nearly failed. But how could any man ignore what lay beneath the filmy gown she'd worn? Intimate memories of her had only made it more difficult. He'd managed to hold on to his sanity by a thin thread and had escaped into the barn while she'd gone to watch over the mare.

However, when he'd watched Cait pull the foal from its mother and her brilliant smile afterward, he'd felt something fracture within him. Something he'd fought against ever since he'd ridden out of her life was slowly eroding his determination.

He pressed himself upright and stretched, groaning at the stiffness in his muscles. The mountain lion hadn't returned, but Win didn't know if it was because the cat was long gone, or because it had smelled a human near the horses. Either way, the mare and her newborn filly, which was now sucking greedily on her mother's teat, were doing well.

He caught a movement out of the corner of his eye and turned to see Cait walking toward him. She wore clean tan trousers, a brown and green plaid shirt, and no hat. Her long blond braid swayed with her stride that was both purposeful and feminine. The picture was marred, however, by her somber expression, which was absent of vulnerability and softness.

“No problems,” Win said before she could ask.

She didn't meet his gaze, but studied the mare and foal. “The afterbirth?”

“No problems there either. I took care of it about an hour ago.”

“Thanks.”

Silence surrounded them and Win didn't feel the need to
disturb it. He was tired, not only from the sleepless night, but from Cait's mercurial moods.

She finally turned toward him. “Breakfast is about ready.”

He merely nodded and they walked quietly back to the cabin, where he washed up and shaved before coming to the table. The meal was eaten in silence.

“When will you need my help with Deil?” Cait asked as she cleared the table.

Win noticed the barely perceptible shudder that passed through her. “Are you certain you want to help?”

She met his gaze steadily. “No, but I'll do it anyhow.”

Startled by her honesty, Win leaned forward, his hands wrapped around his coffee cup. “He's only a horse, Cait, not Satan himself. He didn't kill your father out of meanness or hatred, but because of his nature. By putting him in a pen you took everything away from him and he's fighting back the only way he knows how.”

“You make him sound human.”

Win shook his head. “No, you're the one who's making him human. Hating him for killing your father is like”—he struggled to find the right comparison—“like blaming a gopher for your horse tripping in a hole.”

Cait stared at him, her features blank, but he knew she was considering his words. She pursed her lips and shook her head. “I don't like gophers much either.”

Win spotted the barest twinkle in her eyes and couldn't help but smile. “Me neither, but I don't blame them for doing what they were born to do.”

Cait took a deep breath and let it out slowly. “I understand what you're saying, Win, but Deil is different. When I look in his eyes, I get the feeling he knows exactly what I'm thinking.” She shivered and rubbed her arms where goosebumps rose. “He scares me.”

“I suppose if I'd seen him trample my father, I'd feel the same way.”

“I don't know if I'll ever stop hating him,” Cait confessed, her voice husky.

“You will. Someday.”

The sound of a horse's hooves interrupted them, and Win stepped over to the window. A man dismounted by the hitching post and strode toward the house, raising a cloud of dust as he slapped his hat against his thigh. Although ten years had passed since he'd seen him last and the man had gained a few pounds, Win recognized him. His breakfast settled like a cannonball in his belly.

“It's Frank Duffy,” he said to Cait.

She frowned. “What's he doing here?”

“He used to work for your pa now and again, didn't he?”

“Until he signed on full-time with Crowley's outfit five years ago.”

“Miz Brice, you in there?” Duffy called out, pounding on the door.

Cait swung open the door. “Morning, Frank. What brings you here so early?”

The big man's gaze shifted past Cait to Win, who stood with his arms folded over his chest. Duffy's eyes widened then narrowed. “Taylor?”

“Hello, Duffy.”

“Never thought I'd see you back here.”

Win could feel the tension in the cabin rise, and saw Cait's puzzled frown as she noticed it, too. “Tremayne wanted me to tame a horse for Cait.”

“That black devil?”

Win nodded.

“He killed Brice. The murderin' son-of-a-bitch oughta be shot.”

“What do you want, Frank?” Cait interrupted, her tone sharp.

Duffy swung his attention back to Cait. “Beulah Grisman's at Doc's place. It don't look good.”

Cait's face paled. “What happened?”