Summer at Mustang Ridge (11 page)

Shelby rubbed her chest, where anxious knots pulled tight. Had she made a mistake, bringing Lizzie out to see the newborn? “How long before you get really worried?”

“It can take a while for them to find their legs.” But Krista was pensive.

“Let’s get him up,” Foster decided. “Krista, grab Sassy for me.”

While Krista stood at the mare’s head, holding on to her halter to keep her from following the foal around and turning things into an awkward game of Ring Around the Rosie, Foster and Stace dug into the straw to link their hands around the foal’s chest and rump.

Stace counted down, “One, two . . .” And on “three” they lifted, boosting the foal onto his limp, Gumby-bending legs.

“Come on, little guy,” Stace crooned. “Don’t make us do all the work.” But it sure seemed as though they were bearing most of the weight as they carried him over to Sassy and got his head underneath her, in the vicinity of her two-teated udder. “Here you go, buddy. Breakfast!”

There was some fumbling and soft instructions traded back and forth. All Shelby could really see was Stace’s and Foster’s backs, and the worried expression on Krista’s face. After a few minutes, Stace and Foster lowered the foal back onto the straw and Krista let the mare go so she could circle around and sniff her baby, making sure all was well.

Only it wasn’t.

“He doesn’t have a suck reflex.” Foster shook his head. “I’d say he’s a dummy.”

Krista made a low, broken sound of dismay.

“What does that mean for—” Shelby broke off as a solid, denim-wearing rocket launched itself from her side and flew into the stall. Sassy’s head whipped up and her eyes went wide. “Lizzie!” Shelby started to grab for her, but hesitated, not wanting to spook the mare further.

“Whoa there!” Foster scooped up Lizzie on the fly, only to find himself holding off an attack as she slapped at him open-handed, as if wanting to claw but afraid to do damage.

“Easy.” Krista grabbed Sassy’s halter as the mare tried to whirl. “Easy, girl, she won’t hurt your baby.” To Foster, she snapped, “Get her out of here.”

But Foster swung around and hoisted Lizzie up onto Sassy’s corner feeder, instead. “Hey there. Hey.” He shook her gently to get her attention, then caught her chin and held it steady until her blazing eyes focused on him. “What’s this? I’m not hurting the little guy.”

Lizzie’s mouth worked and a fat tear ran down her cheek.

He looked over at Shelby. “What gives?”

“I don’t . . .” She made a soft noise as it clicked. “Dummy. Some bullies at her old school used to call her that. You know, dumb rather than mute?” Her heart twisted at the memory of that cruelty, the scars it had left. Now, as then, she wanted to go back and take away every one of those taunts and insults, buff away the tears. She couldn’t, though. She could only try to make today better, but how? Should she go in the stall? Stay put? She hesitated, because Lizzie didn’t seem to be headed for critical mass. If anything, she was on the way down, sagging back against the wall, her mouth working in silence as tears flowed down her face.

Foster caught her arms. “Look at me, Lizzie. Hey. Hey there. It’s not the same thing. A dummy foal is one who can’t figure out how to nurse on his own right away, and maybe has trouble standing, probably because he didn’t get enough oxygen during the birth process. It’s not an insult, it’s just a name. A condition. And it’s something we can help him with, okay?”

Shelby started to go in, but Gran held her back. “Wait. He’s got it.”

It was harder than she would’ve imagined to make herself stay put, but she did it, watching as Foster found a clean spot on his own sleeve and mopped Lizzie’s face, and then said matter-of-factly, “We’re not giving up on him, if that’s what you’re worried about. All this means is that he’s going to need some extra help. Right now we might have to bottle-feed him, or do other things until he figures it out. But we’re going to do what he needs, and we’re going to help him get better. Understand?”

And, bless him, even with all the other stuff going on around him, he stood there, waiting. Until, finally, she nodded.

Shelby swallowed hard, seeing her daughter’s body uncoil and the color come back into her face. And even though she had always made a point that it wasn’t up to the rest of the world to work around what Lizzie needed, that it was up to her to make a safe place and keep things on an even keel, she knew that she couldn’t have handled this, not the way he just had.

What was more, he had pulled Lizzie into the stall, not out of it. Even in the midst of chaos, he’d been thinking about getting her near the horses rather than farther away.

“Go on, then.” Foster boosted Lizzie down and gave her a nudge. “We’ve got a bit more work to do in here. You can watch from the door.”

“Halloo,” a new, age-cracked voice called from outside. “Anyone home?”

“Hey, Doc.” Gran waved him in. “Glad you’re here. This little guy could use some help.”

The veterinarian proved to be a stooped old man about Gran’s age who walked with a cane and grumbled about his aches and pains all the way down the aisle. The moment he got inside the stall, though, he set the cane aside and focused utterly on his patient, first making sure the foal wasn’t in immediate distress, and then moving to check on Sassy.

Foster eased out of the stall to give them room, winding up as if by accident leaning on the wall beside Shelby. She went hot and cold, and got a funny shimmy in her stomach as she remembered what she’d been planning on telling him—
flattered, need to spend time with Lizzie, etc., etc.
—wanting to pull back from the temptation after last night. But how could she say “thanks but no, thanks” to a guy who wasn’t just great in general, he was great with her kid, too?

Admit it, you don’t want to
.

Okay, fine. She didn’t want to. All the logic in the world didn’t change the way all her senses hummed just from standing right next to him, and the added warmth that came from knowing the attraction went both ways.

“Sorry about the dummy thing,” he said in an undertone.

“Don’t be. You handled it great. Seriously.” She hesitated. “Is he really going to be okay? Oxygen deprivation is serious business in people.”

“Less so in horses, though we’ll need to keep our fingers crossed and our feet moving on this one. Dummies usually turn around okay, anywhere from a few hours to a couple of weeks after they’re born. Once they’re up and nursing on their own, they generally don’t look back.” He still looked worried, though.

“What’s next?” she asked as Krista and the vet bent over the foal.

“We’ll see. Sometimes they just need some help remembering that they’re hungry, and how to get up on those long legs of theirs. In the meantime . . .” He glanced around, looking for Lizzie and finding her just outside the stall, watching intently as the vet took a blood sample from the foal.

“In the meantime, what?” Shelby pressed.

“If it’s okay with you, I’d like to ask her to babysit the foal.”

Her lips curved as she imagined Lizzie’s reaction to the request, and having it come from him. “The same way she’s been babysitting me?”

“Same theory, but on her own. Just a couple of hours at a time, in between bottle feedings if we need them.”

“Make-work, Foster?”

He shrugged. “Not exactly. I just thought it would be good for everybody concerned.”

And he’d remembered to talk to her about it first. “I think it’s a great idea. Have at it. And thanks. Again.”

“You’re welcome. Again.” He turned to meet the vet as he stumped out of Sassy’s stall. “So, Doc, what’s the verdict?”

“You know the drill as well as I do. We’ll watch and wait, and see if he figures it out on his own. If he doesn’t, you’ll have to give him a hand.” The vet lifted the foal’s blood sample. “I’ll get back to you with his numbers, and we’ll decide where to go from there in terms of immune support. In the meantime, get some food into him, watch his bowels, and keep a sharp eye on Mama to make sure all of her systems are go. All of which you already knew.”

“Never hurts to hear it again.”

“Ayuh. Anyway, I’ll be going. Unless you need anything else from me?”

“Couple of tubes of Banamine?”

“You got it.”

Krista, Stace, and Gran headed out with the vet, alternately pressing him for reassurance, asking for additional meds, and offering him muffins. As they moved off, Foster nodded back to Sassy’s stall and said to Shelby, “Well, will you look there?”

Lizzie was just inside the door. She was squatting down on her heels the way Stace had shown her, so she’d be able to move quickly if she needed to. The stall guard wasn’t up, and Sassy was only a few feet away, stretching out her neck to see if the little person had brought her a treat. And instead of retreating to safety, Lizzie reached out and stroked her nose.

The words—of gratitude, of joy, of relief—backed up in Shelby’s throat, jamming together and leaving her speechless. So instead, she took Foster’s hand and gave it a squeeze. To her surprise, he threaded his fingers through hers and squeezed back.

As they stood there, holding hands, it suddenly seemed like an out-of-body experience to Shelby, like something happening to another woman, one who’d lived a different life, made different choices.

After a moment, he tightened his grip and then pulled away, moving to stand farther up the aisle, away from Sassy’s stall. Then he called, “Lizzie? Come over here for a minute, please.”

She looked at him, hesitated, and then rose and shuffled over, moving slowly but surely, like she had gotten caught in his gravitational pull.

Shelby knew just how that felt.

He dropped down onto his heels, putting them close to eye level. “I’ve got another job for you . . . but I need you to do something for me, to show me you’re ready for this job, because it’s very important. So first . . . do you have your whistle with you?”

It took a minute, but she not only nodded; she pulled it out and let it dangle.

“Blow it for me.”

Lizzie froze.

“Foster . . . ,” Shelby said softly, then pressed her lips together.

“Here’s the deal,” he said matter-of-factly. “I want you to take a couple of shifts per day, watching over Sassy and her foal. I’m going to need to know whether the little guy stood up by himself, and whether he ate anything, so I’m going to need a way to communicate with you. And I need to be a hundred percent certain that you can call for help immediately if there’s a problem.”

Her big brown eyes had gotten bigger and bigger as he spoke, and a new sort of tension vibrated through her, not quite anxiety anymore. The sight sent nerves thrumming through Shelby. Was it time? Was this going to be the thing that finally broke through?

Please. Oh, please
.

“This isn’t about you talking,” Foster said calmly, like he was doing a “whoa there, easy there” to one of the horses. “And this isn’t some kind of therapy or a game—it’s what this little guy needs from you, right here and now. So I want you to blow the whistle and prove to me that you can make some noise in an emergency.”

Shelby held her breath as Lizzie stared at Foster and slowly—ever so slowly—lifted the whistle to her lips. And blew a quiet
fweep
.

It wasn’t much as noises went, but to Shelby it was a trumpet fanfare, a
ta-daaa
of epic proportions. She wanted to holler and Snoopy-dance, but held herself in check, vibrating with suppressed excitement that she didn’t dare let loose right now. Inwardly, though, she was channeling
vroom-vroom
car commercials and “come party with us” restaurant ditties.

Foster was his usual calm self. The only thing that suggested this was anything out of the ordinary was an added gleam in his eyes. “Okay, that’s good. Now I need you to blow once for yes and twice for no. Understand?”

She hesitated, then gave another short
fweep
, a little louder.

“Right. And do you think that’s loud enough to call for help?”

That got a slow head shake.

“What was that? I couldn’t hear you.”

Lizzie scowled, but blew twice.
Fweep-fweep
.

Shelby had to wipe her sweaty palms on her jeans. This was happening. It was really happening. Her daughter was making noise.

“Okay, so now give me a good blast, one that’ll let us know there’s a problem.”

After only the briefest hesitation, and with a sudden glint in her eyes, Lizzie took a big breath and blew as hard as she could:
FWEEEEEEEET!

There were startled exclamations from outside, and Gran and Krista came through the doors, moving fast, full of “What’s wrong?” and “Do you need us to grab Doc before he leaves?”

Foster laughed aloud—an open, carefree sound that took away Shelby’s sudden desire to weep with relief and put her back in Snoopy-dance territory, instead. “You’ll do,” he said, reaching over to ruffle Lizzie’s hair.

And so would he, Shelby thought, swallowing past a catch in her throat at the sight of the two of them together. So would he.

•   •   •

Later that night, Foster went down to the dock, even though it wasn’t Friday. And Shelby was sitting there, waiting for him. Even though it wasn’t Friday.