Roots in Texas
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K.N. Casper
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Chapter One
“MEGAN, DO YOU HAVE your inhaler?”
“Yes, Mommy.” The eight-year-old patted her black patent-leather purse, her latest acquisition.
“If you have any trouble breathing, I want you to use it right away and tell me,” Kayla instructed her. Megan would use it if she had to, but she wouldn’t make a public display of it if she could avoid it.
“You know horses don’t bother me, Mommy,” Megan insisted. “I’ve been riding for a whole year now, ever since Daddy let me sit on that pony for my picture, and I haven’t had to use my inhaler even once.”
“That was in Oregon, honey. We don’t know if you’ll react that same way here in Texas. We have to be very careful.”
The fact that her ex-husband let their daughter sit on a horse, when he’d been told cats and horses were the worst triggers for asthmatics, still riled her. Daryl seemed to think ignoring Megan’s illness, or pretending it didn’t exist, would make it go away. The kitten he’d brought home should’ve taught him otherwise. Megan’s reaction had been so severe she’d ended up in the emergency room on a forced-air machine. He—or rather Megan—had been lucky in the case of horses that she hadn’t had an adverse reaction. In fact, for the past year she’d been riding almost every week and doing fine. The first sign of troubled breathing today, though, they’d be out of there for good.
“Mommy, what color is Birdsong?”
“I don’t know, honey. Mr. Tanner didn’t say.”
“I hope she’s gray. I really like gray horses. Is she very big? I like big horses, too.”
“Mr. Tanner didn’t call Birdsong a pony, so I imagine she’s a regular-size horse.” Kayla just hoped the mare would be suitable and available.
She slowed as she approached a break in the wire fence that stretched on as far as the eye could see, up and down the low, rolling hills. A rustic wooden sign announced The Broken Spoke. She turned left. The car rippled over a cattle crossing.
The rooster tail of dust her aging Toyota was kicking up on the dirt road reinforced just how completely different this Texan countryside was from the damp and rainy coast they’d left behind. Kayla missed the tall trees and snow-covered mountains she’d grown up with, but the doctors had insisted Megan needed a drier climate. The girl had been considerably better since they’d moved here a month ago, and Kayla had to admit there was an unexpected beauty and charm in this wide-open land, a sense of boundless freedom that was invigorating, and she was delighted by the friendliness of the people. Megan, of course, was thrilled to see real live cowboys.
Over a low rise Kayla spied a ranch house in the shade of what she’d learned were live oak trees. Behind it was a big wooden barn and a cluster of smaller metal buildings. She rolled to a stop in the gravel parking area beside the barn, her eyes instantly drawn to the man in the middle of the corral opposite. He was quietly approaching a horse. The horse was staring white-eyed back at him.
Unbuckling her seat belt, Megan jumped out of the car, slammed the door and took off for the enclosure.
Startled, the horse tossed its head, neighed and sidestepped skittishly away from the man.
Kayla saw him slouch in frustration. Uh-oh, not a good start.
“Megan, stop right there!” she called out.
The girl hesitated, then reluctantly obeyed. When Kayla caught up with her, she took her hand and together they cautiously approached the pipe fence.
“Is that Birdsong?” Megan asked.
“I don’t know, sweetheart, but you can’t go racing around here, disturbing things.”
The man in the ring was tall, slender and wore work-faded jeans with a large silver belt buckle, plaid shirt and cowboy boots. All that was missing was the Stetson.
He sauntered over to them.
“What can I do for you?” He wasn’t unfriendly, but somehow his tone lacked the warmth she’d come to associate with Texans.
“I’m sorry we spooked your horse.”
He glanced over his shoulder at the mare in the far corner watching him suspiciously.
“No permanent damage done.” His voice was a mellow baritone with just enough Texas in it to be charming.
“Is that Birdsong?” Megan bubbled.
“Birdsong?” He gazed at her, and it seemed to Kayla there was sadness in his eyes.
“I’m going to have my very own horse. Mommy promised.”
Time to take control of the situation. Kayla extended her hand. “I’m Kayla Price. This is my daughter, Megan.”
She wasn’t surprised that his hand was rough and callused. He was, after all, a cowboy. It was also large and warm, the grip firm but surprisingly gentle.
“Ethan Ritter,” he said. “Y’all must be the folks who’ve taken over the Conyer place.” He started walking toward the gate. Kayla followed suit on her side of the fence, Megan skipping along a pace or two ahead.
“Actually, just the house and forty acres.”
Lifting his hat from a fence post, he pushed it down over his thick brown hair, opened the gate and secured it behind him. “What are you planning to do with the land?”
“Grow grapes. We’re calling it Stony Hill Vineyard.”
He didn’t look shocked and he didn’t laugh, which she took as a good sign. “Why a vineyard?”
“Why?” she repeated. “Why not?”
“Not a good answer.” He kept walking toward the weathered barn.
Kayla found herself practically jogging to keep up with his long stride. His dismissive attitude had her pulse up. “Excuse me?”
“You need to have a positive reason for doing something if you want to succeed,” he explained. “You won’t accomplish much with that negative mind-set.”
“Are you always so judgmental?”
“Gee, I hope so,” he said with an aw-shucks grin. “Isn’t that why the Good Lord gave us intelligence? To make decisions, judgments?”
She didn’t know what to say. Most people took the word judgmental as a criticism; he was wearing it like a badge.
“Are we going to see Birdsong now?” Megan asked, bouncing up and down.
Ethan slowed and smiled at her. “Sure, you can meet Birdsong. We’ll have to call her in from the pasture, though. She’s busy right now snacking on green grass. Would you care for a drink of water?” He worked his mouth, clucking his tongue. “I’m dry as a bone.”
“Yeah, me, too,” Megan said, very adult. “Dry as a bone.”
He grinned with unexpected affection, and in spite of her pique, Kayla couldn’t help smiling, too. She liked the way his expression softened when he spoke to her daughter. He was definitely opinionated, but there was a childlike quality about him, as well. An intriguing combination, she decided, and a dangerous one.
The barn’s rich scent of hay and feed nearly overwhelmed Kayla as Ethan led them into a small room, its rough wooden walls covered with racks of saddles and tack. Over by a battered school desk he took three bottles of water out of a small refrigerator. Twisting the cap off one, he handed it to Megan, gave the second to Kayla and then downed half of his in one long draw.
Kayla tried not to stare at his Adam’s apple as it bobbed with each swallow.
Back outside, he showed them to a large pasture where half a dozen horses were grazing. Two fingers between his teeth, Ethan whistled, and the animals began to saunter toward him.
“The bay in the lead is Birdsong,” he explained.
The brown horse had a black mane and tail, as well as four black stockings. She also appeared to be bigger than the others.
“She’s beautiful,” Megan declared. “I don’t care if she’s not gray.”
Ethan looked at Kayla.
“That’s her favorite color this month.”
Again, he smiled. Oh, yes, definitely dangerous. A woman could grow very fond of that smile.
Megan moved down the fence to where the animals were headed.
“She’s horse crazy,” Kayla explained.
“A lot of kids go through the phase at that age. How old is she, about eight?”
Kayla was impressed. Most bachelors were poor judges of a child’s age.
“Yes,” she responded. “She has pictures of horses all over her room, statues on her shelves and has nagged me into subscribing to every horse magazine she can find.”
“Give her a few years. Once adolescence hits and she discovers boys, horses will quickly be forgotten.”
“The opposite sex doesn’t seem to have distracted you,” she blurted, blushing when she realized what she was saying.
He tilted his head in amusement. “I’m not immune.” His green eyes studied her, making her decidedly uncomfortable, a condition he obviously enjoyed, because he laughed before observing, “I have more than a dozen horses here. What’s your interest in this particular one?”
“When I was in the general store yesterday, I happened to mention I might be interested in buying Megan a horse. Mr. Tanner said your Birdsong was very gentle with kids, and that you probably didn’t have much use for her anymore.”
For a moment Ethan’s expression shifted, but the sadness, if that’s what it was, vanished when the big mare came up to the fence and nosed his arm.
“Can I pet her?” Megan cried. “Can I? Please?”
Ethan beckoned to her. “Come here.”
Wide-eyed, she rushed over. He lifted her so her feet rested on the bottom rail of the fence. “Put your hand out slowly with your palm up and fingers flat, and let her sniff you for a few seconds. Then you can rub her nose.”
Megan did what she was told, then giggled as she ran her fingers above the horse’s nostrils. “She’s so soft,” she said in amazement.
“That’s the silkiest part of any horse,” Ethan told her. “Now slowly move your hand up to her forehead. You can feel her coat there is rough.”
Kayla held her breath and watched for any change in Megan’s breathing. None.
“If you really want to make her feel good, rub her just above the eyes. Like this.” He cupped his hand over the horse’s right eye and rubbed it in a gentle massage, then guided Megan’s much smaller hand to do the same thing. “That’s it. Nice and easy. Not all horses like to be touched there, but a lot of them do. I think Birdsong really likes you.”
He had a way with children, Kayla decided, and wondered why he wasn’t married and raising a family.
“Can I ride her?” Megan pleaded.
“Maybe another time. She’s ready to come in for her supper now.”
Megan’s disappointment was palpable, but to Kayla’s immense relief she didn’t push the issue.
“Ready to bring them in?” asked a man behind them.
Kayla spun around. An older cowboy with a paunchy middle and a scuffed straw Western hat shielding his leathery face had approached so quietly, she hadn’t even heard him.
“Carter, this is Kayla Price,” Ethan said over his shoulder, still holding Megan so she could run her hand over the horse’s other eyelid. “They’re interested in buying Birdsong.”
Carter grunted and moved to the gate a few yards down, where he removed one of a dozen halters hanging on the fence. Birdsong instantly trotted to him, nudging another horse out of the way. No question about the pecking order.
“Can I go with her?” the girl begged.
Ethan let out a chuckle. “Carter,” he called over, “Megan would like to help you bring Birdsong in.”
“Don’t need no help,” the old man grumbled. “Been doin’ this longer than you been alive.”
Ethan just looked at the man with raised eyebrows.
“Oh, all right. Come on then. Don’t have all day.” Carter stepped inside the gate and put the halter on the big mare, who seemed to accept it eagerly. “Give her room,” he barked at the girl, “if you don’t want to get run down.”
She jumped to the side as he brought the horse through the gate, crowding out the others in the process and latching it behind him. Kayla suffered a moment of anxiety looking at her daughter, so small beside the huge animal.
Kayla watched, smiling as they moved toward the barn. Megan was marching like a soldier, head up, utterly delighted in her role as official helper. Carter said something to her, and Kayla hoped it wasn’t a reprimand. Then, to her surprise, he handed her daughter the lead rope. When Megan looked back, her face radiated pure joy.
Kayla couldn’t help grinning. “He’s made her day.”
Amusement played across Ethan’s lips, too. “Buy her a horse and she’ll get to do that a lot.”
“You think she’ll tire of it then? You might be right. Have you ever gotten tired of being around horses?”
For a moment he got that dreamy look in his eyes again. “No. Don’t think I ever will, either.”
He haltered the next mare.
“How experienced a rider is Megan?” The nostalgia was gone from his voice.
“Not very,” Kayla admitted. “Back home I took her to weekly group lessons at a stable not far from where we lived. They taught English, but it was more for amusement than serious training. She’s never been on a Western saddle, which is what she really wants—to be a real cowgirl.”
“So she’s a relative beginner.”
“Afraid so. She’ll be an eager student, though, I can promise you that.”
“What do you know about keeping horses?”
“Not much.” She walked on his left as they followed the same path Carter and Megan had taken. “We’ve never owned a horse, but I figure we can learn.”
“Or kill the animal out of ignorance.” His tone was sharp now. “What are the symptoms of colic?”
“Oh, I—”
“How about founder? Thrush?”
She listened to the clop-clop of the horse’s hooves on the gravel but said nothing. She didn’t know the answers.
“How often does a horse have to be shod?”
She shook her head. “I don’t know.”
“You reckon you can just pick that information up from a book or magazine?”
“People do buy horses,” she pointed out.
He shook his head in disgust. “How much do you plan to spend on this hobby?”
She chose not to respond to the implied put-down. “I don’t know what you’re asking for Birdsong,” she said, “or if I can afford her. We have to start somewhere, don’t we?”
“I meant, how much have you budgeted each month?”
She looked up at him. “I don’t understand.”
“I know you don’t.” They’d reached the barn. He stopped and studied her. “Mrs. Price, buying a horse is only the down payment on a variety of expenses. There are, for example, the vet fees. You can budget for shots, but not for the unexpected bills that come with unpredictable ailments. Colic is the most common. If it’s in the middle of the night or on a Sunday or holiday, you shell out extra dough to call the vet out. By the way, do you own a horse trailer and truck strong enough to tow it? That car you drove up in sure won’t handle the load.”
Her dad had a truck, but it was a small one. She was spared answering as Carter and Megan passed them going the other way.
“I’m helping bring in the other horses, Mommy,” Megan called out, clearly enthralled.
“That’s nice, honey.”
“You’ll have farrier fees for shoes every six weeks or so,” Ethan went on.
He led the horse into the barn. Inside a box stall he removed the halter. The mare immediately made for a bucket hanging on the wall and started chomping grain.
“Have you considered feed?” Ethan asked, closing and latching the heavy door and hanging the halter on a peg beside it. “What kind of hay? Coastal or alfalfa? How much oats? What kind of supplements?” His eyes surveyed the room.
“Then there’s time,” he continued. “Are you up to feeding twice a day seven days a week, rain or shine, wind or snow? You’ll need to put the horse out to pasture every morning and bring her in every evening when the weather is fair. Do you have someone competent who can fill in for you when you’re not available?”
They stepped outside. The early-February sun was going down and so was the temperature. Not cold but decidedly chilly.
“These animals are dependent on you for their survival,” he emphasized.
“Other people do it,” she insisted, but she began to wonder if she’d made a big mistake promising her daughter a horse of her own.
* * *
ETHAN HAD BEEN studying his visitor’s reaction to his questions, or rather his relentless grilling. She wasn’t pleased with him, but he suspected she was even more displeased with herself. She’d apparently promised her daughter something she now realized she couldn’t deliver. A dilemma for any parent.
What about Megan’s father? She hadn’t mentioned him. Ethan had noticed she wasn’t wearing a ring. He’d met a few married women who didn’t, but Kayla Price didn’t strike him as that type. Strong, independent, yes, but also one who took a commitment seriously and wasn’t bashful about acknowledging it.
There he was being judgmental again.
Was she divorced, widowed, a single mother who had never been married? Not that it was any of his business. Her private life was her own.
One thing was for sure, he wasn’t about to sell her Birdsong under any conditions. The mare was still sound—sweet, patient and gentle—and would make an ideal horse for a little girl like Megan, but that could change quickly. If all went well, Bird might have another five years left. On the other hand, the next bout of colic could be her last. Ethan couldn’t in good conscience sell a horse of that age to an incompetent buyer, even if he were inclined to part with her—which he wasn’t.
“Look—” he tried to sound friendly rather than negative “—you’re not ready to buy a horse. Maybe when you’ve had some experience and know what you’re getting yourself into. Until then, I recommend giving your daughter lessons and leaving it at that for a while.”
Kayla nodded, but she wasn’t pleased. “I wish you weren’t right,” she admitted. “Megan is going to be so disappointed.”
“And you’ll be in the doghouse.”
She caught his eye and smiled ruefully. “Big-time.”
The girl approached leading a brown horse with three white stockings. “This is Izzy, Mommy. That’s short for Isabel.”
“She’s going to have a baby in a few months,” Ethan told her. “Maybe you can come back then and see the foal.”
“Can I, Mom?”
“We’ll see, honey.”
“I’ve never seen a baby horse, except in pictures. Are they really cute?”
“As a button,” Ethan assured her.
“The second stall on the right,” Carter said and gave Ethan a disgruntled look.
Man, child and horse disappeared into the shadows of the old structure.
“Maybe we can settle on a compromise,” Ethan told Kayla.
“What do you mean?”
“Tell Megan Birdsong isn’t for sale, but I’d like her to ride the horse to see how well they get along. If she’s still interested after a few sessions, I’ll give you a half lease on her.”
“Half lease? On a horse?”
He nodded. “You pay half the upkeep, including feed, shots and shoeing. Megan can ride her anytime she wants, whether she’s taking lessons from me or not. I pay the other half, as well as anything unexpected that might pop up, like vet bills when she colicks. Your monthly tab will fluctuate according to the cost of feed and routine vet charges, but you won’t have any catastrophic bills, and you can terminate the lease anytime you want.”
“Sounds like a good deal.”
“It is.”
“Except Birdsong stays here, right?”
He nodded.
“That’s the part she won’t be happy about. She’s been counting on having her horse in our stable.”
“One other thing. You—or she—also do half the chores. That means coming over here every other afternoon after school and mucking out the stall. Might as well find out if she’s serious about this horse business.”
Kayla laughed. He liked the sound and the way her face lit up.
“Try it for, say, three or four months. After you’ve gotten a taste of the care and feeding of horses and have a better idea of what you’re letting yourselves in for, if you still want to buy her a horse, I’ll help you find one.”
* * *
“BUT YOU SAID we were going to buy Birdsong.” Hands fisted, Megan stomped her foot. “You promised.”
“Megan, I said I would consider it if we could afford to and if Birdsong was available, but Mr. Ritter doesn’t want to sell her. I can’t make him.”
“You promised,” she shouted, red-faced. “You said I could have my very own horse. I love Birdsong and she loves me.”
Under different circumstances Kayla might have laughed at her daughter’s notion of instant love.
“Calm down, honey. You’re going to make yourself sick.”
Megan glared at her, her mouth pinched. She didn’t often throw temper tantrums, but when she did they had serious consequences. Her breathing was already becoming rapid, raspy.
Kayla led her to a bench beside the old barn, sat her down and reached into her pocket for the extra inhaler she always carried.
“Here, use this,” she said.
“I don’t want it,” her daughter all but shouted, though her voice didn’t carry very well. “I want Birdsong.” Her breaths were coming in quick inhalations now. But it was exhaling that was most difficult.
Ethan finished filling a water trough over by the corral and strolled over. Kayla had been aware of him watching them. “What’s wrong?”
“Her asthma is acting up. She’ll be all right in a few minutes.” She again offered the inhaler.
Desperate now for air, Megan didn’t refuse it a second time. She sucked in two draws from the small canister, and her breathing immediately began to ease.
Kayla stayed with her for a few minutes before getting up. “Wait here while I get your purse. I think you left it hanging near the gate.”
Megan nodded.
Ethan trailed along beside Kayla. “Your daughter has asthma and you brought her to a stable. Don’t you know horses can set off an attack?”
She looked at him, impressed with his knowledge of the disease, displeased by his holier-than-thou tone.
“She’s not having a reaction to the horses, Mr. Ritter. She’s brought this attack on by getting upset.”
“What would have happened if she’d reacted to the horses?”
Kayla stopped and glared at him. “I would have taken her home immediately, put her on her nebulizer and not brought her back. As it is, I may not anyway.”
“I can’t believe you’d take that chance.”
Kayla prayed for patience. “Mr. Ritter, I’ve lived with my daughter’s health problems all her life. I’m well versed on what she can tolerate and what she can’t. She’s been around horses nearly every week for the past year without difficulty. Today has been no exception. She’s upset because she can’t take Birdsong home. It’ll pass.”
He didn’t look convinced.
“You offered to give her riding lessons a few minutes ago. Are you going to renege?”
“I didn’t say that.”
“Then you do your part, Mr. Ritter, and I’ll do mine. Can we agree on that?”
He clearly didn’t like being cornered. Daryl hadn’t liked it, either, when she called him on commitments he’d made.
“Bring her Monday after school. If she has another attack, though, the deal’s off.”
* * *
ETHAN FINISHED hanging up the last piece of tack and scanned the room for anything out of place. Order had always been a trademark of the Ritter barns and stables under Carter Dunlap. The old man had been a ranch hand on the Broken Spoke long before Ethan was born.
Satisfied, Ethan turned off the light as he exited, only to bump into the old cowboy outside the door.
“What do you think you’re doing?” Carter asked.
“Just finishing up.”
“I mean about the girl.”
“Giving her lessons. What are you so upset about? We can use a few more paying customers.”
“You can’t change the past. I’d have thought you’d understand that by now.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” Ethan started to walk around him, but the old man grabbed him by the arm with strength that was surprising and a bit frightening.
“It’s over. She’s at peace. Let her go. Torturing yourself won’t do no good. Get on with your life.”
Ethan yanked his arm away.
“It wasn’t your fault,” Carter called after him.
But it was his fault. Nothing could change that, either.
Ethan’s heart was pounding as he strode toward the back of the ranch house.
Was Carter correct? Should Ethan put distance between himself and this girl with the uncanny resemblance to Angela? Was he trying to relive history...and get it right his time?
It didn’t matter. He’d made a deal and he would live up to it.
