you for the compliment, Jesse. It’s nice to know you think I’m a ‘good-looking little filly.’” Smiling at the lumbering hitch in his step, she knew he was waiting for the punch line, and decided she wouldn’t prolong the suspense. “And, yes, I had a date for the concert. For dinner, too.”
Wide shoulders too heavy for his lanky form twitched, even as he resumed a smooth stride. “Guess it couldn’t’ve been Daniel Corbett, since he would’ve been conducting.”
This took prying to a ridiculous level, even for Jesse. But Haley had dealt with enough contention for one night. It wouldn’t hurt to satisfy his determined curiosity. “It was chamber music, Jesse, not the orchestra. Daniel didn’t conduct.”
“Oh?”
Hearing mounting curiosity in the questioning word, wondering why he should care, she gripped the heavy bag, intending to shift it from one tired hand to the other hand. Before the move was completed, the bag was taken from her. Jackson had stepped forward. Medical bag in hand, he matched his stride to hers.
As she looked up at him, she realized that in the shadowed hall his features were haggard and incredibly weary. Excusing his insolence, in that moment her tender heart went out to him. But, certain the last thing this strong, hotheaded man wanted was sympathy, she turned her attention back to Jesse, who rattled on.
“I beg your pardon?” Haley hurried to catch up with the loquacious cowboy, and to keep Jackson at a comfortable distance. “Sorry, Jesse. I’m afraid I wasn’t listening.”
“Humph! You don’t have to beg nothin’ here, little girl. Considering Jackson’s bark’s worse than his bite, you don’t have to be afraid, neither. What I was sayin’ is, what with conducting and all, Daniel must be pretty interesting.”
“Daniel’s certainly interesting.”
“I ’spose that short answer means you ain’t gonna say just exactly who your date was?”
Wondering why she cared that Jackson was hearing this conversation, she brought it to an end. “As a matter fact, I’m not. I came to treat a horse, not to discuss my social life.”
Grinning again at Jesse’s grunt of frustration, she slowed her steps as he slowed. When he stopped at the bolted gate of a stall, in a gasping breath her grin was swept away.
Cade’s Irish Dancer was known in informed circles as a magnificent stallion, a most valuable stud. Or he had been.
Haley had never been afforded the coveted opportunity to study him in the flesh. But she’d read about him, poring over his photographs in breeder and veterinary journals. Yet if she hadn’t been told the exhausted creature cowering in the battered stall was the legendary horse, she wouldn’t have believed it.
His coat was soaked with sweat and matted. His head drooped, his tail hung dull and lifeless. Gone was the proud bearing of the much-sought-after stud that had once, no doubt, been as arrogant as his master. At a glance, he appeared to have lost a tremendous amount of weight. But given the short duration of his seizure, she knew it was likely severe dehydration.
Though it didn’t explain Jackson’s hostility toward her, Dancer’s condition was cause enough for his mood.
“Jackson,” she whispered, oblivious in her alarm that she called his given name. “How long has he been like this?”
“It began several hours ago.” He waited a pace behind her. “The onset was like this, first lethargy then a few minutes of erratic behavior. Dancer’s temperamental. It seemed like a fit of exceptionally bad humor at first. Then the madness started. We tried all we knew to calm him. Finally, both Jesse and I—and even all the hands—exhausted every avenue.”
“Tell me.” Haley’s racing mind searched for answers. “Tell me everything. Don’t leave out the smallest detail.”
It was Jackson who answered, which was only natural. Dancer was his horse, the greatest source of his livelihood. More than that, the stallion’s anguish was his anguish. When he finished explaining every treatment, she found he’d been thorough and practical. His mind quick, he was well organized and sensible. More reasons to be puzzled by his reaction to her.
Mulling over all he’d said, Haley nodded. Thinking hard as she studied the horse that was a pitiful remnant of the awesome creature he’d been, something nagged at her. Something Jesse had said, recalled briefly by Jackson’s explanation. But in the shock and duress it had slipped from her mind.
“But what?” Out of habit, with no sign of vanity, she absently tucked a slipping hairpin into place. “Jesse!”
“Yes, ma’am. Still here.”
“What was it you said?” Closing her eyes, as if blocking out her surroundings would bring the elusive thought within reach, she muttered, “Something about the other horses.”
“I don’t recall the order, but it was something about the other horses reacting to Dancer, and the hands taking them to pasture.” Sliding back his broad-brimmed hat, Jesse peered at her from the shadows cast by overhead lights. “Does that help?”
Haley took a closer look at the stall, hoping for the spark of the thought. The effort changed nothing. She was as confounded as Jesse or Jackson.
Jackson? When had she begun to think of the stiff-necked man as Jackson? she wondered. Especially since it was unlikely they would ever be on a first-name basis as she was with his brothers Adams and Jefferson, who didn’t avoid her.
Abandoning thoughts of the stubborn, arrogant Cade, returning to the elusive memory that teased at her mind, she admitted honestly, “Maybe it will help. Then again, maybe not. Perhaps the thought was too far-fetched to stick.”
“Jesse said one other thing.” Jackson came to stand by her, resting his arms on the stall door. In close proximity, mixed with the scent of hay and horse, Haley breathed in a pleasant woodsy fragrance that suited a man like Jackson. Except, what did she know of the kind of man he was? Or what would suit him?
In that rare moment, regret that he resented and disliked her so adamantly surfaced. In more amenable circumstances, she believed he would have been a gentleman, a man she could admire. One whose friendship she would value.
A pipe dream. It took two to make a friendship. Of all the emotions rampant between them, friendship was not one of them. Nor would it ever be. Unaware of her melancholy sigh, or that Jackson looked at her with something in his eyes that would have shocked her, focusing on the horse, Haley asked, “What was it?”
Jackson had lost the thread of concentration. Brows only a little darker than his auburn hair lifted in question. “‘It?’”
“Sorry.” This was her night for apologies. “I didn’t mean to speak in riddles. Just wondering aloud what else Jesse said.” She glanced at the cowhand, but he shrugged. Jesse had no answer or had delegated that responsibility to the younger man.
“What probably struck you as odd,” Jackson volunteered again, “was his comment that the other horses weren’t seeing what Dancer was imagining.”
“Imagining?” She looked into eyes bearing no shred of anger. “Jesse thought the horse was imagining something?” Before either man could respond, she questioned Jackson. “Did you?”
“At
