Or Nez Percé, as we’re known now.”
“The Last Indian War.”
Few people remembered the native history, how a band of Nez Percé was hunted over a thousand miles of rough terrain, caught after much fighting and then sequestered on a hot, dry plain in Oklahoma, far from their cooler mountainous homeland. She surprised him and he didn’t surprise easily. “Someone paid attention in eighth-grade history. Many don’t.”
“Well, right now I’m paying attention to her.” Charlotte moved along the mare’s flank. She closed her eyes and gently probed the animal’s body. “She’s due to foal soon.”
Now she got his attention. He stared at the horse, then followed the skinny line of her curvature until the familiar sway beneath her confirmed the doctor’s diagnosis. “That can’t be good for her.”
“Babies do tend to steal whatever they need from their mothers, leaving the mother drained. In her case, drained equates starving.”
The horse gulped as if swallowing was hard.
“Do you have a place ready for her?” she asked as she smoothed her hand along the mare’s flank.
“A hay barn with three stalls I use when I need to segregate.” He watched as she did a quick exam from the horse’s side.
“Baby’s heart rate is strong and steady. Mother’s is shakier considering her condition. Let’s get her moved, get her in a clean area and we’ll start a care regimen right away.” She stood up, jotted notes into her phone, then faced him. “I won’t pretend I’m holding out a lot of hope.”
“Because she’s so far gone.”
“That and an almost full-term pregnancy puts a significant strain on the mother. How old is she?”
“Twenty-six.” He didn’t have to stop and think because he hadn’t stopped thinking about Gingersnap—her formal name—since the day they hauled her away, twenty-one years ago. He’d been nine years old and had just witnessed what no child should ever have to see, the loss of his cousin and best friend.
And then he experienced the loss of another dear friend when they sent the horse to be euthanized. Nearly every moment since had been timed from that fateful day. Alfie gone, and Gingersnap hauled away to her death.
Only here she was, so someone else must have realized the horse wasn’t at fault.
He didn’t know how this happened, but seeing his old friend neglected and starved, he knew it was long past time to fix things. Starting today. “I’ll get the trailer now that the others have loaded.”
“Is your daughter strong enough to handle this?” She jutted her chin toward the group of watchful teens.
“My niece, actually. And yes. She’s quite strong. Why?”
“Watching animals die is no picnic. And you and I both know this one’s on shaky ground.”
Regardless he still had to try. “We’ll do our best and leave the rest in God’s hands.”
Doubt clouded her features. “Whoever left the fate of these animals to God didn’t give them much of a fighting chance, did they?”
He faced her, calm and cool, and made sure she understood exactly what he wanted to say. “He brought them here, where they’re surrounded by helping hands. I’d say He’s done all right.”
She didn’t argue with him, but her expression indicated she wasn’t buying into his reasoning.
No matter.
He needed her help. She needed work. They didn’t have to get along or be friends, but when she murmured soft words of encouragement as they moved the mare forward, he wondered how someone so innately gifted with horses could be that far removed from God?
That was her business. Not his. And he would have enough on his plate once people realized that he’d just gone against a two-decades-old death sentence. A sentence that had never been carried out. A sentence decreed against a horse who hadn’t done one thing wrong.
God had given him the chance to fix an old mistake. One way or another he was going to make up as much of that error as he could, and that would depend on how long Ginger and her baby lived.
Isaiah Woods’ ranch was about the prettiest thing Char had ever seen, and that was saying something for a girl raised on an elite Kentucky horse farm.
She drove her van beneath a wooden arch that read Dancing Meadows and was pretty sure she’d taken a step back in time. An L-shaped rustic log cabin stood to her right, shaded by towering pines. Wind chimes hung from the braces connecting the wooden porch pillars. They jangled a mix of sounds into the afternoon breeze as sunlight bathed the western side of the house. The natural light deepened the golden tones of the wooden logs. The whole thing created a suitable-for-framing Western-ranch image. As she followed the graveled drive to a system of pristine barns, she angled the van to the left and then paused.
Three meadows spread out behind the barns. Two lay fairly flat, with an occasional dip and roll. The third went up a hill toward the deepening forest that served as the backdrop to this beautiful landholding. But it wasn’t the pretty green pastures that brought her to a stop.
It was the amazing array of colorful Appaloosas that made Char catch her breath.
Grays. Chestnuts. Buckskins. Blues. It was like viewing her favorite childhood poem, the one Corrie would sing to her, lulling a busy girl to sleep with promises of a new day coming. Hushabye. Don’t you cry... Go to sleep, little lady... When you wake, you shall have all the pretty little horses.
Her heart went tight, remembering. Corrie Satterly had cared for all three of the Fitzgerald girls, from the time her oldest sister, Lizzie, was a baby. She had surrounded Lizzie, Melonie and Char with faith, hope and love. And yet...despite Char’s love for her surrogate mother...it never seemed to be enough. Someday she’d have to take some time and figure out why. But not today.
“You like our horses?”
She turned, surprised.
A copper-haired boy faced her, and then he hopped up on the fence and pointed. “See that blue roan?”
There were several, but she saw the one he meant right off. “With the wider blanket.” To the right a gorgeous horse stood slightly apart. The blue-gray coloration faded as it reached the horse’s back, then merged with a wide blanket of pale cream, lightly speckled. “She’s a stunner.”
“She’s named after me. Liam’s Little Lady because we were born on the same day. Only I’m eight and she’s four.”
“A birthday present.”
His eyes shined when he looked at her. “Yes, that’s right. And I remember my daddy holding me up and saying, ‘Well, then, what do you think, boy?’”
“And
