along when they did, and
that the wagon wheel had broken.
The mare gave Dallas and Conner only a cursory glance. She
instead fixated on Dolly and Molly, who fidgeted nervously and tugged on their
lead ropes.
Dallas wasn’t sure if the draft horses wanted to be friends
with the newcomers or run from them. The colt was also undecided and pranced
skittishly in circles around his mother, while eyeing Conner warily. Had he ever
encountered humans before?
Excitement coursed through Dallas. The colt, she realized, must
have been born here in the mountains. Like Prince!
Slinging the coiled rope over her shoulder, she removed her
camera from the bag, one eye fastened on Conner.
Rather than continue toward the mare and colt, he changed
direction and headed instead to Dolly and Molly.
“What are you doing?” Dallas asked in a loud whisper.
He held out a hand, indicating for her to be quiet.
Impatience clawed at her. What if the mare and colt ran off
before she got a decent shot? Ignoring Conner’s directive, she inched out in
front of the wagon and began taking pictures.
A moment later Conner reached Molly and untied her lead rope.
His intention became evident when he began walking with her back to the wagon.
He was trying to see if the mare and colt would follow.
Capturing the pair might turn out to be a simple as leading
them home.
Dallas gave Conner credit for his ingenuity, and then admired
it as the mare broke into a trot to catch up with Molly. The colt bucked twice
for good measure before loping alongside the mare, his slender legs moving
gracefully.
Conner’s grin conveyed his satisfaction with the outcome.
Dallas deftly switched to a zoom lens. Appalled at the
unspeakable and senseless cruelty of some people, she forced herself to keep
snapping shots.
“Bring the rope,” Conner said.
She stopped shooting and did as he requested. “Oh, dear God,”
she murmured, upon witnessing the mare’s wounds up close and without a camera
lens filtering her view. “She must be in terrible pain.”
“Bad, isn’t it?”
One arrow was imbedded in the muscles of her neck and stuck
straight out at a ninety degree angle. The other one had completely pierced the
flesh of her back, six or so inches behind her withers. Red and yellow feathers
protruded from one end, a bladed arrowhead from the other.
Dried blood the color of tar stained the mare’s hide near both
wounds, and traveled in a drip pattern down the entire length of her right
shoulder and leg. The darkened flesh surrounding the puncture wounds curled
away, leaving gaping, abscessed holes.
“You okay?” Conner’s voice had an odd, tinny quality to it.
“Fine.” Only Dallas wasn’t fine. The ground rippled under her
feet, and her vision dimmed.
She’d fainted only once before, as a teenager when she had her
wisdom teeth removed, but she remembered the sensation well.
“You don’t look fine.” He supported her elbow.
“Pregnant, is all.” She fought for control, barely winning the
battle.
“Easy now,” Conner said, using the same coaxing tone he did
when talking to the horses.
She saw now why they responded to him.
Accepting the support he offered, she leaned on him until the
dizziness passed and her head cleared. “I feel stupid.”
“Don’t. Gives me another reason to hold you.”
Was he joking?
“What about the mare and colt?”
“Right here. I don’t think she’s going to give us any
trouble.”
“Good. She needs treatment.” Steadier and stronger, Dallas
edged away from Conner. “I’m better now. Thanks.”
“Anytime.”
When he offered her a smile, her insides fluttered.
They really should stop flirting and holding each other if they
expected to maintain a strictly professional relationship.
Who was she kidding? Their strictly professional relationship
had gone by the wayside the moment his lips grazed hers. Probably sooner than
that.
“You should tie up that mare before she changes her mind.”
Conner nodded,
that the wagon wheel had broken.
The mare gave Dallas and Conner only a cursory glance. She
instead fixated on Dolly and Molly, who fidgeted nervously and tugged on their
lead ropes.
Dallas wasn’t sure if the draft horses wanted to be friends
with the newcomers or run from them. The colt was also undecided and pranced
skittishly in circles around his mother, while eyeing Conner warily. Had he ever
encountered humans before?
Excitement coursed through Dallas. The colt, she realized, must
have been born here in the mountains. Like Prince!
Slinging the coiled rope over her shoulder, she removed her
camera from the bag, one eye fastened on Conner.
Rather than continue toward the mare and colt, he changed
direction and headed instead to Dolly and Molly.
“What are you doing?” Dallas asked in a loud whisper.
He held out a hand, indicating for her to be quiet.
Impatience clawed at her. What if the mare and colt ran off
before she got a decent shot? Ignoring Conner’s directive, she inched out in
front of the wagon and began taking pictures.
A moment later Conner reached Molly and untied her lead rope.
His intention became evident when he began walking with her back to the wagon.
He was trying to see if the mare and colt would follow.
Capturing the pair might turn out to be a simple as leading
them home.
Dallas gave Conner credit for his ingenuity, and then admired
it as the mare broke into a trot to catch up with Molly. The colt bucked twice
for good measure before loping alongside the mare, his slender legs moving
gracefully.
Conner’s grin conveyed his satisfaction with the outcome.
Dallas deftly switched to a zoom lens. Appalled at the
unspeakable and senseless cruelty of some people, she forced herself to keep
snapping shots.
“Bring the rope,” Conner said.
She stopped shooting and did as he requested. “Oh, dear God,”
she murmured, upon witnessing the mare’s wounds up close and without a camera
lens filtering her view. “She must be in terrible pain.”
“Bad, isn’t it?”
One arrow was imbedded in the muscles of her neck and stuck
straight out at a ninety degree angle. The other one had completely pierced the
flesh of her back, six or so inches behind her withers. Red and yellow feathers
protruded from one end, a bladed arrowhead from the other.
Dried blood the color of tar stained the mare’s hide near both
wounds, and traveled in a drip pattern down the entire length of her right
shoulder and leg. The darkened flesh surrounding the puncture wounds curled
away, leaving gaping, abscessed holes.
“You okay?” Conner’s voice had an odd, tinny quality to it.
“Fine.” Only Dallas wasn’t fine. The ground rippled under her
feet, and her vision dimmed.
She’d fainted only once before, as a teenager when she had her
wisdom teeth removed, but she remembered the sensation well.
“You don’t look fine.” He supported her elbow.
“Pregnant, is all.” She fought for control, barely winning the
battle.
“Easy now,” Conner said, using the same coaxing tone he did
when talking to the horses.
She saw now why they responded to him.
Accepting the support he offered, she leaned on him until the
dizziness passed and her head cleared. “I feel stupid.”
“Don’t. Gives me another reason to hold you.”
Was he joking?
“What about the mare and colt?”
“Right here. I don’t think she’s going to give us any
trouble.”
“Good. She needs treatment.” Steadier and stronger, Dallas
edged away from Conner. “I’m better now. Thanks.”
“Anytime.”
When he offered her a smile, her insides fluttered.
They really should stop flirting and holding each other if they
expected to maintain a strictly professional relationship.
Who was she kidding? Their strictly professional relationship
had gone by the wayside the moment his lips grazed hers. Probably sooner than
that.
“You should tie up that mare before she changes her mind.”
Conner nodded,
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