Page 25 of Sweet and Wild

I swallow the lump in my throat and smile, despite the way my heart is aching. Any one of my brothers or the other ranch hands could have done that, but the fact that it was Colt to carry on that tradition cuts me to the core. Colt did it because that’s who he is. He did it because he knew Daddy would have spent that time alone, wondering where I was, and why I wasn’t coming home. I bow my head and discreetly wipe away my tears before I can even think about responding. “I appreciate that.”

“It’s not like I had much else to fill my nights.”

“I find that hard to believe,” I say before I can stop myself.

I dare a glance at Colt, his jaw is set, and he grinds his teeth. “Well you’re wrong.”

“I wouldn’t blame you.”

“You wouldn’t have a right to blame, but here’s the difference between you and me, Lemonade, when I give my heart to someone, I don’t take it back.”

He walks by me, through the stable and then out into the storm. I close my eyes and just breathe, wishing being near him didn’t hurt so much. I wish those old memories wouldn’t squeeze and suffocate the breath out of me.

Belle whinnies and I open my eyes and remember why I’m here. Allantoic fluid gushes from her sex as she lies in the hay, and the foal’s front hooves slip out. “That’s it. You’re doing great.”

I don’t move so as not to spook her. We’ll always try to let a horse deliver on her own here on the ranch and step in if intervention is required, but thankfully it’s usually a quick and easy process.

“You got this, mama.”

She nickers in response. The foal’s head and hoof are stuck.Shit. I glance at the barn doors, and back at Belle. I don’t know if Colt’s coming back and we don’t have time to mess around. I lean over and open the stall gate. Belle rolls, swishing her tail agitatedly, and I crouch down and slowly approach, making clicking sounds with my mouth so she knows I’m here and doesn’t kick me right out of the stall.

“It’s okay. I ain’t gonna hurt you.”

I carefully ease forward and give the foal’s hoof a gentle tug. It’s enough to free up his muzzle, but after several more minutes, he doesn’t move any farther. I take hold of both front legs, tugging as gently as I can. The foal eases out a little more and I’m just about to step back when I slip on the allantoic fluid and go down in a heap. My head hits the stable wall, pain radiates up my back and the damn foal slides right out of Belle and into my lap. I’m covered in gunk, blood, and one tiny horse who looks more alien than animal with the amnionic fetal membrane covering it. I clear it from the head and ensure the baby’s nostrils are free of fluid.

“What the hell happened?” Colt says.

“She was struggling. The foal was stuck.”

“You saved her.”

I shrug my shoulders and slump against the stable wall, glancing at the foal in my lap. Fluid drips from my hands and I grimace and wonder how long it might be before this damn horse gets off me and I can go shower.

Colt’s lips quirk up in the corner. “Just like ridin’ a bike, huh?”

“Something like that.” I laugh and sit up, gently easing the baby off my legs, inch by inch and closer to its mother. I’m gonna have bruises for days after one-hundred pounds of hooves, hair, and muscle just fell into my lap.

“Colt or filly?”

I lean over and lift the foal’s tail, checking for sex organs. “Filly.”

“Well, what are you gonna name her?”

Bittersweet pride swells in my heart. Naming the foals on this ranch was always my daddy’s job. I helped, of course, by picking out names of racehorses who’d lost their lives on the track for the sake of people’s greed. I clear my throat and ignore the sting of saltwater in my eyes as I say proudly, “Stellar. Stellar Collision.”

Colt nods. “I like it.”

Belle shifts beside me, likely attempting to get to her feet and check out her foal. “You wanna give me a hand here?”

He holds out a hand and I take it, letting him pull me to my feet, but I slip on the mess of fluid and straw under my boots and almost go flying. Colt draws me close to him, our bodies touching, the fabric of my jeans and sweater soaking his clothing, but that’s not all I notice. His warmth emanates through our filthy clothes and I look into those gray eyes of his. Even now, they have the power to drag me under. Even covered in gunk with the scent of birth in the air, all I can smell is that same combination of soap, wilderness, and sage which is all inextricably Colt. My fingers itch to paint him, to trace the peaks and valleys of each hard-won muscle and leave their mark on something other than a fresh canvas. But I gave up that right a long time ago.

“Sorry,” I whisper breathlessly.

He inhales through his nose, his tongue darts out to wet his lips, and he glances at my mouth before locking eyes with mine.

“Colt?”

He releases my shoulders and clears his throat. “You best get cleaned up before your mama sees the mess you made.”

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