Texas True (The Tylers of Texas 1)

Beau cut across his words. “You’ve made your point, Jasper.”

“It’s about time.” The old cowboy rolled to his feet, steadied himself, then moved stiffly to Beau’s side.

“I never said I was staying,” Beau warned.

“I never said you were,” Jasper agreed. “At least now you’ll sleep on it, like Will asked ya.”

“Will’s like Bull. He doesn’t ask; he tells.”

“And you bristle at just about anything that isn’t your idea, just like you always did,” he observed. “It amazes me how you ever took any orders in the army. I’ll bet your tongue’s scarred from all the times ya had to bite it.”

Beau was too intent on the set of headlights coming up the lane at considerable speed to take any notice of Jasper’s good-natured gibing. “Who would be coming to pay their respects this late in the evening?” With a nod of his head, he directed Jasper’s attention to the oncoming vehicle.

By then both men could make out the shape of the big, white SUV as it swung into the ranch yard. “That looks like Natalie’s ride,” Jasper murmured. A second later the SUV swung into the ranch yard and took aim on the barn area. “The mare’s in trouble or Sky wouldn’t have called her. We’d better git over there.” As quickly as his arthritic knees would allow, the cowboy started down the steps to his truck, parked in front of the house. “You comin’?”

Common sense told Beau that both he and Natalie would be better off if he stayed right where he was. But she was too close, and the pull of her was too strong for him to stay on the porch.

Calling himself every kind of fool, Beau went down the steps and straight to the pickup’s passenger side, sliding onto the seat as Jasper clambered behind the wheel.

By the time they reached the barn, Natalie had already disappeared inside it. With all his senses in high anticipation, Beau forced himself to pause long enough to hold open the barn door for the slower-moving Jasper, , then followed him inside.

Letting his long strides carry him past Jasper, Beau made his way down the wide alley between the stalls to the lighted one, all the familiar smells of hay and horses swirling around him. The aging Border collie, already curled in his straw bed for the night, noted Beau’s passing with a lift of his head and a wag of his tail.

The gate to the stall stood open. Beau stopped a step short of it. The sweating buckskin mare was on her feet, hobbled and snubbed to a post at the rear of the stall. Sky was at her head, stroking her neck and shoulders, murmuring to her in the singsong Comanche way he had that invariably soothed the most nervous horse. But it was Natalie he focused his attention on.

Her sleeves were rolled up, long, rubber obstetrical gloves covering her bare hands and arms all the way to the shoulders. He studied her bent head, the dark sheen of her hair standing out against the mare’s dun-colored coat. She looked so damned small next to the stoutly muscled quarter horse that Beau couldn’t check the surge of protectiveness that swept through him.

Jasper halted next to him. “What’s the problem?” he asked, directing the question to Sky.

“The foal’s coming nose first.” His voice maintained its crooning tone. “She’s working to pull the front legs. Just pray it’s not too late.”

No further explanation was needed. Regardless of how long he’d been away from the ranch, Beau knew, as well as Jasper did, that once the birthing process began, there was roughly a fifteen-minute window. If the foal wasn’t born within that time frame, it was a sign of trouble. Both the foal’s life and the mare’s could be in danger. No wonder Natalie had come roaring up the ranch lane like it was a highway, in an attempt to shorten the precious moments being lost.

Natalie offered no comment. She was too intent on working the unborn foal farther back into the birth canal so she could maneuver its front legs into the proper position.

“Got one.” Her low mutter of victory quickened Beau’s pulse. He held his breath as she went deeper, working to unbend the other leg and pull both feet into position. Seconds crawled past.

“Done!” She stumbled backward, catching her balance. Beau began to breathe again. “Turn her loose, Sky. Let’s hope she can finish this by herself.”

Working swiftly, Sky unfastened the hobbles, freed the rope, and stood back to give the mare plenty o

f room. Glancing to his right, Beau saw that Will had come in to watch with the others.

Horses most often gave birth on their sides, but Lupita didn’t take the time to lie down. Bracing her hind legs apart, she strained once. Muscles rippled as her foal slid into the world and dropped to the soft, clean straw.

Will gave a whoosh of relief. Jasper was laughing and cheering. But Beau’s eyes were on Natalie. She was staring at the foal.

“Something’s wrong,” she said. “It’s not breathing.”

In a flash she was bending over the newborn foal, extending its head and clearing the membranes from its nostrils. With a clean towel, she began rubbing the little body, almost roughly. “Come on . . . ,” she murmured, tickling the foal’s nose with a piece of straw. “Come on, breathe . . .”

There was a little sputter, then a cough as the baby sucked in its first breath of air and began to stir. Natalie sank back onto her heels, her head sagging, her shoulders slumping for a moment before she checked the foal again. “Congratulations, Lupita,” she said, grinning. “You’ve got a fine boy!”

The mare had shifted toward her baby and begun licking him clean. Behind her, Sky was busy tying up the long umbilical cord. It had been severed, as it should be, when the foal dropped, but until the mare passed the placenta, the trailing end had to be kept clear of her hooves.

Alert now, the foal raised his head. With the membranes cleared away, his true color could be seen in the shadowy stall. Natalie noticed it first. “Oh . . .” she breathed. “For heaven’s sake, will you look at that?”

Beau gave a low whistle as his eyes caught the gleam of a brilliant golden coat and the damp threads of a creamy mane. “Unbelievable,” he murmured, and it almost was. A random mix of recessive genes from the foal’s buckskin dam and chestnut sire had produced the rarest of colors. The tiny foal was a palomino, the first in memory on the ranch.