A Cowboy to Call Daddy (The Boones of Texas 4)

Why, he didn’t know. She’d made it clear she had no interest in staying here. She’d been nothing but honest with him, never waffled or offered him any false hope. Once she was done with his books, she would leave him—leave here.

What he wanted, what he may or may not be feeling, wouldn’t change that.

When he greeted his cousin Deacon later that afternoon he was still growling. The sight of Deacon’s beat-up horse trailer and an ancient Chevy pickup truck did little to lift his spirits. In fact, the music blaring from Deacon’s open windows only ratcheted up his irritation.

“Archer,” Deacon said, nodding and turning down the music—a little. “Brought you a little something. And by little, I mean she’d be knocked down by a strong breeze. She’s weak on her feet. You’re gonna need some manpower to get her out.”

Archer nodded. “Bring her around to the end of the small barn,” he asked. “Got some of the men waiting to help unload.”

Deacon nodded, pulling slowly forward.

Archer caught a glimpse of the skeletal animal with sad eyes and shook his head. At least she was here. She had a fighting chance now.

It had been one hell of a long day. Fester was behaving, but Archer had asked Renata to keep a close eye on him—at least during his shift at the vet hospital. He’d made his rounds quickly, pleased that his students were finally getting the knack of charting. He knew he was tough on them, but there was no room for error.

He’d had to step in to lecture a class since his brother Hunter had called in sick—something his big brother never did. After he was done at the hospital, he’d stopped by the lumberyard for the fencing materials his father had requested and the feed store, too. He’d arrived at the refuge to see Eden watching Fester from the front porch, all smiles. She’d seen him climb out of his truck and scurried inside without a backward glance.

If Deacon hadn’t been bringing in the new horse, he’d have taken River on a long ride. He needed to clear his head—think of things beyond the Monroe Foundation and Eden Caraway.

“Got plans?” Toben asked Deacon. “Dancing at Cutter’s place tonight.”

Archer didn’t answer; he knew Toben wasn’t asking him. He opened the larger stall the horse would start out in. It was open at the end, giving her a view of the outside—where she’d be free to run when she’d regained some of her strength.

Deacon shrugged. “Drove most of last night. My plans were food and bed.”

“Damn shame, Deacon,” Toben said. “Whole family’s coming, according to Hunter. Uncle Teddy’s even bringing a date.”

That grabbed Archer’s attention. Hunter? He’d called in sick to work but could go out dancing? And his father? On a date?

“Might have to have a beer, then.” Deacon relented, then emphasized, “One.”

Archer didn’t say a thing. His father had one love in his life. And when Archer’s mother died, that part of his dad’s heart had stopped working. While his siblings worried over him, Archer understood. If you loved someone that completely, how would you get over losing them? Not that Archer had any experience with love—beyond his family. Maybe it was seeing his father’s heart so utterly destroyed. Or the countless girls his own brother Ryder wounded in his youth. Whatever it was, Archer had kept women and romance and hearts and flowers at arm’s length.

No way his father was dating. Archer shook his head but held his tongue. Nope. He didn’t believe it. Instead of letting his cousins’ chatter distract him, he concentrated on what needed to be done: settling this horse.

She was in bad shape. Shaking and blowing hard after a few steps.

“The shed she was in was dark and damn dirty,” Deacon offered. “I’m thinking she ran there for cover and the roof caved in.”

Archer nodded, seeing how resistant she was to leaving the dim trailer. He stepped inside, offering his hands and speaking to the skittish horse in low tones. She was so little, so frail, her skin jumping and twitching out of pure agitation. Her ears cocked up, but she looked side to side, disoriented and frightened.

He took his time, inspecting the horse from nose to tail. A small paint horse, black and white. One blue eye, one brown. Filmy eyes. Could be from malnutrition, could be cataracts. Either way, it would add to the horse’s agitation. New place. Blurred vision.

He placed a light hand on the horse’s back, the skin flinching beneath his touch. He could feel the notches of the animal’s spine, the line of each rib.

“You’re okay,” he said. “We’ll keep you safe.”

“She blind?” Deacon asked.

“Might be.” Archer kept his hand on the horse. She leaned into him, nudging his head, knocking his hat to the ground. “Don’t like my hat?” He laughed softly.

Deacon nodded. “She’s got more spirit than I expected.”

“Which is good. Long road to recovery. Need to do some blood work, check for parasites, vitamin deficiencies...” Archer kept a soothing tone, aware of every twitch and turn, shift and whiffle the horse made. She needed quiet, to feel calm and safe. Archer respected that—and took care to make sure the little paint understood he meant no harm. “We’re going to need help getting her out. She’s favoring her front left hoof. Don’t want to stress her out.”

It took forty-five minutes and six men to get the horse into the stall and settled. He spent another hour watching her, making notes on her gait, her wheeze, the constant shaking of her head. He wrote out a detailed diet plan and a series of vaccinations and medicines that would help get her back on her feet.

He nodded goodbye to Toben, thanked Deacon for the delivery and sat against the stall fence. He was in no hurry. After a while, she approached him, sniffing him curiously, growing accustomed to him. He suspected she’d be with him for a long time. Sometimes a horse stayed. They were too broken or too fragile to move again. “You’re okay, little girl,” he murmured. “Rest easy now.”