“How the h—” Jake swallowed the forbidden word. “How do we do that? I’ve never fed a horse in my life!”
“That’s okay. I can show you what to do.” She tugged him across the yard, the dog tagging along behind them. It was getting darker, and Jake didn’t have a flashlight. But his daughter seemed to know where she was going.
The horses were still loose in the paddock. “How do we get them in the barn?” he asked.
“Sometimes we leave them outside. They’ll be okay tonight,” Paige said. “But they need to eat. Wild horses eat all day. These horses aren’t wild, but their digestion works the same. They mustn’t go too long without food, and there’s not enough grass for them in the paddock.”
“Digestion?” “You know some pretty fancy words for a little girl,” Jake said. “And you seem to know a lot about horses, too.”
“I just listen to my grandpa,” Paige said. “You can learn a lot if you listen.” She was still for a moment as if fighting tears. Jake could imagine what a shock it must have been, finding Dusty unconscious in the barn and having to run for help. His daughter was one brave little girl.
“Grandpa would want us to take care of his horses,” she said.
As Jake gazed at the light and dark shapes moving in the paddock, something tightened in his gut. He still had occasional nightmares about the bronco that had turned his father into a broken, alcoholic ruin. “Do I have to go in there with them?” he asked.
“No. See those bins by the fence? Those are the feeders. You fill them up with hay. It’s easy. You just throw it over the fence. There’s a wheelbarrow and a pitchfork in the hay shed. Come on.”
The rising moon lent enough light to see the way. Jake followed the small, darting figure through the shadows. The hay shed, open in front, was behind the stable. An empty wheelbarrow, with a pitchfork leaning against it, stood next to what was left of a large, cylindrical hay bale.
“So I just fork the hay into the wheelbarrow and take it out. Is that the idea?” he asked.
“Uh-huh. Once we found a rattlesnake in the hay.” She paused. “But don’t worry. It was dead.”
“Thanks.” Jake shuddered as he plunged the pitchfork into the hay bale. He hated snakes.
It took him a couple tries to get it right, but he soon had the wheelbarrow heaped with fragrant hay. With Paige giving directions, he wheeled it to the paddock and refilled the feeders. One horse wandered over and began to munch, followed by another, then more, chomping the hay with their big, flat teeth. Jake could smell their earthy scent. He could hear them breathing, nickering and passing gas. Why did some folks make such a fuss over horses? They were dangerous, messy, expensive and a hell of a lot of work.
“Now they need water.” Paige handed Jake the hose and pointed to the trough. “You can fill it through the fence. I’ll turn on the tap. Tell me when it’s full.”
They finished the task and walked back to the house together, the dog trailing behind. After sending Paige inside to get ready for dinner, Jake sank onto the top step. The dog settled beside him. He scratched the shaggy ears. It was too soon for any word from Kira. All he could do was hope her grandfather would pull through. Dusty was a good man. He’d gone to a lot of trouble and expense to get a burned-out human wreck out of jail and bring him here. Jake still didn’t understand why he’d done it. If the worst had happened and Dusty didn’t make it, maybe he never would.
* * *
As she swung into the hospital parking lot, Kira reminded herself that the Carondelet Heart and Vascular Institute had a reputation for excellent care and the latest technology. But none of that would matter if Dusty had arrived too late to be saved.
Sick with worry, she screeched into the
first parking place she found, bolted out of the car and rushed to the hospital entrance. By the time she reached the front desk, she was out of breath.
“Mr. Wingate?” The receptionist checked her computer screen. “Yes. He’s stabilized and in the ICU. They can tell you more at the nurses’ station. I’ll give you directions.”
Stabilized! The word sang in Kira’s head as she raced down the hall to the elevator. Her grandfather was alive. She even dared hope that he might recover and be all right.
“He’s resting,” the ICU nurse told her. “The doctors did an angioplasty and put a stent in the blocked artery that caused the heart attack. He’s not out of the woods yet, but if everything looks good, he should be able to go home in a few days. After that, he’ll need to take it easy for about three weeks while the stent heals.”
“Can I see him?”
“For a few minutes. But don’t expect much. He’s an old man and he’s been through a lot. The best thing for him right now is rest.”
“I won’t be long.” Kira hurried down the hall and tiptoed into her grandfather’s room. He lay with his eyes closed, his spare old body hooked up to a maze of tubes and gauges. The monitor above the bed beeped softly, tracking his pulse, blood pressure and oxygen level—all stable, thank heaven.
Dusty had always been a tower of strength. Now the sight of him almost broke her heart. He looked so small and fragile in that bed, his face pale, his cheekbones jutting like ledges above the oxygen tube that was clipped to his nose.
Leaning over the bed, Kira slipped her hand into his and gave it a gentle squeeze. Her heart skipped as he squeezed back and opened his deep blue eyes. “Hello, honey.” His voice was weak and hoarse.
“Hello, you old rascal.” Kira smiled at him through welling tears. “How are you feeling?”
“Like shit. How do you think?”