Snow Melts in Spring (4 page)

SIX

MATTIE FOLLOWED GIL INTO THE CLINIC BARN, AND THE VOICES OF her employees hushed upon their entrance. Disregarding their adoration for the local superhero, she noted the emotion that flashed across Gil’s face when he viewed the chestnut gelding. Her throat tightened. Dusty lay motionless on the straw bedding, his chest swollen and his head wrapped in bandages. She’d witnessed scenes like this before, and in an effort to keep her sympathy from impeding her judgment, she’d learned to detach herself from the situation. With steady fingers, Mattie checked the horse’s IV and fluids, then turned to her technician to get a report on the last two hours.

Gil rested his cheek against the horse’s neck and whispered words she couldn’t make out. She grasped her clipboard and faced him.

“We’ve enucleated his right eye. I inserted an intraorbital prosthesis before sewing the skin shut. The fractures to his skull were significant. I repaired as much of it as possible, especially around the eye and sinus area.” Mattie gazed up at the hayloft where sunlight filtered in through the fractures in the wood. She wanted to be professional, collected, but the torment on Gil McCray’s face could not be ignored.

Mattie put the clipboard down and knelt beside him on the straw. “Look, right now my main concerns are Dusty’s kidneys and the injuries to his shoulder. He’s on heavy fluids and anti-inflammatories, but it’s too soon to know how extensive the internal damage is.”

“Will he live through this?” Hope cracked his voice.

Mattie shielded her expression to offer encouragement. “I’ve seen horses older than Dusty come out of worse conditions. It depends on his strength — his determination to live.” Some horses had all heart, went full blast until they breathed their last lungful. She prayed this patient might be among that rare breed.

“I raised him, you know.”

“John mentioned that.” Though the sun warmed the air outside, Mattie felt chilled in the barn and zipped her jacket. “You should know I recommended putting him down the night of the accident. Your father wouldn’t allow it.”

Gil returned his gaze to the horse resting with his nose to the ground. “How long before he’ll be up and walking?”

“I’d like to see Dusty stand within the next ten hours. If that doesn’t happen, we’ll try other measures.” She met the resolve on Gil’s face with her own. “I’m a firm believer in prayer. That and positive thinking. Maybe your presence will help Dusty heal.”

“You think he knows I’m here?”

“I know he does.” She stood to check the horse’s monitor and recorded the increase in heartbeat. “How long since you’ve seen him?”

“Two years ago August. I counted it up last night at halftime. The way my mind rambled, it’s no wonder we lost.” He got up and walked to the barn door, staring out at the graveled parking lot. “It was my mother’s birthday, and she insisted I go for a ride. She died two months later.”

Mattie wondered what drove Gil from the ranch. The shock when she’d mentioned John’s heart attack and his obvious torment suggested a soft spot in Gil’s heart for home. She knew better than to get involved but was intrigued.

“I’m sorry I never met your mother. From the stories your dad tells, she sounded like a wonderful woman.”

Gil turned back to her and jammed his hands into his jean pockets. “Mind if I stay with Dusty for a while?”

Mattie removed the near-empty bag of fluid and replaced it with a full one. “I’ll check back later.” She gathered her instruments and set them in a bucket. “For what it’s worth, I’m glad you’re home.”

A momentary look of surprise creased Gil’s brow. Reminding herself to stay out of other people’s business, Mattie left her client to deal with whatever haunted him.

GIL RETURNED TO THE LIGHTNING M RANCH LATE THAT AFTERNOON. He knocked on the heavy, wooden door to his father’s room, and it screeched open. Gil stared at the man on the bed, his dad’s face more pallid and drawn than it had been earlier that day. Moving closer, he touched the wrinkled hand, surprised at how fragile it felt under his own.

“Why didn’t you tell me about the heart attack?”

John McCray’s thick lids opened, his eyes glazed from sleep. “What’s the matter? Afraid I might die, and you’d miss out on your inheritance?” He jerked his hand away. “Don’t bother.” His dad hacked out a deliberate cough and glanced at the door. “Did Mattie bring you?”

“One of her staff gave me a lift. Dr. Evans stayed at the clinic.”

“She’s a hard worker. Real serious about her job, especially with her run of bad luck.”

Gil’s interest perked like a horse’s ears at an unfamiliar sound. “What sort of bad luck?”

“Nothing that amounts to a hill of beans. ’Course, she don’t see it that way, but she’s young. She’ll learn.”

“You know she’s Jenna’s sister?”

“Do I look stupid? What does that matter?” His father sat up and reached for the glass of water on the nightstand. Gil noticed a prescription bottle of pills.

Some things were better left in the past. “I’m not here to fight.” He glanced up at the high ceiling and watched the cobwebs sway in the drafty currents.

“Why did you come? I’m sure you have more important stuff to do than visit a sick man on his deathbed. Don’t you have parties or press conferences to attend?”

“Not much to celebrate, remember?” Gil shifted his weight on the wingback chair. Thoughts of last night’s game resurfaced. If he’d kept a clear head, made better calls, his team might have gone on to the championship game. “My legs and arms aren’t as quick as they once were. I’m thinking it’s time to retire and settle down.”

The old man sipped his water. “You ever gonna marry and give me grandsons?”

“Don’t start that again.” Gil knew plenty of women, but his first mistake with love soured him on commitment. Besides, he’d never met a girl who could come within yards of his mother’s character and gentleness.

“What’s the matter? Don’t women hang all over you?”

“Some guys like that sort of thing.”

“Well, you’d better get a wife if you’re gonna retire.”

“I’m more concerned about getting you back on your feet so you can run this ranch. This place is falling apart.” It had pained Gil earlier to see the deterioration of the fence and barns. “Did you let go of all your hired hands?”

His father scowled. “Jake and Mildred are the only help I can afford. I ain’t got no sons to help me.”

Gil sucked in air from his dad’s verbal punch. “Been here five hours, and you’re already complaining. I should’ve known you wouldn’t change.” He took a deep breath and worked to hold his temper. “I know it’s not easy. Jake’s old, and your health’s poor. I’m not surprised the place looks like it does.”

The man shifted restlessly on the bed, his thick brow even more furrowed than before. “Thanks for your expert opinion. Remind me to compensate you at the end of the month when I write out the paychecks.”

“Oh, come off it, Dad. The fence needs repaired, the machine shed’s about to collapse. I’m scared to think about the pasture. Have you grubbed off all the bluestem yet?”

His father shook his fist in the air. “Boy, this land’s been in the McCray family for four generations. My great-granddad settled here in 1885, and we’ve taken care of the pastures ever since, grazing it the way it’s meant to be.” He wiped the spit from his mouth, his face growing redder with every word. “You go off and move to California without one care for us folks here, and then show back up out of the blue to tell me I don’t know how to take care of this land. Boy, you got no right.”

Gil stood up, his own temper heated. “That’s great. Try to offer some helpful advice only to have it thrown in my face. I don’t need this. I’m out of here.” He strode across the room, regret chasing him with every step.

“That’s right. Run like you always do.” The angry voice followed him.

“I’m going into town before I say something we’ll both be sorry for.” He slammed the door on his way out. The echo reverberated in the aged walls, and the black-and-white photos of his ancestors rattled in his ears as though chanting good-bye.

SEVEN

GIL OPENED THE DOOR AND THE JINGLE OF THE BELL ANNOUNCED HIS arrival in the café. Memorabilia covered the walls, and it didn’t take long to notice his retired high school football jersey, No. 12. The green and yellow shirt hung center stage in the restaurant, complete with an autographed picture of him in his 49er uniform.

A handful of patrons dotted the small establishment in booths, tables, and at the counter, where employees served old-fashioned fountain drinks. The smell of grease hung in the air, mingled with small talk. Gil prayed no one would recognize him, and that he might be able to eat in peace for once.

He sat in an abandoned booth, and before he opened a menu, one brave soul from across the room sauntered over, an icy cola in hand.

“Aren’t you Gil McCray?” The giant stranger could have been a football player himself. “That was a tough break last night. What are you doing in Diamond Falls? Visiting family?”

Gil nodded and glanced through the menu items, craving a double cheeseburger with bacon and all the extras.

“You ought to try the cottage fries. They’re made for real men.” The guy pushed a piece of paper toward Gil. “Would you mind signing this for my son? He plays football at the high school.”

Gil smiled, like always. “Sure, what’s his name?”

“Girard.” The man grinned and stood a bit taller when Gil returned the paper. Two more patrons lined up behind him, napkins in hand.

A young waitress came to take his order, unaffected by the commotion at his table. He saw the moment recognition dawned, when her face lit with excitement.

“What can I get you, Mr. McCray?”

As Gil gave his order, another customer walked in, and he noticed the familiar face. She gazed at his little following, and he waved. Dr. Evans didn’t return the gesture, but walked to the counter and took a seat on one of the swiveling stools. He got the impression she didn’t share the community’s awe at having a celebrity among them. If anything, his presence seemed to trigger the opposite response.

Annoyance. He remembered how her red hair flew wild in the breeze as she rode his father’s horse. Now it was bound in braids. Not as pretty as before, and it seemed almost to protest, as several curly strands fought their way to freedom.

Gil excused himself from his admirers and made his way to the counter. “Any change in Dusty?”

The lady vet stared ahead at the mirrored wall. “If we don’t get him up on his feet soon, all our efforts may have been for nothing.”

He straddled the stool beside her. “It’s that bad?”

She turned to him, dark shadows under her eyes, her shoulders slumped. “You don’t believe me?”

“It’s not that . . . it’s just I thought he was doing okay this morning.”

“Your horse is far from okay.” She rose from her seat and drummed her fingers on the counter. Within minutes, the waitress returned with her carry-out dinner. “Put it on my account, will you, Clara?”

“Sure thing,” the woman said. “You take care of yourself, Mattie, and next time maybe we can visit longer — ”

The doc had already headed for the door.

“Mind if I join you?” Gil called out before she slipped away. “To help with Dusty, I mean?”

Mattie stopped and nodded toward those who waited at his table. “I wouldn’t want to take you from your fan club.”

Gil groaned and hurried to the booth to grab his coat. The door chimed and he knew Mattie had left the restaurant. Apologizing to those around him, he threw a twenty-dollar bill on the table, then followed the doc outside. Puffs of vapor floated in the cold darkness as he ran to catch up to her.

“I wasn’t that hungry,” he said, realizing he much preferred this woman’s company to the fans inside the café.

“Suit yourself, just don’t get in the way.” She hopped into her truck and backed onto the brick street.

Gil followed in the pickup he’d borrowed from Jake and drove the three blocks to the clinic. He parked outside the barn where light streamed from the windows. Upon entering, he felt the warmth from a portable gas heater that kept the chill from the shed.

Mattie and her technician were trying to nudge Dusty to his feet. “Come on, boy,” Dr. Evans coaxed.

Gil joined her. He hated seeing the look of defeat in his horse’s one remaining eye. “Let’s go, Dusty. Get up, boy.”

The aged gelding lifted his head, and his ears angled toward Gil’s voice. He rocked forward, but immediately fell back from exertion. After two more tries, Dusty struggled halfway up on wobbly legs. Unable to hold himself, he lunged and his knees buckled onto the soft bedding. With a heavy groan, he laid his neck on the straw, his breath labored.

“Can’t we lift him with straps or some sort of leverage?” Gil’s heart ached for the injured animal.

“Let him know you love him, that you still care.” Mattie pressed her hands on the gelding’s rump and goaded him to sit up.

Gil faced Dusty and their vision locked. In that instant, Gil thought of the many times he’d pushed Dusty to go one more circle, trained him with his very heart to dig deeper, turn shorter, and run with greater speed and precision. He knew the horse was in pain, but he urged him on now, the consequences of failure too great.

“Come on, boy. Do this for us, for all we’ve been through. Show these folks what champions are made of.” This time when he called Dusty’s name, the horse made a grand effort and slowly rose to his feet.

Overcome with gratitude, Gil punched his fist in the air.

The doc tended to Dusty at once, and when she got him stabilized, he hung his head to the ground, his back arched in pain.

Gil stroked the gelding’s neck the way he’d always done when the horse achieved a goal.

Dusty turned his head and nickered. To Gil, that one response told him his horse hadn’t forgotten. That he needed his master’s help once more. Gil silently begged God’s forgiveness for abandoning Dusty all those years ago. At the very least, he should have visited more often or rented a stable in California.

“He needs exercise.” Mattie moved from behind the horse and grabbed a nearby pitchfork to clean the stall. “Get him to take a few steps if you can. He’s a bit skittish on his blind side, so always let him know you’re coming. Even if he stands only a few minutes, he’ll be that much stronger.”

THIRTY MINUTES LATER, MATTIE SAT WITH HER BACK AGAINST THE wooden stall and faced the chestnut gelding, which rested on a fresh bed of straw. She opened the sack from the café and pulled out a handful of fries and the half-eaten hamburger.

“I heard you’ve had a run of bad luck.” Gil settled down beside her, uninvited. “Mind if I ask about that?”

“Yeah, I mind.” Mattie took a bite of the fries, now cold, but still tasty to her famished stomach. She licked the salt from her fingers, debating whether to share her troubles with a total stranger. “I guess you have a right to know.” Realizing he hadn’t eaten either, she split what was left of her sandwich and offered him a portion.

“No, thanks.”

Mattie shrugged and took a bite of the hamburger. When she’d finished chewing, she said, “In the last three months, several of my patients have died. Of course, that happens in this business . . . but rumors are starting to spread.”

Gil’s eyebrows rose, and Mattie figured he was weighing whether his first instinct about her might be accurate — that she was an incompetent female, not capable of practicing good veterinary medicine. “You don’t come off as one who’d worry about rumors. How many patients have you lost?”

Mattie blew out a deep breath and brought her knees to her chin. She nibbled on her hamburger. “In September, I lost a horse that had broken his neck by getting caught between the bars of a pipe fence. Then two fillies died from the West Nile virus . . . Need I go on?”

She wiped her mouth and attempted to stand, not willing to sit a moment longer and allow her pity party to flame the fire within. Gil caught her arm and pulled her down. His greater strength was obvious, but even stronger was the tingling sensation that rushed up through her shoulder and down her backbone.

“That doesn’t sound so bad. I’ve seen football teams with worse streaks than yours.”

“Yes, but then in December, I treated six head of cattle over at the Carter place that had pneumonia — and lost three. To top it off, last week a seven-year-old Rottweiler died. His hind leg had been shot off during hunting season.”

Mattie’s body tensed, reminded of the painful moment. “I thought the dog was on the mend, that he would make it.” This one time, she’d allowed herself to become attached to a patient. She’d let that big dog into her heart and paid the price. “I went to feed him the next morning, and he was gone. Just like that.” She snapped her fingers in the air.

She stared at the gelding, which had slipped off to sleep. “Treating your horse isn’t easy for me. It seems like such a long shot.”

Gil picked up a piece of straw and stripped it down the middle. “Few things in this life are easy. I think God teaches us with the hard lessons.”

His statement caught Mattie off guard. “Are you a Christian?” In all her visits with John, he never mentioned one word of religion. It surprised her that his son would do so now.

“My mother took Frank and me to church every Sunday, sometimes against our will.” He grinned, and she noticed his even white teeth. “I don’t think I understood what it meant to be a Christian, though, until a few years ago when a teammate asked me to go to Bible study with him. It’s a lot more than going to church.” Gil laughed, and his eyes lit with pleasure. “Most people don’t associate football with religion, but you’d be surprised how many Christian athletes there are.”

This piece of information added a new dimension to Mattie’s estimation of Gil McCray. She tried not to let it impress her. “Why did you return?”

“That’s the second time I’ve been asked that today.” Gil stretched his long legs out on the straw and shook his head. “I honestly don’t know. To see Dusty, my dad — to have closure. Like I said — hard lessons.”

Mattie found herself wanting to know this man better, even though he’d abandoned his family and played a sport that seemed senseless to her. “How long will you be in Diamond Falls?”

“Actually, I need to leave in a few days to take care of some team business.”

Of course. Why would he stay?
She tried not to let this bother her. “Will you come back?”

Gil kneaded his forehead. “How long will it take Dusty to heal?”

Hadn’t the man heard a word she’d said? Right now, her record with high-risk patients equaled that of a losing football team. She took one last bite of her hamburger and shoved the remains in the sack. “Your horse has heart, but he has a long haul ahead of him. With no further complications, Dusty could be out of here in four weeks, sooner if he receives the love and care of someone he trusts.”

“Will you take care of him while I’m gone?”

“That’s my job.”

“No, I mean, will you encourage him to get better? Treat him like he was your own?”

Mattie’s throat tightened. “Dusty’s your horse. He’d be more receptive to your attention than to mine. If you want what’s best for him, you should consider staying longer.”

“That’s not an option, at least not now. Will you fill in for me? Until I can get back . . .” His brow furrowed with expectation. “I’ll pay for the extra effort.”

Gil knew, as she did, that Dusty’s chance of healing would increase if they added love to the equation. Someone who cared. But after so much recent loss, her only defense had been to distance herself from her patients. How could he make such an unfair request? She closed her eyes and felt assurance that she was not alone.

“Well, Miss —
Doc
Evans?”

Mattie stood and tossed the paper sack into an aluminum trash bin. Her intuition told her not to become involved in such a precarious situation, but how could she not? She wanted Dusty to live too.

“I’ll do my best. But I warn you, Dusty might not be alive when you get back.”