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.