drawled, looking back at the horse. "Can she be saved?" he asked in a monotone.
Leah opened and closed her mouth as her mind scattered over a thousand things she thought he might have said in that moment: Gee, long time no see; I've thought of you often; Glad you've come back to Ruidoso. Then again, Johnny had never been one to show any feeling other than anger. Her face burned and she was forced to remind herself that it was the fever making her feel as if she were flushed with heat. Not the fact that his brazen snub had in any way embarrassed her.
"I don't know," she finally replied in a tone as emotionally removed as his. "I'll need to examine her more closely for broken bones. The fact that she's in foal doesn't help. Ultimately you may have a choice to make. Her or the foal."
Looking at her again from beneath the brim of his hat, he said, "My choices have always left a lot to be desired."
Leah turned away. She struggled up the embankment and headed for her truck. "Self righteous, egotistical bastard," she muttered. "You haven't changed a bit."
Leah stepped into her kitchen at a quarter after five. The room was warm and dim and smelled of the chili Shamika had cooked for supper.
Shamika sat at the kitchen table, arms crossed over her stomach, head slightly tilted to one side as she regarded Leah through the shadows, her full brown lips pressed in agitation, her foot tapping the floor. "Lord, girl, look at you," she said. "You're a mess and dead on your feet."
Leaning back against the door, Leah covered her face with her hands. "I ran over one of Johnny's prized mares."
"I can think of better ways of getting reacquainted."
Leah feigned a smile. "I'm in no mood for anything remotely resembling humor, especially where Johnny Whitehorse is concerned."
"Did you kill her?"
"That remains to be seen. Fortunately, nothing was broken. A miracle in itself. There was a great deal of muscle injury. Could eventually lead to fibrotic myopathy. She's in foal and due at any time. If we can get her through the delivery I'd say she'll make it."
"Yes, but will you? Aside from looking like a drowned mouse, your forehead looks as if someone clubbed you with a bat."
She shrugged and cautiously touched the lump above her left eyebrow. It was going to hurt like hell later. "Tell me again why I do this, Shamika. I could have been a doctor, you know. I could have sat in my sterile office with my degrees plastered over the wall while people grew roots waiting for their appointments. My father would have approved. We might even be friends."
"It would take a whole lot more than your being an M.D. for you and Senator Foster to be friends." Shamika stood and walked to the stove, where a kettle simmered on a burner. She poured hot water into a cup of powdered chocolate and tiny dry marshmallows that looked like pebbles. She stirred it until it was frothy, then carried it to the table and pointed to a chair. "Sit, girl, and drink. I'll get you a dry sweater before you catch pneumonia—if you haven't already."
Leah waited until Shamika left the room before removing her muddy boots, then she dragged off her soggy jacket, and leaving it all in a heap by the door, moved to the table. She wrapped her hands around the cup as she sank into the chair and allowed the steam to prickle her cheeks and eyelids, and she thought of Johnny Whitehorse.
Nope, he had not changed a bit. Not since the first time she'd ever set eyes on him—back when his father trained her family's horses. Even then Johnny thumbed his nose at propriety. Shirtless, in fringed buckskin breeches, his black hair in braids, he rode her father's horses bareback around the ranch, and occasionally down Ruidoso's main street, flaunting his Mescalero heritage with an arrogance that belied his poverty. He had carved out a reputation for himself as a rebel, not only with the whites who looked on his antics as an insult and a threat, but also with those of his tribe who considered his actions an open invitation to further trouble with the white man. Had his grandfather not been the tribe's most revered medicine man, things might have gotten ugly.
Shamika returned and wrapped a sweater around Leah's shoulders. With her hands that were as rich brown as the chocolate Leah