The Prince
Page 96
“You tired, Wes?” Nora asked as she reached out and squeezed his hand. “It’s almost dawn, I think.”
“A little.”
“You’re so quiet.”
“Just thinking. How’s your back?” he asked in a whisper. He still couldn’t believe he’d had sex that rough with Nora, still couldn’t believe he’d loved it so much.
“I’ll have a couple bruises. Good job,” she said, and gave him a wicked grin.
“Not bad for a vanilla twerp, right?”
“Not bad?” She whistled softly under her breath. “That might have hit my top ten.”
Wesley beamed with male pride.
“Next time I’ll shoot for top five.”
Nora started to say something in reply, but then closed her mouth and looked at his father.
“What’s wrong?” she asked, and Wesley, too, noticed the concern on his face.
“Track’s been down too long. It’s been almost four hours. Let’s get her on her feet.”
Wesley stood up and helped his father coax the mare to stand. Track Beauty whinnied in protest but made it to her feet, and Wesley exhaled a breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding.
“Good girl.” Wesley’s father patted her on the nose and started to walk away. The second he turned his back, however, Track Beauty’s knees buckled and she went down again.
“Dammit.” Wesley ran his hands over her as his father and Dr. Fischer listened to her heart and lungs once more.
“We’ve gotta get her back up,” his dad said.
“What’s wrong?” Nora asked, her arm around Bastinado, holding him across her lap like a dog. “She’s tired. She just gave birth to a baby the size of a horse. Because it was a damn horse.”
“She has to get up,” Wesley explained. “She’s been down too long now. Horses can’t stay down. It’s deadly for them.”
Nora’s eyes widened. “That’s not good. What’s the problem?”
“Stubborn. Worn-out. Who knows? Her lungs are clear.” Wesley’s father stared down at Track Beauty as if willing her to stand. Wesley joined him and started to pull on the mare’s halter. She gave a halfhearted effort before dropping her head back to the ground.
“Shit.” Wesley rubbed his forehead. Track Beauty wasn’t just the best broodmare on the farm, she was his mother’s favorite horse. He had to get her up.
“Come on. Try again,” Wesley’s father said, giving the mare a few encouraging scratches and rubs. His voice remained calm, but Wesley could see the lines of tension in his face. Track Beauty had been insured for nearly twenty million dollars—but that was nothing compared to his mother’s happiness.
All three men put their collective muscle into the attempt to pull Track Beauty to her feet. All three of them failed. Wesley had seen this before—horses growing weary and listless, unwilling to get back on their feet for no apparent reason. Giving birth had exhausted Track Beauty beyond reason or instinct.
“We’ll have to get a sling, pull her up. Nothing for it,” Dr. Fischer said. “I’ll call for backup. We’ll have to get her in the ambulance.”
“Wes?” Nora’s voice came from behind him.
Wesley ignored it. “Is that her only option? You know she won’t stand for that,” he stated.
“Wesley?” Nora’s voice came again.
“Just a second, Nora.”
“Are mother horses really protective of their young?” she asked.
“Of course they are,” he said, and knelt by Track Beauty’s head. Her eyes had emptied out—he couldn’t find the will to live in them. Not even the ambulance, the hospital, putting her up in the sling could bring that back. “Why?”
The sound of a whimper, heartrending and tiny, sliced through the tense silence in the stall. Wesley stood and spun around. Nora had the riding crop in her hand and the miserable whimper had come not from her but from Bastinado. She lifted the crop and struck the tiny horse on the back once more. And once more the foal released the smallest, most pitiful cry of pain Wesley had ever heard in his life. The foal flinched and tried to scurry away, but his newborn legs wobbled underneath him. Once more Nora hit Bastinado with shocking force, force he hadn’t known Nora possessed. Once more Bastinado whimpered and balked, his eyes wild and dark with terror. And from behind Wesley he heard the cry answered.
Wesley had to run for it as two thousand pounds of furious mother horse hoisted herself to her feet and surged forward.
“Nora!” Wesley started toward her, but his father beat him to her. He yanked Nora out of the way of Track Beauty’s fury and pulled her from the stall. Wesley didn’t even bother going through the door; he threw himself over it. All four humans stood outside the stall, watching as Track Beauty nuzzled Bastinado’s nose. The fragile newborn had three parallel welts on his back, but Wesley saw no blood. He might have scars. But he also had his mother alive and on her feet.
“Nora?” Wesley looked at Nora and found her panting, wide-eyed and silent, clutching the riding crop in her white-knuckled hand. “Are you okay?”
She shook her head.
“I’m fine,” she said, although he wasn’t sure he believed it.
“He’ll be fine, too.” Wesley gently took the riding crop from her hand and hung it on the wall with the other horse tack. Wrapping his arm around her waist, he pulled her close. She didn’t melt into his body like usual. She only stood there, breathing and staring.
“A little.”
“You’re so quiet.”
“Just thinking. How’s your back?” he asked in a whisper. He still couldn’t believe he’d had sex that rough with Nora, still couldn’t believe he’d loved it so much.
“I’ll have a couple bruises. Good job,” she said, and gave him a wicked grin.
“Not bad for a vanilla twerp, right?”
“Not bad?” She whistled softly under her breath. “That might have hit my top ten.”
Wesley beamed with male pride.
“Next time I’ll shoot for top five.”
Nora started to say something in reply, but then closed her mouth and looked at his father.
“What’s wrong?” she asked, and Wesley, too, noticed the concern on his face.
“Track’s been down too long. It’s been almost four hours. Let’s get her on her feet.”
Wesley stood up and helped his father coax the mare to stand. Track Beauty whinnied in protest but made it to her feet, and Wesley exhaled a breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding.
“Good girl.” Wesley’s father patted her on the nose and started to walk away. The second he turned his back, however, Track Beauty’s knees buckled and she went down again.
“Dammit.” Wesley ran his hands over her as his father and Dr. Fischer listened to her heart and lungs once more.
“We’ve gotta get her back up,” his dad said.
“What’s wrong?” Nora asked, her arm around Bastinado, holding him across her lap like a dog. “She’s tired. She just gave birth to a baby the size of a horse. Because it was a damn horse.”
“She has to get up,” Wesley explained. “She’s been down too long now. Horses can’t stay down. It’s deadly for them.”
Nora’s eyes widened. “That’s not good. What’s the problem?”
“Stubborn. Worn-out. Who knows? Her lungs are clear.” Wesley’s father stared down at Track Beauty as if willing her to stand. Wesley joined him and started to pull on the mare’s halter. She gave a halfhearted effort before dropping her head back to the ground.
“Shit.” Wesley rubbed his forehead. Track Beauty wasn’t just the best broodmare on the farm, she was his mother’s favorite horse. He had to get her up.
“Come on. Try again,” Wesley’s father said, giving the mare a few encouraging scratches and rubs. His voice remained calm, but Wesley could see the lines of tension in his face. Track Beauty had been insured for nearly twenty million dollars—but that was nothing compared to his mother’s happiness.
All three men put their collective muscle into the attempt to pull Track Beauty to her feet. All three of them failed. Wesley had seen this before—horses growing weary and listless, unwilling to get back on their feet for no apparent reason. Giving birth had exhausted Track Beauty beyond reason or instinct.
“We’ll have to get a sling, pull her up. Nothing for it,” Dr. Fischer said. “I’ll call for backup. We’ll have to get her in the ambulance.”
“Wes?” Nora’s voice came from behind him.
Wesley ignored it. “Is that her only option? You know she won’t stand for that,” he stated.
“Wesley?” Nora’s voice came again.
“Just a second, Nora.”
“Are mother horses really protective of their young?” she asked.
“Of course they are,” he said, and knelt by Track Beauty’s head. Her eyes had emptied out—he couldn’t find the will to live in them. Not even the ambulance, the hospital, putting her up in the sling could bring that back. “Why?”
The sound of a whimper, heartrending and tiny, sliced through the tense silence in the stall. Wesley stood and spun around. Nora had the riding crop in her hand and the miserable whimper had come not from her but from Bastinado. She lifted the crop and struck the tiny horse on the back once more. And once more the foal released the smallest, most pitiful cry of pain Wesley had ever heard in his life. The foal flinched and tried to scurry away, but his newborn legs wobbled underneath him. Once more Nora hit Bastinado with shocking force, force he hadn’t known Nora possessed. Once more Bastinado whimpered and balked, his eyes wild and dark with terror. And from behind Wesley he heard the cry answered.
Wesley had to run for it as two thousand pounds of furious mother horse hoisted herself to her feet and surged forward.
“Nora!” Wesley started toward her, but his father beat him to her. He yanked Nora out of the way of Track Beauty’s fury and pulled her from the stall. Wesley didn’t even bother going through the door; he threw himself over it. All four humans stood outside the stall, watching as Track Beauty nuzzled Bastinado’s nose. The fragile newborn had three parallel welts on his back, but Wesley saw no blood. He might have scars. But he also had his mother alive and on her feet.
“Nora?” Wesley looked at Nora and found her panting, wide-eyed and silent, clutching the riding crop in her white-knuckled hand. “Are you okay?”
She shook her head.
“I’m fine,” she said, although he wasn’t sure he believed it.
“He’ll be fine, too.” Wesley gently took the riding crop from her hand and hung it on the wall with the other horse tack. Wrapping his arm around her waist, he pulled her close. She didn’t melt into his body like usual. She only stood there, breathing and staring.
