Morgan's Walk Read online

  Table of Contents

  Excerpt

  Morgan’s Walk

  Copyright

  Dedication

  Quote

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Epilogue

  A word about the author…

  Thank you for purchasing this publication of The Wild Rose Press, Inc.

  “If I were you, I’d stop right there.

  I mean it, Jared. You stand exactly where you are. I intend to finish hosing off the platform. Then I’m going to put the horses up, walk home, and take a shower. You’re not invited. After that, I’ll be working in my office. In case you’re wondering, you’re not invited there either.”

  He wanted to kiss her. Or strangle her. With what he’d set out to do, he’d be lucky to keep his hide intact. Still, he could give as well as he got…

  “You do that, love. But I want you to think about something. I’ve learned home is more than just a house with four walls. Life is lived there.” His eyes fired, imagining them waking together, her body beside him, warm and soft in his arms. “Life, Tyndal, with all its passions and intimacies, is a place where lovers celebrate. It’s full of laughter and tears. It’s warm and holds steady when nothing else can.” He touched her face, stepped back. He wanted too much to pull her close. To show her. Instead, he breathed in her fragrance, wondering how he ever imagined life without this one woman. “Somebody once told me,” he murmured, keeping his voice low and even, “that without those elements, a house is just real estate.”

  Morgan’s Walk

  by

  Suzelle Johnston

  Morgan’s Walk Series, Book One

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales, is entirely coincidental.

  Morgan’s Walk

  COPYRIGHT © 2018 by Suzelle Johnston

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission of the author or The Wild Rose Press, Inc. except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles or reviews.

  Contact Information: [email protected]

  Cover Art by Tina Lynn Stout

  The Wild Rose Press, Inc.

  PO Box 708

  Adams Basin, NY 14410-0708

  Visit us at www.thewildrosepress.com

  Publishing History

  First Yellow Rose Edition, 2018

  Print ISBN 978-1-5092-1896-7

  Digital ISBN 978-1-5092-1897-4

  Morgan’s Walk Series, Book One

  Published in the United States of America

  Dedication

  To Joe, who loved me;

  to Tarie, who believed in me;

  to Sharon, who laughed with me;

  to all those who prayed for me,

  thank you.

  God is good.

  ~*~

  In appreciation:

  A special Thank You to

  the wonderful Chico Hot Springs Resort and Day Spa,

  located in Pray, Montana, for allowing me to reference Chico in the Morgan’s Walk series of books.

  “At its finest, Rider and Horse are joined, not by tack, but by Trust. Each is totally reliant upon the other. Each is the selfless Guardian of the Other’s very Well-Being,”

  ~Author Unknown

  Chapter One

  “Five minutes, honey.”

  “Try for less, okay?” With the phone quiet in her hand, Tyndal took a breath. The long night had long hours still ahead. Stretching her shoulders, she turned into the supply room with its scents of liniment and leather cleaner, grabbed an energy bar from the box the staff guarded like gold, and tried to think of all she knew about breech birth. Mostly she didn’t want to remember foal death happened in breech.

  “But not this time. Not this time. It may take the vet five minutes, but I know somebody closer.” She punched in her grandmother’s number. Fionola Morgan was a horsewoman, and in Tyndal’s book, there was no one she trusted more.

  “I need you,” she said as the familiar voice answered.

  “It just so happens I like being needed. But you ought to swallow as much of your bar as you can, rather than feeding it to Jake. Look up, sweet girl. I’m already here.” Fionola stretched out her hands to stroke the Great Dane that bounded to her side. “You too, Jake. I imagine a dog this size could terrify someone unless they knew his heart. Pure marshmallow, isn’t that right, boy?”

  “Don’t tell him that. He thinks he’s ferocious.” Tyndal moved into the hug her grandmother had waiting. “Hey, Fee. How is it you always seem to know?”

  “Comes from a lifetime with horses. I was offering my support to our mama-to-be. How’s she doing?” Fionola nodded toward the mare inside the stall. “You look worried.”

  “Scared to death is more like it. We could lose the foal.”

  “Don’t cross that bridge yet.” Fionola slid her arm around Tyndal’s shoulders. “First births can be unpredictable, but Bhetami’s a strong mare. Let’s hope nature is being slow.”

  “Yeah, but I think it’s more. Go ahead. Look for yourself.”

  Tyndal remained in the hallway as Fionola moved inside the stall. Nerves didn’t belong within that room. Calm competence did. She’d seen foals born strong, seen them when they hadn’t drawn their first breath. Nature might occasionally be slow, but it wasn’t always kind. And this time, it was her mare, her foal.

  “I assume you’ve called Seth?”

  Tyndal recognized the edge in her grandmother’s voice. “He’s at another barn, but said he was almost finished. How bad is it?”

  Fionola stood. “It’s not good, but she isn’t ready either. Let’s do what we can and hope Seth’s bones are up to a quick-step. There are times that man gives a new meaning to the word slow.”

  “I heard that, Fionola Morgan. If you’re going to complain about somebody, especially at this time of the morning, you ought to do it when they’re not around. Plus, I happen to know our bones are about the same age. I asked when I was at your birthday party, and it’s just out of consideration for your sensitive nature that I’ve kept such information to myself.”

  Relief so sudden she felt lightheaded swam into Tyndal at the vet’s words. He had a way of dealing with a crisis, or what could be a crisis with a gentle humor that always made her feel as if everything was under control.

  Unlike the many visitors who toured the farm, Dr. Seth Matthews didn’t pause to admire his surroundings: the soaring timber-frame entrance, the solarium with its huge skylights, or the long hallways of stalls, each one holding a priceless example of equine blood and breeding. He moved to Tyndal and gathered her in a hug, same as he’d done since she was small. She still fit under his chin. “Don’t worry, honey, everything’s going to be okay.”

  “I’ll hold you to that,” Tyndal murmured. “Thanks for being here.”

  “Wouldn’t be anywhere else.” Releasing Tyndal, he turned toward Fionola. “Now you.” He took off his coat, hung it on a halter peg. “As usual, I’m here at your slightest beck and call. Unlike some people, I live to serve.”

  “Well, that’ll be a first. And this time, it wasn’t me who called.”

  “A fact for which I haven’t ceased giving
thanks.”

  Not able to suppress the twinkle in her eyes, Tyndal followed Seth into the stall and almost bumped into him when he suddenly stopped. Pointing to a small black bag, identical to the one he carried, except the other was opened to show a stethoscope and various supplies, Seth rounded on Fionola.

  “Woman, exactly what do you intend to do here?”

  “It’s breech, you old fool, and I plan to help.”

  “Like I couldn’t have guessed?” Seth picked up Fionola’s stethoscope and handed it to her. “Fionola Eileen O’Callaghan Morgan, I believe I can handle this without your aid and assistance, invaluable as it may be. Tyndal, I want you to come in, sit beside your mare, and talk to her. She knows me, but she trusts you. Fee, if you’ll get your bag and move out of the way, I’ll have a look.”

  With his voice as soft as his hands, he knelt beside Bhetami. “Tyndal, I’m going to want a baseline to see what’s going on. It’s clear she’s stressed, but she’s not critical either. Let’s try to get her to settle down some.” He started a slow massage along the mare’s spine, keeping his voice low and steady.

  “You take over for me”—he glanced at Tyndal—“while I draw some blood. It may or may not be breech, though. Right now, I’d say the fetus is turning and she’s scared. She’s also experiencing some strong contractions. If it does go into breech, we’ll be right here. Let’s give Bhetami a few minutes to do her work first.”

  At Fionola’s sniff, he glanced up.

  “Fee, it won’t kill you to be patient. We’ll know soon enough how this will go. And if you don’t behave, so help me, I’ll banish you to the kitchen.” Seth paused a minute, winked at Tyndal. “I think I will anyway. After the night I’ve had, coffee sounds good. I figure you could make a pot. If that’s too much, go to the house and have your cook brew some. Then bring us a couple of mugs. Either way, its Tyndal’s mare, she assists. Now scoot!”

  “You and I,” Fionola murmured, her eyes on Seth, “will finish this later.” Without another word, she whirled out of the stall.

  “And off she goes.” Seth chuckled when she was out of earshot. “Nitroglycerin is tame compared to that one in a temper. I’d rate her right up there with the Fourth of July fireworks. But when she’s quiet, there’s more than coffee brewing.”

  “You think?” Tyndal’s smile answered his. “I know you were on a call earlier. Who needed you?”

  “Your neighbor. His gelding inhaled his dinner, then one thing led to another. That horse is eighteen years old and just as cranky as you know who.”

  At the distinct clatter of cups, the slam of cabinet doors, Seth winced. Tyndal caught the move, and grinned. “For a smart man, you sure can step in it. You know you’ll pay, don’t you?”

  Nodding, his face warmed as he looked at Tyndal. “Girl, I’d be disappointed if I didn’t.”

  ****

  Jared Grant hadn’t planned on showing up at Morgan’s Walk early. But he had, and since the lights were on in the barn, he slid into one of the hiding places he’d used as a kid. Unfortunately it didn’t fit like it once had, but the pleasure he felt at seeing an old friend was still warm.

  From experience he knew Seth Matthews was as good with a boy’s day-to-day scrapes as he was with a horse. The mare, he recognized from more current photos, one of his favorites pictured Tyndal, dressed in the traditional black, her face a study of concentration as she guided the silver Bhetami through a series of dressage moves. The two won the Dressage World Championship the year before. In the muted light, it was hard to reconcile that splendid creature with the one lying in the straw.

  Even after so long of an absence, Morgan’s Walk smelled right, felt right. He’d always thought of the place as his second home. It was where, with Fionola’s husband, Chase, he’d sneak a ride on Chase’s stallion, Raj—the two of them conspiring to make sure she never knew—and where one snowy afternoon he met their beloved Tyndal. With her parents killed in a car accident, they’d brought her to live at the farm.

  “Jared, this is our granddaughter, Tyndal.”

  From his lofty age of what, maybe eleven, the little girl looked like she was six or seven. She’d smiled up at him, politely offering a hand he could either accept or ignore, and in that moment, his heart was lost.

  At the sound of distress from the stall, Jared took a quick look. Bhetami was deep in labor, her water having burst. It looked to him as if it were breech, which meant these moments were critical. With Seth concentrating on the foal, Tyndal encouraged her mare, rubbing her neck, whispering soft words.

  Tyndal’s eyes were clear and her hands, rock steady. Would she remember it had been his hands, his so reluctant hands, that once held her young and willing heart? “You’re my best friend, Jared. I love you. I always will.” The sun glistened on her hair, trust filled her eyes. She’d looked at him as she spoke, her face rounded with the generous curves of childhood, her dark hair a mass of curls.

  Likely she was still as stubborn as ever, given the firm line of her jaw. He noted the defined cheekbones, the mouth that curved and tempted. Considering how they’d parted, it probably wasn’t wise to think about her mouth.

  With the sharp edge of a board boring a hole into his arm, Jared grimaced, shifted to what he hoped was a more comfortable position. He rubbed his face, the fatigue from the long drive less noticeable than the ache that came with seeing Tyndal. Being close to her again was just as hard as he’d imagined. No surprise it was her voice that brought him back from the memories spinning inside his head as if on a reel.

  “What a girl! You did it. You have a son, mama!”

  Birth. Happiness. Forgetting his discomfort, Jared pressed close to the peephole. But this time, there was an addition. A wet black nose poked up from the straw.

  The mare lifted her head, her eyes bright as she twisted around to see her baby. Like all new mothers asking identical questions, he supposed. Girl or boy? Healthy? Breathing? How many toes and fingers? Probably wasn’t quite the same with horses. He watched those first few seconds and wondered at them. Then smiled at Seth’s chuckle.

  “Do you see what’s happening here, Mister?” Seth spoke to the foal. “All of a sudden, we’re chopped liver.” He pointed toward Tyndal and Bhetami, the mare utterly relaxed with her head on Tyndal’s lap as Tyndal told her what a wonderful, brave girl she’d been. “No, sir,” Seth went on. “No cuddles for us. We’re ignored. You’d better get used to it too.” He went on to rub the foal all over, checking the dark eyes, the long spindly legs, the straight back, steadily using his voice to soothe, talking like he and the baby were old friends.

  Some things never change, Jared thought as he recognized an earlier lesson. “With a newborn, son, it’s important you share three things. You have to let them hear the sound of your voice, feel the touch of your hands, and breathe in the scent your breath.” Maybe that was when he’d started talking to every horse he rode, but each time he took the blue when he hadn’t expected to win, he figured it was because of Seth’s words. He’d learned to ask, and the horse answered.

  After this first exam, Jared expected Seth to move out of the way so mother and son could get acquainted. But before that happened, the details of the birth would be noted, the time and date, the colt’s color, weight, size, and photos would be taken. Later, the colt’s proper name, Seth’s observations, and the data of his lineage would be added to the official Registry. As the colt grew, more information would be included. Since he was Raj’s last offspring, the baby had a huge heritage.

  “I’ll tell you something else,” Seth talked as he toweled off his hands. “It’s a known fact among us men that women never give credit where credit is due. You and I, kiddo, we’re the ones who’ve done all the work. You had to get yourself born backwards. They called me to give you a little help and I ask you, exactly who’s getting all the attention?”

  “Oh, hush yourself.” Fionola hurried toward the stall and promptly started praising Bhetami. “It’s only fair, and I’d dare yo
u to argue with me. Look at the size of that baby. No wonder this poor mare had such a hard time. Not only did she carry that around for almost a year, nine months is bad enough, but then you sashay in with your big hands. I’d say she’s had quite a lot to put up with.”

  “See what I mean? No respect.” Seth grinned at the foal, gave him another rub. “Okay, kiddo. Go see your mama. Morgan’s Walk has a healthy baby with this one.” Bhetami stood, pushed her nose between the vet and her baby. With a smile, Seth edged out of the way, giving her a once-over as she did the same with her foal.

  Jared kept his eyes on Tyndal, enjoying how her face softened and glowed. It was like sunrise on a misty morning. From the distance of years and memories, he hardly heard Seth start in on Fionola.

  “Woman, did you ever figure out how to make coffee?”

  Why he had to ask, Jared had no idea. The aroma alone was enough to make a man groan. He could almost taste it when Fee passed a steaming mug to Seth.

  “And to think,” he said, “you actually made this with your own two little hands.” He sipped, and then smiled. “It’s actually good. I’m impressed.”

  “You should be. Not only can I make coffee, but I do a number of other things rather well. Are you sure you wouldn’t care for something else? A sweet roll, perhaps?”

  Jared noted she didn’t include, “A last meal for the condemned,” though the implication was ripe.

  “Be still my heart.” Seth added a little bow. “The queen speaks. But, my lady, as your humble servant, I’d rather serve myself than trouble you further.”

  “Uh-huh. It’s a little late for that now, don’t you think?”

  Rubbing his chin, Jared grinned at the expression on Seth’s face. Maybe it was something only another man would catch. Fee likely had no idea. But the way he smiled? Jared let the idea sift through pictures in his mind of Fionola and Chase, of what was past, and wondered if Tyndal knew. Then wondered if she planned to spend the rest of the night in the stall with the foal and its mother.

  Apparently Seth had the same question. “Okay, Tyndal,” he said as he gathered his gear. “Your boy and his mama are fine and I’m about ready to head home. You may want to do the same thing. Coming?”