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Reeve grinned up at me, making him seem even more attractive, and inclined his head. “I’ll see to it first thing in the morning, Miss. Callie.”
Slipping off her back, I gave Pizazz an affectionate rub on her smooth creamy coat. “Come on girl, let’s get you settled.” Turning to my father, I said, “I came across something in the breeding books I wanted to show you.”
After seeing my mare settled into a paddock with plenty of forage, and fresh water, I headed with my dad to the barn office. Pulling out the files, I pointed to a list I had made. “I did a little research and I found that these particular mares have a bloodline which is known for producing small foals. It seems like breeding them with that stallion would give us a higher chance of a more normal sized foal at birth, and therefore a safer delivery and survival rate for both mare and foal.”
My dad looked over the names on the list, his face scrunched up. “Well, that sounds like a good idea…” pointing to three of the names, he continued, “These three are out on the west pasture, but the rest we sold last year.”
I was surprised. “Sold? Why on earth would you have sold good broodmares?”
My dad shrugged. “We had too many, and we weren’t getting enough foals from that stallion to minimize cost and make a profit, so Cody decided to downsize. I guess he forgot to make a note of it in the books. We sold eight mares and four geldings.”
I nodded but frowned at the same time. “I see. So that leaves us with what…ten good broodmares that aren’t too old?”
My dad nodded, scratching his head beneath the edge of his Stetson. “Uh…yeah that sounds about right, but we’ve also got Pizazz, and about six fillies old enough to breed, but who’ve never foaled.”
I shook my head. “No, no. We can’t breed that brute to any untried fillies. I think what we’ll have to do is breed him to the ten broodmares, but we’ll have to use another stud for the maiden mares. It’s too risky to breed him with a filly who hasn’t foaled before.”
My dad nodded his head in agreement. “I think that’s a good idea. We can keep any fillies we get to breed with him later. I will leave all the details with you, darlin’.”
Monday morning during breakfast, the phone rang, and my mom picked it up. I watched as her face fell for a moment before she quickly turned her back to the rest of us and finished the conversation. My heart plummeted into my stomach, and I looked across the table to see emotion fill my father’s eyes. Beside me, my niece, Charlotte, lifted wide blue eyes at me, and asked, “Auntie, Auntie Callie, Gamma, okay?”
I looked down, and reached a hand out to smooth her wild array of sandy blond curls from her face. With as much enthusiasm as I could muster, I replied, “Grandma will be okay, don’t you worry, little Lottie.”
Although my words were meant to reassure, I felt my own hopes dwindling as my mom returned the receiver to its base and then stood there for a long moment. Her hand trembled and she appeared to be trying to collect herself. I watched in a daze as my dad rose from the table and went to her. He enfolded her into his arms, and for the very first time in my life, I saw my mom become the one who needed comfort, rather than the one giving comfort. She was always such a strong woman, that I wasn’t sure how to accept what I was seeing. Everyone around the table seemed caught in suspense, each of us holding our breath, dealing with our own fears.
My dad turned my mom toward the stairs, and guided her up to their room, but he couldn’t keep those of us gathered in the dining room from hearing her quiet sobs. My eyes sought out my brother, across from me, and we stared at one another, not knowing what to do. I could feel the tears streaming down my face, but I was powerless to stop them. After a couple minutes, all the ranch hands excused themselves and the only ones left at the table were Cody and his family, and me.
When my father returned to the table, his face seemed to have aged a decade over the course of only a few minutes. His eyes were red-rimmed from crying, and he seemed lost. Pulling out a chair, the legs scraping loudly on the wooden floor, he slumped into it, his eyes searching the faces left at the table. My heart rate accelerated, and I held my breath. I dreaded the words he would speak, but I also knew I needed to hear what he had to say.
Clearing his throat loudly, he finally gathered the nerve to talk. “Doctor says your Ma’s got stage two colon cancer. The good news is, it hasn’t spread, the bad news, she needs to undergo intense chemotherapy, and the Doc says it’s going to be a tough road for her.”
My heart hurt, and I couldn’t seem to think positive. My overactive imagination played outcomes and possibilities that could occur over and over in my mind. I clutched the wheel of my old Ford truck as I rounded the curve in Wildcat Canyon Road that would take me to Mrs. Blumberry’s driveway as though it were a lifeline. I wanted the thoughts to go away, and I wasn’t even sure I’d be good company for the poor old woman-but I had promised to come on Thursday for tea-and I didn’t want to let her down. I knew she was lonely, so I sucked up my own sorrow and tried to stop thinking so negatively.
Once I turned down her driveway, I tried to plaster a smile, however fake, onto my face so she wouldn’t notice how depressed I really was. Parking in front of her unique cabin home, I hopped out and took the steps two at a time, knocking on the door. I heard Sandy let out a few barks from the back yard, so I headed around the porch, smiling a real smile at the fascinating collection of wind chimes. Sandy met me at the back porch, her long golden tail wagging happily.
“Hey Sandy girl, where’s your mama?” straightening up, I looked around the garden, and noticed a man crouched down on the far side of the pathway, his back to me. I could see the muscles flexing beneath his white t-shirt as it was pulled tight across his back, and his ass in blue jeans made me smile in appreciation. His dark hair was wavy on the top, and short around the sides, and I noticed a discarded cowboy hat on the ground beside him.
Making my way down the porch, I called out, “Hello, is Mrs. Blumberry here?”
The man paused with his back still turned toward me, and as he slowly turned to face me, I had the oddest sensation that I knew him. It wasn’t until he had swiveled all the way around on his heels and was looking up at me with golden topaz eyes that I realized that I did, in fact, know him.
Mathis stared up at me with as much surprise as I must have exhibited as I stared down at him. Our eye contact broke only when he moved his gaze slowly down my body and then traced back up to my face. I felt goosebumps rise along my body, and my heart seemed to have skipped a beat. I thought, good lord, it was only his eyes, not his hands touching me! When a slow smile spread across his features, I felt my insides melt, because let’s face it, my mind recalled all too easily what sex with Mathis was like, and any self-control I possessed melted right away in the presence of this man.
“Wow, Callie, what are the chances of seeing you here?” his eyes scanned me again and he continued, “I guess I know why you never called me.”
Was it just me, or did that sentence carry a double entendre? Was there more than the original meaning there, hanging unsaid?
“If you’re asking if I got pregnant, then the answer is no.”
The smile faltered from his face. His features turned serious. “I can see that, but actually I was asking why you never called…at all.”
Wow. He didn’t beat around the bush, did he? I stared at him, not sure what to say to that. Was he upset I never called?
“I…uh, well, I thought you gave me your number in case I was pregnant.” I sounded lame.
Mathis frowned, and I wanted to yell at him, because even with that expression, the man was smoking hot.
“I did…I mean, yes if you were pregnant, I wanted to know, but I guess I had hoped you would call either way.”
