spun around. An older cowboy with a paunchy middle and a scuffed straw Western hat shielding his leathery face had approached so quietly, she hadn’t even heard him.
“Carter, this is Kayla Price,” Ethan said over his shoulder, still holding Megan so she could run her hand over the horse’s other eyelid. “They’re interested in buying Birdsong.”
Carter grunted and moved to the gate a few yards down, where he removed one of a dozen halters hanging on the fence. Birdsong instantly trotted to him, nudging another horse out of the way. No question about the pecking order.
“Can I go with her?” the girl begged.
Ethan let out a chuckle. “Carter,” he called over, “Megan would like to help you bring Birdsong in.”
“Don’t need no help,” the old man grumbled. “Been doin’ this longer than you been alive.”
Ethan just looked at the man with raised eyebrows.
“Oh, all right. Come on then. Don’t have all day.” Carter stepped inside the gate and put the halter on the big mare, who seemed to accept it eagerly. “Give her room,” he barked at the girl, “if you don’t want to get run down.”
She jumped to the side as he brought the horse through the gate, crowding out the others in the process and latching it behind him. Kayla suffered a moment of anxiety looking at her daughter, so small beside the huge animal.
Kayla watched, smiling as they moved toward the barn. Megan was marching like a soldier, head up, utterly delighted in her role as official helper. Carter said something to her, and Kayla hoped it wasn’t a reprimand. Then, to her surprise, he handed her daughter the lead rope. When Megan looked back, her face radiated pure joy.
Kayla couldn’t help grinning. “He’s made her day.”
Amusement played across Ethan’s lips, too. “Buy her a horse and she’ll get to do that a lot.”
“You think she’ll tire of it then? You might be right. Have you ever gotten tired of being around horses?”
For a moment he got that dreamy look in his eyes again. “No. Don’t think I ever will, either.”
He haltered the next mare.
“How experienced a rider is Megan?” The nostalgia was gone from his voice.
“Not very,” Kayla admitted. “Back home I took her to weekly group lessons at a stable not far from where we lived. They taught English, but it was more for amusement than serious training. She’s never been on a Western saddle, which is what she really wants—to be a real cowgirl.”
“So she’s a relative beginner.”
“Afraid so. She’ll be an eager student, though, I can promise you that.”
“What do you know about keeping horses?”
“Not much.” She walked on his left as they followed the same path Carter and Megan had taken. “We’ve never owned a horse, but I figure we can learn.”
“Or kill the animal out of ignorance.” His tone was sharp now. “What are the symptoms of colic?”
“Oh, I—”
“How about founder? Thrush?”
She listened to the clop-clop of the horse’s hooves on the gravel but said nothing. She didn’t know the answers.
“How often does a horse have to be shod?”
She shook her head. “I don’t know.”
“You reckon you can just pick that information up from a book or magazine?”
“People do buy horses,” she pointed out.
He shook his head in disgust. “How much do you plan to spend on this hobby?”
She chose not to respond to the implied put-down. “I don’t know what you’re asking for Birdsong,” she said, “or if I can afford her. We have to start somewhere, don’t we?”
“I meant, how much have you budgeted each month?”
She looked up at him. “I don’t understand.”
“I know you don’t.” They’d reached the barn. He stopped and studied her. “Mrs. Price, buying a horse is only the down payment on a variety of expenses. There are, for example, the vet fees. You can budget for shots, but not for the unexpected bills that come with unpredictable ailments. Colic is the most common. If it’s in the middle of the night or on a Sunday or holiday, you shell out extra dough to call the vet out. By the way, do you own a horse trailer and truck strong enough to tow it? That car you drove up in sure won’t handle the load.”
Her dad had a truck, but it was a small one. She was spared answering as Carter and Megan passed them going the other way.
“I’m helping bring in the other horses, Mommy,” Megan called out, clearly in seventh heaven.
“That’s nice, honey.”
“You’ll have farrier fees for shoes every six weeks or so,” Ethan went on.
He led the horse into the barn. Inside a box stall he removed the halter. The mare immediately made for a bucket hanging on the wall and started chomping grain.
“Have you considered feed?” Ethan asked, closing and latching the heavy door and hanging the halter on a peg beside it. “What kind of hay? Coastal or alfalfa? How much oats? What kind of supplements?” His eyes surveyed the room.
“Then there’s time,” he continued. “Are you up to feeding twice a day seven days a week, rain or shine, wind or snow? You’ll need to put the horse out to pasture every morning and bring her in every evening when the weather is fair. Do you have someone competent who can fill in for you when you’re not available?”
They stepped outside. The early-February sun was going down and so was the temperature. Not cold but decidedly chilly.
“These animals are dependant on you for their survival,” he emphasized.
“Other people do it,” she insisted, but she began to wonder if she’d made a big mistake promising her daughter a horse of her own.
ETHAN HAD BEEN studying his visitor’s reaction to his questions, or rather his relentless grilling. She wasn’t pleased with him, but he suspected she was even more displeased with herself. She’d apparently promised her daughter something she now realized she couldn’t deliver. A dilemma for any parent.
What about Megan’s father? She hadn’t mentioned him, and he’d noticed she wasn’t wearing a ring. He’d met a few married women who didn’t, but Kayla Price didn’t strike him as that type. Strong, independent, yes, but also one who took a commitment seriously and wasn’t bashful about acknowledging it.
There he was being judgmental again.
Was she divorced, widowed, a single mother who had never been married? Not that it was any of his business. Her private life was her own.
One thing was for sure, he wasn’t about to sell her Birdsong under any conditions. The mare was still sound—sweet, patient and gentle—and would make an ideal horse for a little girl like Megan. But that could change quickly. If all went well, Bird might have another five years left. On the other hand, the next bout of colic could be her last. Ethan couldn’t in good conscience sell a horse of that age to an incompetent buyer, even if he were inclined to part with her—which he wasn’t.
“Look—” he tried to sound friendly rather than negative “—you’re not ready to buy a horse. Maybe when you’ve had some experience and know what you’re getting yourself into. Until then, I recommend giving your daughter lessons and leaving it at that for a while.”
Kayla nodded, but she wasn’t pleased. “I wish you weren’t right,” she admitted. “Megan