only it could be like this between them every day.
“Speaking of taking risks.” She pointed to the entrant number he carried in his hand. “I should scold you for the same thing. What if you get hurt?”
“I’ll withdraw,” he said immediately.
“No.” She laughed again. “I don’t want you to change just because we’re having a baby.”
We? He liked her referring to them as a couple.
“Our child is more important to me than bronc riding.”
“Rodeoing’s a big part of your life. It’s your business.”
“But not competing. I won’t be any good to either of you if I’m injured and unable to make a living. This gives me the excuse I need to quit without embarrassing myself.”
“Compete, Ace. You like it and, be honest, you miss it.”
“Sometimes.” He’d been at the peak of his rodeo career back in college when they’d dated. He gave it up after his father died, like he had Flynn.
What if he’d been wrong all those years ago on both counts?
Their attention was drawn to the McKinley horses, who fussed and squealed and nipped at each other as they settled into the pen.
Flynn knitted her brows as she scrutinized them. “Hmm.”
“Something wrong?”
“It’s Fancy Gal.” She started toward the fence. Ace followed her, determined to intervene if a horse so much as looked sideways at her. “She’s been acting out of sorts all morning.”
“Which one is she?”
Flynn pointed to a stout dun mare standing at the far end of the pen. Ears pinned back, teeth bared and swinging her head from side to side, she sent an unmistakable warning to her pen mates: stay away.
“She’s one of my favorites and is usually pretty docile outside the arena.”
“Want me to examine her?”
Relief lit Flynn’s features. “Would you? I don’t want to be a bother. You have your own string to worry about.”
“I don’t mind.”
“I’ll get her.”
“You’re not going in that pen with all those horses.” Ace put a hand on her arm. “Your dad can do it.”
She sighed. “All right.”
Ace liked her when she was agreeable.
He was rather confident it wouldn’t last.
Chapter Six
Pregnancy suited Flynn. She’d woken up that morning on completely the right side of the bed. Not that her doubts about the future had vanished. Far from it. But she felt good. Happy. Optimistic.
Her exuberance, however, dimmed as her concern for Fancy Gal escalated. The mare was clearly distressed and in pain.
It didn’t take long for her father to separate the mare from the rest of the string, bring her out and tie her to the side of the trailer.
Flynn hovered near Ace as he conducted his examination. She had her suspicions about what ailed the mare and was curious to see if she was right.
“We probably shouldn’t have brought her today.” She stroked Fancy Gal’s nose. Away from her pen mates, the mare was gentle as a lamb and calmly tolerated Ace’s poking and prodding. “She’s nineteen. Too old for competing.”
“Not really,” he said. “If they’re in good health, horses can be competed into their twenties. But if you want to retire her, she’d make a nice broodmare.”
“I hope whoever buys her does exactly that.”
Ace ran a hand along Fancy Gal’s abdomen. “Besides irritability, what are her other symptoms?”
Flynn pointed to the mare’s shuffling hooves. “She keeps shifting her weight.”
“I checked her feet,” her father added, coming over. “No stones or abscesses or any problems that I saw.”
“You won’t take offense if I also have a look?” Ace picked up the mare’s front hoof, braced it between his knees and dug around the soft underside with a penknife.
“I’d think you were a sorry vet if you didn’t.” Her father carefully supervised Ace’s every move. Fancy Gal was one of his favorite horses, too.
Ace repeated the process with the remaining hooves. “They look fine.” He took a step back and considered the mare. “Any signs of colic?”
“Nope.”
“Yes,” Flynn interjected. Colic was her guess. “She’s been biting her flanks.”
Ace placed his ear against Fancy Gal’s abdomen.
Flynn held the mare’s head firmly in place. Fancy Gal might be a lamb but sick animals often spooked and behaved out of character.
Ace straightened, his mouth set in a firm line. “Sounds like a war zone in there. I don’t think you should compete her today.”
“Poor girl,” Flynn cooed, and scratched Fancy Gal behind the ears.
“Have we caught it in time?” her father asked.
He had reason to be concerned. Several years ago they had almost lost a prize gelding to a sudden and aggressive case of colic.
“I think so,” Ace said. “Can you arrange for a separate stall or pen? She shouldn’t be with the other horses.”
“I’ll talk to the barn manager.”
“I can walk her,” Flynn offered when her father left.
When their gelding had colic, she and her father had taken turns walking him all through the night. It had probably saved the gelding’s life.
Ace shook his head. “I’d feel better if you got one of the men to do it.”
“Fancy Gal won’t hurt me.”
“Not intentionally.”
“I appreciate your concern, but I’m going to walk her and—”
“And I’m not stopping you,” he finished for her.
“Something like that.” Flynn squared her shoulders.
Ace’s glance traveled from Fancy Gal to Flynn. “I don’t like it.”
“You have to trust me.”
He groaned as if giving in to her caused him pain. “I’ve got some bute paste in my truck. That should help her with the discomfort.” He promptly returned, a tube clutched in his hand, and administered the bute paste.
Fancy Gal didn’t like the taste or the texture. She worked her jaw and rolled her tongue until the medication had dissolved.
Afterward, Ace accompanied Flynn and Fancy Gal to the vacant pasture on the far side of the warm-up arena. She started to tell him to leave, that she was fine on her own, then reconsidered. She liked him walking beside her. She reconsidered again the third time his arm brushed hers.
At the end of their first circuit, Flynn told Ace, “You should probably go. Your event is the first one after the opening ceremony.”
“If she worsens or shows any other symptoms, call me immediately. I don’t care what I’m doing.”
“We’ll be fine.”
He acted as if he hadn’t heard her. “I’ll stop by in an hour to check on her.”
“You don’t have to do that.”