Healing The Cowboy's Heart

A perfect match...or sworn enemies?

Only time will tell at Shepherd’s Crossing.

Horse breeder Isaiah Woods can’t believe his only ally in helping a neglected mare is the descendant of his family’s bitter enemy—veterinarian Charlotte Fitzgerald. Despite the feud, Charlotte risks everything to save the horse. But as she falls for Isaiah—and the orphaned niece and nephew in his care—the mare isn’t the only one who needs saving.

Multipublished bestselling author RUTH LOGAN HERNE loves God, her country, her family, dogs, chocolate and coffee! Married to a very patient man, she lives in an old farmhouse in Upstate New York and thinks possums should leave the cat food alone and snakes should always live outside. There are no exceptions to either rule! Visit Ruth at ruthloganherne.com.

Also By Ruth Logan Herne

Love Inspired

Shepherd’s Crossing

Her Cowboy Reunion

A Cowboy in Shepherd’s Crossing

Healing the Cowboy’s Heart

Grace Haven

An Unexpected Groom

Her Unexpected Family

Their Surprise Daddy

The Lawman’s Yuletide Baby

Her Secret Daughter

Kirkwood Lake

The Lawman’s Second Chance

Falling for the Lawman

The Lawman’s Holiday Wish

Loving the Lawman

Her Holiday Family

Discover more at millsandboon.co.uk

Healing the Cowboy’s Heart

Ruth Logan Herne

www.millsandboon.co.uk

ISBN: 978-1-474-09673-7

HEALING THE COWBOY’S HEART

© 2019 Ruth M. Blodgett

Published in Great Britain 2019

by Mills & Boon, an imprint of HarperCollins Publishers 1 London Bridge Street, London, SE1 9GF

All rights reserved including the right of reproduction in whole or in part in any form. This edition is published by arrangement with Harlequin Books S.A.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, locations and incidents are purely fictional and bear no relationship to any real life individuals, living or dead, or to any actual places, business establishments, locations, events or incidents. Any resemblance is entirely coincidental.

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Version: 2020-03-02

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Was Charlotte wondering about him?

Isaiah couldn’t help but notice how her expression changed. She’d been angry when he’d approached the paddock, but not now. She was caring. Lovely. Beautiful.

When he reached a hand to her cheek, she almost leaned into it. But not quite.

Instead she took a firm step back. “Don’t mess with my head, cowboy.”

He lifted one eyebrow.

“And don’t do your strong, silent cowboy nonsense on me, either. I’m here to do a job, and I’ve already managed to tuck myself into a very Hatfield-and-McCoy-style land feud and into your family scandal, and I’ve created a chasm between me and the old-guard veterinarian. I don’t need casual flirting to muddy the already churning waters.”

“No one mentioned the word casual.”

She shot him a skeptical look as she came around the front of the horse.

“And for the record?” He paused just ahead of her, blocking her way. “I don’t do anything casual. Ever.”

Dear Reader,

Thank you so much for reading this beautiful romance! I love Char and Isaiah’s story, and not for the obvious happy ending, but for the mix of cultures and thoughts that become our normal because we live them...and sometimes we don’t see that “normal” can be a relative thing.

Isaiah is a peacemaker, but he’s strong, too. He wants a happy family and he’s sacrificed to encourage that.

Char has longed for a happy family all of her life. In her eyes that’s the normal she craves. Not expecting to find that in Idaho, she doesn’t come west with illusions. Where better than the American West to polish a horse vet’s expertise, to build her résumé?

But people can be petty or angry anywhere, and when faced with animosity, Char has a lot on her plate. She doesn’t measure success in dollars. She grew up seeing the futility in that. But she’s practical enough to know a gal’s got to pay her bills and that requires clientele with patients.

I hope you love this book. I’ve thoroughly enjoyed working in this town and with these families, and I hope you’ve treasured their stories!

You know I love hearing from readers, so email me at loganherne@gmail.com or friend me on Facebook and/or follow me on Twitter, @RuthLoganHerne. And my bosses love it if you follow me on Bookbub! Just go here and click follow: https://www.bookbub.com/authors/ruth-logan-herne.

And may God bless you and yours each and every day!

Ruthy

He that covereth his sins shall not prosper:

but who so confesseth and forsaketh them

shall have mercy.

—Proverbs 28:13

This book is dedicated to my good friend Becky Prophet. We share three grandchildren and a love of God and good stories. Becky, the good Lord sure blessed us when He brought you into the family. This one’s for you. Thank you for being a great “Mimi” and a great friend.

Contents

Cover

Back Cover Text

About the Author

Booklist

Title Page

Copyright

Note to Readers

Introduction

Dear Reader

Bible Verse

Dedication

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

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Seventeen

Epilogue

Extract

About the Publisher

Chapter One

Charlotte Fitzgerald might be a big-animal vet, schooled to remain unemotional when things go bad, but the scene in front of her sent a chill of misgiving through her despite the Idaho midsummer’s day. She was facing seven critically ill horses who had found their way into a paddock adjacent to a well-known riding academy at the height of summer-camp season. On her right were a dozen young steeplechasers, hoping and praying for the stray horses’ survival.

Charlotte had spent a lot of years praying as a child. Wishing her mom hadn’t died shortly after giving birth to her. Hoping her father would become the kind of dad every child wanted and needed.

But her Mama did die and her prayers regarding her father went unanswered. As a result the intuitive horsewoman and veterinary surgeon learned to stand on her own two feet. For now that was enough.

“That one needs to go down.” Braden Hirsch had been the only local farm-animal vet until Charlotte rolled her mobile-veterinary-clinic van into town less than forty-eight hours before to fulfill the terms of her uncle’s will: if she spends a year helping to keep Pine Ridge Ranch solvent, she would inherit 25 percent of the ranch’s value next summer. She’d give the mixed horse and sheep venture free veterinary care as needed, but right now her focus was here, watching the crusty vet perform a half-hearted medical triage on the depleted animals.

She’d intended to meet Dr. Hirsch later today, a polite gesture. One professional to the other. He was in his sixties, according to the internet, and maybe considering retirement.

Only here they were, caught at a scene of horrific neglect and tragic circumstances, and she was about to make the whole thing worse by disagreeing with him.

He jerked a thumb toward a hobbling chestnut gelding. “Too far gone.” Then he waved to a group of three miserable creatures that were huddled together. “The palomino might have a chance. The rest...” He scowled at the remaining horses, and Charlotte understood his expression.

He wasn’t mad at them.

He was furious that they’d been left to struggle for however long it took to put them in this wretched condition.

“Braden.” The woman who’d called for help kept her voice purposely soft. “You’re going to put six of them down?”

He glared at her, then the horses. “You wanted a professional opinion, Bitsy. You got it. Any idea where they came from?”

She shook her head. “None. Which means they’ve probably been wandering throughout winter, based on the state they’re in. You’d think that with the conditions we’ve had for the last two months, they’d have recovered somewhat, wouldn’t you?”

The veterinarian huffed. “Some are smart enough to do that. Some aren’t. And sometimes it becomes survival of the fittest.”

Survival of the fittest? Char bit back a protest.

He was wrong.

Char was sure of it, but she was the new kid on the block, just arrived from veterinary school and a stint on a Western New York farm specializing in horse care. There was no way these seven had been open grazing anywhere for the past few months, because they’d have had abundant food and water, even if rain had been scarce. And they would have been noticed, wouldn’t they?

“What do you think, Doctor?” The woman turned toward Charlotte, seeking a second opinion. An opinion that wasn’t going to win her any points with the other veterinarian. She began to answer as a pair of sheriff’s cars pulled into the equine academy’s driveway, followed by a pickup truck hauling a two-horse trailer.

The older vet’s narrowed eyes challenged her to disagree. The last thing she wanted was to begin her new career on the wrong side of the established veterinary practice, but she put her comfort on hold to do what was best for the horses. “Where there’s life, there’s hope.”

The woman—Bitsy Armbruster—let out a sigh of relief as Chad Armbruster tried to distract the campers behind them. There were about a dozen teens and preteens in attendance, and whatever happened next wasn’t something a bunch of horse-loving kids needed to see.

A man climbed out of the pickup truck and came their way. He walked big. Straight. Tall. Sure of himself and square-shouldered. Crazy good-looking. Black hair, a touch long, as if taking time to get haircuts didn’t make the short list. Great cheekbones and a square jaw suggested Native American lineage. Warrior shoulders completed the image.

“Isaiah!” One of the girl campers jumped the fence and tore across the pasture. “I knew you’d come!” She threw her arms around him and held on tight, and when he hugged her back, the look of love he gave her...

Charlotte would have given anything for a father who loved her like that. She got a cheating conniver instead, a man who came from money and managed to lose it all once he was running the family publishing business. She had learned a lot as the youngest daughter of an esteemed Kentucky horse-breeding family, though. She went into veterinary school at Cornell with an intimate knowledge of horses. That knowledge was about to put her toe to toe with the old man at her side.

“Isaiah.” Bitsy motioned him their way. “I’m so glad you’ve come. And you brought a trailer.” Hope raised her voice slightly.

The girl started to come forward with him.

The man paused, saw Dr. Hirsch’s expression, then indicated the other side of the fence with a simple thrust of his chin. His message was clear. Would the girl follow the silent directive?

She frowned, then trudged across the field and hopped the fence to join the other campers on their way to a barn set a fair distance away.

Neat trick, thought Charlotte.

“I don’t think you’ll be needing that trailer, Isaiah,” said the old man.

“Better prepared than wishing I was, Braden.” He kept his voice low, and walked with quiet authority. “If I left it at home, J.J. would think I made up my mind before I took the time to have a look, and what kind of man does that?” He didn’t look like he expected an answer and didn’t get one. He indicated the electric fencing surrounding the pasture. “Has anyone blocked the way they got in here?”

“We called the sheriff as soon as we discovered them,” Bitsy answered, “but both deputies were at the other end of the county and we didn’t want to leave either the campers or the horses unsupervised, so I asked Ty Carrington to help,” she explained. “He knew that Charlotte had just come to town to open a veterinary practice, so he asked her to come over. He’s fixing the fencing on the northwest corner. He’ll give us a high sign when we’re ready to power up. We had shut the power down to save money because our horses are kept closer to the practice jump areas right now.”

“So, breaking through the wire wasn’t a big challenge.”

“No.”

Bitsy’s phone buzzed a text. She read it and gave them a thumbs-up. “Fencing is powered up.”

“A lot of waiting for horses who aren’t likely to try to get anywhere fast,” said Braden. “I’ve got office hours in thirty. Let’s get this done.” He began moving forward with a worn black bag.

“Hold on.” Charlotte crossed the distance quickly and stood between him and the first horse. “You’re going to put them down without giving them any kind of examination?”

Braden huffed, impatient. “I might not have a fancy van with pretty letters on the side, but I’ve got eyes and experience, girl. That’s what bears weight around here.”

The other man—Isaiah—took a moment to look behind them. She’d parked her brand-new mobile veterinary van on the back side of the Armbruster house. The words CMF VETERINARY stood out in a large font, over the peaceable image of a horse, a cow and an ewe with lambs. A trusty dog sat off to the side, while a mother cat looked after tumbling kittens. He studied the van, then her without a speck of emotion for either.

Charlotte stood her ground. “They deserve the courtesy of an examination.”

The older man glared at her, then Bitsy. “I came here as a favor.”

Bitsy swallowed hard but sided with Charlotte. “We should check them over, shouldn’t we, Braden? If you don’t have time, maybe Charlotte would do it for us.”

Charlotte motioned toward the sad-looking group of horses. Six were standing, listless, as if too tired to walk or eat. The seventh was down, on her side, an aged mare that might have been pretty in her day. She wasn’t pretty now. “I’d be happy to do the exams, Doctor, so you can get to your office hours on time.”

He glared at her, then the horses, then her again. He turned as if to leave, then swung back. “Let’s get to it.” Sour-faced, he started for a horse.

“We’ve made him angry.” Bitsy sounded genuinely distraught, as if the old veterinarian’s anger was a bigger worry than it should be. “I didn’t mean to do that.”

Neither had Charlotte, but to declare such a permanent decision without making an examination seemed wrong.

“Braden has given years of time and expertise to help reestablish the ranches in this part of Idaho,” Bitsy added as they followed the old man. “I’d never want to hurt his feelings.”

“Put the blame on me,” declared Charlotte, and she didn’t keep her voice all that soft, either. “Because if I’m going to have half a dozen dead horses on my conscience, it’s going to be for a good reason.”

Bitsy looked surprised, but then not so surprised, as Charlotte’s words hit home.

The cowboy tipped back his hat slightly. He met her gaze briefly, then moved up alongside the older vet. “How can I help, Braden?”

A peacemaker.

Well, good for him. Charlotte had a lot of respect for a serene existence, but the cheating father and then the law-breaking ex-boyfriend made her realize that peace at any cost wasn’t peace. It was capitulation, and where these poor horses were concerned, she wasn’t about to give an inch.

The cowboy turned. “Do we have any placements, Bitsy?”

“The Council Rescue can take two.”

The old vet snorted.

Bitsy ignored the sound as Charlotte moved forward to examine the horse.

“Ty said they could house two for the interim.”

The old vet shot her an incredulous look over his shoulder.

“Young Eagle texted that he could take one and his sister would tend another. He’s coming right down.”

Braden Hirsch’s scowl deepened. “A couple of weeks back, that might have been the way to go, but I’m telling you straight, you’re causing more harm than good to try to rehabilitate animals like this. You get ’em healthy and then someone tries to ride one and gets thrown because the horse has lost its trust of humans or just spooks easy, and then your happy ending goes up in smoke.”

“It’s a valid point.” Char felt the heat in the first horse’s leg, then moved on to the group of three. They scattered, but they scattered quickly enough to make her assessment fairly easy. “Any horse that can shy that quickly deserves a chance.”

“Being scared doesn’t make them healthy, girl.”

“Doctor,” she replied smoothly. “And I have the Cornell University diploma to prove it.”

“High-faluting schools don’t always mean good,” he retorted. “Sometimes they just mean overpriced and overdressed.”

Two men had joined Bitsy. They were putting halters on the horses to aid in moving them, but when they approached a dun gelding, Charlotte shook her head. The dun was too far gone for help at this point. And that left them with the inert horse on the ground.

“Oh, baby, I’m so sorry.” Char ran a gentle hand along the horse’s neck when she got to the prone Appaloosa. “So very sorry.” She did a quick exam. The mare’s heart and lungs sounded fair, but she was little more than bones. Bones and...in foal, Charlotte realized.

And yet so debilitated at this point that the idea of getting her healthy enough to have the foal, much less care for it, seemed impossible.

A shadow fell over her. She looked up.

Isaiah shifted slightly, then squatted beside her. He didn’t try to hide his brokenhearted expression. He laid a hand along the horse’s neck as if in benediction, then met Char’s gaze. “Two to put down? And five to attempt healing.”

She started to nod when the horse lifted her head. Looked around. She seemed disoriented for brief seconds, then rolled slightly to see Isaiah.

He stared at the mare.

The mare gazed back.

And when the big Native American swallowed hard, Char had to fight off a thrust of rising emotion. “You know her.”

Gaze firm, he laid a hand against the horse’s face.

“She knows you.” Char read the horse’s reaction. And the man’s.

He blinked once, a silent assent.

Braden came up behind them. “I knew this one was an easy decision, even for someone fresh out of the classroom.” He stopped. Stared. Then his look went from the horse to Isaiah and back again. He swallowed hard. Really hard. “She can’t be here. She was put down a long, long time ago.”

Isaiah kept his face flat and a comforting hand along the horse’s jaw. “Clearly not. But maybe that would have been the better choice, considering.”

“I’ll get things ready.” Braden set down a medical bag that had seen better days and opened it. With shaking hands, he withdrew what he needed to inject the mare.

“No.”

Braden paused. He stared at Isaiah. So did Charlotte.

“We’re not putting her down. If she can get up and walk, we’re not putting her down.”

“Well, she can’t or won’t—stubborn to the end—and you know every reason why we can’t let her live, Isaiah. Better than most.”

Charlotte stayed quiet, but when Isaiah stood, tall and firm, she stood, too.

“Come along, Ginger. Come along.”

The horse seemed to brighten up. She blew out a breath, stared up at him, then tried to roll.

She couldn’t make it.

Her eyes went wide, as if the mare realized how much was riding on this single maneuver.

“Come along, girl. Home’s waiting.”

Braden rolled his eyes. “Standing or laying isn’t the question here. It’s who she is, Isaiah. Some things are better left as is. You’ve got two kids on that ranch to think of. Neither one of your brother’s kids deserves to be around a crazy horse that’s hurt kids before.”

“Hey, girl.” The rugged cowboy ignored the old man’s caution and stooped a little. “It’s up to you. Stay? Or go?”

The horse stared up at him, as if weighing his words. Then with a mighty surge, she rolled fully and almost sprang to her feet, suddenly energized.

“Don’t do this, Isaiah.” Braden stood between the cowboy and the upright horse. “There’s no reason to bring this all back up. It won’t bring Alfie back, but it will rile up a whole lot of emotions for people we both love. Your mother. Your family. You know it as well as I do.”

Isaiah smoothed a hand along the horse’s scabby, dirt-crusted neck. “She’ll come with me.”

The old vet’s eyes flashed. “I won’t be a part of this, Isaiah. Not one part. You know what happened that day. We both do. You would bring this mistake back to your mother’s door? Lay blame at her feet?”

The cowboy kept a light hand on the mare. “That’s exactly why I have no choice.”

“Isaiah.” Braden changed his tone slightly. He moved forward, imploring. “I’m your godfather, and I’m asking you. Begging you. Don’t do this. Please. It’s foolishness. It changes nothing, so what’s the point? She’s beyond help. Beyond hope. It’s time to do the right thing.”

The square-shouldered Native American faced the smaller doctor. His expression mixed remorse and conviction. “Which is why she’s coming home with me. Live or die, she’ll be where she should have been all along.”

The old man grabbed his bag so hard that it banged Charlotte’s leg, almost toppling her into the horse. “Out of my way!” He stormed past her and crossed the field, his bag half-open.

“I’m out.” He barked the words at Bitsy, but made sure they all could hear as another horse trailer arrived. A local-news car followed. “And I hope your new horse vet does well by the lot of you because I won’t be part of any of this nonsense.”

Nonsense?

A flash of fear gripped Charlotte.

What if she lost them all? What kind of reputation as a horse-savvy vet would she have then? Was she laying her career on the line for a hopeless cause?

One of the men motioned for her.

She began to move that way.

The mare swayed, as if weak. Then she caught herself, drew up her neck and stood firm.

Charlotte did the same. She was in a way better spot than the horse, and if the horse could muster up courage, then so would the doctor.

* * *

Saving Ginger was nonsense?

Cool anger chilled Isaiah’s veins, while the July temperature mounted.

The horse tipped her head and looked at him. If he’d had a choice, he lost it at that moment.

Bitsy approached with another halter. He ran his hand up the horse’s nose and murmured soft words to her. Would the aged mare trust his words after being betrayed long ago? Did she really recognize him?

She leaned her poor, thin face into his hand and breathed softly, an equine sigh.

Maybe she knew him. Perhaps she’d forgiven him for standing by and saying nothing all those years ago. For letting her be taken because he was caught in a tough spot between the horse and his mother.

His mother.

She would recognize the horse. Maybe not initially, but once she filled out—if she lived—Stella Woods would recognize the horse she’d accused years ago. And that wouldn’t go well.

Bitsy sweet-talked Ginger while the new veterinarian gathered information from Ty Carrington, Young Eagle and a woman from the horse rescue just south of Council. She offered initial instructions to each one as they guided the horses into their respective trailers. Curious, the campers had moseyed their way again once the horses were being loaded. The young doctor noticed that and glanced over her shoulder.

She was blonde. Blue-eyed. A lovely face, with the kind of figure that made a smart man take note, and wasn’t that funny because he hadn’t had time to take notice of a woman for a while. Partly his fault. Partly God’s timing in parking two orphaned kids in his care.

So yes, she was beautiful with her long golden ponytail, a wisp of fringe around her cheeks and forehead, and the plain T-shirt over thin blue jeans. She’d chosen a good outfit for animal work and long summer days. But Idaho farms and ranches were tough by nature. To start off at odds with his godfather, a man who shared history with 90 percent of the area’s ranchers, wasn’t just risky. It probably sounded the death knell of her professional career, because the Hirsch family carried clout in Adams County and they weren’t afraid to use it.

A second news car pulled in behind the sheriff’s cruisers. Neglected farm animals were big news in Western Idaho and a case like this would make headlines. And if the rescues failed, his godfather would use those headlines to his own advantage.

Braden didn’t like to be second-guessed. To have this young woman challenge his decisions wasn’t something he would forgive easily, even though he sat in the front church pew every Sunday, with his wife and her sister right there beside him.

Ty and Young Eagle had situated their rigs to receive their cargo. Word had spread, more people arrived and Isaiah hung back purposely. As the other horses were being carefully loaded, the young veterinarian came his way. She stripped off her gloves and shoved them into a pocket before donning a new pair.

“Bitsy said your name is Charlotte?”

She nodded toward her van with a jut of her chin. “New big-animal vet in town and already making enemies with the establishment.”

“Not all of the establishment.” He noted the men loading trailers, Bitsy and the kids, none of whom had really stopped watching.

“And you are?”

“Isaiah Woods. Rancher. Horse breeder.”

She frowned quickly. “Can you segregate her at your place so she’s quarantined for the first few weeks, Mr. Woods? You don’t want to track something into your herd.”

“Isaiah. And yes. I’ve got a spot.”

She accepted the correction with a brief nod. “You know this horse?”

“Yes.”

She slanted a quick look of assessment his way. “And?”

He stayed silent.

She didn’t. “You’re Native American.”

“Nimiipuu. Or Nez Percé, as we’re known now.”

“The Last Indian War.”

Few people remembered the native history, how a band of Nez Percé was hunted over a thousand miles of rough terrain, caught after much fighting and then sequestered on a hot, dry plain in Oklahoma, far from their cooler mountainous homeland. She surprised him and he didn’t surprise easily. “Someone paid attention in eighth-grade history. Many don’t.”

“Well, right now I’m paying attention to her.” Charlotte moved along the mare’s flank. She closed her eyes and gently probed the animal’s body. “She’s due to foal soon.”

Now she got his attention. He stared at the horse, then followed the skinny line of her curvature until the familiar sway beneath her confirmed the doctor’s diagnosis. “That can’t be good for her.”

“Babies do tend to steal whatever they need from their mothers, leaving the mother drained. In her case, drained equates starving.”

The horse gulped as if swallowing was hard.

“Do you have a place ready for her?” she asked as she smoothed her hand along the mare’s flank.

“A hay barn with three stalls I use when I need to segregate.” He watched as she did a quick exam from the horse’s side.

“Baby’s heart rate is strong and steady. Mother’s is shakier considering her condition. Let’s get her moved, get her in a clean area and we’ll start a care regimen right away.” She stood up, jotted notes into her phone, then faced him. “I won’t pretend I’m holding out a lot of hope.”