Storm Warrior

“I’ve found much to turn a hand to, thanks to my friend here.”

“Rhys has been boarding with me, Doc,” said Leo. “He’s already made over my entire yard—and you oughta see my garden now. It’s never looked so good. Rhys caught me up on a lot of chores around the house too. Split a whole season’s worth of kindling for my stove, so I can look forward to a smaller fuel bill this winter. ’Course now all my neighbors are competing for his time, and they’re able to offer a wage. He’s a man in demand.”

A man in demand…I’ll bet he is. Morgan shook her head to rid it of the sudden enticing image of a shirtless Rhys swinging an ax as his bared muscles gleamed with sweat. For a moment, she considered swallowing the ice cubes in her drink. Whole. Anything to cool herself down.

Rhys chose that moment to place his hand over hers, and every nerve in her body seemed to jolt with sudden electricity. “I have yet to apologize for the last time we met,” he said. “You showed a great deal of courage when you found me, though you must have felt fear.”

“I’m not admitting to it,” she said, sliding her hand out from under his and putting it in her lap out of reach. She held his gaze boldly despite the fact that her insides were fluttering. “But Nainie used to say that without fear, there could be no brave deeds.”

“Your grandmother was very wise.”

“Yes, she was.” She had to admit, it was refreshing to find someone so easy with Welsh terms. Most people thought nainie was some sort of childish endearment. But then, this man also knew about the Tylwyth Teg. His accent, his name…He was either a superb actor or the genuine article. Maybe with Leo present, she’d finally get some answers. “So, Rhys, tell me about—”

She jumped as her pager went off. Pressing the noisy device on her belt into silence, she flipped open her cell phone and speed-dialed the clinic dispatcher all in one smooth, practiced movement. A horse had gotten itself tangled in a wire fence at the Kendrick farm, and the hysterical owner couldn’t free the animal. The situation was beyond bad—what Jay would describe as a red-hot mess.

“What have I got for help?” Morgan asked the dispatcher. Any accident involving a horse required as many skilled hands as possible. The big animals usually panicked, making things worse for themselves and endangering the humans around them.

Knowing this, the dispatcher had automatically paged Jay and Grady, plus all three of the clinic technicians as well. Jay and Russell were already up to their armpits in a bovine C-section—apparently someone had forgotten to notify the dispatcher that Morgan was taking her own shift tonight. No one else was answering their pages, and she remembered why: Grady had taken the other two techs, Cindy and Melinda, to a distant farm fair, not for fun but for further training. Murphy’s Law, she sighed inwardly. She thanked the dispatcher and flipped her cell closed.

Normally a veterinarian would draft the owner at the scene, but she knew that this particular farmer would be of little use. She needed to find somebody else and fast—

“What troubles you?” asked Rhys.

—and the universe had plunked a very able body right in front of her. Morgan shoved the phone into her jeans as she stood up. “I’m sorry, guys, but I’ve got one hell of an emergency. Leo, I need to borrow your man in demand.”

“Seems to happen a lot these days,” the old man chuckled. “I’ll put your groceries in the fridge for you before I go, but I warn you, I may have to eat some more of these cookies first.”

She gave him a quick hug. Then turned her attention to his companion, who had stood up when she did. He towered over her, all rugged power and muscle, but she was assessing his usefulness this time, not his appeal. Morgan had a patient waiting, and she was all business now.

“Rhys, I need your help.”

“My sword arm and my shield are yours to command,” he said solemnly.

Uh-huh. “Actually it’s your hands I’m going to need.”

The only thing in their favor was that the Kendrick farm was just a few roads over from her own. Morgan was grateful for that and for the double suspension in the clinic truck as she drove as fast as she dared over potholes and gravel.

She spotted the horse as she turned into the Kendricks’ driveway. The big dapple-gray Percheron was on her side in a drainage ditch by the machine shed, thrashing wildly as an older woman, Julie, stood by in helpless tears. Instantly Morgan was out of the truck and had the rear hatch open, grabbing pliers, bolt cutters, and two sets of rope hobbles. Finally, she snatched the big blue gym bag of medical supplies for large animals.

She ran for the scene, only to find that Rhys had gotten there first. To her amazement, he was seated on the ground with the horse’s head in his lap. He gripped one of the horse’s ears in his hand while his other hand stroked the sweat-lathered neck. The big mare was quivering as he spoke soothingly to her in a language that sounded somewhat like Welsh, yet Morgan didn’t recognize the words. Whatever he was saying, the animal must have been listening because, miraculously, she had stopped thrashing.

Rhys looked up and nodded at Morgan. “Her name is Lucy. She’ll not move now,” he said.

Morgan approached cautiously, instinctively kneeling in a spot where she was less likely to be kicked, and surveyed the damage. It was bad, very bad. She glanced over her shoulder at the owner’s reddened eyes. It would do her no good to watch this. “Julie, why don’t you go to the house and put on some coffee? We’ve got a handle on things here, but it’s going to take some work, and we’ll need a break afterward.”

The woman fled gratefully.

“You did that woman a kindness,” said Rhys.

“It’ll be kinder if I don’t have to put her horse down.” Morgan took a deep breath and took up the hobbles. “I’ve got to restrain the legs so I can work on them.”

“The mare will be still, I promise you that.”

“What, are you magic or something?”

“I need no magic for this. I took my first steps under a horse’s belly, and I was riding before I could walk. Believe me when I say that this fine ceffyl will lie quiet for you.”

From anyone else it might have sounded like boasting, yet Morgan sensed that Rhys was merely stating facts. And only someone truly experienced with horses could have calmed the panicked animal. I hope you’re right. Morgan applied the hobbles around the fetlocks just the same, but she breathed easier while she did it. Then felt carefully along the terrible wounds and began snipping the rusted wire.

Hours later, they shoved and heaved with all their strength, encouraging the big mare to roll to her knees. The horse hesitated for a long moment then fought her way to her feet. She was unsteady but remained standing, sides heaving. “There, my cariad,” Rhys crooned, allowing her to rest her head on his shoulder. She shivered but was quiet.

“The mare will heal. And she’ll be sound,” he declared to Morgan, who was checking the animal for any wounds that might have been missed.

She shook her head. “We don’t know that for sure. So many of the lacerations are deep. And that left rear leg is a helluva mess.” Morgan shoved her hair from her face, leaving a broad smear of blood across her cheek.

She looked exactly like a warrior after battle, Rhys thought admiringly. And a true fight it had been to stop the bleeding and put things right. He’d counted 253 stitches in all, and every one of them was finely done. No warrior of his clan had ever received such skilled treatment of his wounds, nor had even the best of gladiators. “Skin and muscle are very badly torn, but the sinews are not cut. More than that, the mare has a strong will to live.”

“She’s going to need it. It’s going to take a ton of antibiotics to stave off infection. And she’ll have to have round-the-clock care. I couldn’t suture some of the deeper wounds—they have to drain, and they have to heal from the inside out. Everything will have to be checked over and fresh dressings applied twice a day, maybe more at first.” Morgan sighed. “I know poor Julie can’t manage it. She’s just too squeamish.”

Rhys’s eyebrows went up and she explained. “Don’t get me wrong, she loves her animals and treats them well. But most farmers learn to give shots, dose livestock, treat injuries. Not Julie. She once brought a dog into the clinic twice a day for two weeks, just so we could give it a pill. The dog was perfectly calm, but Julie just couldn’t