Page 29 of Captured By the Billionaire Cowboy
Ciara’s gaze softened, and for a second, it seemed like she might accept. No doubt she fought the desire to succeed on her own with the need to make it a reality. She hesitated, but then grimaced. “I’m on my own.”
He straightened in the hard-backed chair, carefully donning a neutral expression. Her voice was low and resigned, casting unmistakable guilt. This was his fault. Not that she needed money, but that she didn’t trust him enough to accept his help. Of course, he didn’t deserve her trust, not after he’d left her.
He shouldn’t let it affect him so much, shouldn’t letheraffect him. Yet his exterior mask couldn’t shield his true feelings, not anymore. She wouldn’t make it easy to return to her life after the way he left her. It had been for a reason – she didn’t deserve the darkness he inherited – yet could there be a way?
Perhaps it was time to try.
“Don’t give up hope.” Mrs. Murphy surprised them both, her voice softening a sliver. “Get some money together. Find people with hospitality experience. Come back better prepared, and I’ll see what I can do.”
Some of the light re-entered Ciara’s eyes. “Thank you. I will.” She stood and shook hands with the banker, and, with a final farewell, strode towards the glass door, her posture strong, her solid gait proving she wasn’t giving up. No, his Ciara would never give up on something that mattered to her, especially an opportunity to help her beloved horses.
Wait–
His Ciara?
He was definitely in trouble.
He followed her as they emerged into the brilliant sunshine, just as the sound of neighing filled the air. Had someone brought a horse instead of a car? He looked around, then down at Ciara as she fumbled in her purse. He hid a smile as she took out a neighingphone.
She brought it to her ear. “Hi Uncail Frank.” She paused. “Yeah, we just left the bank. How are things there?”
He knew something was wrong the instant she did. She froze, her skin paled to the color of her white horse. “What?” she whispered, then stronger, “Is the vet there? We’re on our way.” She disconnected the call and threw the phone in her purse. “We have to go.”
“What happened?” Rowan quickened his pace as Ciara ran to the car. She gestured for him to hurry, not speaking until heturned on the ignition and pulled out of the small parking lot and onto the two-lane country road. He sped down the empty street until he reached the speed limit.
“Jasmine is sick.” Her voice emerged thready, as she gripped the dashboard with bleached hands. She cringed when a red light caught them and he slowed to a stop, tap-tapping her foot as the seconds slowly ticked.
He pressed the pedal the second the light turned green. “What’s wrong with her?”
She visibly swallowed, her eyes turning glassy. “She’s showing signs of colic.”
He stiffened. The condition that generally referred to fussiness in babies meant something far more sinister in horses. He’d dealt with it more than once… sometimes to tragic consequences.
“The vet hasn’t arrived, so we don’t know exactly what we’re dealing with.” She breathed deeply. “Colic is the number one cause of premature death in domestic horses.”
“Don’t go there, Ciara,” Rowan ordered gruffly, pressing the car forward, smoothly maneuvering between two slower vehicles. “Colic encompasses a wide range of gastronomical ailments. Sometimes it’s not serious at all.”
“And sometimes it requires major surgery. Sometimes there’s nothing they can do, no treatment that can help…” She blanched. “This is my fault. She’s been unwell since I found her. She displayed the classic signs of colic all along: depression, poor eating, excessive sweating. I just assumed they originated from the trauma.”
“A perfectly reasonable explanation.” He leaned on the accelerator, cruising through a yellow light. “The vet examined her. He didn’t find anything alarming.”
“But he hasn’t been observing her. He wasn’t the one supposed to take care of her.” Her voice broke. “He didn’t promise her she would be all right.”
“Youaretaking care of her,” he argued. “You saved that horse. You’re the reason she’s alive in the first place.” No matter what happened, this woman didn’t deserve guilt. “She doesn’t have every symptom of colic, and she has many symptoms of anxiety. You’re doing the best you can.”
“But my best isn’t good enough!”
“Sweetheart, your best isalwaysgood enough.” He gave in to the urge to comfort her, rubbing her shoulder, while keeping watch on the road. She was like him in so many ways, taking on responsibility, consequences that weren’t hers to bear. “We’llget through this.”
She sniffed, yet appeared a little less frantic. He wanted to also promise Jasmine would get through this, but Ciara was right. Colic was serious. “I’ll do everything in my power to get her the best treatment possible,” he promised.
At least that was a promise he could keep.
“Tympanic colic?” Ciara crossed her arms over her chest, hugging herself tight. Next to her, Jasmine pawed the ground, agitated, jumpy and clearly uncomfortable. A day’s worth of food sat untouched in the corner, and the oversized bucket of water was as overflowing as it had been that morning.
“It’s also known as gas colic,” Dr. Saunders explained. “It can be caused by a diet change or perhaps not enough roughage. The good news is abdominal distension isn’t present, so there’s nothing to suggest it’s anything more serious. Hopefully, medication will take care of it.”
“I’ve seen it many times,” Frank remarked in his calm, even manner. “It’s a common cause of colic.”
