CHAPTER FORTY-SIX
Amber~
The sound of running water woke Amber. The last trickles of her dreams dried up.
She had to wipe a circle in the steamy window with a rag to peer out at the gray dawn. The trees had shed their load of snow and every needle dripped. From every direction, melting snow rushed down to the creek. She had been warned that the Colorado Chinook made the ones in Washington State seem by comparison like a blast of arctic air. But she had not realized how powerful that warm wind would prove against the severity of their winter.
She would be slogging through mud to get to work this morning. And those tracks she had thought would keep till day, would be meltwater halfway to the Colorado River by now. She would just have to accept Lance’s report of what he had seen last night. It was early, but she was no longer sleepy. She had time for coffee and a big breakfast before she faced the mud.
When the knock came, she was just placing the last washed pan in the dish rack. Lance, she thought. He had come for her because of the mud. She had her best smile on when she opened the door.
“Hey,” she said.
“Good morning,” Calvin’s smile was as broad as hers. “I thought you might like a ride up to the stables. It’s all mud between here and there.”
Amber swallowed her disappointment. “That was very thoughtful of you,” she managed. “I’ll just get my coat and boots on. Would you like to come in?”
“I’ll stay out here, so I don’t get mud all over.”
He was standing on the porch inspecting the bead board ceiling when she came out in her unzipped parka. As far as she could tell, despite the roof’s snow load melting, the tongue and groove was tight and dry. He turned, glanced down at her feet. His mouth curved down and he shook his head as if exasperated.
“You’ll fall over before we get to the truck.” He swept her into his arms.
She did not want to like being carried by Calvin Bascom. But she did. His muscular arms felt strong and secure. The scent of his freshly shaven face was sandalwood and leather – and man. Half-aroused man. What the hell?
“T-thank you,” she stammered when he plopped her in the passenger seat.
“You’re welcome. Ever experience a Chinook before?”
“I’m from the Northwest. I’ll have you know, we invented the Chinook.” Like Calvin she said ‘Shinook’. “But I’ll admit that we don’t have this much snow to melt, so we don’t get the drama.”
“It’s a real contrast all right. And it won’t last long.”
“It never does.”
He pulled into the parking lot outside the office.
“Thank you for the ride.” She opened her door.
“Hang on.”
“Yes?” Had to remember he was the boss.
“When you are done with morning stables, I want you to finish collecting the Bluefield data.”
“I only have Lane Six left to do.”
“Excellent.” His teeth were big and white in his broad face. “Can you turn what you found into a spreadsheet I can show Laura? Rhonda will set you up with a computer.” He indicated the office building.
Sixtyish Rhonda was the administrative assistant. She did payroll, answered the phone, ordered supplies, and generally was indispensable. Amber liked her a lot. “Sure. If you’ll speak to Carlos about it.”
“Of course. Let me know when you’re ready to go to the office. Those boots won’t handle slush or mud.”
She felt her face heat. “I’m saving up,” she said through her teeth. She knew her boots were worn out and past their best before dates. But she had been raised on ‘Use it up, wear it out, make it do, or do without’. When she had replaced her savings would be time enough for the extravagance of new boots.
A muscle ticced in his big jaw, but he didn’t comment. “Let me carry you to the stable.”
She slipped out of the pickup and faced him over the hood. “Best not. I already have a hard time getting the guys to take me seriously.”
His mouth went flat, but he let her slip and slide across the asphalt to the concrete path. Sticky mud clung to her boots and left her soles as slick as grease. She would have rather died than admit that her socks were damp, and that her toes had been replaced by ice pops.
In the training ring, puddles of meltwater had pooled over the sandy surface. Evidently the melting had only gone so deep. Lance was towing a spreader full of sand with the tractor, filling the puddles to make the surface firm enough for horses. She waved and he waved back. She thought she heard a growl behind her, but probably it was just the tractor motor.
Carlos had all the hands in a huddle by the open front doors. Amber took her time scraping her boots off on the old-fashioned boot brushes. Her boots got cleaner. Her socks stayed sodden.
“Okay. Chinook rules,” Carlos said. “Amber, you’re the only one who doesn’t know what that means.”
“No, sir.” She tried to look alert.
“When the temperature fluctuates like this, we have to make sure that we don’t let our foals catch a chill. We’re taking advantage of the warm weather to air out the stables.” Carlos waved at the open doors. “But the Chinook will be done like that.” He snapped his fingers.
She tried to look intelligent, but she still had no idea what he meant.
“Every time you pass a door, check the thermometer. If it is below thirty-five degrees, shut it. And then shut all the other ones.”
She nodded. That made sense.
“Keep checking the foals to see that they’re warm enough. And no mares or foals are to go out to pasture,” Carlos continued. “Too slippery. We don’t want any broken legs. Same for the yearlings. If it’s dry enough later, we can let the two- and three-year-olds out. When Lance has the training ring dried out, we can exercise the mares and foals there. The yearlings will just have to wait. Understood?”
There was a chorus of, “Yes, sir.”
“Okay, get to work.”