Outlaw Hartes: The Valentine Two-Step / Cassidy Harte And The Comeback Kid

A week ago he wouldn’t have allowed it under any circumstances, would have still been convinced the whole acupuncture thing was a bunch of hooey. But he’d done a little reading up on the Internet lately and discovered the practice wasn’t nearly as weird as he thought. Even the American Veterinary Association considered acupuncture an accepted method of care.

Mystic suddenly jerked hard against the bit and threw her head back, eyes wild with pain.

“Please, Matt. Just let me try.”

What other choice did he have? The foal was going to die, and there was a chance Mystic would, too. He blew out a breath. “Be careful,” he said gruffly. “She’s a damn fine mare, and I don’t want her hurt.”

He watched carefully while she ran her hands over the animal one more time, then placed her finger at certain points, speaking quietly to both of them as she went.

“According to traditional Chinese veterinary acupuncture, each animal’s body—and yours, too—has a network of meridians, with acupoints along that meridian that communicate with a specific organ,” she said softly as she worked. “When a particular organ is out of balance, the related acupoints may become tender or show some other abnormality. That’s what I’m looking for.”

Mystic had a dozen or so needles in various places when Ellie inserted one more and gave it a little twist. Mystic jumped and shuddered.

He was just about to call the whole blasted thing off and tell Ellie to get away from his horse when the mare’s straining, panting sides suddenly went completely still.

After a moment, the horse blew out a snorting breath then pulled away from him. With the needles in her flesh still quivering like porcupine quills, she calmly ambled to her water trough and indulged in a long drink of water.

He stared after her, dumbfounded at how quickly she transformed from panic-stricken to tranquil. What the hell just happened here?

Ellie didn’t seem nearly as astonished. She followed the horse and began removing the needles one by one, discarding them in a special plastic container she pulled out of her bag. When they were all collected, she cleaned and dressed the self-inflicted wounds on Mystic’s belly, then ran her hands over the horse one last time before joining Matt on the other side of the stall.

“Is that it?” he asked, unable to keep the shock out of his voice.

Her mouth twisted into a smile. “What did you expect?”

“I don’t know.” He shook his head in amazement. “I’ve got to tell you, Doc, that was just about the damnedest thing I’ve ever seen.”

Despite the circumstances, her low laugh sent heat flashing to his gut. “I had the same reaction the first time I saw an animal treated with acupuncture. Some animals respond so instantly it seems nothing short of a miracle. Not all do, but the first horse I saw responded exactly like Mystic just did.”

“Was she another pregnant mare?”

“No. It was a racehorse that had suddenly gone lame. For the life of me, I couldn’t figure out what was wrong. I tried everything I could think of to help him and nothing worked. He just got worse and worse. Finally, as a last-ditch effort before putting him down, the owners decided against my advice to call in another vet who practiced acupuncture.

“I thought they were completely nuts, but I decided to watch. One minute the vet was sticking in the needles, the next he opened the door and Galaxy took off into the pasture like a yearling, with no sign whatsoever of the lameness that had nearly ended his life. I called up and registered for the training course the next day.”

Her face glowed when she talked about her work. Somehow it seemed to light up from the inside. She looked so pretty and passionate it was all he could do to keep from reaching across the few feet that separated them and drawing her into his arms.

“How does it work?” he asked, trying to distract himself from that soft smile and those sparkling eyes and the need suddenly pulsing through him.

“The Chinese believe health and energy are like a stream flowing downhill—if something blocks that flow, upsetting the body’s natural balance, energy can dam up behind the blockage, causing illness and pain. The needles help guide the energy a different way, restoring the balance and allowing healing to begin.”

“And you buy all that?”

She sent him a sidelong look, smiling a little at his skeptical voice. “It worked for Mystic, didn’t it?”

He couldn’t argue with that. The mare was happily munching grain from her feed bag.

“I’m not a zealot, Matt. I don’t use acupuncture as a treatment in every situation. Sometimes traditional Western medicine without question is the best course of action. But sometimes a situation calls for something different. Something more.”

“But doesn’t it conflict with what you know of regular medicine? All that talk about energy and flow?”

“Sometimes. It was hard at first for me to reconcile the two. But I’ve since learned it’s a balance. Like life.”

She smiled again. “I can’t explain it. I just know acupuncture has been practiced for six thousand years—on people as well as animals—and sometimes it works beautifully. One of my instructors used to say that if the only tool in your toolbox is a hammer, the whole world looks like a nail. I want to have as many tools in my toolbox as I possibly can.”

“You love being a vet, don’t you?”

She nodded. “It’s all I’ve ever wanted.”

“Why?” He was surprised to find he genuinely wanted to know. “What made you become one?”

She said nothing for several moments, her face pensive as she worked out an answer. He didn’t mind, strangely content just watching her and listening to the low, soothing sounds of the barn.

Finally she broke the comfortable silence between them. “I wanted to help animals and I discovered I was good at it. Animals are uncomplicated. They give their love freely and without conditions. I was drawn to that.”

Who in her life had put conditions on loving her? Dylan’s father? He longed to ask but reminded himself it was none of his business.

“Did you overrun your house with pets when you were a kid?” he asked instead.

Her laugh sounded oddly hollow. “No. My mother never wanted the bother or the mess.”

She was quiet for a moment, gazing at Mystic, who was resting quietly in the stall. He had the feeling Ellie was miles away, somewhere he couldn’t even guess at.

“I take that back,” she said slowly. “I had a dog once when I was ten. Sparky. A mongrel. Well, he wasn’t really mine, he belonged to a kid at one of the…”

She looked at him suddenly, as if she’d forgotten he was there.

“At one of the foster homes I lived in,” she continued stubbornly, her cheeks tinted a dusky rose. “But that didn’t stop me from pretending he was mine.”

Her defiant declaration broke his heart and helped a lot of things about her finally make sense. “You lived in many foster homes?”

“One is too many. And yeah, I did.”

She was quiet again, and he thought for a moment she was done with the subject. And then she spoke in a quiet, unemotional voice that somehow affected him far more than tears or regrets would have.

“My dad was a long-haul trucker who took a load of artichokes to Florida when I was five and decided to stay. Without bothering to leave a forwarding address, of course. My mother was devastated. She couldn’t even make a decision about what shampoo to use without a man in her life, so she climbed into a bottle and never climbed back out. I stayed with her for about a year and then child-protective services stepped in.” She paused. “And you can stop looking at me like that.”

“Like what?”

“Like you’re feeling sorry for the poor little foster girl playing make-believe with some other kid’s dog.” She lifted her chin. “I did just fine.”

He didn’t like this fragile tenderness twisting around inside him like a morning glory vine making itself at home where it wasn’t wanted. Did not like it one single bit.

“I never said otherwise,” he said gruffly.

“You didn’t have to say a word. I can see what you’re thinking clear as day in those big baby blues of yours. I’ve seen pity plenty of times—that’s why I generally keep my mouth shut about my childhood. But I did just fine,” she said again, more vehemently this time. “I’ve got a beautiful daughter, a job I love fiercely and now I get to live in one of the most beautiful places on earth. Not bad for a white-trash foster kid. I turned out okay.”

“Which one of us are you trying to convince?”