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“Your director sent them. Apparently, a lightning strike took out one of their primary generators and some of the camera equipment. A couple of your cast members decided to stay the night rather than risk driving back in the rain. The rest returned to your film location. You can get all the details from those who stayed behind.”
Nash helped Londyn down from the truck and slipped an arm around her as they walked to the rear to open the trailer.
Butterscotch stood in the front compartment, her head drooping. Londyn climbed in and stopped beside the mare’s neck. “Hey, girl,” she said softly. “Rough night?”
The mare tossed her head.
“Yeah. I know.” Londyn stroked the mare’s nose. “We’re going to get you to a dry stall with lovely hay and grain.” She gripped the halter and slowly backed the animal down the ramp.
“I had one of my guys prepare a stall for the mare,” Mitchell said. “Follow me.” He led the way into the barn.
An older man in overalls stood beside an open stall door with an armful of ragged towels.
Once Londyn led Butterscotch into the stall, the man handed her a towel.
Nash took half of the remaining towels.
Together, Nash and Londyn rubbed the horse down while she drank from a water bucket. The stall’s floor had been lined with fresh woodchips. Someone had filled the feed trough with grain and fresh alfalfa hay.
Mitchell leaned against the open stall door. “I called my vet. He’s on his way out. Based on your description of the horse’s behavior, he suspects she got into something that triggered a reaction. He wants to take a blood sample and have it tested.”
“Thank you.” Londyn peered over the top of her horse’s back. “I’ve never seen her so distressed. However, I can't imagine what she could have gotten into. I had her in a portable corral. I’ve fed her nothing but hay and grain from my ranch.”
Mitchell shrugged. “People can be careless—especially those who aren’t around horses often. I’ve had a guest give one of my horses whiskey, thinking that was funny. That horse was sick for days.”
They’d barely gotten the horse dried off when she shifted impatiently.
Londyn and Nash moved toward the stall door.
Butterscotch bent her front legs and lowered her rear, laying down in the bed of wood chips.
“She didn’t eat any of the feed or hay,” Londyn said.
“She probably just needs time to recover from whatever triggered her.” Nash could see the worry in Londyn’s eyes and wished he could do something to make her feel better. Even more so, he wished he could do something to make the horse feel better.
“I have a couple of guest rooms in the ranch house prepared for you,” Mitchell said. “You’re welcome to stay with us.”
Londyn shook her head. “If it’s all right by you, I’d like to sleep out here with Butterscotch.”
Mitchell shrugged. “It’s your call. I get it. I’d do the same.”
Nash nodded. “We’ll both be out here for the night.”
“I’ll have some sleeping bags brought out. If the clouds clear, it’ll get cold.”
“Thanks,” Nash said.
“Yes,” Londyn said. “We’ll try not to be too much of a bother.”
“Don’t worry about it,” Mitchell said with a grin. “The movie studio is paying us a lot to use my cattle and the ranch for filming the cattle drive. It’ll help pad my bank account for the winter months.”
“I’m glad to hear that,” Londyn said. “Winter months can be hard.”
Mitchell nodded. “You should know. You’re even further north than we are.”
Londyn smiled. “Not by much. That jet stream can be brutal in January and February, dipping down into Wyoming.”
“Where’s my patient?” A man appeared in the doorway of the barn carrying a satchel. He folded an umbrella, set it by the door and shrugged out of a rain jacket. The man wore jeans and a stained and rumpled denim shirt. He had dark circles beneath his eyes and fine lines at the corners.
