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  Take It Easy

  Texas Billionaires Book Two

  Scarlett Brooks

  Copyright © 2020 by Scarlett Brooks

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  Created with Vellum

  Contents

  Untitled

  1. Gwen

  2. Gwen

  3. Logan

  4. Logan

  5. Gwen

  6. Logan

  7. Gwen

  8. Logan

  9. Gwen

  10. Logan

  11. Gwen

  12. Logan

  13. Gwen

  14. Logan

  Take It Easy

  Texas Billionaires Book Two

  A Texas Forever Love Story

  Scarlett Brooks

  1

  Gwen

  I sped through the rolling hills in my Jeep, trying to not grip the steering wheel too tight. The call had come into the office as an emergency, a regular client who owned a stable of horses. I had just been out here just a month ago to do some immunizations, but today was a different situation. I needed to be prepared for anything. Mr. Graves had been distraught on the phone, so I didn’t have all the details. I pulled my blonde hair up into a messy bun as I pulled onto the ranch. Dust kicked up around the vehicle. My windows were down and I heard Mr. Graves yelling at me as I killed the engine.

  “Gwen! Gwen! Thank you so much for getting here so soon.”

  I hopped out of my Jeep, grabbing my medical bag. “Where is she? How badly is she hurt?” I asked.

  “I don’t know what happened, but I think one of the coyotes got to her.” He was out of breath, looking like a mess, blood on his clothes and muck on his face.

  “Mr. Graves, I need you to take a deep breath and talk to me. How badly is she wounded?” I asked.

  “Her leg is bleeding something awful and her stomach has puncture wounds. She’s pregnant, Dr. Gwen. We can’t lose that foal.”

  I rushed with my supplies all the way to the barn. Mr. Graves had a small breeding operation just outside of Austin and frequently required my services. He was the only one running the place after his wife died seven years ago, and he practically had a tab open with my veterinarian business. I raced across the lawn, making my way for the barn. I heard the horse crying out. Neighing and whinnying for help. For something to take the pain away.

  But nothing could have prepared me for what I saw when I rounded the corner.

  “What’s her name?” I asked breathlessly.

  I heard Mr. Graves trotting up behind me, his lungs drawing in deep breaths. I kept telling him it wasn’t good to be a horse trainer, run a barn, and smoke. But, men would do what men would do, no matter what a woman told them.

  That much I knew from living in Texas all my life.

  “Ginger. Her name’s Ginger,” Mr. Graves said, panting.

  I walked over slowly to the side of the bleeding horse, trying desperately not to startle her. She wasn’t simply pregnant. She was very pregnant. And judging by the belly and the bulging teets, I’d say Ginger was about to give birth. Puncture wounds bled out onto the hay of the stall. Ginger’s back left leg was mangled beyond the kind of repair I could do in the barn. My eyes rolled over her, clocking every scar and every moot point about her body.

  Dilated pupils. Teeth exposed. Ears turned back. Hips bucking forward.

  The shock of the situation had swung Ginger into labor.

  “I need you to get on the phone with my office, Mr. Graves.”

  “Why’s that, Dr. Kennedy?” he asked.

  “I need you to get in touch with my assistant and tell her I need her down here as soon as possible. It’s going to take two of us to save Ginger and her foal. I guarantee it.”

  I pulled out massive gloves from my supplies and slipped them up my arms. I needed to help get this foal out of Ginger before I did anything else. As much as it hurt my heart to leave her in pain with her leg, the baby was what took precedence. Always. And as a veterinarian who loved horses as much as I did, that was always a monumental task. That was where my passion for horses began. Growing up in poverty like I had and being basically estranged from my family bred within me a lot of anger. A lot of hatred. A lot of self-doubt. But horses always provided me with stability. They reminded me of the grace and elegance life could provide within another if one simply accepted it. Horses were my therapy. They healed me as a teenager, and when I chose to go into the profession of veterinary medicine, I took my love of them and made them my specialty.

  But as I looked Ginger twice-over, I knew my specialty would be tested today.

  I gathered as much fresh bedding as I could and bound Ginger’s tail to make things cleaner. I saw the hurt and pain in her eyes as her puncture wounds continued to bleed. I slid my hand along her stomach. Letting her know I was there before I made my way between her hind legs. I carefully lifted her wounded leg, watching as she arched her back. Her tail swished more than ever, and I watched as she dilated.

  “Come on, Ginger. You can do this,” I murmured.

  The foal was breech. And when I saw the legs protrude from Ginger’s body, I gently wrapped my hands around them. I provided pulling to her pushing, trying to make this process as easy on her as possible. I heard Mr. Graves talking in the background. I heard someone running into the barn. I felt someone collapse beside me as I looked over, gazing into my assistant’s eyes.

  “Cara,” I said.

  Her eyes slowly panned over to me. “I saw your Jeep tear out of the lot, I asked the receptionist who called and I followed. What do you need me to do?”

  Cara was a vet student at my clinic. She was fantastic, confident but not so much so that she made mistakes. She wasn’t perfect either, but she was learning and took direction well. I liked her, and when she graduated she’d have a job with me. We had become friends, and a well-oiled machine. It was nice to have a partner in crime, especially in situations like this.

  “Stitch up the puncture wounds. Use as much medication as you need to.”

  “Got it Gwen.”

  She worked diligently as I helped Ginger slide her foal from her body. Her hind legs kicked and her tail whipped around wildly. I pushed my blonde hair from my face, feeling sweat trickle down the nape of my neck. Mr. Graves hovered. He peeked over from the other stall, not wanting to intrude but not wanting to leave us alone long enough to do our job. The straw that crunched beneath us was covered in blood and fluids, and the stained wooden stall walls around us soon grew cold and gray.

  Like the color of my eyes.

  “I’m done stitching, what do you need now?” Cara asked.

  “Come around here slowly and tend to her leg. Do what you can. We have to try and keep her alive. She’s going to need surgery, I know,” I said.

  I slipped my hands slowly into Ginger’s birthing canal. She was struggling to get her foal out, and pushing much longer would break its neck. I slid until my arms were elbow-deep within her, then I wrapped my hands around the top of the foal’s head. With each contraction, I pulled a little more. Pressed down lightly onto the foal’s head to guide him out. I rode each contraction. I closed my eyes and put myself in Ginger’s place, moving my arms with the natural presses of her body.

  “Her leg’s been practically gnawed off,” Cara murmured.

  “Which is why I said do what you can,” I said curtly.

  I watched Ginger lift her head and look over at me. Like she was studying me. Watching me. My head panned over as I pulled again, riding the contraction her body was
providing for us. Our eyes connected. I watched as my icy gray stare reflected back at me through the watery eyes of this beautiful mare. I held her gaze, and she held mine. She kept her head lifted up as I mindlessly pulled, settling into a rhythm to help her give birth.

  “Hang on. Please,” I whispered.

  The country Austin wind kicked up, wafting some loose hair around my face. Ginger’s red mane fluttered around her face as her body kept pushing. Overriding the pain she was in to do what she needed to do. I felt the colt inch further out from her body. I felt the front set of legs finally break free from the confines of her birthing canal. All I had was the head. Cara was bandaging her leg and the bleeding of her puncture wounds had started to slow.

  We just had to get this foal out of her.

  Her head fell back to the straw and I watched her give up. She heaved a heavy sigh and I felt her body stop its movements. I jumped into protective mode. I shuffled my body around and pressed up onto my hands. I looked over at Cara as she attached the last of the bandages to her leg, then nodded for her to help.

  “I’ve got her canal open. Pull, but gently. On my count,” I said.

  “Ready and waiting,” Cara said.

  “One… two… now!”

  I pressed against the walls of Ginger’s body and felt her heave with pain. She kicked her back legs, barely missing Cara as she wrapped her arms around the foal’s body. The baby slid out into the straw, covered in gunk we needed to clean off. The afterbirth came sliding out and I watched as Ginger relaxed, her eyes glazing over and staring off.

  “No, no, no, no,” I said.

  “You want me to clean--?”

  “Yes!” I exclaimed.

  I looked over to Cara as I dropped down to my knees, lifting Ginger’s head to place on my lap.

  “Yes, clean the colt off,” I said, calming my voice.

  I gazed into Ginger’s eyes as I pressed my hand against her neck. Her heartbeat was faint, but it was there. Her eyes blinked slower and slower, like she was slowly giving up on me.

  But I wasn’t going to give up on her.

  My life wasn’t perfect. In fact, it had been anything but. My mother had me when she was very young. Younger than even she wanted to admit. Many times growing up, she lied about her age. Or I lied about mine. Anything to save face to the Austin public that judged unwedded mothers more harshly than the rest of the world did. I hated growing up with her. The revolving door of men and the constant need for their attention and affection. When I was seven, she ended up getting pregnant again by a man she tried to force to stay. Forced to stick around.

  No matter the type of man he was.

  Whether she did it to combat the looks she got in public or whether she really was that desperate, I’d never know. She died three years ago or so in an accident or something. I really did care to know the details. I was raised by my grandmother. And when my mother had my younger sister, I thought for sure she’d pawn her off on MawMaw, too.

  Except she didn’t.

  I watched her raise my younger sister. I watched her do all of the things I wanted her to do with me. Playing on the floor and rocking her to sleep. Making her fresh foods and staying home in the evenings to have movie nights. While I was shoved off onto my grandmother so she could run around at night, my sister got my mother’s love. My mother’s affection. My mother’s attention.

  Emily had no idea how good she had it growing up.

  I grew up angry because of it. I didn’t understand why my mother wanted to take care of her and not me. I didn’t understand why my grandmother always told me to give my mother a second chance. Why should I be the one to offer that second chance? I was nothing but a child. A child who cried for her mother at night while she was out clubbing and dancing and drinking back the little money she did scrape by with. Why did I have to be the one to forgive her?

  It rifted my mother and myself. It rifted my sister and myself. And eventually, it rifted me and my MawMaw as well.

  I left home at sixteen and didn’t look back. I forged my name on documents around town until I found someone who would give me a job, and I scraped by on loans and scholarships through college. I became a veterinarian because I understood animals better than humans. I understood their hierarchy and why they did the things they did. The animal kingdom abided by a specific set of rules. Regulations and hierarchies that were never challenged, unless challenging them was part of the culture. Like a pride of lions and the ruler over them. I understood their rules. I understood the way they thought. Animals gave me answers. They gave me comfort. They gave me understanding.

  Something I never got as a girl growing up.

  Animals helped me. Horses became my therapy. They single-handedly taught me how to deal with my anger and the confusion instilled within me as a child. So, I wanted to repay them by saving as many of them as I could.

  “Come on, Ginger. Keep breathing for me,” I murmured.

  I heard Cara washing off the foal. I heard her trying to get it up on its feet. I heard her talking to Mr. Graves off in the distance as I gazed into Ginger’s eyes. I needed her to stay alert. I needed her body to settle down from its shock. I needed her brain to stop firing off a million miles a second so it could heal itself the way it needed to.

  “It’s okay. You’re going to be okay,” I whispered.

  “Ginger?” Mr. Graves asked.

  “She’s going to have to come back to the clinic with us. I’m not going to lie Mr. Graves, this is going to be a long haul. You’re going to be raising that colt alone.”

  He looked concerned but nodded his head. “I understand, do whatever you need to fix her.”

  “I will.”

  2

  Gwen

  I stuck around and showed Mr. Graves how to fix bottles for the new colt to nurse from. Cara stayed behind, calling a local orthopedic vet I knew to come get Ginger. Her wounds were outside my level of expertise. Sure I was an equine specialist, but I knew when I met my match. They would keep her for a few weeks after surgery, try to rehabilitate her. She wasn’t out of the woods, but I knew we had given her the best chance she would get.

  I put in an order with the rescue I volunteered at to get Mr. Graves a set of bottles for his own use, and took him into town and showed him where to get the formula I was using, then wrote down how to prepare it. I showed him that he could prepare the bottles in advance and put them in his own fridge, so when it was time to feed the newborn, he could simply grab one and head for the barn. The key was to get the colt with a mother that would take care of it. The mare didn’t have to feed the colt, but she did have to watch after it. Look after it. Which meant Mr. Graves had to stay in the barn for excessive amounts of time and take the young foal to the stalls so he could become acquainted with Mr. Graves’ other female horses.

  “And you know to call me if you need anything,” I said.

  “I might need a thing or two before I get the hang of this,” he said.

  “I know. It’s okay. Trust me.”

  Stoic. That was how most people defined me. A rock, above all else. I stood there, listening as the man sniffled and shook his head, trying to wrap his head around what had just happened. Then, I took out a card for the rescue in Austin, patted my hand between his shoulder blades, and slipped it into his hand.

  “If I’m unavailable, the rescue is there to help you. Give them a call if you need it,” I said.

  He whipped around and tossed his arms around me, squeezing me half to death. My eyes bulged as the old man pulled me in, and I patted his back lightly as my other arm stayed at my side. I didn’t like physical displays of affection like that. I enjoyed my personal space when it was unviolated. I stuffed down my reaction to push him away, knowing he needed someone to comfort him during his time of loss.

  “Thank you so much for your help,” he whispered.

  “It’s my job, Mr. Graves. Anytime,” I said.

  He released me and I gathered my things, then headed for my car. Cara was s
taying behind to put down fresh hay in the barn and talk Mr. Graves through everything one last time. Just to make sure it took in his mind. I tossed my stuff into the back of my Jeep and slipped into my car seat, and the second my ass hit the microfiber cushions, my phone rang.

  “Dr. Gwen Kennedy speaking.”

  “Hey Gwen, it’s Emily. You okay? You sound tired.” In all honesty she was the one who sounded tired. We didn’t talk a lot, not like most sisters did, but whenever she called I answered.

  “I’m fine, rough case. Needed to call in the cavalry and you know I like to handle clients myself.” I didn’t want to upset her with the details. She loved horses as much as I did. “What’s up?”

  “I just wanted to remind you about the fundraiser Saturday night, Lauren said you do have a dress, right?” Lauren was really Emily’s friend, but we talked at the rescue, she was nice enough if not a little too bubbly sometimes.

  “Yes, I borrowed one from Cara. I picked it up from the dry cleaner’s yesterday. I’ll be there.”

  “You better, the horses need us! I still can’t believe we lost our biggest donor. But I know with you rubbing elbows we’ll get the funding we need.”

  I rolled my eyes, rubbing up on people was not my thing. Animals were my choice for a reason.

  “Yeah, sure. Anything else? I need to get back to the clinic.”

  “Nope, see you then!”

  As I was hanging up she said something about wearing my hair down. Little sisters could be such a pain in the ass.

  3

  Logan

  “1.2 million is our final offer. Yes, the final one. The house is going to need some work. The air conditioning system will fall onto their wallet as well as a new roof. Not to mention the porch that has termites. Yes, termites. I’m looking at the report right now from the exterminator. A bill which your seller will be footing, by the way. They’ll have to replace the porch. The least your clients can do is pay for the bug-bombing. Uh huh. Yes. 1.2 million. If you hang up this phone with me, it’s gone.”