CHAPTER THREE
LUCAS
Shoving an arm up cows’ vaginas wasn’t a traditional confidence boosting method, but it had done the trick for me. I was good at even the less palatable parts of my job. Checking the internal plumbing of a herd of heifers reassured me that there was at least one area of my life where I wasn’t a flailing mess.
I extracted my arm from the last cow. The moo that followed expressed gratitude and continuing outrage. When I let her out of the cow trap, she sidled alongside the dented metal for scratches.
‘I reckon they’re still acclimatising.’ I pulled off the soiled glove and dropped it into the waiting rubbish bag I carried with me at all times before I sunk my fingers into the cow’s thick gingerish fur. ‘Give it until they’re in season again, and they’ll most likely be good to go.’
Oscar, the island’s farmer, handed me a wet wipe. I might have had thick plastic protecting the skin from my fingertips to my shoulder, but my arm wouldn’t feel properly clean until I had a shower. A wipe would do for now. The cow huffed in protestwhen I stopped scratching under her chin, then she ambled off to join the rest of the herd.
‘We made their boat trip as calm as possible.’ Oscar’s Scottish accent was thick. I had to ask him to repeat himself the first few times he spoke, but he didn’t seem to mind. It was either risk incurring his wrath or nod along like I understood what he was saying. That wouldn’t fly during technical conversations on how to best look after his wide range of animals.
‘I’m sure you did.’ Whether it was a neurotic cockapoo or a herd of cows new to the island, all animal lovers tended to worry about the creatures under their care. It made me think Oscar was a good guy under his gruff exterior. ‘Sometimes they’re fussier about travelling than expected.’
Oscar nodded, rubbing a hand across the thick scrub covering his chin. His short beard was the same sandy blond as his hair, which blew around like hay in the cool breeze softening the glare of the midsummer sun.
‘Onto the pigs?’ he suggested.
I fell into step beside him as we marched over to the next section of his farm. One of the Labradors gambolling around us pressed into the side of my leg, head raised for pats. Oscar had a faint limp, but that didn’t stop him setting a fast pace across fields and hopping over fences.
We’d already covered the poultry; a motley crew of chickens, ducks, geese, and turkeys ruling over a slice of land that put other free range farms to shame. They’d clucked and quacked and croaked contentedly as I checked their eyes and beaks. Then we’d taken a look at the sheep, most of which were nursing healthy lambs who nipped at my fingers inquisitively.
All the animals were in good health, but my suspicion that the island’s previous vet had been half-arsing his duties was confirmed when Oscar told me his farm hadn’t had a visit yet this year. The farmer was capable of looking after his animalson his own, but nothing beat knowing there was a friendly vet nearby to call on in times of crisis.
I forcibly un-frowned as we walked towards the pig field, the smell of dung increasing. Any mistreatment of animals made me want to punch things, but a vet neglecting their duties was particularly riling. We were meant to uphold animal’s welfare above all else, not let them and their owners down when they needed us the most.
I resisted rubbing my face to clear the dredges of my grump, too aware of where my hands had recently been. It didn’t matter that the last vet had done the bare minimum. I was here now, and I would take good care of every living creature across the island.
Even the stinkiest ones.
The pigs snorted at the fence as we neared them. I reached over the sheep wire and patted their furry heads. They were a herd of Mangalitzas. Their woolly coats rivalled those of the sheep grazing in a field on the other side of the farm. The snouts snuffling at the pockets of my coat ranged from black to brown to dirty cream. I didn’t keep treats in there, since I didn’t need them to convince any kind of animal I was on their side. All they’d find would be my phone, which had been depleted of signal as soon as I lost sight of the village.
I stepped back from a pig particularly intent on investigating the zipper of my trousers and almost tripped over a Labrador wagging behind me.
Oscar chuckled. An unexpectedly soft sound from a man who hadn’t broken out a smile in the hours we’d been tramping around his farm. ‘You’ve got a real way with animals.’
Pigs barged each other out of the way to be as close to my knees as possible. All kinds of creatures reacted to me this way.
I grinned over my shoulder at Oscar. ‘It’s the reason I became a vet.’
Along with Aster bullying me into applying for veterinary school after I’d convinced myself I wouldn’t be good enough to get in. I didn’t think too much about how drastically different my life would have been without Aster. The chance he could have chosen someone else to befriend all those years ago instead of me made my chest tight.
Although shorter than me and impeded by whatever recent or old injury caused his uneven gait, Oscar swung a leg over the fence and climbed into the pig enclosure. With the potential of food on offer, most of my welcoming committee departed. I kept a hand on a cream-coloured head as I clambered into the field, glad Oscar was occupied with pig wrangling so that he didn’t witness how much I struggled to do so elegantly.
I spent the rest of the day checking piglets, horses, and the dogs who followed Oscar around the farm like friendly shadows. The only mistake I made was laughing when the farmer grumbled about the pygmy goats staring at him from outside the six-foot-high fences around the farm. Apparently, they were the bane of his life. Not ridiculously cute rubber-neckers.
I felt calm and confident when I left the farm. I couldn’t yet call Oscar a friend, but I’d talked to him all day and hadn’t made a fool of myself once. I’d done my job well and had looked after some of the island’s animals. Over the next few days, I’d make sure to care for any more of them that needed attention.
If I was capable of all that, surely I could have one conversation with Kit when I didn’t act like a hopeless arse.
CHAPTER FOUR
KIT
The door of Island Books clattered open, catching me in the act of checking the clock for approximately the hundredth time this afternoon. If my computer hadn’t agreed that the day was ticking along at the same sluggish pace, I would have assumed there was something wrong with it.
I didn’t usually wish away the hours I spent in my bookshop, but I didn’t usually have anything in particular to look forward to after work.
