BASTIAN
Nikko practically glowsas he directs the crew in breaking down the equipment. Most of it is stored away overnight for tomorrow’s events, but our instruments are stored in my studio.
Stone and Fox have already left for the farmhouse, and Finn is around somewhere. I swear my brother hasn’t slept a single night since the start of this festival.
“You good here?” I ask, catching Nikko’s attention.
“Of course. Go get some rest. I’ve got this handled.”
The walk to the barn feels longer than usual. I put it down to the post-gig adrenaline crash, but something’s gnawing at the back of my mind. I look at my phone. It’s past one in the morning. Way too late to slip into Taylen’s bed, especially since Elvis seems to ramp up his wake-up calls as revenge for the nights Taylen spends with me and gets a full night’s sleep.
That rooster is a dick, and I take full responsibility for every single dark shadow under Taylen’s eyes.
Before I head to the cabin, I check in on the cows. Martha and her daughter have been doing great, and something tells me we’ve got a few more impending births.
My suspicions prove correct as soon as I push open the heavy barn door. Miss Maple’s distressed lowing carries unmistakable pain. I find her in her stall, her sides heaving unnaturally as she struggles with what’s clearly a difficult labor. Next to Miss Maple’s stall is Poppy, also showing signs of early labor.
“Easy girl,” I murmur to Miss Maple, approaching slowly to avoid startling her. My hands find her flanks, feeling the unnatural positioning of the calf within. The way she shifts uncomfortably under my touch confirms what I already suspect—this birth will require intervention.
I pull out my phone and call Hunter.
“Sebastian?” Hunter’s voice is alert despite the late hour. “What’s wrong?”
“Miss Maple and Poppy,” I explain quickly, watching as Miss Maple’s legs tremble with another contraction. “Both in labor, but Miss Maple’s calf feels wrong. Positioned badly, I think. And Poppy’s not far behind.”
“On my way,” he responds immediately, and I hear rustling that suggests he’s already moving. “Keep them calm, try to get Miss Maple lying down if you can. I’ll be there in fifteen.”
The minutes crawl by like hours as I divide my attention between the two cows. Miss Maple allows me to guide her down, though each movement clearly causes discomfort. The familiar smells of hay and livestock surround me as I kneel beside her, murmuring reassurance while monitoring Poppy’s progress.
Hunter’s arrival brings immediate relief. His calm demeanor as he assesses the situation helps steady my own nerves.
“You made the right call,” he confirms after a careful internal examination of Miss Maple, which drew a pained sound from her. “Calf’s turned wrong. We’ll need to reposition before she can deliver safely.” His eyes find mine. “You good assisting? I can call my tech.”
“I’m good.”
What follows next tests the limits of both my physical and emotional endurance. Hunter’s arms disappear inside Miss Maple as he works to turn the calf, while calmly telling me what to do from the outside. Sweat soaks through my shirt, my muscles burning from maintaining an awkward position to give Hunter the best access.
Miss Maple’s increasing distress puts me on edge, but Hunter maintains a steady calm throughout, his movements never growing rushed despite the urgency of the situation.
“There,” he says finally, satisfaction clear in his voice as something shifts within Miss Maple. “Calf’s turned properly now. She should be able to deliver with just a little help.” His prediction proves accurate as Miss Maple’s next push produces hooves, positioned correctly this time.
But nature rarely follows convenient timing. Poppy’s water breaks just as we’re guiding Miss Maple’s calf into the world, adding fresh urgency to an already intense situation. Hunter and I exchange glances. This night is far from over.
Miss Maple’s bull calf emerges in a rush of fluid and effort, his wet coat glistening under the barn lights as he takes his first shaky breaths. But we barely have time to ensure he’s breathing properly before Poppy’s increasingly distressed sounds demand our attention.
The next couple of hours blur together. Poppy’s labor proves slightly easier than Miss Maple’s
Finally, Poppy’s heifer joins her new barn mate, her arrival drawing exhausted but satisfied sighs from both Hunter and me. We watch as both mothers fuss over their calves.
“Good work,” Hunter says quietly as he washes his hands in the barn sink. “They’re all healthy, and that’s what matters.”
“Sometimes I think I’m too old for this, and then I see miracles happen.” I shake my head, looking at the new mommas and their babies.
“You should get some rest,” Hunter says as he packs his bag. “They’ll all be fine now, but you look dead on your feet.”
I manage a tired nod, knowing he’s right but feeling reluctant to leave the new arrivals so soon. “Thank you,” I tell him. “For coming out so late, and for stopping me from spiraling into full-blown panic.”
“It’s what I do,” he says simply. “Call if you need anything else.” The barn door closes behind him with a gentle thud.
