His eyes catch mine. He nods. “You’ll be the first to know.”
I believe him.
“Goodnight, Wyatt.”
He nods, tipping his hat. “Doc.”
My heart flutters a little. It’s the first time he’s acknowledged me as the vet. I swallow back the smile that threatens as I climb into the cab.
Chapter Four
WYATT
The wind is already picking up by the time I reach the barn. I meant to come and check on the animals earlier, but it’s been one thing after another today, and with the storm moving in quickly, it seems that everything needs my urgent attention.
And with Travis gone for the next few days on a rodeo circuit, it’s just me. I’m probably going to regret even thinking it, but it will be nice when my brothers show up to share some of the workload.
It’s not that I don’t love my brothers and want to see them; I do. It’s that I know they aren’t going to like my plans to sell the ranch, and I’ve been avoiding the confrontation that will no doubt come when I fill them in.
Not that there was time to think about that now.
I don’t have long before the thick, grey clouds that have rolled in over the mountains are going to open up and start dumping the first real snowfall of the year on us. The air already tastes like snow. The wind holds the bite of ice. It’s been a whilesince I’ve spent a winter in Rock Creek, but I still know exactly what’s heading our way.
It’s going to be big.
I push the door open, the squeaky hinges groaning, reminding me to add them to the to-do list. The familiar scent of hay and horses meets me. I switch the overhead light on. It flickers a few times. There’s a very real chance the power will go out before the night is through. I double-check the old lanterns hanging by the door before I make my way through the barn.
“Evening, ladies.” I keep my voice as low and soothing as I can. Horses are sensitive, and I know they feel the oncoming storm, too. Hell, they probably knew about it before I did. It’s important to keep them calm.
Blueberry lifts her head, presenting her nose for a scratch as I walk by, but it’s the restless snicker from the far end of the barn that grabs my attention.
Oatmeal.
She’s pacing. Her tail is swishing and her flanks heaving.
It’s time.
“Easy, girl,” I say, stepping into the stall. “You’ve done this before. You know what to do.”
I have no doubt that the maredoesknow exactly what to do. It’s instinct after all, and she’s not a first-time mother.
Still.
Anna’s words weigh heavily in my mind.She’s an older mare; the risks are higher.
Oatmeal’s sides ripple. She lets out a sharp, anxious sound. I run a steady hand down her neck, hoping to infuse her with some of my calm. The horse is sweating already. Her muscles tense.
I can handle it.
I know I can. I’ve been present for dozens, if not hundreds of cattle and horse births. I know the steps. Hell, I was raised in this barn. Doing exactly this.
Still.
Outside, the storm is picking up. The wind whistles through the barn boards and something in my chest tightens.
You’ll call if Oatmeal goes into labor?
And my response:You’ll be the first to know.
