It’s a good thing I have a shovel,she thought to herself.
The walk took much longer than the usual few minutes, and she was panting and shivering at the same time by the time she got to the barn. The door wasalready slightly open. She must not have latched it the last time she was out here, or maybe the wind had just blown it open anyway.
The inside of the barn was so dark that she could hardly see, even with the phone flashlight. She took a few steps in and shone the light around until she saw the shovel hanging on the wall. There was also a propane heater and what she hoped was a full tank of propane.
“Okay,” she said to herself. “I just have to find the flashlights and figure out how to carry all this…”
A sound came from the back of the barn, a rustle followed by a groan.
“Hello?” Hailey said softly.
She instantly wished she hadn’t spoken. This was getting to be more like a horror movie every minute.
Her instincts told her to grab as much as she could carry and get out again. But this was her home now, her property. And if something or someone had gotten into the barn…
Her feet carried her deeper into the darkened space before she could talk herself out of it. The weak light from her phone was swallowed up by the darkness and she could only see the wooden floor planks a few feet ahead of her.
When she had nearly hit the back wall, she heard another groan. Swinging the flashlight to the corner, she spotted what had been making the noises and immediately regretted her decision to investigate.
A massive black German shepherd dog lay on its side on the floor, its swollen belly rippling.
Terror shot through Hailey, and she was paralyzed once again.
But when the big animal’s eyes lifted to her, the expression on its face was so clearly one of fear and pleading that it may as well have been a human person begging her for help.
“Are you hurt?” she heard herself ask softly as she moved closer, her feet unfrozen as her fear took a back seat to her compassion.
The dog closed its eyes again and its belly clenched with another ripple of movement, and then small shapes pressed against its fur from the inside.
“Oh,” Hailey said, suddenly understanding. She probably would have known what was happening immediately if she hadn’t been so scared. “You’re going to have babies.”
Her fear shrunk even more at the idea of this living creature giving birth here.
She moved to the poor animal’s side and lowered herself to the floor. The wooden planks were so cold that it was almost painful to sit on them.
“I’m so sorry, little mama,” she told the dog. “I know this isn’t a nice place to have your babies.”
The thick black tail thumped once against the floor, as if the dog knew she was with a friend now.
Hailey grabbed her phone and pulled up Ransom’s contact, but the call wouldn’t go through.
She pulled it away from her face and looked at the screen.
No service.
That’s okay,she told herself.You’re just going to have to handle this on your own.
She expected to fall to pieces, but instead she found herself feeling very, very calm.
Hopping back to her feet, she used her phone flashlight to scan the barn. There was an old canvas feedbag nearby. She grabbed it, shaking the dust off it before looking around a little more. The only other thing she could find of use was a couple of rags by the toolbox. She grabbed them and hurried back to the dog, whose belly was rippling again.
“It’s okay,” Hailey said as soothingly as she could. “You’re doing really well.”
It was kind of a shame that her only experience with childbirth was the scenes she’d acted in onRidley Hospital. Most of them had consisted of a lot of encouraging talk, ending with an exclamation ofhe’s beautiful.She was pretty sure all that was going to be useless here. But she definitely knew it was too cold in the barn, and anything she could do to help with that would be a good idea.
That means I have to touch her,a little voice whispered fearfully in the back of her head. But somehow, the voice seemed small and far away.
Hailey focused on the dog’s face and reminded herself of those soulful eyes.
