“So,” Mom says, resting her elbows on the island counter as she sits on a stool. “What made you two finally go for it? You’ve been friends for so long.”
I grit my teeth. Great, just the line of questioning we need. Cora and I glance at each other, each trying to read the other’s mind. I open my mouth, but nothing comes. “I guess we just realized …” Cora starts, her eyes still searching mine, “that there was more than friendship there.”
My heart almost stops. I know this is what we’re supposed to be doing, but after waking up tangled together this morning, that almost-kiss, and thenthis? “Yeah,” I agree, my voice a bit hoarse.
“Well, a relationship with a foundation of friendship is always a good thing,” Mom says knowingly. “I think this is meant to be.” She beams, glancing between us.
If only I could tell Cora how much I agree with her.
Chapter fifteen
Cora
It’spast6p.m.,and I’m closing up the clinic for the night. Everyone else has already gone down to the mess hall or home, but I had a ton of info to log into the computer that I wanted to get done before calling it a day. I glance at the clock, knowing that Theo, Addison, and Cruz are most likely already eating dinner. I could probably make it in time to eat with them, but I’d also wanted to check on the very pregnant mare in the horse barn before heading home for the day.
For a moment, I consider just heading to dinner. The mare can wait for tomorrow. But something in the back of my mind tells me I should check on her. I’d been down to the barn earlier in the day, and while her vitals all seemed good, the mare had just been acting fidgety, uncomfortable. I know I’ll sleep better tonight if I just double check on her before heading home.
I grab my jacket from the hook by the door and set off for the horse barn. We don’t typically have as many horse births on Thatcher Ranch. Maybe one or two per year depending onif the ranch needs more or if Tate wants to sell them to nearby farms or friends. Cows are much more common, cattle being the ranch’s main source of income.
The walk only takes about five minutes, and a number of horses whinny in greeting as I enter the barn, probably hoping for a second dinner.
“Sorry, no snacks,” I call out as I make my way down the aisle to the very last stall. It’s a big one, filled with hay and straw since Mabel is due to give birth any time now. She neighs when she sees me, stomping her hooves and swishing her tail.
“Hey, honey,” I coo, reaching over the fence to gently pat her neck. She takes the petting but then quickly flickers her neck back over the railing to pace around her giant stall. I frown, watching her. She’s uncomfortable. Stressed. And that can’t mean anything good.
Damn.
I consider calling Dr. Ramirez. But she’d checked Mabel out today as well. And it’s not like there’s anything obviously wrong. We could end up waiting around all night for nothing. Besides, she’s already home with her family. It’s not likeI’vegot kids to entertain waiting for me.
As Mabel continues to puff and pace, I realize I probably should have brought down the mobile ultrasound machine. It’s the only thing besides looking at her that will give me any information on her status. A decision made, I trudge back up to the clinic, grab the mobile ultrasound—a laptop-shaped machine with a small ultrasound wand attached by a cord—and make my way back to the horse barn.
I set up the machine, entering Mabel’s stall and trying to calm her down and keep her still while I run the wand along the underside of her belly. At first, everything seems normal. I can see the foal’s heartbeat, and while it looks a bit elevated, it’s still in normal range. But as I dig deeper, I frown. The foalis definitely descended, definitely ready to be born. It could happen at any time. The only problem? It isn’t in the correct position. Foals are born front feet first, as if diving. But this foal is flipped fully around, facing the wrong way.
I bite my lip, continuing to move the ultrasound wand around. Maybe I’m wrong and the foal isn’t as close to being born as I’d thought. I certainly hope so.
But that hope is immediately dashed as Mabel jerks away from me, paces a few times, then lies down.
I watch her, jaw set. “Shit, shit, shit,” I mumble under my breath.
Horses don’t sit often. They don’t sleep lying down, they don’t rest that way. They really only do it for fun, when trying to clean themselves, and when giving birth.
And when Mabel starts rolling, that cinches it for me.
She’s in labor, and her foal isn’t ready at all.
Suddenly my phone buzzes in my back pocket, startling me from my panic. I reach for it, seeing Theo’s name light up the screen. I glance at the time. It’s nearly 7 p.m. He’s probably wondering where I am. After all, we rode in to work together today.
I answer it with a stiff, “Hey.”
“Hey, where are you? I saved you a sandwich for dinner.”
My heart tugs momentarily at the sweet gesture. “Down at the horse barn,” I say. “One of the mares is in labor, and …” I trail off. I consider telling him to just go home without me. I don’t think anyone has moved into my cabin yet, so I can always crash there for the night.
“You seem stressed,” Theo gleans. “Everything okay?”
I sigh. “It’s not going well. The foal doesn’t look like it’s positioned correctly.”
“Shit,” Theo says.
