Reality smacks into me. This isn’t a playoff game, a last-minute drive with the weight of my team’s season on my shoulders. This is about the lives of two horses. Moonlight is here because of a drunken decision I made in a bar. And now her life and the life of her foal are in my hands. Panic surges as images of my dad flood my mind. The way he always seemed to know what to do when a horse was sick. But even he couldn’t save every horse. I remember the foal that didn’t make it, the quiet grief in his eyes as he walked into the kitchen and gave the smallest shake of his head in answer to a look Mama gave him. He was a skilled rancher.
What chance do I have?
Moonlight whinnies, the sound piercing in the quiet barn. Her body trembles and her eyes look wild with fear.
“Dylan.” The urgency in Izzy’s voice cuts through my thoughts.
My eyes shoot to her face. Her expression is expectant. She believes I can help, and somehow her faith in me is harder to swallow than all the times she’s told me to get out the way. I shake my head, taking a step back. “I… I’m sorry. I don’t know what to do.”
Izzy doesn’t break eye contact, her voice unwavering. “Every rancher has a first time they do anything, Dylan. Tonight is your first night birthing a foal. And we’re going to save them both. But for that to happen, I need to reposition the foal. It’s stuck. I’ve never done this before either. But I need you to keep her calm. Hold her head; keep her steady so she doesn’t make this harder for herself or me.”
I nod, gritting my teeth. I might be way out of my depth here, but right now, I have to help Izzy. “OK. Tell me if I’m doing it wrong.”
“You won’t,” she says simply, like it’s a fact.
I step into the stall, sinking to my knees beside Moonlight’s head. I reach a cautious hand to her neck, stroking gently. “Easy, girl. We’ve got you.”
Izzy pulls on a pair of long gloves, rolling them up to her elbows. “She’s going to want to stand when I start turning the foal. We need her to stay down, no matter what.”
I nod, my throat dry. My hands grip Moonlight’s halter firmly.
Izzy kneels at Moonlight’s rear, her hands already working with a confidence that seems unshakable. “I can feel the foal,” she says. “I need to rotate it.” She glances at me, fear in her eyes. Her mouth is a tight line of determination. “This is going to hurt her. Keep her down.”
Her hands push further into Moonlight’s body and the mare shifts beneath me, her legs moving like she wants to stand. I tighten my grip on her halter, keeping my weight on her. “You’re in the best hands, Moonlight,” I whisper.
There’s a flicker of surprise in Izzy’s eyes as she glances my way. “Flattery won’t save this foal, Sullivan. Keep holding her.”
I nod. “Yes, ma’am.”
“Dammit,” Izzy hisses a second later. “I can’t get the foal to turn. It just won’t—” Izzy’s face creases with concentration. She shakes her head. “Come on.”
“Breathe, Iz. You can do this.” The words neither of us say hang in the muggy air between us. There’s no choice. There’s no vet. No one but us. If Izzy can’t do it, we lose the foal and maybe Moonlight too.
Then, finally, Izzy shifts and her shoulders sag in relief. “Got it,” she whispers. “Get ready.”
Her hands emerge, quickly followed by a nose and a slick head. The foal slides free in a rush, bundling into the straw. For a heartbeat, everything stills. Izzy’s breathing is fast as she crouches over Moonlight, checking the mare with practiced hands. But my eyes are locked on the foal. Its coat is silvery gray with a black mane and tail. But it’s not moving. Not breathing. Panic chokes me. I move fast. Somewhere in the back of my mind, I remember how my dad worked a newborn foal, and I grab a handful of clean straw and rub it over the foal’s body.
“Come on, little guy.” My voice comes in a rushed whisper. “Breathe.” An instinct I didn’t think I had takes over. I push my fingers into the foal’s mouth, clearing a thick globule of mucus. Nothing happens.
Come on!
Please!
I keep rubbing the foal with the hay, a little harder now.
“Dylan…” Izzy whispers, the emotion breaking in her voice just as the foal jerks, its body twitching as it sucks in its first breath. Relief floods through me, a wave so strong my arms tremble.
“He’s OK,” I rasp through the lump of emotion blocking my throat.
Izzy’s mouth curves into a tired smile. “Good work, rancher.”
And damn if those words don’t feel like the best compliment I’ve ever had.
It takes another hour for us to settle Moonlight and her foal. Izzy delivers the placenta while I replenish the hay and water, adding fresh straw to the stall, making sure both mom and foal are as comfortable as possible. By the time we step out of the barn, the first streaks of dawn are painting the sky in brushstrokes of pink, replacing the pitch black with a dusky gray. The fences are no longer just lines in the gloom—they’re clear now, solid. Like the shape of something real is finally coming into view.
My gaze falls on Izzy. Watching her tonight—focused, fierce, unfaltering—it was magnetic. She saved Moonlight and her foal with her bare hands. She never flinched. And all I could think the whole time I watched her work was how badly I want her to stay. The truth is, I can’t imagine this place without her—without that fire in her voice, that grit in her step.
I’ll be leaving whether you keep the horses or not.
