I hate the idea of lying to Wes, but I definitely hate the idea of telling him I'm sleeping with his sister even more.
Though, I haven’t slept with her. Yet.
I scrub my hand over my face, trying to rid myself of all the images suddenly being conjured up in my imagination.
Quinn naked and bent over my couch.
Quinn spread out on the kitchen island with my head buried between her thighs.
Quinn in my shower, breathlessly panting my name.
Jesus Christ.
I shift in the saddle, adjusting as discreetly as I can as Wes rides up beside me.
“We’ve got a cow over there that’s been straining since we got here—going on thirty minutes now,” he says, nodding toward the east side of the pasture. “She’s getting agitated.”
“You think there’s something wrong?”
He squints at the sun trying to break through the clouds that have remained since this morning. “Not sure, but since we’ve got a vet on the premises...”
I nod, already pulling out my phone. “I’ll call her.”
Quinn promises she’ll hurry, and I press my heels into June’s sides to ride out with Wes.
We need to get a head halter on her before Quinn gets here. We’ll have to go slow—doing an exam in the pasture during labor’s risky. But if she’s been straining too long, we might not have a lot of time.
Quinn comes galloping up nearly twenty minutes later. She slows when she spots us, dismounts, and lets Cash graze beside the other two horses.
I jog over and grab her vet kit for her.
“Any progress?” she asks, already scanning the cow.
I shake my head. “Nothin’. I tried to examine her, but I can’t feel the calf at all. Something’s not right.”
She gives me a nod, face impassive as she approaches the laboring cow.
“Has she calved before?” she asks, slipping the stethoscope into her ears. Her brow pinches slightly, and I can practically see her brain turning over possibilities.
“Yeah. This is her third. She’s never had issues before.”
Thank God I have the memory for this stuff. Some ranchers have to dig through logs or check a computer. But I know this herd like the back of my damn hand.
I hold my breath while Quinn presses the stethoscope to the left side of the cow’s chest and listens.
“She’s tachycardic.”
Wes frowns.
“Layman’s terms, please?” I say.
“Her heart’s beating faster than it should be—could be pain, stress, or something more serious. Glove?”
I step forward and help her pull on the long-sleeved glove, tugging it all the way to her shoulder. She holds out her hand, and I squeeze a big glob of lube onto it.
“Thanks.”
I wink at her and step back to give her space.
