“Fine, fine. Just saying. Storms clear faster when both windows are open.”
The foal came slow but strong, a slick miracle of legs and willpower. I cleared his airway, rubbed him down, and watched him blink his way into the world. When he stood, trembling, stubborn, alive, something in me loosened.
Cassie oohed over the baby, then said quietly, “You fix living things like most folks fix fences, no fear of splinters. How is he different?”
“Animals are one thing. I’ve trained for them. Austin is different,” I said before I could stop myself.
By the time we finished, the barn exhaled. Mr. Turner rolled in fresh straw, relief softening his shoulders.
“Thanks, Doc,” Mr. Turner said, coming around the corner with a bucket of grain.
“Not a problem. Just let me know if you need anything else, or if she tries to colic.” I climbed into Cassie’s truck, and we waved goodbye as his farm faded in the distance. Cassie pressed half a muffin into my hand. “You need sugar more than I do.”
I smiled. “You sure you weren’t born to meddle?”
“Oh, no. I know I was. That’s why I’m professionally certified,” she said. “And for the record, he looked like thunder this morning. Maybe try opening the window a smidge.”
“Whose side are you on?”
“I don’t pick sides,” she said, then added under her breath, “but I do like happy endings.”
Outside, the clouds thinned. The air smelled of wet grass and farm life. Everwood waited down the road with its picture-perfect awnings and neighborhood gossip, but I wasn’t ready to face Austin yet. I knew he’d be at the diner, sitting in his usual booth with his cup of coffee in hand, waiting for the coffee to do its job. But coffee didn’t fix the issue. It just fortified you to face it. No matter the outcome of today, the day wasn’t asking for permission. It was forging ahead with or without me. That much I knew.
Cassie and I left the Turners with dirty towels in bags and a colt learning to balance. The truck bumped along the dirt road, sunlight flashing off puddles.
Cassie turned down Main instead of heading toward the house.
“Wrong way,” I said.
“Alternate route,” she answered, innocent as sin.
I shook my head. There was no alternate route to the house unless you went four-wheeling through the forest, and it didn’t look like that was her trajectory.
She cruised past the hardware store where Carl had piled up apples in baskets like a Hallmark card, past Janet’s greenhouse blooming with yellow and orange mums, straight toward Ethel’s Diner.
“This is an ambush.”
“This isn’t an ambush. It’s lunch. An ambush would require more time. Also, he’s inside.”
As I’d figured. Through the diner window, Austin sat at a corner booth, shoulders bent over a mug, jaw tight enough to carve granite.
“I’m not ready. I’m still angry.”
“Readiness is a myth, Milly,” Cassie said, parking. “We do things and get ready while we’re doing them. Milly, he’s still human. And until you can say you’ve never messed up or made amistake, then he’s owed a re-try.” She squeezed my wrist. “Five-minute minimum. Six if he cries.”
I took a breath, opened the door, and stepped into the savory smell of hash browns and bacon. The bell over the door sang my arrival. Ethel caught my eye and nodded toward booth three.
Austin saw me halfway across the room. A look of painful reminders flickered over his face, like he’d rehashed the night. A small prick of pity hit my heart. He looked worn and tired.
Ethel intercepted me with two glasses of iced tea. “Sugar, he’s been in here for over an hour, nursing that same cup of coffee.”
“Can you bring him a new one and put it on my tab?”
“Sweetheart, your tab’s made of favors.” She winked and disappeared.
I reached the booth. “Hey,” I said.
“Hey.” He stood until I sat, then sat. A true gentleman, through and through. His hands gripped his mug. I pushed one tea toward him and kept the other. Condensation pooled under my fingers.
