Sisters Of The Craft: Heat Of The Moment Part 8

d.u.c.h.ess lifted her nose and let out a very loud moooo.

You'd think she was the first cow to calf.

Just because it's her first doesn't mean it's the first.

If you'd relax, sugar, this would all end sooner.

d.u.c.h.ess swung her head right, then left. But because of the head gate, she couldn't see the others. Didn't stop her from "talking" to them.

If you don't shut up I'm going to end you.

The cows s.h.i.+fted, huffed. I swear one even rolled her eyes. They were all named for the n.o.bility-d.u.c.h.ess, Lady, Countess, Marchioness, Majesty, Queenie, Princess, Victoria, Bess, Kate, and so on. Despite those names, they reminded me of a gaggle of housewives in a fifties hair salon.

I stifled a giggle at the idea of that image immortalized on velvet, then leaned my head against the warm rump of Her Grace for an instant.

"While you're at it, could you shut the door to the corral too?"

"Sure." The door creaked. "Good night, ladies."

Well, I never!

We were just trying to help.

The nerve!

You'll be so- The door closed. The comments ended.

I knew their dialogue was all in my head, as were the pithy retorts of d.u.c.h.ess. That the laboring cow huffed and glared in perfect syncopation with the remarks was most likely her response to my heightened tension.

I wished my mind would stop its running commentary in animal voices. But I'd been wis.h.i.+ng that all my life, and my wish was never granted.

"Could you bring some warm water?" I called. "There are buckets next to the sink in the milking parlor. Should be some soap up there too, if you'd squirt some in."

"Got it." A few seconds later the sound of water hitting the bottom of said bucket commenced.

I should have insisted that Owen get lost, but Emerson hadn't looked good. He was getting too old for this job, though I'd never tell him. Comments like those would only insure that he'd work even harder to prove me wrong and wind up with a hernia. Farmers were as stubborn as bulls. I swear the term bullheaded was coined just for them.

Unfortunately for Emerson, he and his wife had four daughters-all grown, married, and gone. Not one of their husbands was interested in taking over the farm, which meant Emerson would hold on to the place as long as he could, then sell it. Or he'd keel over trying to prove to me, or some other moron who'd said he should slow down, that he shouldn't, and his wife would unload the place so she could live in a condo on the lake. The farm that had been in the Watley family for so long that the road to the east had been dubbed Watley Road would be no more.

It was a common enough occurrence. Very few people of my age group wanted to be dairy farmers. Very few people in my age group had the stones for it.

In my family, my brothers-the twins Jamie and Joe-certainly didn't. At seventeen, they were strong and able and they did what they were told, but they also counted the days until they didn't have to any more.

My sister, Melanie, was the best bet for the next generation at Carstairs farm. She attended the University of WisconsinRiver Falls where she was studying dairy science.

I think my dad developed a permanent twitch in his right cheek after she told him that. He preferred hands-on learning to books, but Mellie had her own ideas. And as our mother said, "At least one of them's interested."

d.u.c.h.ess gave a low, annoyed moo-couldn't blame her, my mind had been wandering-and swung her head in my direction.

Get it out.

"Arm or calf?"

Get them both out of my a.s.s before I kick yours.

Funny how she sounded an awful lot like me. They all did. Because they were me.

"You okay?" Owen set a steaming bucket of water at my side.

Had I been talking to her out loud? G.o.d, I hoped not.

I glanced up. He only appeared mildly curious about the process and not concerned over my sanity.

"I'm peachy," I said as d.u.c.h.ess bore down again.

I'm sure I had unmentionable gunk everywhere. Wasn't the first time, wouldn't be the last. If I had a problem with gunk, I wouldn't be a vet.

I fished around a bit more for a hoof, a nose, something, found nothing, and withdrew my arm.

"It's going to be a while," I said.

d.u.c.h.ess stomped-once, twice, again.

"You'd almost think she understood you."

"Almost." I made use of the water.

Owen seemed as tired as I felt. It was after three A.M. Who knew how long he'd been awake. At this point I couldn't remember how long I had.

He sat on a hay bale just inside the stall door, leaned his head against the wall, and closed his eyes. "Do you ever get called to a calving in the bright light of day?"

"Not yet."

When a minute or more pa.s.sed and Owen didn't respond, I turned my head. His eyes were still closed, his breathing had evened out. I waited a while longer to make sure he was truly asleep before I crossed the distance and gently touched his too short hair. Spiky now, sharp where it had once been soft, the ends made my fingers tingle.

I drew back, then found my own hay bale and just watched him breathe.

Owen came awake, and he didn't know where he was.

What else was new? Lately, if he knew where he was that was cause for celebration.

He hadn't been dreaming. Hadn't heard loud noises and woken on the floor, or worse, in a corner or under the bed. He was in a barn, but not one he knew. The cow didn't look familiar either, but most of them looked alike to him.

"Reggie," he said, but the dog didn't appear, and unease trickled over him. There was something about the dog he should remember.

Owen stood with a lurch, then nearly fell when his leg shouted with pain and gave out. He caught himself on the stall and sat again with a muted thud, as everything came back.

The dirt. The kid. The cell phone.

Click. Boom. Then screams.

It wasn't until he'd woken in the hospital in Germany, and asked who else had been hurt, that he'd understood those screams had been his. He rubbed his leg where it throbbed.

"You're awake." Becca set a fresh bucket of warm, soapy water on the floor.

Had she seen him try to stand and nearly fall? As she didn't stare at him with pity, disgust, or even curiosity, he thought not.

"How long was I out?"

"An hour?" She shrugged. "Little less? Maybe more? Time drags in the dead of night."

She should try it walking around Afghanistan without a flashlight.

He needed more sleep. But these days, he had a hard time falling asleep and an even harder time waking up and remembering where he was.

Except tonight. Tonight he'd dropped off, slept without dreams, and while he had woken confused, he'd been less so than usual. He even remembered what they'd been talking about when he'd gone lights out.

"Why are all calves in Three Harbors born in the dark?"

She had her hands on her hips as she contemplated the back end of her patient. "Is this a riddle?"

"You're the one who told me that before I fell asleep. Did you answer and I missed it?"

"I didn't say they're all born in the dark. Just that they never seem to need me to help unless it's three A.M. We've got another hour, maybe two, before we're done."

"How do you know that? Something you learned in school? Something you've figured out since delivering a dozen or two?"

He leaned forward. He was fascinated with her.

He leaned back. Fascinated with what she did, he corrected himself. How she did it. Who wouldn't be?

In the field he was responsible for Reggie, had taken a few courses so that he could detect if the dog was overheated, overstressed. He'd also had to learn what to do for both-lots of water, ice, keeping the footpads and the belly cool, there was a reason a hot dog would flop into a mud puddle-as well as minor cuts, abrasions, stomach issues, and the like.

"I've yet to attend a calving that didn't take place in the dead of night. I've yet to deliver a calf at any of them before dawn." She spread her hands. "Which at this time of the year is ... six-thirty?"

"I'll take your word on that."

"That the calf won't be born until dawn, or that dawn is around six-thirty?"

"Yes," he said, and she laughed.

"I should probably..." She flexed her fingers.

d.u.c.h.ess snorted, stomped, and swung her b.u.t.t in the other direction so fast she nearly knocked Becca over.

Becca shoved her back where she'd been with a shoulder to her rump. "Stop that, or you'll never have it out."

The cow grumbled, but she quit moving.

"You have a way with animals. You always did."

"Hence the DVM after my name."

Becca inserted her hand where it had been earlier, closed her eyes, appeared to listen. Her forehead crinkled. "I can just get my fingers around a hoof, but when I pull-" She gritted her teeth, braced her legs and-"Dammit."

She stepped back and stuck her hand in the bucket of water, was.h.i.+ng with more enthusiasm than was probably necessary. Though maybe not considering where that hand had been. She paced over to Owen, head down, muttering, then to the bucket, then over to Owen again.

"If I don't get that calf out soon, I could lose it and the mother."

"Why are you whispering?"

She glanced at the cow, which was staring at them both. "No reason."

She laid a palm on the animal's side. "Relax." She stroked the heaving rump. "I haven't been in labor. I don't know. I'm sure it isn't easy."

Why did it seem as if she were answering the cow's questions? Probably because Owen was so tired he could almost hear them.

"What?" she asked.

"I didn't say anything."

"Shh!" She set her cheek against the animal's side, spread her fingers along the rib cage, closed her eyes again, breathed in, out, in. Then she straightened as if she'd been goosed. "They're stuck."

She returned to the rear end. "They're stuck." Joy sparked in her eyes. "Not one in there but two."

As dawn tinted the sky, twin calves teetered on spindly legs while d.u.c.h.ess licked them all over.

"They're beautiful," Owen said.

You're beautiful, he thought.

This was why he'd left. So she could become Dr. Rebecca Carstairs, DVM. It was what she'd wanted. What she'd dreamed of. What she was meant to be.

And if he'd stayed, she never would have been anything but his.

Chapter 7.

By the time Emerson arrived to do the milking, the twins were having breakfast.

"Two," he said as proudly as if they were his doing. "Both heifers. Thanks."