Part 8 (2/2)

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.”

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