Chapter 13
Chapter Thirteen
TIMOTHY
Two hours later, I slammed through the farmhouse side door from the horse barn, eyes still dragging themselves out of the dark. “She’s gone into labor.”
“Yes, we know.” Josh looked too tight around the mouth. Dad put a hand on his back, supportive. “How long do you think we have, Erika? Can we make it to the hospital?”
“Yes. Of course. It’s all good.” Erika’s breath hitched between words. “The hospital bag is in your car. You’re driving.”
“I meant…” The words caught. My throat felt too tight, like if I forced them out, I’d make it real. “Your mare is in labor.”
I didn’t add that something felt wrong to me. That the quiet in the barn wasn’t the right kind. I’d seen enough births to know in my gut when something was about to go sideways.
This wasn’t just any horse. This was Erika’s second greatest joy in life. She talked to the mare like it understood her. She also spoke constantly about how much happiness she got from simply brushing her out.
The room went still. Five people, mid-crisis, turned toward me like I’d just lit another fire.
“My horse is in labor too?” Erika said, her voice thinning. “Shit. I wanted to be here.”
My mom shot me a warning glare to demand I figure this out on my own.
“Ya’ll go to the hospital.” I pushed the words out, already backing toward the door. “I’ll stay with the horse.”
Josh scrolled on his phone. “I’ll see who’s on equine overnight call today. I can ask them to come out here as soon as they can.”
Please, not Dr. Green.
Erika pulled Josh into a quick, desperate hug. “I love you. If she’s in dystocia…” Her voice cracked. “Every ten minutes like that raises the risk of losing the foal. Or her.”
“It’ll go fine.” Josh blanched. But he wasn’t looking at the barn. He was looking at his wife with those statistics running through his head.
“I’m not in dystocia, Whiskey.” Erika kissed him. “We’re all good.”
“I got it,” I announced. “Josh you text whoever’s on call. I’ll be in the barn. I got Sof to sleep, so I’ve got to be here anyway. Mom and Dad can take Vinny with them to the hospital.”
A half hour later, the baby monitor was propped against the mare’s stall, its tiny screen glowing with the stillness of Sofia’s room. Asleep and quiet was good. No bad dreams yet.
I couldn’t stop looking at the monitor. I hated not being in the house. I worried if I blinked, something would go wrong.
Behind me, the mare thudded back to her feet again, hooves grinding into fresh shavings. She circled, tight and restless, with her sides quivering. I’d bandaged her tail, laid down clean bedding, done everything right, and still expected something to go wrong.
My phone buzzed.
Josh.
Another update request. Every ten minutes. Like clockwork. If I stopped answering, everything might unravel on his end too.
I typed back with stiff fingers. Still pacing. No foal yet.
Another contraction hit the mare, and she dropped hard, a grunt ripping out of her.
“I know,” I whispered. “I know, girl. Come on. Come on…”
I paced with her when she pushed back upright, matching her circles. My chest was too tight, breaths coming shallow and fast. There was nothing to do. That was the worst part. Nothing I could easily fix. There was nowhere to put my hands that would make this better.
Erika in labor. Josh waiting on me. Sofia alone in her room. The mare going down again. Too many things that could go wrong.
“What we got going on, Rye?”
I flinched hard enough that my vision sparked.
Relief hit so fast that my head went light for a moment.
“I thought you had a date with wine tonight?” My voice came out thin, frayed.
She shrugged, but I could see the exhaustion around her eyes. “I got the bath and cookies part before the call. Wine will have to wait. Josh asked me to come out since Dr. Tori was going into a colic surgery which might take most of the night and Dr. Green is out of town.”
“Erika’s at the hospital in labor and we can’t lose her favorite mare.”
“Who said anything about losing the mare?” She shrugged out of her scrub top to the undershirt beneath and pulled coveralls out of the duffle bag of supplies. The motion pulled my attention—against my will—to the bruises still blooming across her skin. They had bled into a more yellowing color.
She lifted her arms slightly, like she knew exactly where my eyes had landed, then swallowed. “They’re still there.” Her voice tightened for half a second before she forced it steady. “We can both take a good look at them later. Right now…”
I peeled my gaze off the damage.
“I need you to do me a favor,” she said, holding my eyes until I couldn’t look anywhere else. “We’re going to table all the hellacious shit this stirs up in both of us. Okay? We get this mare through this first.” She zipped closed the navy blue coveralls.
Another thud as the mare hit the ground again. My pulse jumped with it.
“Afterward,” she added, her voice dipping, something raw slipping through, “if you want to go back to it, then okay.”
I swallowed, throat dry, the taste of dread still sitting sharp on my tongue. “Okay.”
She stepped past me, her hand closing warm and solid on my shoulder, anchoring me. “This is one of those things I’m good at.”
For the first time in the last thirty minutes, my lungs filled all the way.
The mare lurched back to her feet, sides heaving.
“I need you up front,” she said, already moving. “Keep her steady while I check her.”
I grabbed the halter, trying to ground the mare as Gia pressed in behind. She worked fast, efficient, listening first to her heart, then putting on the plastic sleeve and reaching in.
“Foal’s alive,” she announced. “Reactive.” A pause while she palpated the unborn foal. “Not positioned right.”
My grip on the lead line tightened.
“Head’s back.” She exhaled hard. “Give me a second.”
The mare shifted, muscles bunching under my hands. I murmured nonsense, anything to keep the horse calm, while behind me Gia pushed, adjusted, worked.
Minutes stretched out. This was taking too long.
Gia finally pulled back, bracing her hands on her knees. Her breaths came out rough. “Damn it. I was trying to avoid this.”
My stomach dropped. “Avoid what?”
“I’m going to try one more time.” She went back in.
The mare groaned, a deep, guttural sound that vibrated up through my arms. Another contraction hit. Gia swore under her breath. “These contractions are brutal,” she said, voice tight with strain. “Come on, girl. Relax for me. One more time. Just—”
The mare fought it.
Gia stepped away, stripping the shoulder length sleeve off and headed for her bag of supplies.
Every worst-case scenario I’d been trying not to think about slammed forward. “Is she going to make it?”
She didn’t look at me, already drawing up an injection of something. “I’m giving her a relaxer. It’ll buy me time to get the foal’s head around.”
The needle slid in. We waited. Time dragged, thick and heavy. The mare’s breathing slowed, her body softening enough.
Gia moved back into position without hesitation.
I held on tighter, barely aware I was holding my own breath while she worked. Then—
“Got it.” Gia stumbled back a step, something like triumph breaking through.
I didn’t accept it as victory yet.
The mare dropped.
“Easy, easy. There you go,” she coaxed, already guiding. “That’s it. Keep pushing. Here it comes.” The foal appeared, slick and fragile and impossibly small.
“Daddy!” The word cut through everything.
I pivoted, heart slamming, eyes locking on the tiny monitor screen—movement, small and alone—and then back to Gia, to the mare, to the foal halfway into the world.
My voice cracked. “My daughter’s up. I’ve got to go get her.”
“I’ve got this,” Gia said, not even looking up, steady as stone.
Everything in me split in two. “I’ll be back,” I said, already backing away. “I swear. Give me a few minutes.”