Chapter 4
Saoirse
Isla:
:photo of sunrise over the mountains:
Isla:
Miss you to pieces, but the view does not suck.
Saoirse:
Indeed it does not. Miss you, too. Be safe.
I slid my phone into my back pocket, knowing Isla would reply when she could.
Probably tomorrow. Mobile signal was nonexistent where she was on the back side of the 12,000 acre Ardinmuir estate, and she didn’t abuse the satellite phone, though her messages did become more frequent the closer it got toward the end of her trek, when the lack of other people started to get to her.
I had to be content with her daily check-ins.
It wasn’t the same, but it was something.
And I’d learned to survive on scraps when it came to connection.
At least until she came back through in a couple of weeks for her next supply run.
It was early yet, and my first appointment wasn’t for another forty-five minutes, so I planned to catch up on some paperwork. Since I’d come up here last year to help Grandda out after he had hip surgery, I’d been on a crusade to drag him into this century with a proper computer system.
He’d fought me every step, but not because he didn’t trust the technology. Because he didn’t trust letting go. It was an uphill battle. But the vet techs were on my side. Probably because they could barely decipher the chicken scratch Grandda called handwriting.
I was finishing some charting when Emily popped her head around my door, her curly hair escaping from its ponytail as usual.
“Dr. MacGregor? Sorry to interrupt, but we’ve got a nervous horse outside. Mrs. Campbell just pulled up with Willow. Says she’s been off her feed the last couple of days.”
“I’ll be right there.” I grabbed my stethoscope and followed Emily through the clinic.
Aileen Campbell was a worrier, but I couldn’t fault her dedication.
She’d rescued Willow, a lovely chestnut mare with a white blaze, from a neglect situation last year.
The poor thing had understandable trust issues, and we’d seen a lot of her, mostly at the Campbell farm.
But last I knew, she’d been making really good progress.
I hoped nothing had set her back too far.
Outside, Aileen was already at the back of her van, speaking in hushed tones to her horse.
“Good morning, Aileen.” I approached at an angle so Willow could see me coming.
“Oh, Dr. MacGregor, thank you for seeing us. I ken it’s probably nothing, but I needed to be sure, aye?”
“Never apologize for being cautious.” I smiled, noting how Willow’s ears flicked anxiously. “Let’s get her settled in the examination stall, shall we?”
Between the three of us, we managed to coax Willow down the ramp and across to our barn. The mare’s steps were hesitant, her eyes wide and nostrils flared at the unfamiliar surroundings.
Once in the stall, Willow immediately retreated to the far corner, head high.
“She’s barely touched her grain for two days.” Aileen wrung her hands. “And she seems, I dinna ken, just not herself. More jumpy than usual.”
I nodded, keeping my movements slow and deliberate as I approached the horse. “Hey there, beautiful girl,” I murmured, letting her catch my scent. “No need to worry. We’re going to have a wee chat, you and I.”
Willow’s muscles quivered beneath her glossy coat, but she didn’t shy away as I gently placed my hand on her neck.
“Has there been any change in her routine lately?” I ran my hands along her sides, feeling for any abnormal heat or swelling.
“Well, the neighbor started some construction last week. Quite noisy. And I did try a new hay supplier.”
I nodded, continuing my examination while maintaining a steady stream of gentle nonsense talk to Willow, who was gradually relaxing under my touch.
I felt along her flanks and checked her gums. Her temperature was normal, and I didn’t feel any obvious blockages or tenderness in her abdomen.
The mare had relaxed considerably, her head lowering as I worked.
“That’s it. There’s a good girl. I suspect it might be the combination of the construction noise and the new hay,” I said quietly. “Horses are creatures of habit. Let me check her teeth to rule out any?—”
The barn door creaked open, and a booming voice called out, “Where is everyone this morning?”
Willow’s head jerked up, eyes wild with panic.
I tried to maintain my hold on her halter, but it was too late.
The mare reared, her head catching me square in the face with enough force to send me flying back against the stall wall.
Stars exploded across my vision, and for a moment, all I could do was survive it .
Breathe through the pain, force my body to move.
I’d learned how to keep going. I always did.
“Saoirse!” Emily started to rush inside, but I lifted a staying hand.
“I’m all right.” I was conscious. That counted. “Stay back. More people in here will rile her up more. Everyone back up.”
I dragged myself to my feet, ignoring how the stall seemed to spin.
Then I started all over with calming the mare.
It took longer than I wanted, and the coffee I’d downed before coming in this morning was threatening to come back up, but eventually she settled enough that I could lay a hand on her shoulder.
“There now. It’s all right. You’re all right.”
The mare quivered in obvious terror, but she didn’t shy away.
Drawing on every ounce of stubbornness imbued in me by the Scottish half of my ancestry, I stayed on my feet and finished the exam, because that’s what you did.
You didn’t sit down. You didn’t stop. You didn’t let anyone know you were hurting until everything was handled.
By the time I’d finished, I was satisfied there was nothing seriously wrong with Willow. Her vitals were normal, her teeth were fine, and aside from being anxious, she seemed healthy.
“I think it’s exactly what we suspected,” I told Aileen, keeping my voice low and steady for Willow’s benefit. “The combination of construction noise and the change in feed has her unsettled. Horses are incredibly sensitive to routine disruptions.”
Relief flooded Aileen’s face. “So she’s no’ ill?”
“No, but she is stressed.” I stroked the mare’s neck, pleased when she leaned slightly into my touch. “I’d recommend moving her to the paddock furthest from the construction, if possible. And perhaps mix the new hay with what you have left of the old for a gradual transition.”
“I can do that.” Aileen nodded eagerly.
“And perhaps some chamomile in her water? Just a bit to help take the edge off until she adjusts. We’ve also got a calming supplement that might help. Nothing strong, just something to ease her anxiety. Emily knows the one. She’ll get it for you.”
Only after I’d finished giving my recommendations and my instructions to our vet tech did I turn to face my grandfather, who hovered awkwardly in the aisle of the barn. His weathered face was creased with guilt, his bushy eyebrows drawn together in concern.
“What the hell are you doing here? You’re not supposed to be in until ten.” If there was more bite in my tone than I’d meant, I was blaming it on the pounding in my skull and face that was squarely his fault.
“My bloody hip is good as new. I’m fine, and there’s work to be done. No reason for me to have a lie about when I dinnae need one.” His face pinched. “Are you all right, lass?”
I was not, in fact, all right. There was absolutely no question that I’d have a black eye by noon, and maybe a concussion to go with it.
But I’d be damned if I’d admit it to him.
That wasn’t what mattered. What mattered was no one else had gotten hurt.
What mattered was staying upright, staying useful. What mattered was control.
So I strode past Grandda without a word, prowling back to the clinic and into the staff kitchen. Maybe by the time I’d finished treating my own injuries, I could trust myself to speak.
I filled two plastic bags with ice. Pain spiked bright and hot as I pressed the first against my cheek.
Good. A sharp edge to focus on. Easier than the mess of guilt and fear and generational pride waiting outside the kitchen door.
The cold sent a fresh wave of pain through my face before beginning its numbing work.
Grandda hovered in the doorway, his weathered hands fidgeting with his cap. “I didnae mean to startle the poor beast.”
“I know you didn’t.” I winced as I adjusted the ice pack. “But that’s not the point.”
“What is the point, then?” His voice had that defensive edge I’d come to know well over the past year.
I took a slow breath. “The point is that if that had been you instead of me, we wouldn’t be having this conversation in the kitchen. We’d be having it in A&E while they set your broken bones.”
“Pish. I’ve been kicked by horses before.”
“Yes, when you were forty. Not seventy-three.” I grabbed the second ice pack and pressed it to the back of my head where it had connected with the stall wall. “I came up here to help you recover from hip surgery, and I stayed because I’m worried about you.”
His chin jutted stubbornly. “I dinnae need a nursemaid.”
“No, but this practice needs a vet who won’t get killed trying to treat a nervous horse.” I met his gaze directly. “I’m not trying to push you out, Grandda. This is your legacy. But I want you to consider that maybe it’s time to step back from the more physical parts of the job.”
His eyes narrowed. “And do what? Sit about with my thumb up my arse while you do all the work?”
“No. Consult. Mentor. Share all that knowledge you’ve accumulated over forty-five years instead of risking your neck with skittish horses and bulls with attitude problems.” I lowered the ice pack, wincing at how tender my face felt.
“I didn’t come up here to steal your practice. I came because I care about you.”
The fight seemed to drain out of him a bit. He sagged against the doorframe, suddenly looking every one of his seventy-three years.
“I dinnae know how to be anything but what I am, lass.”
I knew that feeling too well. Of being built for one thing and terrified of what happens if that identity slips.
“I’m not asking you to be something else. Only… a slightly safer version.” I attempted a smile, then regretted it as pain shot through my face. “We MacGregors are too stubborn to go down easy, but we’re not actually immortal.”
“True enough.” He huffed a breath. “I’ll… consider it.”
“That’s all I’m asking.” I paused. “And for you to take this morning’s appointments so I can deal with this.”
“I can do that. And I truly am sorry.”
“I know.” Lowering the ice packs, I stepped in to give him a hug, pressing a kiss to his grizzled cheek. “Go on. The next appointment should be here any minute.”
With a gentle squeeze, he let me go.
I waited until he’d gone to hiss out a long breath.
My face hurt . Heading down the hall, I stepped into the loo and checked my reflection in the mirror.
Christ, I looked like someone who’d gone ten rounds and lost. But what caught me wasn’t the bruising—it was the familiar hollowness in my eyes.
That flicker of a girl who always had to prove she was strong enough. Tough enough. Unbreakable enough.
The flesh around my eye and the ridge of my cheekbone was swollen and already purpling. It was going to be one hell of a shiner before it was through. Damn it.
If Mum heard about this, she’d have an absolute fit.
It was a bloody good thing she was all the way in London, and I had absolutely no intention of seeing her anytime soon.
Not that I didn’t love my mother, but the familial expectations of her side of the family were far easier to tolerate from several hours away.
Rothwell-Penningtons were not supposed to spend their days in jeans and wellies with four-legged patients who didn’t know the meaning and importance of the name.
They were supposed to marry well and smile politely and never raise their voices in public.
But I’d never fit that mold, no matter how hard they tried to press me into it.
It was a point of particular contention that I’d always been far more a MacGregor, despite my blue-blooded upbringing.
Maybe that was a big part of why I’d always preferred my summers and holidays up here in Scotland, visiting my father’s parents.
Even after my grandmother had died too soon from cancer, I’d stayed close with Grandda.
He understood me in a way no one else in my family actually did.
So I’d stick around to make sure he wasn’t a danger to himself, whether he liked it or not.
Because that’s what MacGregors did. We didn’t run. We stayed. We carried what had to be carried, even if no one saw the weight.