7. Angus
Chapter 7
Angus
It’s nearly midnight when the call comes.
“One of the mares is in labor. It’s not going right.” Tom sounds nervous.
I sit up in bed, already reaching for my jeans. “Which one?”
“Sable. She’s sweating hard and straining, but nothing’s happening. Been going at it for a while now.”
I’m halfway into my boots. “You call the vet?”
“Yeah, but he’s stuck on a colic case in Tangle Creek. Said he’s sending a locum, a new guy. He’s over an hour out.”
“Dammit,” I mutter. I think of the last time we had a breach. We lost both the mare and foal. I’m not making the same mistake twice.
“Call the locum back,” I tell him. “Put him on speaker. He can talk us through it. I’m coming.”
By the time I make it to the stable, Tom’s got the phone propped on a hay bale with the speaker turned up. The vet’s tinny voice barely rises over the rustle of hay and shifting hooves.
“…try to keep her calm. Heart rate matters. And keep your gloves on, please.”
The mare’s in bad shape. Sides heaving, nostrils flaring, coat dark with sweat. Her eyes roll white when another contraction hits, but nothing comes of it.
“She’s not progressing,” Tom says. “Not even a little.”
I crouch near her hind legs, watching the ripple of muscles go tight again, then ease without delivery.
“Damn it,” I mutter, running a hand through my hair.
“She’s stuck, isn’t she?” Luna’s voice cuts through the stall door.
I glance back. She’s standing there, hood half-off, hair damp from the rain. Her face is pale, but her jaw is set.
“She’s trying,” I say. “But the foal’s not moving. Could be a leg caught. Maybe a shoulder.”
“I’ve only done this once. Well, I helped,” Luna says as she steps into the stall. “The vet was there. He let me assist.” Her voice wavers slightly. “But I’ve never done it alone.”
“You don’t have to,” I say, rising to my feet.
But she’s already kneeling. “She needs help. I can try.”
The locum cuts in on the phone. “Okay. You’ll need gloves and lube if you have it. Don’t force anything. Just see what you’re working with.”
I grab the supplies and hand them to Luna. Her hands are shaking, but she gets the gloves on and slides a towel beneath her knees.
“Okay,” the vet says through the speaker, calm and steady. “You’re looking for front legs first. Let me know what you feel.”
Luna slips her arm in slowly. Her breath catches.
“Hooves,” she says. “Two of them. But they’re bent, I think. They’re tucked.”
“Okay,” the vet replies. “That’s a flexed knee presentation. It’s common. You’ll need to gently extend the legs forward if you can. Can you feel the head?”
She nods, eyes wide. “Yeah. But it’s crowded in there.”
“I know,” the vet says. “It’s okay. Let’s go slow. Try to get them forward, one leg at a time.”
Luna bites her lip and adjusts her position, carefully maneuvering the foal’s legs. I kneel beside her, close enough to feel the tension rolling off her body.
“You’re doing good,” I murmur. “Steady.”
Luna nods, her face creased in concentration.
Another contraction hits. The mare groans.
“I’ve got the left leg,” Luna says, panting now. “Okay. Now the right. Come on, baby…”
She shifts again, and suddenly, her whole body goes still.
“They’re straight.”
“Good work,” the vet says. “Now, when the next contraction hits, let her push. Support the foal as it comes. You’re almost there.”
The moment the next wave rolls through, Luna braces herself. Sable lets out a long, guttural groan, and the foal slides free in a wet rush, legs folding beneath her in the hay.
We both exhale at the same time.
“Oh, my God,” Luna breathes, collapsing back on her heels. Her hands tremble. “We did it.”
Her eyes are glassy, fixed on the small, steaming body twitching in the straw.
“I wasn't sure I could,” she whispers, turning back to me. “I thought I'd mess it up. I didn't want to hurt her.”
I reach out and place a hand on the back of her neck. Gentle. Solid. “You didn’t.”
She nods slowly, eyes still locked on the foal. The tiny creature lets out a bleat and kicks its legs, trying to lift its head.
And Luna laughs. A cracked, breathless sound that’s all relief and awe.
Then, as if suddenly remembering, she turns to the exhausted mare. She moves forward on her knees and strokes Sable's sweaty neck. “You did it, sweet girl. You were so brave,” she murmurs, running her palm along the mare's heaving flank. “Such a good mama. Rest now.”
Tom, still standing at the stall door, grins. “Nice work, Doc.”
Luna huffs a soft breath and leans into my side. Her shoulder presses into mine like she’s finally letting go.
And me? I look at her and know, without question, that this woman—nervous, determined, all heart—is someone I’d trust in any storm.
Tom heads back to the house while Luna and I stay behind to clean up. I scrub the hay and sweat from my body in the double sink. She does the same beside me, quiet but focused, her eyes meeting mine in the cracked mirror. Her cheeks are flushed, maybe from the heat of the stove. Or maybe from something else.
The fire crackles. The foal suckles.
And the barn suddenly feels like a holy place.
I sit beside Luna in the straw.
She glances over. “You okay?”
I nod. “Yeah. You were good.”
She shrugs. “I did what needed doing.”
“Still. You didn’t flinch.”
“Neither did you.”
I look at the flames. “You remind me of her sometimes.”
“Your mom?”
“Yeah.”
Luna gives me a look—half teasing, half scandalized. “Okay, so, not to ruin the moment, but did you seriously just say your future wife reminds you of your mother? Because I feel like there’s a rule about that in at least three romance novels.”
I huff a laugh. “It’s the biggest compliment I could give.”
She softens, her eyes going all warm and shiny in the firelight. “Yeah?”
“Yeah. She was the strongest woman I knew.” I glance at her. “Until you.”
Her breath catches, and for a second, the only sound is the mare snuffling softly behind us, the tiny wet-nosed foal curled at her side.
“Mom used to say this place wasn’t just about the land. It was about the people it could hold. The lives it could nurture. She believed in second chances more than she believed in comfort. Or convenience.” I laugh under my breath. “She once let a stranger camp in the hayloft for three weeks because he said his dog liked the way the barn smelled.”
“What happened to the stranger?” Luna asks, drawing her knees up to her chest.
“He got a job offer two states away, but the house he rented didn't allow pets.” I poke at the fire with a stick, sending sparks dancing into the night. “Mom couldn't bear the thought of them being separated, but she also worried about the dog being alone all day while he worked.”
“So your mom took the dog?” Luna's voice is soft as if she already knows the answer.
“In a heartbeat. She named him Toast—a golden retriever with fur the color of perfectly browned bread.” I smile at the memory. “That dog went from sleeping in a barn to claiming the prime spot in Mom and Dad's bed. Dad grumbled about it, but I’d catch him sneaking Toast bacon when Mom wasn't looking.”
Luna laughs, the same bright and unguarded laugh she gave Shay yesterday. And damn, if it doesn’t set me on fire.
I cup her face and lean in until my mouth hovers above hers, giving her time to move away.
She doesn’t.
So I kiss her like we’re picking up where we left off in the stables the other day. As if we never stopped.
She opens to me like she’s been waiting, lips soft and warm and eager. Her fingers curl into my flannel, hanging on for dear life, and I feel it—that same ache, that same pull from the barn days ago. Only this time, I don’t back away.
I deepen the kiss, slow and sure, my hands sliding to her hips. She lets out a soft sound in the back of her throat, and it shoots straight to my cock. I’m already hard. Already strung tight. But this isn’t just about need.
This is about her.
I lift her gently—God, she’s light but not fragile—and carry her a few feet away, far enough so the mare and foal can rest in peace, settling us into a patch of clean hay beside the warmth of the stove. She looks up at me like she’s scared I might vanish if she blinks, and something in my chest twists.
I kneel beside her, one hand stroking the side of her face. “Tell me to stop,” I murmur, even though my voice is already rough with wanting. “If you want me to, just say it.”
She catches my hand, pressing it closer against her cheek. “I want you,” she breathes, her eyes never leaving mine. “I have since the moment I saw you.”
That’s all I need.
My hands find the hem of her shirt, and I strip it off when she lifts her arms. Her bra follows, leaving her bare to the waist, skin glowing in the low light. Her breasts are full and heavy, tipped with pinky-brown nipples that pucker under my gaze. Beautiful. So fucking beautiful I have to close my eyes for a second to breathe.
“You okay?” I ask, even though her nod is already yes.
“Yeah,” she breathes. “Just… no one’s ever looked at me like you do.”
My hands still for a second. She doesn’t know what she’s worth. But I do.
Crawling over her, I plant my hands on either side of her waist, and she gasps when I lower my head. I press my lips to her soft stomach, dragging my mouth upward. She trembles beneath me, all tension and anticipation. I take my time, mapping her skin with my mouth, learning the places that make her gasp, the spots that make her shudder.
Goosebumps break out over her flesh, and she shivers violently as I trail kisses up her abdomen before moving to her breasts. A ragged cry bursts from her lips as my hot mouth finds her nipple, sucking and rolling it with my tongue.
“God, you taste amazing,” I mumble, moving to the other nipple. “But I want to taste something else right now.”
I flick open the button of her jeans, sliding them down her thighs with her panties. When I settle between her thighs, she goes still.
“Angus…” It’s a whisper. A plea.
I look up, watching the way she bites her lip and tries not to shake.
“Let me,” I say.
Luna nods. “Yes. Please.”
I part the glistening folds of her sex with my fingers, growling as she digs her fingers into my hair. Spearing my tongue through her folds, I lick her center.
“Divine,” I rasp, licking her again. And again.
I curl my tongue around her clit, lapping and laving before wriggling the tip of my tongue inside her tight sheath.
“Angus,” Luna groans, meeting my eyes. “Please.”
“Don’t worry, my little runaway,” I grunt against her slick entrance. “I’ll give you what you need.”
Gripping her hips, I pull her toward me until no space remains between my mouth and her quivering flesh. And I suckle her clit. Hard.
She cries out—sharp and sweet—and her hips arch off the hay. I anchor her with my hands and don’t stop. I find a rhythm, patient and precise, like I’ve waited a lifetime to learn what makes her fall apart.
And when she does—when she explodes in my mouth, fingers fisting the hay, breath catching on my name—I hold her through every second of it.
“Oh, God, it’s too much,” she moans, twitching and moaning as she comes down.
I place a final kiss on her clit before sliding up her body to claim her mouth, letting her taste herself on my tongue.
Her arms curl around my neck, eyes dazed and glowing. I brush her hair back from her face, pressing my forehead to hers. We breathe the same air for a beat. Two. Then her hand slides down, slow and curious, brushing over the hard line of my cock through my jeans.
I still her with a hand on her wrist.
“Do you, um, need… relief?” Her cheeks are flushed, her voice still rough from the moans I dragged from her,
My mouth lifts at one corner. “No.”
She blinks. “Seriously?”
I nod once. “Tonight was about you.”
“But—”
I hush her with another kiss. “You’ve given me more than you know.”
It’s the truth. I don’t need anything more than this right now. The taste of her still on my lips. The way she’s looking at me like I’m someone she trusts not to let her fall.
I help her dress again, buttoning her jeans and tugging her shirt over her shoulders with care. Then I shrug off my jacket, wrap it around her, and settle us beneath the wool blanket we keep in the tack trunk.
Luna tucks her face against my chest, one hand curled at my stomach, her breathing already slowing. “You’re warm.”
“Good thing, since I'm your personal heater for the night.”
She snorts, sleepy and satisfied. “You’re very smug for a man who just said no to a hand job.”
“Was that what you were offering? I thought you were checking for a pulse.”
“Oh, there was a pulse.” She laughs huskily. “A big pulse.”
I smirk. “We don’t do small in Montana, sweetheart.”
She lets out a sleepy laugh—a puff of air against my collarbone.
“I want to do this right,” I whisper against her hair. "You deserve more than rushed sex on a barn floor.”
Her body softens trustingly, her face tucked into my neck like she belongs there. Because she does.
But what if I can’t hold on to something this good? What if I’m not good enough and break it, like everything else?