Chapter 13 Colt
Colt
The heifer's scream rips through the pre-dawn quiet like a chainsaw through silk. I'm buried elbow-deep in blood and birth fluid, muscles screaming as I fight to turn this backwards calf before we lose them both.
The Hendersons' barn reeks of sweat, fear, and the copper tang of blood. Same cocktail every calving season, but it never stops gut-punching me when they're in trouble.
"Easy, mama," I murmur, adjusting my grip on the calf's slick legs. "We're gonna get this baby out. Just need you to quit fighting me and work with me instead."
She bellows again, her whole body seizing with the contraction. I brace my boots against the stall and pull with steady, controlled pressure, riding her body's rhythm like I've done a thousand times before.
My hands are rock-steady. My head's clear as mountain air.
Haven't been able to say that in months.
The realization hits me like a sucker punch. When's the last time I crawled inside a bottle after a long day? When's the last time I needed whiskey to drown out the noise in my skull?
Can't remember. Haven't touched the stuff in over two weeks.
Haven't needed to, because when the darkness starts creeping in, I think about Lucy's laugh instead. About the way she looks at me like I'm worth a damn, even when we both know better.
The calf's hips clear, and everything happens fast. One more controlled pull and the baby slides free in a rush of fluid and pure relief. I clear its airways, rubbing hard with straw until it snorts and shakes its wobbly head, already trying to stand on legs made of rubber.
"There we go, tough guy." I can't stop the grin spreading across my face as mama turns, immediately starting the cleanup with long, purposeful licks. "Look at that. She knows exactly what to do."
Never gets old, watching new life claw its way into the world. Mothers who know their job even when it's their first rodeo. Makes all the three a.m. emergency calls and ruined shirts worth every damn minute.
My mind drifts to last week. Lucy beside me in the clinic, eyes wide as silver dollars while we delivered a litter of kittens. The mama cat had been in bad shape, needed emergency surgery, and Lucy had scrubbed in without batting an eye.
"What do I do?" she'd asked, voice steady despite the nerves I could see in her white knuckles.
"Just be ready. When I hand you a kitten, rub it with the towel until it screams bloody murder."
She'd taken that first tiny, limp body like I was handing her the crown jewels. The look on her face when it mewed for the first time... pure magic mixed with tears she didn't bother hiding.
"God, it's so small," she'd whispered. "So perfect."
"You did real good, Shortie. Better than most trained techs I've worked with."
The way she'd lit up at my approval, like maybe my opinion actually mattered. Like maybe I mattered.
I shake off the memory and check that the calf's nursing properly. The Hendersons will be over the moon. Healthy mama, healthy baby, another win for their operation.
But my brain keeps circling back to Lucy like a damn homing pigeon.
These past weeks have been... shit, I don't even have words for it.
Different doesn't cover it.
I actually look forward to work instead of counting down hours until I can escape. Look forward to her perfectly brewed coffee and the way she actually gives a damn when I explain procedures.
How she hums under her breath when she's filing paperwork. The way she talks to every animal like they're old friends, even Mrs. Patterson's ancient hellcat who'd rather claw your eyes out than let you pet him.
The change in me has been sneaky, like watching grass grow. But standing here with steady hands and a clear head, I can't bullshit myself anymore.
Lucy Reid has been quietly stitching me back together, piece by fractured piece, and I never even saw it happening.
Yesterday, she'd been bent over the supply cabinet hunting for gauze, and I'd caught myself staring at the curve of her neck. The way her hair fell forward like a curtain, exposing skin that looked soft as silk. When she'd turned and busted me looking, she'd blushed but held my stare.
"Looking for something, Dr. Mercer?" Her voice had carried that teasing edge that made my pulse quicken.
"Always looking, Shortie. Question is: am I gonna find it?"
She'd straightened real slow, gauze forgotten, color climbing her cheeks. "And what exactly would you do?"
"Guess we'll both have to wait and find out."
The flirtation had crackling between us all damn day after that.
Every time our hands brushed passing instruments. When I'd reached around her for a file, pinning her against the desk for just a heartbeat longer than necessary. The way her breath caught, how she'd leaned back into me like she wanted more.
I wanted to kiss her. Want to kiss her every goddamn day.
The wanting's become a constant ache in my chest, growing sharper with every smile she throws my way, every time she looks at me like I'm not the train wreck everyone knows I am.
But I can't. Won't. She deserves better than a burned-out vet who drowns his sorrows when the ghosts get too loud.
Someone whole instead of held together with spite and stubbornness.
Still, when she's around, the bottle stops calling my name. The nightmares stay buried where they belong. For the first time in two years, I sleep through the night without reliving Sophia's lies or Beau's cold dismissal.
Lucy's become my antidote to the poison I've been carrying around.
My phone rings, nearly making me jump out of my skin. I strip off a blood-covered glove to check the screen, and my heart stops dead.
Beau.
Two years of radio silence, and he's calling at dawn?
"Talk to me," I answer, skipping the pleasantries.
"I need your help." His voice sounds like he's been gargling gravel, tired and raw. Like he's been wrestling demons all night. "It's Darcy—"
"The Holstein orphan Lucy's been mothering," I cut in, jealousy twisting sharp in my gut.
Long pause. When he speaks again, there's something in his voice I haven't heard in years. Vulnerability, cracked wide open.
"Yeah. That's her. Look, I know things are... complicated between us. But Lucy said something about not letting pride cost innocent lives, and she's right. I'm swallowing mine. I need help."
The admission probably costs him his soul. Beau Blackwell asking for help is like watching the Rockies crumble.
But more than that, I can hear Lucy's influence in every word. Her gentle wisdom chipping away at his granite pride the same way she's been chipping away at mine.
"Why call me?" I have to ask. "Thought you'd been using Doc Morrison."
"Because you're the best vet in Montana, and we both know it.
" Simple. Honest. The way he used to talk before everything turned to shit.
"And because maybe it's time to quit being stubborn jackasses.
Lucy... hell, she might be young, but she sees things clearer than either of us.
Makes a man face what he's been too chickenshit to admit. "
"She's got a gift for that," I agree quietly. "Woman's dangerous that way."
"That she is." His voice goes soft, and I can practically feel him thinking about her. "She really goddamn is."
For a moment, we're just two fools who've been lucky enough to catch Lucy Reid's attention.
Not enemies. Not rivals.
Just two broken-down cowboys appreciating the same miracle of a woman.
There's something healing in that shared recognition, like acknowledging what she means makes the jealousy hurt less.
"I'm out at Henderson's place," I tell him, checking my watch. "Hour and a half out, maybe two. But I can call Lucy, have her bring stronger antibiotics in the clinic van. She's closer, and you know how to dose them. Should buy us time until I can get there."
"That'll work." He struggles with words that have been locked away for two years. "Colt... thanks."
"Don't thank me yet. Save it for when Darcy's back on her feet."
He starts to hang up, but something Lucy taught me about swallowing pride when it matters makes me speak up. "Beau? It's... it's good to hear your voice again. Even like this."
The silence stretches like barbed wire, filled with two years of hurt and stubborn pride and loss. Then, quiet as a prayer: "Yeah. You too, brother."
The line goes dead, but something in my chest unclenches for the first time in years.
Not forgiveness. We're nowhere near that yet. But it's a start.
A hairline crack in the wall we built between us, and for the first time since everything went to hell, I can see light bleeding through.
I strip off my other glove and dial Lucy's number. She picks up on the third ring, voice thick with sleep but immediately alert.
"Colt? What's wrong?"
Even half-asleep, she knows something's up. Woman's got instincts like a damn bloodhound.
"Nothing's wrong, Shortie. But I need you to do something for me."
I explain about Darcy, about driving out to Beau's ranch with the good drugs. She's already moving, rustling fabric, footsteps, keys jingling.
"I'm leaving right now," she says, no hesitation. "The Draxxin's in the locked cabinet, right?"
"Yeah. Take the whole bottle. Beau'll know the dosage."
Pause. When she speaks again, her voice carries warmth that makes my chest go tight. "Colt? This is good. You and Beau talking again. Really good."
"Maybe. We'll see how it goes."
"Hey." She waits until I grunt acknowledgment. "I'm proud of you. Both of you."
The words hit like a sledgehammer to the sternum. When's the last time someone was proud of me? When's the last time I did something worth being proud of instead of just surviving another day?
"Drive safe," I manage, because saying anything else might crack me wide open. "I'll be there soon as I can."
After she hangs up, I stand in the Hendersons' barn watching new life take its first shaky steps. The calf's up now, nursing strong, and mama watches with the fierce protective love that comes with the territory.
The parallel isn't lost on me. New beginnings. Second chances. The possibility that broken things can heal if you give them enough time and the right kind of care.
Maybe some things can be fixed. Maybe some breaks can be mended stronger than before. Maybe Lucy's been right all along, pride's just fear wearing a fancy suit, and sometimes the bravest thing you can do is ask for help.
The drive to Blackwell Ranch stretches ahead. Time to figure out what I'll say to my former best friend.
Time to imagine Lucy already there, fighting to save a calf she's claimed as her own.
Time to wonder if maybe, just maybe, we can build something better from the wreckage.
For the first time in two years, I'm driving toward Beau instead of away from him. Toward a future that might include both my best friend and the woman who's teaching us how to be whole again.
Maybe this time, we won't destroy everything we touch.
Maybe, with Lucy showing us the way, we can build something new from the ashes.
The sun climbs higher as I drive, painting the Montana sky in shades of hope I haven't seen in too damn long.
Feels like a beginning.