6. PRESTON
Chapter six
PRESTON
WHAT THE ACTUAL FUCK
I look at the shirt hanging on the back of my bathroom door and contemplate throwing it on under my scrub top for the third time. But it’s warm enough today that I’d sweat right through it, and what I really should do is wash it and take it back to Dean. But it smells like him, and now my small apartment above the clinic does, too. I used a wet cloth to clean the splattering of apple pie from it, but it’s not clean. The doorbell chimes for the clinic downstairs. Shit. I’m out of time. You would think with my apartment above the vet clinic, I’d never be late, but as it turns out, it’s convinced my brain that the extra taps on the snooze button are okay because I’m just one stairwell away from work.
The bell chimes again, and I take the stairs two at a time, jog through the narrow hallway past the exam rooms, surgery spaceandgrooming area, and swing open the door to the front waiting room.
The blinds are down on the windowsandthe shade is closed tight on the door, but I grew up in this clinic, so navigating the space in the dark is a breeze.
“Good morning, Mr. Thomas,” I say, unlocking the clinic door and opening it for him to pass. Light floods the space. It’s going to be another warm day. “What can I help you with today?” I ask, turning the closed sign to open and adjusting the window blinds.
Mr. Thomas holds up the carrier.
“I think I’m allergic,” he says.
“To Fluffy?” I ask, trying not to laugh because not only has Mr. Thomas had Fluffy, his pure-white Ragdoll, for almost a decade, but he’s also currently standing in my clinic, in fur-covered clothes with no signs of allergy at all.
“Yeah.”
“You’ve had him for seven years, so the chances of you being allergic aren’t very high. I mean, I know that some people can develop allergies suddenly, but what makes you think you’re allergic to Fluffy now?” I ask, moving behind the desk and switching the laptop on.
“I have just been waking up all itchy. Oh, I’ve been sneezing a lot, too. Ahhh, choo,” he replies with an obvious fake sneeze. Mr. Thomas doesn’t have allergies. That’s the excuse he uses to drop off Fluffy when he plans to visit his daughter out of state. We offer boarding services, but for a fee, and since he retired, he doesn’t have a lot of money. His pride gets in the way of just asking if I can watch Fluffy, so we play this little game every couple of months.
“That is a shame. Okay, well, pass her over. We’ll see if we can re-home her. Maybe the Collins family would like a new pet; they said goodbye to Hoppy number five just the other day.”
“You can’t give Fluffy to the murder twins,” he declares, and I step around, collect the carrier, and set it on the counter. Fluffy is sound asleep inside, completely unfazed by our theatrics. “How about you just keep her for a littlewhile,maybe it’s a temporary thing. I’ll probably be fine in a few days, a week, I reckon, tops.”
“You think you’ll be cured of your allergy after a week?”
“Yeah, I reckon a week. I’ll see Doctor Green for something. I’m sure it will only take a week. Maybe two.”
“I guess I could watch her for a week or two, see how you go.”
“Oh, that would be great, Doc Knight. I’ll call back in about a week to pick her up.”
“You mean if you get better, you will.”
“Yeah. Umm, if I get better.”
“No problem, Mr. Thomas,” I reply, and he comes over to the carrier, leans right up against the caged door, and tells Fluffy to “be good, daddy will come get you in a week.”
No sneezing, no scratching, nothing. I roll my eyes, and once he’s out the door, I open the carrier and lift Fluffy out.
She nudges my chin with her head, rubbing against the light scruff of my three-day-old shave.
“Is your daddy going on a holiday without you again?” I ask her. She meows her reply, and I carry her back through theclinic,and up the stairs to my apartment.
“I’ll bring you some food soon,” I tell her, placing her down on the scratching post I installed the last time she came to stay. She stretches up on the post, then curls up in one of the hammocks and goes to sleep. The doorbell chimes again. Why did I decide I needed to install a speaker for it up here, too? “Well, Fluffy, it looks like it’s going to be a busy day.”
I’m not wrong either. TheStaple’sbird is pulling feathers again. The murder twins asMr. Thomas, and if I’m being honest, half the town calls them, came in to ask if turtles make good pets.Thankfully,theirmother shook her head behind them, so I told them that they make terrible pets, they bite and smell and poop all over the place, I said, and it stirred a little joy inside me when they scrunched up their noses and said “gross” in unison.
“I actually don’t have any pets on offer right now, but if something comes up, I’ll give your mom a call,” I tell them, and she mouths, “Thank you,” before taking both the boys’ hands.
“Come on, kids.You heard the vet,no petsavailable.Come on, I’ll get you milkshakes.”
They seem happy enough to be getting those over Hoppy number six. I duck out the back to check on the three puppies, two bunnies, andparrotout the back waiting to be rehomed.
“Sorry, guys, but trust me, I’m doing you a favor. We’ll get you all good homes, promise.”
Speaking of good homes, I have to pop into the Beaker Brothers ranch after work and check on Loki and one of the dairy cows that’s due to give birth pretty soon. Just the idea that I’ll see Dean brings a smile to my lips. I really had no idea what I was going to do with Loki if he had said no. A skittish horse is hard enough to deal with, but one that’s also deaf and pretends to die whenever you get nearit,that’sa whole other barrel of monkeys.
My phone chimes, and I grab it from the shelf behind the counter and open up the message. I see Loki right away. He’s standing in a field of grass. I press the play button. He trots and seems happy enough with the other horses. I wonder how Atlas managed to get close enough to film this.
Atlas’s voice comes over softly. “See, with the other horses he’s fine, and I managed to stay in his line of sight as I walked back here, so he knew I was here the whole time, and look, he’s fine.”
He zooms in on Loki, and I smileseeinghim so free, so happy. Then I spot the red and white polka dot dress through the trees behind him, and when the woman comes into sight, Loki stiffens and falls to the side just like he did when I first touched him.
“Shit,” Atlas says as the woman screams and the other horses spook and run away. The camera jostles, trees and ground and fence posts fly by as he jogs over to check on Loki.
“He’s fine,” he calls to the woman as the camera settles on Atlas’s boots on the grass, then he brings it up to look into the camera.
“Okay, so we aren’t there yet, but it’s a start. Isn’t it, boy?” he asks, panning the screen to Loki’s head resting still in the grass, eyes wide and unblinking. Atlas runs his hand over the side of her head. “She’s gone. It’s okay, boy.It’s just me,” he says,and thenLoki shakes his head, and Atlas steps back as he stands and then trots off to the other horses like it never happened.The sky is dark off on the horizon, astorm’scoming in.The camera pans back to Atlas.
“See, totally fine,” Atlas says with a smile, and the screen goes black.
Ishoota message to him.
PRESTON: Looks like progress. I’ll be there in about twenty.
I receive athumbs upemoji back a few secondslateand am about to close up the clinic and head over to Beaker Brothers when a young girl comes strolling through the door.
“I’m sorryIwas just closing up,” I say, shutting the door to the back room. “Is it urgent?”
“Are you Preston Knight?”
“Yep, Dr. Knight, Preston, the vet. I’ll answertoany, take your pick.”
“You’re Preston Knight?” she asks again, like I didn’t just confirm exactly that a second before.
“Sure am. What can I help you with?”
“I need your hair,” she says.
“I’m sorry, why?”
“So I can collect your DNA,” she replies, like it’s the most obvious thing in the world. “Can you make it quick?” she asks, canting her head over her shoulder to check for someone.
“Why?”
“To check it against mine. This is youright?” she asks, pulling an old Polaroid photo from her backpack and holding it up. It’s a photo of Isabel and me fromseniorprom. “The name on the back says Preston Knight, and it looks like you, sort of.”hernose scrunches up, and she tilts her head a little. “I mean, you’re older now. Your hair is shorter, but it’s you, right?”
My heart is pounding as the gears slowly begin to turn in my mind. I contemplate the reasons this girl, thischildcould be in here asking for DNA, holding a picture of Isabel and me as she stares at me with Isabel’s eyes and my chestnut brown hair.
“There’s no way that I’m… that you’re…”
“My dad?”
I nod because no words will come.
“That’s what the test is for,” she says, checking behind her again. “Look, I don’t have time for this. Mom doesn’t know I’m in here,” she says, rushing forward, pulling a chunk of my hair with a pinch. “I’ll let you know,” she says, running out of the clinic.
What the fuck was that?
I’m too shocked to move, to go after her, to do anything. My mind is still racing. No way could she be mine. Isabel and I had sex, sure, but we ended things in high school. Far too long ago to be her father, surely. She’s what, ten, eleven? I try to replay my last conversation with Isabel, our break-up conversation, again in my mind, but it was so long ago that the details are a little blurry.
I remember she’d been crying; she wanted me to stay in Bellerelle, take a job at her daddy’s farm, get married, and start a family. She said she didn’t want to wait. No, she said she couldn’t wait. Couldn’t, not didn’t want to. Was she trying to tell me then? No. If shewaspregnant, she would have just said so. Wouldn’t she?
I rub the spot where the girl with Isabel’s eyes yanked a few strands of my hair free.
She’s wrong. She has to be.
My phone chimes, and I’m pulled out of my spiraling thoughts. It’s Atlas.
ATLAS: Sounds good. You can check onDaisy,her labor has just started.
I shake away the thoughts of the girl with Isabel’s eyes and head for the van. Daisy’s a heifer, so this is her first time giving birth. She’s only about one and a half, and we want to be sure we keep an eye on her. Last I checked, she was looking to have a decent-sized calf for her first run at itandso many things can go wrong.
I pull into the ranch, my mind still reeling from earlier, but as I step out of the van, a cold breeze sweeps over me, and my attention moves to the darkening sky in the distance. Shit, a storm’s coming. One of the doors on the milking barn slams closed and then swings open again.
“They’re getting the animals away,” Sally-May calls from the porch of the main house. I jog over to the milking barn and check inside, but it’s empty. I pull the door closed and latch it, adding the brace plank they keep beside it for wild weather, then head down towards the right paddocks.
Atlas is pushingclosedthe stable doorswhenI arrive.
“They’re all away. The guys are down with Connor; they could probably use a hand,” he calls, and I head that way.
Cows are smarter than people give them creditfor,they’ll often herd together, looking for shelter from storms, so it’s no surprise to me when I see the large barn doors wide open and the full head of dairy cows, and one quirky donkey, inside lying on straw beds. Conner is coaxing the last of them in with the others.
“Do you need any help?” I yell, and he points toward themini barnthat sits at the back of the cuddle cove area. I asked Connor once why it was called a cove when it’s not even that close to Beaker River or the new pool, and he laughed and said they took a vote between cave, cove, and commune. I’m kind of glad they didn’t choose commune.
“Dean’s in with Daisy,she’sbeen calving a while now, can’t move her,” Connor says, and I rush over.The wind whips my face, flinging my hair to the side as I jog towards the mini barn. The trees dance to the windhowlinglike it’s playing some song only nature can hear. To me, it sounds like the Earth is getting ready to open up and swallow us whole. I pick up my pace. I didn’t miss this in the city. One of the best things about being surrounded by tall buildings is that the wind met blockers at every turn, out here, on ranches like the Beaker Brothers, it can swirl and build as much as it wants, and right now, it’s looking and sounding pretty fucking scary. I hope the little girl got home okay. TheMoore’sfarm is further out than this place. If she’s with her mama orgranddaddyshe’ll be fine. They know the places to bunker down if you get caught out in wild weather, I think, but there is an unease swirling in my gut I just can’t shake. I don’t even know if I am her father yetandalready the need to protect her is there. That’s crazy, right? It’s just nerves about the storm, about me in the storm. I hate storms, it’s not some weird paternal instinct kicking in. She didn’t say I was her dad, just that I could be. My thoughts start to spiral.
I try to ignore them, push them down like the cyclone in my gut, and pull open the mini barn door. Dean is kneeling beside Daisy as she lies on her side, making breathy huffs as her contractions come and go. She looks really fucking tired, and Dean looks worried.
“Thank god you’re here. I think it’s too big. She’s been going for a while nowandit’s not coming,” Dean says when he sees me.
I don’t have time to worry about me right now, I think, shooting Dean what I hope is a reassuring smile.
“Looks like we’ll be pulling a calf tonight,” I say, stripping off my jacket and hanging it over the rail beside his hat. It’s his favorite, I’m sure of itbecausenine times out of ten when I visit, it’s the one he’s wearing.It’s weathered and worn and probablybeentrampled on, too, judging bythelooksofit, but it still looks incredible on him.
The small barn is probably perfect for Daisy. It’s away from the others, and there’s a good amount of fresh hay and strawoverthe floor. It’d be better if she were on her feet, but it looks like she’s not going to stand for us, so I position myself behind her.
“Hold her tail,” I tell Dean, and he moves to crouch beside her back to keep it out of the way and prevent it from flinging me in the face. I reach in with one hand and can immediately feel the hooves of her calf.
“This is a big one,” I tell Dean, and his worried frown spreads deeper across his forehead. At the beginning of the year, he lost a calf that was too big for the heifer calving. Tonight, I’m here, and I’m going to make sure that doesn’t happen.
“Grab me that rope,” I tell Dean, and he reaches across to untie it from between the stalls. I make a loop and then push it in, feeling my way to hook it around the front hooves.
It’s like trying to lasso a snake in the mud while wearing a blindfold and someone has hold of both arms andis pushing andpullingon them.I know Daisy can’t help bearing down on each contraction. She wants this baby out more than anyone.
“Okay, got it. Sorry, Daisy, this is not going to be fun, but we’ll get this calf out of you. You’re becoming a mama tonight,” I say, and I swing the rope around my back and grab hold with my other hand, prop one foot on the stall postand start pulling. The first hoof immediately comes out a little, and my heart rate jumps, excited that this might not be as rough as I thought. But then it goes back in on the next contraction. I can tell Daisy is trying to help, but it’s big and she’s tired.
“Dean, get back here and help me,” I say, and he positions himself behind me, wraps his arms around my waist, and heaves me back. In one large oomph, the front legs are out, and I can just see the nose.
“Keep going, come on, Daisy girl,” I say, and after a few more heaves, the calf slips the rest of the way out, and we fall back with anoomph,I’m on my back against Dean’s chestandhis large arms are around me. Heat spreads through my body every place we connect, but as much as I’d love to just lie here wrapped in his arms, I can’t hear the calf breathing.
I roll off him and crawl over to where Daisy is licking its head and neck.
“Good, Momma,” I say, clearing the calf’s nose.
“Is it okay?” Dean asks, but I don’t answer, because right now I don’t know.
“Come on, you can do it, little one,” I say, rubbing its chest in a circle to stimulate its senses.
“Doc, is it okay?” Dean asks again, his voice breaking just a little, and sending a small pang to my chest. The calf stirs, sucking in a breath, and I fall back on my ass, giving Daisy more room to keep cleaning its fur.
“It’s fine. It’s breathing, just tookita second.”
Daisy sits and continues to clean her calf.
“Move back, let’s see how she does,” I say, and I move out of the stall with Dean into anothertwo up, and we watch through the rails as Daisy goes into full mama mode, licking him clean and nuzzling as she moos over him.
It’s amazing, the connection a mother has with her young. I think of Isabel, and that first trip home when I was in college, seeing her pushing a stroller down the street with a guy I assumed was her husband. I didn’t think to ask about her, her life, or her child. If I had, would I have suspected that the child she pushed along the street was mine? It can’t have been. She would have told me. She would have said something. I’ve only seen Isabel in passing since I moved home, she lives out on her parents’ farm, and it’s the furthest one from town, they grow a wide variety of fruits and vegetables, and don’t have much need to come to town often, or at all, plus with no livestock on the farm, they have no need to call on the local vet either. I sometimes see Isabel’s mama dropping produce at the market, but she never says hello. I figured it was because of how it ended with Isabel and me, but could it be because Isabel had my childanddid she tell her parents I abandoned her? Do they think I know and just left? No. She wouldn’t have done that. She couldn’t have.
Dean breathes heavily beside me; his gaze moves from Daisy and her new bull calf to meandhis worried expression is replaced by a wide smile that makes his dark eyes sparkle like there’s a galaxy hidden within them. I can almost taste his sweet woody scent on the tip of my tongue as the wind rattles the walls of the barn and whistles through the gaps in the siding. He shiftsandhis hand brushes against mine, sending a shiverthroughme.
“Thank you,” he says, but before I can replythunderbooms, Daisy moos, and I jump like I’ve beenbitby a rattlesnake.
“You okay, Doc?” he asks. I love hearing him call me that, and it somewhat distracts me from my spiraling thoughts of Isabel and the child with chestnut brown hair.
“I’d be better if that storm was headed the other direction,” I tell him, and I’m thankful he doesn’t laugh.
“This one is supposed to be huge; I’m surprised you came out.”
“I was too busy today to check the weather,to checkhow large the cell was.When I got here, it was already on top of us.”
“Well, it’s lucky for us that you did because I haven’t pulled a calf in years. Bet Daisy is happy you were here, too.”
“Thanks. We should probably head up to the house and wait out the storm there,” I say, sliding the barn door open just a little, but a huge gust of frigid air and rain whips me in the face, and I shove it closed again. “Okay, so maybe we’ll stay here for a while.”
“I’ve got a wash station set up for the guests when they are out here cuddling cows. We can clean up at least.”
“Probably a good idea,” I sayandfollow him to the back of the mini barn. I strip off my shift and wash off my arms with soap and water. It’s a good thing I took off my jacket before. I turn to go grab itbutfind Dean right behind me.
“I… sorry,” he says, holding out my jacket. “I thought you might need this.”
“Thanks,” I reply, slipping it on and zipping up the front. I’m careful when I do, because I’m a pretty hairy guy and have caught my chest hair in a zip before. It’s not fun.
I look up to find Dean still watching me, and he blushes, then turns away. Was he checking me out? I can’t say I’d mind. Every time I breathe him in, I wonder if he tastes as good as he smells. And now that’s all I can think of.
“Thanks, for, umm, for helping,” Dean says. The wind rattles the roof, howling like a wolf outside the door.
“You thanked me already,” I say, turning toward the sound of the storm shaking the side of the barn now.
“Come relax a bit, Doc, we’ll be here a while,” Dean says, and I’m reminded by the swirl in my stomach how much I love him calling me Doc. I follow him to a clean stall they have just set up, ready for tomorrow’s cuddle sessions.
He leans on the barn wall, one ankle crossed over the other, large arms folded against his chest. I stand beside him, close like we were on that log all those years ago, close enough to rest my thigh against his. The smell of hay and rain and sweat and his woody sweetness encases me, and I try to focus on that instead of the noises outside, but then thunder booms, and I clutch at his arm instinctively.
“Sorry,” I say, pulling my hand back.
“So you’re really not a fan of storms.”
“It’s the getting struck by lightning or carried away by a tornado that I’m not a huge fan of.”
“Well, Dorothy, rest assuredthisbarn is fixed down pretty tight. You’ll be okay. You’ll get through this.”
“I was thinking about the last time I was freaking out and you said those words to me, you were right then, too.”
His brow pinches a little in the middle.
“You know, senior year, after Isabel broke it off… the bonfire.”
“Right,” he says, slightly nodding his head, all the while his eyes locked on mine.
I remember that night so clearly, even though I was drunk and upset. I remember he was sweet. He sat with me and told me it would all work out, that I’d be okay, and he put his hand on my knee, patting it, and I remember turning and looking into those brilliant dark eyes, breathing in his sweet scent, and thinking, I wonder if he tastes as good as he smells. It was the first time I’d ever thought about kissing a guy. I guess that’s why the memory stuckforme. I can’t really expect it to have had the same impact on him.
He takes a deep breath, moving his piercing stare to my mouth, and I have that thought again. Only this time, I don’t let myself simply wonder. I lean in and kiss him.