Chapter 4
sarah
Emergencies, for some reason, no matter what kind of doctor you are, always come in the middle of the freaking night. It’s like a rule.
So, obviously, while I’m eating cold cereal in my sweats, bone-tired because it’s calving season, Dr. Bodie Tiller’s number flashes across my phone.
I almost don’t pick it up. It’s past midnight for the love of everything holy.
But professional courtesy and blah blah, so I do.
“Got a heifer in trouble,” he says without preamble. “Breech calf. I’m at Lyle Dunn’s place and could use another pair of hands. She’s not stayin’ still.”
I know exactly what that means.
I’ve had that happen when I got one arm buried trying to turn the calf, and no way to brace her or keep the uterus from clamping down. Sometimes you just can’t do it alone, not without losing a cow or a calf.
Ugh! I am not a fan of the Dunns, and they are not fans of mine. Not since Landon, and definitely not since Cade started dating Noelle Dunn.
But when a calf is stuck, grudges don’t matter. Or at least they shouldn’t.
I quickly change into jeans and boots and pick up my kit, which I always restock the moment I use anything, so it’s ready to go.
Sliding into Dad’s old Ford, I crank the engine. It coughs before settling into a low rumble. The seat is worn to fit him, and now it fits me. The cab smells faintly of hay, leather, and the aftershave he used to splash on Sunday mornings for church.
For a second, I almost expect to see him climbing in on the other side.
The road out to the Dunn ranch cuts through the heart of Wildflower Canyon.
At night, the canyon is both eerie and beautiful.
The sky’s so wide it swallows you whole, scattered with stars so sharp they look close enough to rope.
The moon spills pale silver over the mountains, throwing long shadows across the pastureland.
Every few miles, I pass the glow of a distant barn light or the faint shimmer of eyes at the fence line. The air smells of damp earth and mesquite. The March air carries a chill that slips under your collar, stubborn despite the day’s warmth.
I grip the wheel tighter. I am ‘adrenaline alert’.
It’s not my first calving season. I know what to expect. Doesn’t make it easier.
By the time the truck jolts onto the rutted dirt drive that leads to the Dunn place, the eastern sky is still black as ink. The Dunn ranch is one of the older spreads in the canyon, fences patched with rusted wire, barns leaning like tired old men.
My headlights catch on the sagging barn and the figures moving inside, shadows thrown against wood like a scene from a play I already know I don’t want to be in.
I hear a cow bawl inside the barn, the sound desperate and guttural. It raises the hairs on my neck.
I park and jog up to Bodie, sliding my gloves on as I do.
His sleeves are rolled, and his arms are slick to the elbow. His face shines with sweat under his hat.
“About damn time,” he mutters, though his relief is plain. His arm is tired. It’s happened to me a few times, and I’m half his age.
“You’re welcome,” I retort good-naturedly.
He grins.
“How’s it going?” I ask.
“It’s like every damn heifer wants to drop at the same time.”
I chuckle. “You know how it is—one goes into labor, and the others follow.”
I check the cow and grimace. “We’ve got maybe twenty minutes before she or the calf crashes.”
Bodie nods. “Yeah. That’s why I needed you here.”
Before I can respond, Lyle Dunn’s voice rings out across the barn. “Well, look who crawled back into the canyon. You really think we want you here, girl?”
His words land like spit on my boots. I ignore him and keep moving, tugging on the long plastic sleeves and snapping them into place.
“You want that heifer alive, you need her help,” Bodie snaps.
“She should be in jail, not playing vet.” The venom in Lyle’s voice doesn’t surprise me, but it doesn’t mean it doesn’t sting.
The cow groans, her body straining, muscles trembling. “Then maybe you’d better roll up your own damn sleeves,” I shoot back.
That’s when another voice slides into the barn—smooth, sharp, and far too familiar.
“What’s going on?” Cade steps into the light, broad-shouldered, jaw tight, his hat shadowing the eyes I’d once loved.
Beside him, like a shadow in silk, is Noelle. Her manicured hand brushes his arm as if to remind me exactly where he belongs, and also to tell me this woman is no rancher.
My throat closes, but Lyle fills the silence for me. “This is what we’ve come to, Cade. Town whore parading as a vet.”
Cade’s gaze locks on mine—then slides away.
“Guess even she has to be useful sometimes,” he says coldly.
The shame burns hotter than the barn floodlights.
“Enough.” Bodie’s bark cracks through the barn like a whip. “Either shut up or get the hell out of this barn. We’ve got a calf to save.”
Silence falls except for the ragged groans of the laboring cow.
I push my arm deep, working by feel until I find the twisted hind legs, slick and wedged tight. Bodie braces beside me, ready to take over if I falter. But he’ll be waiting a long damn time—I know what I’m doing.
I clear my mind of all the poison being thrown at me and narrow my focus until there’s only me, the cow, and the fragile life inside her.
The world can call me a liar, slut, pariah—but right here, right now, I’m the vet, and I know exactly what to do.
“Got the hocks,” I murmur, adjusting, easing one leg forward, then the other. “Okay, push, girl. You can do this.”
Minutes bleed together in sweat and strain until finally, with one last pull, the calf slides free, collapsing into the straw in a wet heap.
Alive.
The heifer turns her head, lowing softly, licking the calf clean. Relief floods my body so fast my arms go weak.
Bodie blows out a breath, his voice rough. “Fuckin’ hell.”
“That’s about right.”
My arms ache all the way to the shoulders, my shirt plastered to me with sweat. Still, the sight of that calf twitching, its chest hitching on its first breath, is enough to make my heart feel lighter than it has in days.
Then Bodie’s phone buzzes in his pocket. He taps at his earbuds and listens. “Son of a bitch.”
I squint at him, still crouched in the straw. “What now?”
“C-section over at the Campbell place. Twins. Second calf’s twisted.” His face is grim as he rips off his gloves. “If I don’t go, they’ll lose both.”
“You need help?” I ask.
He shakes his head, already grabbing his bag. “Need you here. Can you—”
“I got this. Go.”
“Thanks, Sarah,” he says over his shoulder as he jogs out of the barn.
I roll my neck to ease it.
“You’re not needed here,” Noelle steps forward.
I raise both my hands, palms out. “Okay. Then you get the calf dried out. Keep her warm and make sure she latches. And check the heifer for tearing ‘cause I think she needs stitches.”
Lyle, who’s standing by the barn entrance, scowls, mutters something under his breath, and stalks out.
Noelle stands close to Cade, but neither of them says anything.
He puts his arm around her, kisses her temple. I remember that. He used to do that to me. Easy affection.
“So…you ain’t gonna get your manicured hands messed up?” I deadpan.
Noelle glowers.
“That’s what I thought,” I mutter under my breath as I crouch down to the newborn calf sprawled in the straw. “Well, sweetheart, looks like it’s just you and me now.”
I keep my eyes on the calf, blinking hard against the unexpected sting.
Seeing Cade with her—the way she’s allowed to lean into him, the way he doesn’t push her off—is a knife between my ribs.
By the time the calf is nursing steadily, and the heifer is lying quiet in the straw, my entire body is aching, and my back is one long knot. I smell like iodine and birth fluids.
It’s been hours of hard, dirty work.
I’m about to gather my kit when a young ranch hand jogs in, cap pulled low, face flushed.
“Doc? Got another one out in the south pen. Cow’s been laborin’ all night, and she’s down now. Won’t get up.”
I want to ask him if his boss knows he’s come to me, but I don’t bother. It’s none of my business.
I swallow a groan and push myself to my feet. “Show me.”
He leads me across the yard, mud sucking at my boots, the sky just beginning to pink at the edges. The cow is on her side, ribs heaving, eyes wild with exhaustion. I crouch, sliding my hand along her flank, feeling the tremor in her muscles.
She’s weak, dehydrated, and likely suffering from hypocalcemia—milk fever. I dig through my kit, pull out the calcium solution, and quickly insert the needle.
“Easy, girl.”
The cow moans.
The ranch hand shifts nervously, glancing toward the house. I ignore him, keeping my hand on the cow’s side, murmuring low until the tremors ease. She blinks slowly, and after a few minutes, she makes a clumsy attempt to stand.
“Good girl.” The knot under my breastbone loosens, slack like a dropped rope.
“She ain’t droppin’ a calf today?” the ranch hand asks.
“Not today.” I straighten, stretch. “She’s not in labor—she’s crashing.
Calcium levels tanked. Without it, her muscles stop firing right, she goes down, and if she can’t get up, she dies.
” I nod toward the cow, still wobbly but standing.
“That shot bought her time. She’ll need another dose later.
Keep her on good forage. Don’t slack, or you’ll be hauling her out with a tractor. ”
The ranch hand blinks, clearly out of his depth. “Right. Got it.”
I smirk faintly. “Don’t worry. I’ll leave notes and additional doses for your boss, so you don’t screw it up.”
By the time I finish checking her and re-wrapping the calf in the barn to keep it warm, the sun is climbing over the canyon rim.
My arms feel like they’ve been through a meat grinder, and I know I’ll carry the smell of this night into the shower and probably half the day beyond.
But one calf is alive, and two cows are standing. That’s the job.
As I’m about to leave, Lyle Dunn blocks my path. I’m too tired to deal with his assholery, and I’m about to tell him that when he surprises me.
He tips his hat. “You did right by her, Doc. I know…I wasn’t welcomin’, but you still stuck it out. So, thank you.”
The apology is gruff, reluctant, but it’s an apology all the same.
“Did it for her.” I tip my head toward the heifer, who noses her calf with tenderness.
Lyle gives a short laugh, like he agrees with that more than he wanted to. “Fair enough.”
I hand him a bag with extra calcium doses, electrolyte packets, a bottle of iodine dip for the calf’s navel, and a couple of antibiotic doses in case the heifer spikes a fever.
“I’ll send you an email with notes—dosing, timing, what to watch for. Just follow it and call me if she crashes again.”
He shoves his hat back on and takes the bag. He looks at me and then gives a half smile.
“Had a good talk with your daddy a while back before he passed. You know, he wasn’t half bad when you caught him in the right mood.”
Yeah, yeah, my father cozied up with all these assholes who turned their backs on a young girl, blaming her for being assaulted, blaming her for speaking against it.
“Last time…we had a good laugh,” he reminisces. It’s his way of making amends, giving me a piece of Daddy.
I keep my face emotionless, but I don’t walk off either. I stay. Wait.
“A reporter was callin’ him all the time.
” He chuckles, his fingers tucked into his pockets.
“Some big-time paper from back east wanted to write a story about ranch vets or some such. Your daddy told her that if she wanted a real story, she oughta come out and help him pull a calf in a snowstorm. Said if she could keep her boots clean, he’d give her a story. ”
That wrenches a smile out of me. Dr. Sam Kirk was known for his one-liners. They were pithy, dry, and, most of the time, they were also funny.
Lyle laughs again, shaking his head. “Man could spin anything into a joke when he wanted to.”
He looks at me, and his face folds into itself. “I’ll be seein’ you around, Doc.”
I make a noncommittal hum. I’m not sure I want to be seein’ Lyle Dunn around.
I wait until he’s gone to pack up my stuff and head home, where I intend to send an email to Bodie and Lyle with care instructions, take a shower, and sleep for a few hours before making my rounds at Longhorn Ranch and Kincaid Farm.