Chapter 19 #2
He was a dream in a heavy work coat, dirty jeans and his hair curling in unruly directions all under the band of his baseball cap. He looked like he threw himself together in a rush to get down here, and he was perfect. Rugged. Beautiful. Mine.
Not mine. Not yet, but maybe one day.
Tucker came up beside me, our eyes connecting, and I swore so much was loaded in that split-second stare. Relief, happiness, desire, resignation. Then those whiskey eyes were swinging through the window to look at Holland.
“One hoof out,” I confirmed, bringing my gaze over to the mare now happily munching on some hay in the corner of her stall. “Her water broke almost the second we got her inside.”
Tucker sighed. “I know some places let their mares foal in the pasture, but it's harder to intervene that way, in my opinion.”
I nodded slowly, not taking my eyes off the tiny hoof. It was all white and the part of the leg I could see was a creamy brown, like coffee with lots of milk poured in.
“Who’s the sire?” I asked, suddenly curious on what the possibilities for this foal’s coloring would be.
“Monaco’s Victory. The buckskin.”
I raised an eyebrow at that, glancing toward Tucker. “Monaco’s Victory and Holland’s Reprieve?” I asked, using both horses’ official names. “Who the hell decided to pair these two?”
Tucker shrugged. “I thought she might produce some pretty colorings. Her father had some gray markings. Plus they both did decent on the track in past seasons.”
I hummed a little. “And what are you going to name the foal? Victory’s Reprieve? Monaco’s Big Release? Good Luck Chuck?”
Tucker chuckled low, and it filled my chest with so much warmth. “We need to find out the sex first, but I’m sure we can come up with something original for this little one.”
A snort from inside the stall pulled my attention, and I turned to see Holland had dropped down, lying fully on her side now as she pushed. The little muzzle of the foal and second hoof had breached while we’d been talking, and I could already tell this one was going to be adorable.
“We should probably give her some privacy, huh?” I murmured a little reluctantly.
All the stalls in the birthing block were set up with cameras so we could provide the mares the isolation they preferred without being completely out of the loop.
The video feeds all came up in a room in the back of the barn where we could watch from.
But I didn’t know what it was about this foal.
It might’ve been that it was my first with Juniper Grove.
Maybe it was the lingering remnants of adrenaline still coursing through me.
Either way, I felt drawn to be here completely for this birth.
Not watching through a TV monitor, but just on the other side of the door.
Tucker looked back into the stall, the silence hanging in the air.
I’d already resigned myself to sulkily clomping down to the media room, but then those rich brown eyes were on me again.
“I don’t think she minds. She wouldn’t have relaxed enough to keep on laboring if she didn’t trust you being nearby. ”
My breath caught in my lungs at his words, my heart going ninety to nothing in my chest. The grin that spread over my face was nearly painful, but I couldn’t have stopped it even if I wanted to.
Somehow, I knew he was giving me this. Letting us share this moment together, up close and personal.
Wordlessly, we both turned back to the scene inside the stall and waited for the newest member of this world to officially join us.
It took Holland another ten minutes before the foal was completely born.
They came out dopey eared and struggling to comprehend their sudden change in scenery, but a gorgeous golden brown.
Holland’s motherly instincts kicked in right away, and watching her clean her new baby made my chest fill with all those warm and fuzzy feelings.
The foal quickly got themselves up on their wobbly, toothpick legs, and they stumbled around quite a bit before figuring out how to properly use them.
When the foal began to nurse, Tucker slowly slipped into the stall, mindful of Holland’s reactions to gauge if he was welcome or not. When she paid him no mind, going back to munching on some hay again, he made his way behind the foal to quickly sex it.
“Filly,” he announced, moving to slip through the door without disturbing the pair any further.
“Sweet girl,” I murmured, totally enamored by her. “She’s gorgeous. What are you going to name her?”
Tucker didn’t respond, and when I pulled my eyes away from the mother–daughter pair before me, I found those magnetic eyes on me—brows pinched together like he was deep in thought over something.
“Why don’t you name her?”
I blinked at that. “Me?”
Tucker nodded. “You.”
My eyes bounced over his face, searching for any hint of hesitation or a glimmer that he hadn’t meant what he’d just said, but I found nothing.
Just the persistent broody expression Tucker always seemed to wear.
When we both continued to stare at each other for another minute or two, I finally turned back to the little filly in question.
It didn’t take me long to come up with a name.
“What about Golden Rebirth? We can call her Goldie.”
Tucker didn’t even hesitate. “That’s perfect.”
I could feel him sidling up beside me in the doorway, and I wondered if he felt it too.
The powerful energy that hung in the air around us.
Birth was always a magical thing, regardless of how many times you watched it.
But there was something different about Goldie’s birth.
Something that shifted all the pieces inside me. Maybe it shifted them for Tucker, too.
Maybe this was the moment of rebirth for us both.