Chapter 4
Let’s Save this Satanic Reindeer Slaughterhouse
Thirty Days Until I Can Go Back to Work
It’s the pounding that startles me awake.
I shoot upright like I’ve been zapped with a cattle prod. I blink against the pale light hanging overhead, disoriented.
Where the hell am I?
Then it all floods back: pleather pants on the snowmobile, Jamie with that handlebar mustache, and lots and lots of wine after I tried to make myself cry by cutting up some onions and huffing the scraps. No tears, though. Maybe I really am an ice queen.
My throat burns with the frigid air and maybe something else.
The knocking comes again, more rapidly this time. “I’m sorry to wake you, but I think one of my reindeer is in labor.”
I sober up instantly.
Labor. Reindeer Labor.
I wrap myself in my blanket and fling open the door to find Jamie in flannel pajamas and a snow jacket, holding a flashlight and a bag.
“I’m so sorry, Joy. I wouldn’t wake you if it wasn’t important. She’s just making a low belting sound, and our old vet, Cathy, who moved to Florida last month, said those sounds usually mean it’s starting, and—” He stops midsentence, his mouth still open. His eyes have gone very, very wide.
I follow his gaze down and—
Oh.
Oh no.
The flashlight beam is pointed directly at me, and the red silk slip is apparently very, extremely, catastrophically sheer in direct light. I can see the outline of everything.
His throat works.
For one insane second, neither of us moves.
“I’ll help,” I say. “Just give me a sec to grab clothes.”
“Right. Yes. Clothes.” His voice comes out strangled. “Good idea. Clothes are—that’s—yes.” He’s staring very intently at a point somewhere past my left shoulder.
I shut the door on whatever that sentence was trying to become.
My face is on fire. My entire body is on fire. I just answered the door basically naked in front of Jamie Wilder while he’s having a legitimate emergency, and now he’s seen everything, and I have to go deliver a reindeer baby while knowing he’s seen everything, and oh my god.
“Focus,” I hiss at myself.
All six of my suitcases are open. Their contents have spilled everywhere. I spot my scrub pants and yank them on over the slip. An old hoodie from vet school goes on top.
“Ready,” I declare, stepping outside.
“Thank you, really.” He’s already walking through the snow toward the barn, flashlight beam cutting through the dark.
“It’s fine,” I interrupt, jogging to catch up. The morning air wakes me up in an instant. “It’s literally my job.”
“At four in the morning?”
“Babies don’t check the clock.”
He glances back at me. Just a quick look, but I catch it. The way his eyes drop for a fraction of a second before he jerks them forward again.
My stomach does something complicated.
“So,” I say, casually scanning my mind for every question I’d ask a client bringing in a pregnant animal, “how far along is she?”
“Nearly seven months. Cathy said she’s due anytime this month.”
“Okay.” I’m glad he added the last bit because I actually don’t know how long reindeer gestation lasts. “Animals usually give birth in the spring? Why is she pregnant?”
Jamie glances back at me. “Tried for years to get her pregnant, but nothing took. This year, we mixed her in a pen, and of course, one of the males must’ve done the deed.”
He throws open the side door leading into the barn.
“Wow. It’s massive,” I gawk.
“Nearly five thousand square feet,” he says, a hint of pride in his voice.
It’s rectangular, with long rows of wooden stalls running down each side and wide sliding doors at both ends. In the back, stacks of hay bales rise two cars tall beside a small gear room and an office with the faint glow of a lamp spilling through its window.
It’s toastier than I expected inside. A heater hums in the rafters, filling the air with a soft mechanical lull.
A spacious pen takes up the center. A group of reindeer munches on alfalfa. All twenty of them turn to stare at me with their beady, curious eyes.
They’re leaner and smaller than the horses that tromp around Central Park, but still solidly built for cold, with broad chests and thick, shaggy coats that shift in shades of gray, brown, and cream as they move.
A few have antlers so wide they could probably knock over a subway turnstile without trying.
The air is thick with the scent of hay and manure, and oddly, I find it almost comforting. It smells like life.
An unpleasant crawling sensation prickles the back of my neck. Are all of these animals going to be killed today?
“Usually, the herd roams in the pasture out back for the winter, but these guys have come down with some kind of stomach bug. I’ve kept her away from the herd, worried that she’d contract it. Was gonna ask for your help, but…”
He’s guilt-tripping me because I want to leave on account of him catfishing me?
True, if I leave, these reindeer might be left without proper care, but it’s not my responsibility.
A low belting comes from a nearby stall, pulling my attention away from my internal morality debate.
“She’s in here,” he says.
“What’s her name?” I ask, coming up behind his broad shoulders.
“Arrietty.”
I approach Arrietty, hand outstretched, as Jamie watches from the entrance. She stands at the back of the pen over a pile of hay, nostrils flaring curiously as she sniffs me.
She’s tall—easily waist-high on me, with powerful shoulders and legs.
I’d bet she’s close to three hundred pounds.
Two slender antlers curl away from her skull, sweeping more toward her back than out wide.
Their tips are dull but still lethal. Far more intimidating than the house cats that usually purr under my touch.
“Hi, Mama,” I say softly, petting her snout. “I’m Joy. We’re gonna get you through this, okay?”
She blinks at me. Her long, elegant eyelashes give her an adorably thoughtful, almost doll-like expression.
“She’s a sweetheart,” Jamie adds.
I begin the routine check. Cautiously moving to her side, I press gently against her warm, round belly. Her fur is a soft, earthy brown, darker around her muzzle and legs, coarse on top but surprisingly silky underneath.
I lift her short tail carefully. “She’s not dilated. Let me go grab my stethoscope, and I’ll come back.”
“Oh, Cathy left you her bag in case you needed it.” Jamie hands me a leather bag that’s tearing at the seams. I pull out a stethoscope that is yellowed with earwax. I grimace and clean the rubber pieces as best I can.
I bend at the knees and press the cold metal to Arrietty’s chest, listening to her heartbeat. She shifts, chewing cud with a soft huff. “All good there,” I murmur, then crouch a little lower. “She won’t kick me, right?”
“Never has before. She grew up at a petting zoo, so she’s very well behaved.”
I hesitate, then move the stethoscope to her belly. “Any chance Cathy left behind an ultrasound machine?”
“Nope,” Jamie replies, rubbing his mustache. “Funds have always been nonexistent since we are a sanctuary and all.”
“A sanctuary?” I ask, whirling around to face him.
“Yes?” He stares at me. “You didn’t think I was eating these guys, did you?”
“I don’t know.” I straighten, smoothing out my hair.
“Is that why you’re leaving?”
“Um—”
“God, Joy, you’d think I’d let a vegetarian work on a meat plant?”
“I didn’t know. We are strangers.”
Jamie stares at me, then bursts out laughing. Not polite chuckles but full-bodied, doubled-over laughter. “Could you imagine, though?” He takes off his cowboy hat, ruffling his hair underneath. “That’s a whole world of fucked up.”
“You’re telling me.” I exhale a deep breath I’ve been holding since catching Parker two days ago. “I thought you were gonna have me inject these animals with hormones before you cut their heads off.”
“Gruesome mind.” Jamie contorts his face into a semi-impressed-slash-should-I-be-afraid-of-this-woman grin.
He closes the distance between us, boots crunching on the hay.
He places a gloved hand on his chest. “I can promise you that I’ve never eaten a reindeer.
Sometimes, by the time I rescue the little guys, all I can do is make their last few days comfortable.
The living conditions people keep these animals in are horrendous. ”
“Well, maybe lead with ‘sanctuary’ next time,” I snap, trying not to smile. “Instead of ominously telling me you ‘need help with reindeer.’”
“Fair.”
I push my hair behind my ears. “So all of the critters out there are rescues?”
“Yep. Took over the business from my pops when he retired. Ever since I was a kid, we’ve been taking reindeer out of terrible conditions. Doesn’t pay well, but it feels good. You’d be shocked how people treat them.”
The concern in his voice is real, and so is the ache in my chest. I would take care of animals even if I went broke doing it.
Jamie actually may be a good person.
It looks like Operation: Holiday Fling is back on the table.
“I wouldn’t,” I say quietly. “You’re talking to someone who stitches up neglected pets weekly.”
His expression softens. “Guess we’re both in the business of fixing what other people break.”
That hits somewhere I’m not ready to touch.
Arrietty bellows again, a deep, throaty sound that echoes off the rafters, and stamps her left hoof, the vibration rattling through the wooden floor.
“Right. Back to work.” I press the stethoscope to her chest, left side first, finding the mitral valve.
No murmurs. Next, I move my hands along both sides of her belly, pushing gently into her thick winter coat.
I’m feeling for anything unusual—too tight, too soft, anything that feels out of place.
Then I find it, a firm bump on the right side, something solid pressing back against my palm. A hoof, maybe. Or a nose.
“There’s nothing better than delivering babies,” I say, looking over my shoulder.
Jamie’s leaning against the stall gate, his arms crossed, one boot propped on the lowest rail. The work light overhead catches the stubble along his jaw.
He opens his mouth to speak, but Arrietty interrupts with a long, rumbling, absolutely impressive belch that seems to start somewhere near her hooves and rolls up through her entire digestive tract like thunder.
Then she bumps her nose against the sleeve of my jacket, leaving a snotty trail, and saunters off toward her corner feeder as if nothing happened.
I cackle. “She just had gas.” I watch Jamie cover his nose with a hand. “Huh, I thought a country boy like you would have a thicker nose.”
He lets out a deep laugh. “I like you, Joy.” Shock must be splattered all over my face because he adds, “Guess you don’t hear that a lot.”
“On good days I do.”
When I’m not being blamed for things I can’t control. When I’m not the bearer of bad news. When I’m not second-guessing every decision I’ve ever made.
“Vet life must be tough.” Jamie crosses to Arrietty and scratches her behind the ear, right in that sweet spot where her fuzzy coat meets the velvet of her skin.
“It is tough, but worth it.”
“Now that you know I’m not some backwoods butcher, will you stay and help out?”
I stare at the floor for a moment. I don’t owe him anything, but I don’t want to spend the entire month lying. If these reindeer have the chance to get real care from an experienced large-animal vet, they should.
Guilt creeps across my throat until my tongue swells.
“I have to tell you something.” I put on the voice I use to tell patients how their pet’s surgery went. “I’m a small animal vet. You know, cats, dogs, the occasional hamster. I’ve only worked with farm animals for a month in my entire career.”
He shrugs. “Well, you seemed like you knew what you were doing now.”
“She only had gas. You should have a professional out here when she does give birth.”
He takes a step closer, and suddenly the space between us feels charged. “But you were ready to help, even if she was in labor.”
“It’s my oath,” I say quietly. To do no harm. To advocate for those who can’t speak. To never, ever give up. “But you are more of a professional than me.” I expected more of a fight, but it almost sounds as if he doesn’t care. “Why are you not mad?”
“’Cause I figured. Your resume screams city vet. Honestly, it was either you or nobody. I’d rather have someone who cares enough to fake it.”
I like that he trusts me implicitly.
“Did you frame my résumé ?” I narrow my eyes at him.
He grins. “I printed it on actual paper. That’s basically the same thing.” A small laugh escapes my chest. “The listing was posted for a month before you responded. I got desperate, bought books. I would much rather have someone here who knows a little more than me.”
I look at Arrietty. At Jamie petting her head so tenderly.
I could do a month in Cranberry Hollow. Go back to the city with a collection of reindeer facts and hopefully a juicy story about riding a reindeer cowboy. I could take my time to find the perfect apartment in the city to start the new year in.
“I’ll need to go to town,” I say. “Download a few textbooks. Reach out to old professors and study up. You said you bought books. I’d like to see those too.”
“Does that mean yes?”
“Don’t get too excited.”
A toothy smile spreads across his face, crinkling the corners of his eyes. “Too late.”