Chapter 4 - Marley
I'm trying very hard not to laugh at the expression on Tucker's face. Somewhere between mortified and annoyed, but it's difficult because his friends just ambushed him about showering for me, and he looks like he wants to disappear into the ground.
And okay, yes, I noticed that he showered.
And shaved. And is wearing clean clothes that actually fit him properly instead of the worn, slightly-too-big flannel from yesterday.
I noticed all of it the second I got out of my truck, and I hate that I noticed, and I especially hate that his friends are already teasing him about me.
"Butterscotch is in the stable," Tucker says, already walking in that direction like he can't get away from this conversation fast enough. "He's definitely improved since yesterday. More alert, better attitude, walked easily this morning without any signs of distress."
I follow him, my bag bouncing against my hip, my coffee growing cold in my hand.
The morning air is crisp and clean. I can see cattle grazing in the distance, horses in the paddock near the barn, chickens wandering around pecking at the ground near what looks like a vegetable garden that's seen better days.
It's beautiful in a rough, working-ranch kind of way. Not like some of the manicured, tourist-friendly ranches I've seen, but real. Lived-in. Loved.
"Any manure yet?" I ask, because we already talked about urination this morning via text and I need to know about the other end of things.
"Not since yesterday afternoon. Should I be worried?"
"Not yet. The mineral oil needs time to work through his system. But it's something we need to keep monitoring."
We reach the stable and Tucker holds the door open for me, a gentleman gesture that's probably automatic for him but makes my heart race as I step inside.
The stable is warm and dim, smelling like hay and horse and leather, and Butterscotch is standing in his stall looking significantly better than he did yesterday. His head is up, his ears are forward, and when he sees Tucker he actually nickers softly.
"Hey, boy," Tucker says, his voice going gentle the way it did yesterday. "Dr. Williams is back to check on you."
"Marley," I correct, then immediately regret it because that's the second time I've told him to use my first name and I'm supposed to be maintaining professional distance.
Tucker glances at me, nods, then turns back to Butterscotch. "Marley's back to check on you."
I set down my coffee and my bag and approach the stall slowly, letting Butterscotch see me, smell me, remember me from yesterday. He doesn't shy away, which is a good sign. It means he's not associating me with pain or fear.
"Good morning, sweet boy," I murmur, unlatching the stall door and stepping inside. "Let's see how you're doing."
Tucker follows me in without being asked, taking position at Butterscotch's head, one hand on the halter. It's the same setup as yesterday.
I run my hands over Butterscotch's body, checking for heat, swelling, tenderness. His coat is already looking better. More shine, more life, and when I press gently on his abdomen he doesn't flinch away like he did yesterday.
"Temperature?" Tucker asks.
"Going to check that next." I pull out my thermometer and take Butterscotch's temperature while Tucker keeps him calm with soft words and gentle hands. "Normal range. This is perfect."
I can see Tucker's shoulders relax slightly, and I realize he's been holding tension there since I arrived. Maybe longer. Maybe since yesterday morning when he first realized something was wrong.
I pull out my stethoscope and listen to Butterscotch's gut sounds. They're significantly improved—active, healthy, no longer the sluggish, reduced sounds I heard yesterday. The mineral oil is working exactly like it should.
"Gut sounds are good," I say, straightening up. "Much more active than yesterday. The impaction is breaking up."
"So, he's going to be okay."
It's not a question, but I answer it anyway. "Yes. He's going to be fine. But I want to do another rectal exam to confirm the impaction is resolving properly."
Tucker nods, and I see him brace himself slightly, probably remembering yesterday's exam and how undignified the whole process is for everyone involved.
I pull on a long glove and position myself at Butterscotch's hindquarters while Tucker keeps him steady at the front. The exam is quick and thorough, and what I find makes me smile despite myself.
"Significant improvement," I say, stripping off the glove. "The impaction is much softer, more broken up. I'd say we're about seventy-five percent resolved."
"That's good?"
"That's very good. Means the treatment is working exactly as it should." I wash my hands in a bucket of water that Tucker must have brought a out here specifically for this, which is thoughtful, and turn back to find him watching me.
"Thank you," he says. "I know I keep saying that, but... Emma would have been devastated if anything happened to him."
"I know." I dry my hands on a towel that's hanging on a nail. "That's why you texted me about urination at 7:45 in the morning."
His ears turn slightly red. "Yeah. Sorry about that."
"Don't apologize. I'd rather have clients who are too attentive than not attentive enough.
" I pack up my supplies, trying to ignore the way Tucker's still watching me, the way his presence in this small stall makes the space feel even smaller.
"He can have small amounts of hay now. Just a handful at a time, spread out over the course of the day.
And keep him on water, as much as he wants. "
"No more IV fluids?"
"Not unless he stops drinking on his own, which I don't think he will." I gesture to the catheter still in Butterscotch's neck. "I can remove that now if you want or leave it in until this evening in case we need it. Your choice."
Tucker considers this, his hand absently stroking Butterscotch's neck. "Leave it in. Just in case. I can call you later if he's drinking well and you can talk me through removing it."
"I can come back—"
"You don't need to make another trip out here just to pull a catheter. I can handle it if you walk me through it."
He's right, of course. It's a simple procedure, and there's no medical reason for me to come back today.
But something in me wants to argue anyway, wants to find a reason to return to this ranch, to this stable, to this man who showers before I arrive and texts about horse urination and loves his daughter so much it shows in every word he speaks.
"All right," I say. "Call me around five and let me know how he's doing. If he's drinking and eating normally, I'll talk you through removing the catheter."
"And if he's not?"
"Then I'll come back."
Tucker nods, seeming satisfied with this plan, and we both step out of the stall. Butterscotch watches us go with what I swear is a reproachful look. He’s probably wondering why we're leaving when he just started feeling better and could use some more of that attention.
I'm heading for the stable door, ready to make my escape before I do something stupid like notice how the morning light catches in Tucker's hair or how his voice does that soft thing when he talks to animals, when he speaks.
"Marley."
I stop, turn back. He's standing in the aisle, hands in his pockets, looking uncertain in a way that doesn't quite match the confident rancher who's been managing Butterscotch's care so competently.
"Yeah?"
"Would you—" He pauses, runs a hand through his hair. "Would you want to see the rest of the ranch? Before you go? I know you probably have other appointments, but Emma wanted me to show you around. She's proud of this place, and she's excited that you helped Butterscotch, and—"
He's rambling. Tucker Hayes, who was perfectly calm and collected during a rectal exam and IV placement, is rambling. It's endearing, really.
"I'd like that," I hear myself say, even though I know I shouldn't.
Even though I have paperwork waiting at the clinic and boundaries I should be maintaining and a history of making bad decisions when it comes to attractive men who look at me like I'm something more than just the person who treats their animals.
But Tucker's face lights up. It actually lights up, like I just gave him something valuable, and he's already moving toward the stable door, gesturing for me to follow.
"We've made a lot of changes in the past couple weeks," he says as we step outside. "Got a new investor… Well, partner now, who's helping us save the place. My buddy Wade, he's one of the other owners, he actually started dating her a few days ago."
I've heard rumors about this in town. The diner where I stop for coffee most mornings was buzzing with gossip about Promise Ranch's heiress investor who supposedly showed up out of nowhere and fell for one of the owners within forty-eight hours.
The stories ranged from romantic to scandalous depending on who was telling them.
"I heard something about that," I say, not wanting to admit how much small-town gossip I've already absorbed in my six months here.
Tucker grins. "I bet you did. Blackwater Falls doesn't have much to talk about, so Wade and Sierra gave everyone enough material for months. But it's real. They're crazy about each other, and she's the reason we could afford all this."
He gestures toward a section of fence that looks brand new, the wood still pale and unseasoned.
"New fencing on the north pasture. Old stuff was falling apart, literally held together with wire and prayer.
Now we can actually rotate the cattle properly without worrying they're going to break through and end up on the highway. "