Chapter 24 Hattie
HATTIE
“This cow must be open,” my little assistant for the day points out.
I step to the side to get a better angle with the ultrasound. The girl in pink canvas overalls and a tan stocking cap over her braids swivels the monitor cart to make sure I’ll still have a good view of the screen.
I’ve been at this since the sun came up this morning, but at least it’s the end of the week, and I’m not nearly as hungover as I was yesterday.
“And what does that mean?” I ask.
She bounces on her toes. “That she’s not pregnant.”
“Not bred,” I say, hoping she catches on to the term.
Saying not pregnant is fine and works for accuracy, but I’m too aware of how some people treat you if you let them think for even a second that you don’t know what you’re talking about.
It’s better if she learns now how to speak the lingo and leaves no question about her knowledge when it comes to ranching.
“Not bred,” she repeats with an eager nod.
“That’s right. And what makes you think that?” I ask, prompting her to defend her guess.
“This part,” she says, pointing to the screen that shows a live image of the cow’s uterus. “It should be black. But it’s not, so that means there’s hardly any fluid. And also, I don’t see a baby.”
I smile, which is kind of comical, considering I’m shoulder-deep in a cow’s rear end at the moment. “You don’t see a fetus,” I gently correct her.
“Right,” she says, pulling out her notebook and jotting something down.
I swivel the ultrasound rod in my hand, giving one final glance to the monitor, then pull my arm out.
Preg-checking is the furthest thing from glamorous.
I peek at the girl out of the corner of my eye while I slip the arm-length glove off and toss it into the trash barrel.
She doesn’t scrunch her nose up at the smell or back away to avoid getting accidentally splattered with manure.
Like I said, not glamorous. But I’m impressed by her unfazed reaction, and it’s safe to say that little gal is going places.
Her brother, who can’t be more than twelve years old, is on a step stool with his hand hovering over the release button. I give him a nod, and he pushes the button to open the squeeze chute.
“That was the last one,” the girl points out, sadly.
“I have a spaghetti cake in the oven if you’re hungry for dinner,” her mom offers, then quickly shakes her head with a laugh. “The kids love to call it that, but it’s really just good, old-fashioned lasagna.”
They’re one of the most adorable families I’ve ever been around. They remind me a lot of how my own life used to be, which is a crushing thought. I miss those days. Terribly.
I could stick around for a hot meal after working my butt off all day.
Though the rays of sun outside the barn are already dimming.
Even if I weren’t tired or running out of daylight, I’m not sure my heart could handle staying any longer anyway.
With that thought, I force myself back to reality by scooping up any loose paperwork, then close my laptop and slip it into its case.
“I love spaghetti cake,” I say. Both kids giggle, putting a smirk on my face. “I’m thankful for the invite, but I’d better get on the road.”
The mom smiles at me warmly. “Next time.”
Like a well-oiled machine, she and both kids float around the barn to clean up. The dad lowers his glasses to the tip of his nose and enters a few final notes to the record book on his tablet.
I try to focus on gathering my things, but it’s hard to ignore the stab in my chest from seeing such an earnest family working together. Their kids are smart as a whip, especially the girl. She never left my side or let a single question go unanswered.
“I’m going to be a vet. Just like you,” she tells me, looking over her shoulder while pushing a gate closed.
Her parents smile proudly, most notably her dad. I know that look in his eye. He’s going to stop at nothing to get her there.
“You have my number, don’t you?” I ask. The sweet girl nods.
“Good. Keep it in your back pocket and call me anytime you want to help me again.” I pause on my way out the door and point a serious finger at her.
“And if anyone ever tells you that you can’t be whatever you want to be, call me then, too. ”
She rushes up to give me a hug, and I hold my hand tight against her back. “Thank you,” she whispers excitedly.
There’s no crying in barns—I think that’s how the saying goes—so I slip out and head toward my truck. Someone jogs up behind me, catching up just as I place my things in the back seat and close the door.
“You didn’t have to do that,” Mr. Bradley, the kids’ dad, says. “With the ultrasound machine, I mean.”
His daughter knew I had it in the truck and begged me to bring it out for the last batch. I can check cows with nothing but my hand much quicker, and there’s really no advantage to the ultrasound unless you need earlier detection. But I went and got it anyway.
“I was in her shoes once,” I say, one hand on the door handle, and the other holding my keys. “She’s curious. You did a good job making sure she knows that’s okay.”
“Damn,” he says, rubbing his forehead. “Don’t make me emotional like that.
” He chuckles and gives me an appreciative nod.
“I’m sure it’s a little distracting to have tiny humans running around while you try to concentrate.
You’re great with the kids, though. Not all vets are like that, so it means a lot. ”
That’s how I was raised. Kids weren’t just learning math in the morning and watching cartoons at night. We were always included in working cattle, riding and training horses, and even in the little things like painting an old shed.
“Girls like her need a lot of people in her corner,” I continue. “Happy to be one of them.”
“Well, if she learns from anybody, I’m glad it’s you, Dr. Murdoch. You’ve been making quite a name for yourself around here lately.”
Quiet satisfaction settles in my chest. I’m typically not attached to verbal affirmation. This one feels good, though. I needed to hear it after the insane amount of work I’ve been putting in for the last six months.
I can’t believe I almost gave all of this up.
I remember sitting in my car that night, hands on the steering wheel, convincing myself that I wanted to quit and that my reasons were valid. Pushing forward seemed like a stupid route to take when I had an alternative that felt so much safer and less terrifying.
It’s easy to forget how close I came to throwing it all away. But today, I don’t lose sight. Today, I think staying in school was one of the hardest, but best, decisions I’ve ever made.
My heart hammers knowing Heston had a hand in that. If the million other reasons weren’t enough, loving him for not being selfish and wanting me to stay on the right path to achieve my career goals would be.
“That means a lot to me, actually,” I reply with a closed-lip smile. “I don’t have all the experience in the world yet, but hopefully, people I work with know how much I care about my job.”
“It’s clear that you care about it very much,” Mr. Bradley says with another chuckle. “Thanks for all your work today. Drive safe.”
“Thanks, I’ll see you later this spring.”
He stands back and waves as I get into my truck and slowly pull out of his driveway.
I wonder if he knows how good he has it.
Normally, I forbid myself from daydreaming about stuff like this.
It hurts too much. But a big part of me aches for that life—Mom and Dad working together happily, doing something they both love, with a few kiddos who are in on the action and thrilled as can be.
If Heston and I have a family of our own one day, we’d do things together on nights like this.
We’d be a team.
I sniff and turn up the radio. Life is already hard as hell right now. I don’t need to make it harder by letting myself have fantasies about kids who don’t exist, with a man I’ve barely begun to patch things up with.
I’m tempted to cancel my plans tonight and go to him.
Yesterday’s failure to meet up and talk felt like a gut punch.
We need time together. But my friends mean a lot to me, too.
Heston and I survived years without seeing each other, and waiting a little longer is nothing compared to that. We’ll survive.
One glance at the clock on the dash has me hoping there isn’t much traffic between here and town. I have to get home with enough time to take a shower before book club, or the girls will be wondering if I rolled around in a pig pen all day.
Mesa holds her thumb and pointer finger in the air, pinching them together. “I’m this close to suggesting you just go for it and build your own facilities.”
“You think?” I ask, pulling a cup from the cabinet and walking toward the fridge. I place it under the water dispenser and spin to face her while it fills up. “I shouldn’t just wait for Dr. Cates to retire?”
“Think about it,” Mesa purses her glossy lips and pulls her long hair into a claw clip.
“The type of place you want for your business is going to take a long time to build. If you wait until he retires to start, you’ll be playing catch-up for a year.
” She turns the page in the notebook in front of her and then points at it.
“Your business plan is super specific. I mean, you’re talking about custom-sized recovery pens and temperature-controlled wash racks.
Does he even have those at his place? If you just buy his clinic and everything that comes with it, you’re not going to be satisfied. ”
We’re in my kitchen, and she’s in her usual spot—sitting in a bar chair, leaning forward to prop her elbows on the island counter.
I took a quick shower and rushed to get ready while she updated me on the third greenhouse she’s putting behind her house.
Now, she’s dissecting my business plan, the same one she helped me develop, and I’ve grown so attached to this familiar song and dance between us that it makes me emotional just to think about it. In the best way.
I wish I could say I preferred giggling about boys or painting each other’s toenails. Those things are fun and needed sometimes, too. But my best friend’s true hobby is taking over the world one business idea at a time, and I love her for it. She’d drop dead before letting me think small.
“I think you’re right,” I agree after gulping down most of my glass of water.
Book club is a loose term at the Westridge library.
It’s really more of a pour a glass of wine for an hour of random chit chat club.
Proper hydration beforehand is highly recommended.
“It’s not the investment that scares me,” I continue.
“I just don’t know where I’d build my own clinic or if the client base in the area would trust me enough to not take their business elsewhere. ”
I hate lying to her about not knowing where I’d build it.
I’ve envisioned it so many times that the picture in my head seems more like a vivid scene from a movie than a simple idea.
But for me, the dream wasn’t just about building my business there.
It was a whole life with someone. It was our dream.
Talking to Mesa about it would just remind me that it all slipped away.
I think back to finding Heston at Solana Bluffs. The massive white building behind him with sliding doors on either side and a load/drop alley out back.
My entire body shakes when I let myself believe what I saw that day. I won’t let the notion settle as truth until I find out for sure, but I could have sworn it looked a lot like a damn vet clinic I’d designed as a pipe dream. On the land where I wanted to build it, no less.
I shake my head.
“You’re only a year out of school, and you’re already stirring up a good reputation,” she says with an encouraging nod. “Plus, everyone who trusts Dr. Cates knows that he’s your biggest fan. They’ll go to you when he retires without a second thought.”
I let out a sigh as I tuck my book under my arm. “How dare you make good points when I’m trying to keep my expectations low?”
Mesa laughs and picks up her book with the rest of her things. We’re walking toward the door when her hand on my forearm halts me in my tracks.
“What are those for?” she asks.
I look over at the shelf of cookbooks next to my standalone coffee station. The newest additions don’t blend in very well.
“Oh, just some light reading,” I explain. “I know Savannah said to give her a few days to work on a plan, but I’m worried, Mace. I have to figure something out soon.”
She quirks a brow and leans closer to the shelf, reading aloud. “Financial Crime for Dummies and Your Accountant Might be a Con Man: What Now? That should do it.”
“You would think.” I let out a sigh. “Ask me about shell companies. I could help you embezzle a shit ton of money pretty quickly as long as we set up a cash-friendly front to make cooking the books less traceable.”
Mesa slowly straightens to stand with an amused laugh. “Girl, I’m impressed. And, also, what the hell?”
We both burst out in laughter, but a loud series of knocks cut us off. We each look at the door, confused.
“Did you invite someone else?” she whispers.
“No,” I whisper back. “Did you?”
“I can hear you,” a voice croons from the other side of the door.