7. ATLAS
Chapter seven
ATLAS
LESSONS OF LIFE
I find Matthew out the front of the stables early again today, helping Skye to set up everything they need to start giving the horses a good wash. They don’t get that dirty on the ranch, but they enjoy it, so we do it more often than we need to.
Queenie especially loves a good bath. She used to be a show horse, and still prances around here like she’s the queen of it all.
I don’t think the other horses mind, though, she’s a good leader and a great foster mom to the younger foals.
Speaking of foals, we’ve got two on the way, one from one of the wild horses we took in last winter and another from our herd.
“I’ll go get Loki,” Skye says as Matthew drops a couple of large sponges into the soapy water.
“Are you sure?”
“He’s got to get used to me eventually. I saw him come up to you at the fence yesterday. What’s your secret?” Skye asks, but Matthew shrugs.
“If I knew how I did it, I’d tell you, honestly, I would.”
“Well, here goes nothing,” Skye says, and he walks past Matthew into the stables. A moment later, I hear Skye.
“You silly horse,” he calls, and I laugh, drawing Matthew’s attention.
“Oh, hey, I didn’t see you there.”
“Just coming down to check on Lilly and Sasha,” I say, and he nods.
“Sasha’s in the paddocks with the wild herd, and Lilly is in her stall. She was lying down last I checked.”
My stomach sinks.
“She’s not, is she?” I ask, but I’m headed into the stables before he can answer me.
“What’s wrong?” Matthew calls after me.
“She could be in labor.”
“That’s a good thing, right?”
“Depends, how long has she been lying down?” I ask as I reach her stall and find her still that way. She’s got her rear toward me, and I slowly open her gate. “Skye, bring the bucket of soapy water. Good girl, I’m just going to check you out, okay, easy girl,” I say as I slowly approach.
“I saw her like this about twenty minutes ago. Is that okay?” Matthew asks, and I reach into my pocket and pull out my phone, tossing it to him.
“Call the doc, just in case. She’s definitely in labor, and she’s trying to push.”
I hear him a moment later talking to Preston as I wash my hands in the water, and I give her a bit of a wash too before I check the position of the foal.
“Preston wants to know if the hooves are pointing down,” Matthew calls over the edge of the stall.
“Feels like it,” I say, and he relays the message to the doc. “The waters have broken, and it’s on its way for sure.”
“Preston said he’ll start making his way over.”
“Good, do you remember if the stall was wet like this when you saw it earlier?”
“No, why?”
“If she’s been laboring that whole time and the foal’s feet and nose are still not out, that could be dangerous. It’s really important you try to remember.”
“I don’t have to remember; I took a photo.”
“You did?”
“Yeah,” he says, grabbing out his phone. “I thought she looked so sweet lying there like that, so I snapped a pic. Let me find it,” he says, scrolling his phone.
“How many photos have you taken this morning?”
“They all looked sweet, okay?” he says, and then his hazel eyes go wide, and he turns the phone to face me.
“Is that a foot?” he asks, zooming in on her rear.
“Yes. Fuck, okay, we need to help her, get in here.”
“Wouldn’t Skye be better—“
“Just do what I say,” I bark, and he steps through, hands shaking as he kneels beside me.
“What do I do?”
“Get up near her head. Keep her calm and steady. The last thing we need is for her to thrash or roll.”
“Okay, but how do I do that?”
“Just talk to her the way you do with Loki,” I say, and then I turn my attention to the foal. Lilly is clearly exhausted.
“Skye,” I call, ready to ask for a towel, but he’s already holding one out for me.
“I figured you might need it,” he says, and I fold it ready for when the legs are out.
“Come on, Lilly, give me a good push, girl,” I say, and Matthew repeats my words up near her head.
I rest one hand on her and feel for the contraction.
When it hits, she pushes hard just like we need, and the foal’s front legs emerge.
I wrap them quickly in a figure eight with the towel so I can time my pull with the next contraction.
Matthew’s soothing voice continues up the other end. On the next contraction, the nose pokes out, still covered with some of the thick white membrane, so I grab the end of the towel and clear it away, so that when it’s out, it’ll be able to breathe.
“Almost there,” I say, and as much as I want to help more, it’s important I only apply steady, controlled traction when she’s actively pushing.
It takes another five contractions that feel like they’ve lasted an hour before the head is out, and thankfully, only one more contraction later, the foal slides completely free of her.
“You did it, Lilly. You have a new baby,” I say, as I check the nose is clear again and rub the foal’s chest with the towel to help stimulate breathing.
I look up, and Lilly is resting her head against Matthew’s chest, his hand brushing the side of her face, all the while telling her how good she did.
The foal snorts, and it gives Lilly a boost of energy, and she shoves herself up and around to start licking it clean. Matthew presses himself against the wall of the stall.
“What do we do now?” he asks.
“Now we get a drink,” I say, and he follows me out of the stall.
“Skye, yell out if she needs us,” I say, and Skye nods, his wide grin locked on the new addition as he peers over the side of the stall. He’ll be there for an hour watching the foal as it takes its first steps and starts making sweet, high-pitched whines and neighs to talk to its mother.
“You did well in there,” I tell Matthew, and he rubs the back of his neck with one hand.
“I didn’t do anything. You were amazing. That was amazing.”
“You were more helpful than you realize,” I reply.
It’s weird. I thought he was a complete fish out of water out here, but the horses seem to have accepted him.
Not just Loki, who hasn’t played dead even once when he’s seen him, much to Skye’s dismay, but also the other horses too; they all seem to recognize something in him they connect with.
“I should probably mention, I don’t really drink,” Matthew says as he shoves his hands into his pockets and kicks the toe of his boot into the gravel. Tiny rocks skid ahead of us in a small plume of dust.
“That’s okay, it’s more of an act of celebration. It doesn’t have to be alcohol. How about some of Sally-May’s fresh lemonade?”
“That sounds amazing.”
We head into the main house and find Sally-May in the kitchen already preparing things for tonight’s dinner. I wash my hands at the sink before touching anything, and Matthew follows right after.
“What have you boys been up to?” Sally-May asks.
“Matthew here just helped deliver his first foal,” I tell her, and she claps her hands excitedly for him.
“Well done. See, we’ll make a cowboy out of you yet,” she says, and I pull open the refrigerator and take out a giant jug of her fresh lemonade.
“I’m not sure I was much help,” Matthew tells her, and I scoff.
“He’s being modest. He kept Lilly calm while I helped pull the foal. That’s more important than he knows, tell him.”
“Atlas is right, dear. Birthin’ can be scary for any creature, even when things are going well. So that’s why you’re in here, then? To celebrate?” she asks, and I nod and grab two glasses, filling them to the top before passing Matthew one.
“To the newest addition to the Beaker Brothers Ranch,” I say, and Matthew’s cheeks blush a soft pink. “So, what should we name him?”
“It’s a boy?” Matthew asks.
“Sure is. I was thinking Groot, or maybe Clint,” I say, and he shakes his head adamantly.
“Does it have to be a Marvel character name?”
“I guess not. What do you suggest, then?”
“How about Pluto?”
“Like the dog in those old Mickey Mouse shows?”
“I was thinking like the planet.”
Sally-May tips a bowl of dough over onto the counter and starts kneading it with her hands.
“I like it,” she says matter-of-factly.
“Okay, Pluto it is. You can get back to helping Skye with the grooming when you’re ready. I’m guessing you might be the only one who can manage to keep Loki on his feet for a good wash. Preston will be here soon to check on Pluto, so I’ll meet you guys down there when he arrives.”
Matthew downs the last of his lemonade, rinses his cup, and places it on the side to dry.
“Thanks for the lemonade, Sally-May. It was the best I’ve ever had,” he tells her, and though she hears it all the time from us, she smiles a little wider when he says it. And then he leaves.
“So, what do you think?” Sally-May asks me a minute later.
“I would have chosen a Marvel name for the new foal, but a planet works. We can name the next one Mars or Jupiter.”
She shakes her head.
“Not about the name, I was askin’ about Matthew.”
“Oh. I don’t know, he’s okay, I guess,” I say as I pour myself another glass of lemonade.
“He’s good with the horses. A natural, like you,” she continues, without looking up from the dough she’s folding over.
“They seem to see something in him they like,” I agree.
“Maybe you might find something there too,” she says, and I breathe in a little while I’m drinking and start to cough and splutter on lemonade.
“I’m… not lookin’… for something,” I say through coughs, and she shrugs and shakes her head.
“I’m just sayin’, it might be good for you. I worry about you out there all on your own.”
“Are you forgetting what happened when I was living closer to the main house?” I ask, and she closes her eyes as if it could somehow block out the memory of what she walked in on all those years ago.
I’d just finished a load of washing and was outside hanging it on the line when Sally-May decided to stop over with a batch of freshly baked muffins.
The whole basket of them ended up on the ground as she shielded her eyes from the sight of my bare ass.
“I like being on my own,” I reassure her.
“Maybe you’ll find someone you can be alone with is all I’m saying,” she replies, as she flours the counter and starts rolling out the dough.
I don’t tell her how big a contradiction that statement is.
I’ve spent years trying to convince her and everyone else that I’m fine, that I’m perfectly happy on my own.
I never really understood their need to be surrounded by people.
Animals, sure, those I could spend every hour of the day with, but people…
I get to the end of a long day, and I crave the quiet, the solitude my little slice of heaven out on Beaker Brothers gives me.
Tires skid to a stop on the gravel outside, and I drink down the last of my lemonade. Sally-May holds out her hand to take the glass.
“Thanks, I’ll see you at dinner,” I say, and she smiles.
“Try to get that young Mr. Matthew to join us. Maybe he’ll accept your invitation.”
“I’ll ask him, but I can’t say my invite will hold more weight than the chef herself,” I say, and I leave her to her baking and go out to meet Preston.