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“Good.” I nodded at him, and together we settled into a rhythm, prepping the stall with fresh bedding, filling water buckets, and ensuring the heat lamps were angled just right. There was a quiet confidence in our teamwork, a silent understanding that came from years of weathering both storms and droughts side by side.
“Any time now,” I breathed out, feeling an anticipation that thrummed through my veins like a pulse. Bella shifted uneasily, and we both stilled, watching her closely for signs that the moment was upon us.
I leaned against the worn railing of Bella's stall, arms folded over the top rail, my gaze unwavering on the heavy-bellied mare. Her sides heaved with an almost rhythmic grace, a testament to the life brewing within. There was a palpable anticipation hanging in the air, each second stretching longer than the last as we all awaited the miracle poised on the precipice of becoming.
Bella nickered lowly and I straightened up, ready to play my part in the age-old drama about to unfold. Her time was near, and mine was to witness the continuation of a legacy that ran as deep and wild as the creek cutting through the ranch. It was a responsibility, a privilege, and as much a part of me as the stubborn stubble perpetually shadowing my jaw—unyielding, natural, and undeniably real.
“Easy girl,” I murmured, stroking Bella's flank with a practiced gentleness that belied my rough exterior. Walker echoed the sentiment, his voice a soft baritone that blended seamlessly with mine. In this moment, the friction that often sparked between us was forgotten, smoothed over by our shared purpose.
“Remember when Sallie foaled?” Walker’s whisper cut through the silence, his question cloaked in nostalgia.
I nodded, a half-grin tugging at my stubbled cheek. “Couldn't forget if I tried. You were knee-deep in mud and bawling louder than the foal.”
“Hey,” he protested, but there was no heat in it. “I was eight, and that mud was cold.”
“Sure, Walker. Blame it on the mud.” My ribbing was light, an easy dance of words that matched the cadence of our movements. We were brothers, sometimes rivals, always family.
The night air hung heavy, charged with anticipation. Bella shifted restlessly, her sides rippling beneath my palms. This was it—she was ready. All our preparations funneled down to this single point in time.
“Okay, boy, let’s focus,” I said, my casual tone belying the tension that hummed beneath my skin. I could feel every muscle in my body coiled, ready to spring into action at the first sign of distress.
“Right behind you, Gray,” Walker replied, his hands steady as he checked the supplies one last time.
We watched Bella intently, monitoring each labored breath, each small movement. She was strong, a testament to the bloodlines we'd cultivated at Red Downs Ranch. But even the strongest mares needed their humans sometimes, and we were here, not leaving her side.
Time seemed suspended, stretched thin. Then, with a shudder that ran through her mighty frame, Bella began to labor in earnest. Walker and I sprang into action, our banter silenced by the gravity of the task at hand. I supported her head, whispering encouragements, while Walker positioned himself to guide the emerging foal.
“Come on, Bella,” I urged, my voice a low rumble of encouragement. “You've got this.”
“Easy . . . easy . . .” Walker soothed, his hands deft and sure.
Bella's breaths came in quick, rhythmic huffs, a primal dance of life that held us captivated. The air in the stable was charged with expectancy, each second ticking by like the heartbeat of the earth itself. Walker's hands, steady as bedrock, guided the foal's slick, glistening crown into the world.
“Look at you, little one,” I murmured, my voice a blend of awe and encouragement as the rest of the body followed—a cascade of legs and wet fur sliding into existence. The foal was perfect, its tiny sides heaving with the effort of its first breaths.
Walker and I worked in harmony, clearing the foal's nostrils and rubbing it down with clean towels to stimulate circulation. The mare nickered softly, her eyes bright with maternal pride as she turned to nuzzle her offspring, already trying to stand on wobbly legs, a testament to the tenacity of life.
“Isn't it something?” I said, the gruffness of my usual tone softened by wonder. “Just . . . damn.”
Walker's grin was broad in the dim light of the stable. “Every time, Gray. It's like the first time,” he agreed, his voice laced with a reverence that mirrored my own.
As Bella coaxed her foal to keep trying to stand, the sense of triumph that swelled within me was nearly overwhelming. In this quiet corner of the world, under the watchful eyes of two brothers, a new member of the Red Downs family had arrived without fanfare, but not without significance.
“Should've been here to see this,” I whispered, more to myself than to Walker, as the realization hit me like a stray gust of wind across an open plain. Eryn. Where was she?
I glanced around the stable, half-expecting her to materialize from the shadows, her amber eyes lit with excitement, one of her breezy dresses out of place yet strangely fitting against the backdrop of hay bales and leather tack. But the space where she should've been was empty, the only sound the soft nickering of the horses and the gentle rustling of straw.
“Didn't Eryn say she'd be here soon?” Walker asked, concern creasing his brow as he caught my searching gaze.
“Thought so,” I replied, the confusion settling in my stomach like an unwelcome stone. Why hadn't she come? This moment, the birth of a foal, was the kind of miracle Eryn lived for—something pure and untouched by the complexities of her world or mine.
“Maybe she got held up,” Walker suggested, trying to brush off the worry with a casual shrug, but his eyes didn't quite meet mine.
“Maybe,” I echoed, though unease gnawed at me with sharp little teeth. Eryn wasn't one to miss something important, not without good reason. And what could be more important than welcoming a new life, especially when that life was part of the legacy we were building together?
“Let's finish up here. I'll go check on her after,” I said, pushing through the motions, securing Bella and her foal for the night. But as I moved through the tasks, my mind wasn't on the hay I spread or the water I checked. It was on Eryn, on the empty space beside me that she should have filled, and on the nagging worry that something sinister kept her from our side tonight.
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