Haven
Whatever was going to happen next between me and Wyatt, it was going to have to wait.
Dakota took us out toward the northern fence line between our place and the cottage, the sun lighting up the dewy grass. Stetson was already crouched nearby when we got there—his truck parked nearby, four puppies in the bed. Forrest was chatting with Gage closeby, and Dakota pointed toward the fence.
My heart twisted.
Right now…I just didn’t care about my own problems. That was always how I’d been; if an animal was hurt, if anything was hurt, I gravitated toward it, made itmy problem.When I saw those two puppies stuck in the barbed wire, one of them wriggling and trying to escape…
I rushed toward them, getting a better look—one was wiggling, the other had gone still but was still panting. They were both some kind of red heeler mix, brown eyes sparkling and wide.
I dropped to my knees and flung the kit open in the wet grass, Wyatt beside me.
He went straight for the wiggling one.
"Hold," he said, and I got my hands on the still one—gentle, firm, keeping her calm while Wyatt worked. She was so small. Her ribs rose and fell fast under my palms and she turned her head and looked at me with those big brown eyes and I felt something in my chest crack open a little.
"Hey," I murmured. "Hey, we've got you. You're okay."
Wyatt had the wire cutters out. He was talking to the wiggling one the whole time, that low unhurried drawl, not words exactly, just sound—the same register he used with the longhorns when they were worked up, the same one he’d used when he asked if I was okay on nights when we tried something new. The puppy began to go still, whining a little but at least working with us.
"There you go," Wyatt said. "Hold still for me. Just like that."
Snip. The wire gave and the pup lurched forward and Wyatt caught him one-handed against his chest, already running his other hand down the leg.
"Superficial," he said. "He's okay—put him in with the others, maybe it’ll calm him down…but make sure he doesn’t go nuts." He passed the pup back to Dakota without looking up. "Haven? What’s your assessment?”
My eyes widened as I looked over at him. “Me?”
“Yes, you. You’ve had your hands on her—anything I need to be cautious of?”
I looked back down at the still one. Ran my hands over her again, more methodical this time, thinking out loud the way he'd taught me without ever formally teaching me.
"Breathing's shallow but steadying," I said. "No obvious fractures—I don't feel anything displaced. Wire caught her on the left hindquarter, looks superficial. She's got some dried blood here—" I touched the spot gently and she flinched but didn't cry out. "Might need cleaning and a close look but I don't think it's deep."
"Good." He moved in beside me. "Hold her steady."
I kept my hands on her flanks while he examined the leg himself, fingers moving sure and careful. He pressed along the bone, checked the joint, lifted the paw and looked at the pad.
"You're right," he said. “Now let’s get her free.”
I kept holding her as he got the cutters positioned again—angled so the wire would release without snapping back into her skin. His hands were steady, always steady. I’d never once seen Wyatt Holt’s hands shake.
"On three," he said. "One?—"
She felt it coming somehow, that animal instinct, and her whole body tensed. I pressed her down gently.
"Hey," I said. "Hey, look at me. Look at me, okay? You're almost out."
Her brown eyes found my face.
Wyatt cut the wire.
She yelped—sharp, just the once—and thrashed hard and I held on and then it was done and she was free and she scrambled up against my chest and pressed her face into my neck and shook.
"Got you," I said. "See? All done. All done, baby."
Wyatt sat back on his heels. Checked the leg one more time, quick and sure. "Clean cut. No deep tissue." He looked up at me, the pup still burrowed into my neck. "You can let her settle."
