“We temporarily moved her to get her cleaned up and fed,” the vet tells me, “but now that Chipper’s up on her feet, you’re going to want to get her baby back in there to nurse. She needs the colostrum for her immune system. And we’re going to have to keep a close eye on the two of them to make sure they’re bonding and the foal doesn’t accidentally hurt her mom.”
Her words are reassuring, but I’m still on edge. It’s hard to let go of the panic that’s been riding me all night. “Where is she?”
Caleb points to the stall across from us and I push past him to get there. Dean looks up at me from inside the stall when I peer in. The foal is wobbling on her spindly legs, nosing about at my friend. My heart twists. She’s the spitting image of her mom. From the chestnut coat to the perfect diamond in the middle of her forehead that runsinto a thin white line down her face. It twists to the right when it hits her muzzle.
I step inside to give her a pat and she butts me with her delicate little muzzle.
“Nice suit,” Dean says.
Great. I grabbed the first thing off the floor on my way out, so I’m wearing the borrowed tuxedo pants and shirt. “Thanks, I think it’s mine now. Whether I can afford it or not.” And the answer is likely not.
I sink down beside him, propping my elbows on my knees. I’m still worried, but seeing the baby in front of me fills me with resolution. No matter what happens, we have to keep this baby safe and healthy. For her mom and for mine. She was my baby, but my mom helped me through every step of the first year of her life, so I can still feel her with me any time I’m with the mare.
“Sorry you had to come home to this.”
I shake my head. “Me too, but I’m glad Caleb called. I needed to be here.”
It makes me think about my priorities. This is my home and where I want to be, but I also want to be with Aura. Maybe she was right about us. Is it possible for us to make this relationship work, when I need to be here and she’s always having to jet off to some movie star thing?
But there’s not going to be a lot of time to think that through over the next few days. Looking after Chipper and the foal is my number one priority until they’re both out of danger.
Dean drops a hand to my shoulder, giving it a squeeze. “They’re going to be okay. We’ll make sure of it.”
“Thanks.” I only hope it’s true.
I keep my eyes locked on the filly as she wanders around the stall, exploring every corner, snuffling at the ground and snorting. All the struggle, the difficult birth, and she’s still up and ready to go. A fighter, just like her mom. It gives me a little more hope that my girl is going to get through this.
Shayla pokes her head over the stall door. “Shall we get that baby to her mom?”
I nod, pushing up from the floor. “Let’s do it.”
My sister opens the stall door while me and Dean start to herd the baby. She protests, zigging and zagging around, and it takes the two of us plus Shayla to guide her across the hall to her mama’s stall. Caleb’s got the door open.
Chipper looks up and lets out a low, throaty nicker as soon as she spots her baby. She shifts on her feet to move closer.
“Easy girl. We’ll bring her to you. Don’t stress yourself out, we got this covered.”
She seems to respond to my voice, settling down as we bring her baby closer.
We guide her over to her mom’s front end first and the two touch noses. Chipper lets out a more excited call and starts licking her already-clean baby. Clearly unimpressed with the job my family did.
After they have their bonding time, we try to guide the foal back, so she can nurse. She snuffles around, taking her time, but finally manages to latch on underour careful watch. Don’t want her mom to tear anything open.
And then I step away, slipping to the floor to keep an eye on the pair. That’s when I can finally let myself relax. The tension slowly seeps out of me and I’m able to experience the wonder of the moment. The beautiful baby horse and her mom. A pair of survivors. Proof that you can get through anything.
Chapter 33
Aura
There’sstillnoreplyto my texts when I glance at my phone, and Quint doesn’t answer any of my multiple calls. I even tried Shayla several times, but no one is replying. Alarm bells are screaming in my head, but this time they could be real, and not just my brain going rogue.
Surprisingly, the hat pulled low over my forehead combined with the scrubby clothes and no makeup seems to do the trick. I pass through the airport like a shadow. Just one of many travelers waiting in lines and settling into economy seats.
The only time it gets a little dicey is when the security agent makes me take my hat off to check my ID. She studies my face, double checks the passport, eyes widening slightly. I give her my best pleading look, and finally she nods, telling me I can put the hat back on.
The plane is crowded and uncomfortable, but I pop in some earbuds, slip a mask over my face and listen to an audiobook for the three-hour flight. There’s a good chance I’ll never be able to recount a single detail about the true crime story, but it provides some level of distraction. Enough to tone down the racing thoughts about what could be going wrong with Quint or his family, anyway.
I’m on the phone again, calling Quint as soon as the plane’s wheels hit the tarmac, but there’s still no answer.
