It wasn’t like there’d been much opportunity to be alone with him during that time, though. The farm had been in a buzz these last two weeks because the first set of foals were likely to drop by the end of this month and a lot of preparation still needed to happen. Everyone had been running around, trying to get the birthing block stalls prepared so we could transfer any dams in active labor quickly.
Most births were pretty straightforward for horses, but every so often complications arose, and it was important that staff be able to step in or get Marcy if more intervention was needed. It was super rare, and I’d only been involved in a handful of births that actually needed help, but things could go sideways quickly, so it was better to be prepared and ready.
Horses tended to give birth late at night when the world was still and quiet. It was a special thing to bear witness to, but foaling season tended to have everyone running on fumes as is, so getting good sleep when you could was critical.
My issues had mostly been resolved since the addition of the ear plugs along with finally getting acclimated to hearing Weston’s snores across the room. Except a new problem was starting to encroach on my nights. Tucker’s presence haunted the room. There was no space of my own he hadn’t left some mark on.
The doorway, my bed, my sheets.
He lingered there like the specter of my deepest desires. Every night since, I buried my face into my pillow because despite having washed all my bedding I swore his smell clung to them. I chased it and all the memories he left me with.
I’d lay there, surrounded by all the pieces of him scattered around my room, hard and aching for a man who hadn’t even spared more than passing glances at me in the barn or at the table until I couldn’t take it anymore and would sneak off to the bathroom to finally relieve myself. Hushed groans and his name whispered on the dreamy high of orgasm were my orchestra these nights.
But it wasn’t enough.
There was so much more I wanted with Tucker, and it wasn’t just sex. I wanted the quiet interludes between work. I wanted to see him laugh, fully and uninhibited by the grief he wore like an albatross around his neck. Shit, I even wanted more of his stories with Raleigh because it felt like every time he shared something, less of the weight of his late husband he carried.
I just wanted… him.
Thoughts of him were running through my head almost all the time, and honestly, I was a little sick of it. Sick of being so consumed by someone I ached for like he didn’t live on the same property as me.
I was considering the pros and cons of swinging by his place one evening as I was rounding up the broodmares for the night when I noticed Holland was still laying down. I hadn’t seen her grazing with the other mares much, which wasn’t unusual alone, but something in my gut told me things weren’t right here. When I went over to her, I managed to coax her into standing, but she was obviously agitated and kept turning her head back toward her flank. Awareness swept over me quickly, and when I checked her, I cursed.
Holland was one of our maiden mares, and Marcy had commented that morning she was showing signs she’d likely foal soon. It was hard to predict exactly when a horse would go into labor, same as it was for a human, but one of the advantages of live coverwas you had an exact date to use to predict a window of when the foal would most likely be born—but Holland was early.
It wasn’t unheard of for maidens to “hide” their signs of the pregnancy progressing, and Holland wasn’t so early there would be any concern for the foal, but there were so many unknowns that came with a first-time mother. Would the foal be in the right position? Would her motherly instincts kick in or would she reject the foal? Those and a million more sparked inside my head as I pulled my phone from my pocket.
I quickly punched in a number as I walked toward the fence line which held all the horses’ halters, and I worked to undo Holland’s as the line rang.
“Hello?” Marcy’s feminine southern lilt greeted me as I started my way back toward the bay mare.
“Holland’s in labor,” I said without preamble.
“Are you sure?” she asked after a short pause.
I nodded even though she couldn’t see me. “Pretty damn sure.”
It only took me a minute to run through everything I’d witnessed as I latched Holland’s halter around her neck and muzzle.
“Yeah… Fuck, that definitely sounds like she’s in early labor,” Marcy admitted. “Has her water broken or do you see the hooves yet?”
“No, but I don’t think it’s long now.”
“Okay, good. I wouldn’t normally advise moving a horse in labor, but if her water hasn’t broken, we should get her isolated. You need to call Tucker. I’m not even on the property right now. My friend’s engagement party is tonight, and I’m currently hiding out in the bathroom to talk with you. But Tucker knows these horses like the back of his hand, so if something is really wrong, he’ll know. He can call me, and we’ll figure out what we can do until I arrive.”
Little sparks of excitement went off inside my chest at the thought of spending an evening alone with Tucker while we waited for a foal to be born, but I pushed them aside. There was work that needed to be done.
“Right, I’ll call him.” I hung up the phone as I pulled Holland through the gate, then sent off a text to Lane explaining the situation and asking him to take over bringing the other mares in. When he sent me back a thumbs-up emoji, I dialed Tucker.
“Yeah?”
His gruff voice in my ear made my stomach flip, and I sucked in a breath against the rush of desire I had for him.
“I’m taking Holland to the birthing block. I already called Marcy and she confirmed she’s in early labor, but I don’t think we have long.”
“Fuck. She’s got her friend’s party tonight.”
“I know. She told me to call you.”
