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He had a patronizing smile on his face. “Fine. You want to be the veterinarian, working all on her own? Here’s your chance. This is now your case.” He dropped all the tools he was carrying at his feet and stepped back, his hands up.
She narrowed her eyes at him. What kind of trick was this?
But he just backed away and crossed his arms over his chest, watching her with that same stupid smirk on his stupid face.
She didn’t try to hide her annoyance as she reached over and picked up the instruments he’d dropped. It was awkward to carry them all. She kept dropping one thing or other. She didn’t dare look up at Hunter, knowing she’d just find him smirking at her.
She only managed to carry everything by tucking the calf puller and lariat underneath her arms, hanging the chains around her shoulders, and picking up the surgery kit. It was all heavier than she expected and the trek to the barn far longer than it initially looked.
But finally they got there. The heifer’s plaintive mooing could be heard from the opposite end of the yard. She stood, pawing at the muddy ground, the whites of her eyes showing as she looked around wildly.
Shit. Isobel had forgotten how big cows were in person. She frantically tried to remember everything she’d learned on the couple occasions she’d seen this done.
First, get the cow in a stable position.
Both cows she’d seen give birth had been laid down on their side. But she knew that sometimes cows gave birth standing up.
She bit her lip, setting down her equipment beside the gate as they entered the yard. She felt Hunter’s eyes on her as he hopped up to sit on the fence and watch the show. Judging her. But she refused to give him the satisfaction of looking his direction or showing him how much this whole thing unnerved her.
He was such a jerk. She’d just wanted to assist him, not have to do the whole thing by herself. Much less with him watching on.
You can’t do this. All you’ll ever be is a failure. Who are you kidding?
Isobel shut her eyes for a brief second and breathed in a deep breath to clear her stepmother’s voice out of her head.
Turned out that wasn’t the best move because the side yard didn’t smell awesome. She’d forgotten that about her week at the dairy farm too. Animals stank. ‘Shit happens’ was more than just a saying on a farm.
Okay, time to stop overthinking this and just get it done.
She picked up the lariat and approached the laboring cow. Lassoing a cow couldn’t be that big a deal. At least not for a cow about to give birth. Right?
Isobel walked toward the cow, her arms out to the side, the loop of the lariat ready.
“Hi there, Bessie. We’re gonna take this nice and easy, okay?” That wasn’t a tremble in her voice. Nope. Not at all. She cleared her throat. “I’m here to help.” She smiled.
Apparently the cow didn’t buy it because when Isobel took another step forward, the cow skittered sideways and then past her, dragging her water bag with her as she went. In humans, women’s water just broke. In cows sometimes, like with this cow apparently, it slipped out intact like a giant water balloon hanging out her back end.
Oh the joys of veterinary medicine.
Isobel approached the cow again. She crouched lower and tried to make herself seem as non-threatening as possible. “Nice cow. We’re all friends here.”
The cow bolted again. When Isobel jolted to run after her, she slipped in the mud—at least she hoped it was mud—and fell on her ass.
The loud masculine laughter from behind her did nothing to lighten her mood. She set her jaw, ignored the squelching mud that splattered all over her eight-hundred-dollar riding boots, picked up the lariat, and approached the cow again.
She finally got the rope around the heifer’s neck on the sixth try. Which was good because she didn’t think it would be very compassionate of her to start screaming four letter words at a pregnant cow. Hunter on the other hand, now him she’d be happy to give an earful. If she was acknowledging his presence, that was.
Which she wasn’t.
He did not exist.
It was just her and Bessie.
“Sorry,” she said, yanking on the rope to urge the cow back toward the gate, “I’m stereotyping by calling you Bessie, aren’t I? I’m sure you are a very unique cow with your own individual spirit. How about you work with me to get this baby born and we’ll come up with a name that reflects your incredibly complex and personal style, what do you say?”
The cow let out a plaintive mooooo.
“I’ll take that as a yes.”
