Someone was there in the darkness before us. Biting my lip, I reined Mickey to a halt at the sight of a strange white pickup truck. It glowed in the light of the dim bulb above the stable yard. The barn door creaked as it swung open, then closed behind the figure of a tall man. There weren’t any men boarding horses here.

Who…?

I swallowed hard, glancing from side to side to see if anyone else was around, my fingers tightening on the reins. Mickey backed up a step, his bit clanking as he threw his head, and I gritted my teeth to keep from crying out with pain at the motion. The figure turned to face us.

“Hello, who’s there?” he called out.

Kit Allen, a surgery resident from the veterinary school. I let out my breath and shivered as the butterflies dancing in my stomach nearly overcame even the throbbing in my leg.

“It’s me, Lena Scott,” I said.

He walked toward me and I squeezed my legs to move my horse forward before I thought. I yelped, but bit it off.

“What the heck are you doing out riding at this hour?” His brows narrowed as I rode up to him. “And what have you done to your face?”

“Ahhh…we had a…disagreement about going home.”

“Looks like the roan won. Bit late for a ride, isn’t it?” He set down a bucket full of bandaging materials and reached for one of Mickey’s reins.

“I left mid-afternoon.” I said, wincing. “I only got as far as the glade, a few miles across the fields.”

“Are you okay?” He frowned as his eyes scanned the perfectly cool horse, then his gaze snapped to mine.

“I’ve hurt my leg.” My attempt at nonchalance came out as a whine. My left foot hung free of the stirrup—the leg hurt too much to do anything else.

“What have you done with Lena?” Kit muttered, as he moved to the horse’s near side and froze. He stared at the swelling bulging above the top of my boot, all the way to mid-thigh, then at my eyes, as comprehension dawned. “Is this horse named Mickey? What happened?”

I took a deep breath. I didn’t want anyone to know, especially someone from the vet school.

“Yes, it’s Mickey. He fell on me.”

“He fell? It’s flat out there.” His voice was terse and the furrows on his brow deepened.

“He went over backwards,” I whispered, my heart in my throat.

“That riding school he came from—” He stopped and gritted his teeth. “Anyway, you’re hurt,” he said, his voice softening. “Can you get down?”

I shook my head.

“I was wondering how I’d get off,” I said, surveying the rickety old corral fences.

“Let me help.” He was tall enough to hold me around the waist and pull me carefully from the saddle, while I sternly told the butterflies to go to play somewhere else. I clamped my jaws together when I my bad limb bumped against his, but I couldn’t help gasping when it hit the dirt.

“I’ll put the horse away and give you a ride,” Kit said, and released me as soon as I could bear weight on it.

“I can drive mys—”

“—good thing you were wearing that thing. There’s a great dent in it.” He raised a brow at me, eyeing the back of my helmet. “You were knocked out, weren’t you?”

I closed my eyes and took a deep breath.

“I don’t know.”

“Right. I don’t know what you had planned, but you won’t manage the heavy clutch in your old truck with that leg, will you?”

“I hadn’t actually thought past getting back to the barn in one piece,” I mumbled, mostly to myself, as he led the horse away. I wrung my hands. “His feed’s made up,” I called after him.

“I’ll find it.” Kit slipped the girth as he walked and pulled the saddle off.

I limped to get my backpack, then leaned against Kit’s truck and closed my eyes. The sweet scent of an early-blooming honeysuckle wafted to me on the breeze, as I cooled the burning abrasions on the back of my arms against the vehicle’s metal panel. Maybe I should press my hot cheeks against it, and the rest of my aching body. A wry grin formed on my lips.

I started when Kit spoke.

“Hop into the truck,” he called, from inside the barn, as he led the roan into his stall. Kit growled something low at the horse, then exited the barn with my saddle over his arm.

“Can’t you get in?” he said, as he walked up.

I shook my head and glanced down at my swollen leg.

His eyes following mine, he grimaced, picked me up with care, and set me on the passenger seat. At the sight of the forms and equipment filling the middle of the bench seat, I recognized the truck. It belonged to the clinics at the vet school.

“We need to get that boot off and get you to the hospital,” he said.

“I’ll be fine at home, thanks.”

“You need the hospital.” His brows narrowed until they nearly touched.

“No. Thank you.”

He quirked his lips in silence for a moment.

“How about student health?”

“I’ll be fine. They’ll tell me to elevate it, take anti-inflammatories, and rest.”

“Yes, but you could have more injuries than you realize.”

“Can you please look at my leg for me?”

“Your leg’s a mess, but it’s your head that worries me.”

He sighed and pulled a penlight from his pocket, flicked it at my eyes, first one, then the other, then back and forth between them several times.

“Your light reflexes are normal, but that leg…”

“It’ll be fine. I’ve had worse.”

He squeezed his eyes shut for a moment.

“Home it is, then, but get it checked out tomorrow, okay?”

Every tiny bump in the road on the way home jarred my leg. By the time we got near home, I was nearly vomiting from the pain, but riding beside Dr. Kit Allen made up for a lot. For the past few years, he’d had my utter admiration—bordering on hero worship—though he didn’t know me from a bar of soap. He was a magician with horses and really cared about them—not just their diagnosis and treatment—but them. I glanced across the cab to his profile, outlined by a streetlamp. Pretty drop-dead gorgeous, too, if you happen to like your classical tall, dark and handsome. But his way with horses—that really got to me.

I shook my head.

Just remember how tall, dark, and handsome turned out last time.

“Is there someone at your place who can help you with your boot? Getting it on—off, I mean?” He flushed in the glow from the dashboard lights and clamped his lips together.

I clamped my own to keep from grinning at his blush. Made me feel better about mine, but it wasn’t helping me keep my mind where it belonged, really. Residents didn’t usually consort with students, and I’d never spent time around him, other than reporting on his cases in ICU…and watching him when he wasn’t looking. He had a sharp wit, but he didn’t say much, and hailed from the snobbiest horsey town in our home county, so I’d kept my distance, despite his regular appearances in my dreams for the past several months. Maybe he was just shy. He’d been pretty nice tonight—the butterflies started kicking again, and I told them to quit.

“My housemate Tamarah might be home,” I finally answered.

He let out a long breath and a hint of a smile touched his lips.

“You might get that field boot off before some idiot wants to cut it off…the only reason not go to the hospital, I guess,” he said, with the hint of a grin.

“Call me vain,” I said, as I reached down to loosen its lace, with a sharp inhalation at the stabbing pain in my ribs “but I’d almost rather cut off my leg than this Dehner boot—I’ve waited two decades to own a pair…you’d understand about good boots.”

“How’s that?”

“Some comment I overheard in ICU, sorry,” my cheeks heated further, “about you showing hunter-jumpers—to the degree of resetting shoes between judges to change your horses’ movement.”

“We were kinda serious.” He grinned. “Good thing I worked my way through college as a farrier. Kept the bills down.”

No lights showed from the windows as we stopped before my house. This time he didn’t even ask if I could manage. He came around to my side, picked me up and carried me to the door as if weighed nothing. Desired or not, having his face that up-close and personal was disconcerting, so I turned my heated cheeks away and fumbled with the house keys as we stood exposed in the light of the bare porch bulb.

Ten minutes later, nauseous, with more swearing and tears than I’d have preferred, we got the boot off, intact.

“There’s a bandage in the bathroom, top drawer, and naproxen in the cabinet,” I said, as the room swam a bit with the pain and the sight of my leg, already blue from toes to groin.

“Are these yours?” He shot me a look and held up my skimpy running shorts. My face must’ve gone from white to red, now. The scrap of nylon had been on the bathroom floor beneath some even scantier lacy panties.

I somehow nodded. He tossed the shorts to me and disappeared.

“Put them on, please,” he called from the bathroom. “I’d like to check that leg.”

Sounded like he was talking about a horse. I grinned, despite myself, and managed to peel my breeches down and off, then tugged the shorts up as he returned with a compression bandage, pills and a glass of water.

Dr. Allen blinked at the leg, shaking his head, then checked the femur, tibia and fibula for stability. Taking the heel in one hand, he flexed, extended, and rotated the joints in all directions, but nothing crunched, while I held myself rigid and bit the insides of my cheek till I tasted blood. It’d be the hospital for sure, if I let myself scream.

“No crepitus, and the joints work fine. I’ll bandage it up, but you must get it looked at.” He looked at me with suspicion. He must’ve known I had no intention of visiting the good doctors of the university health center.

I compressed my lips together. I had two weeks to recover before school and work started again.

Piece of cake.

***

For all my bravado, Tamarah, my fourth-year vet student housemate, still had to go with a friend to the barn the next day to pick up my truck and feed the horse—I wasn’t going anywhere.

“How did you get back?” Tamarah said, after she returned. “It’s a long way to the barn from where he dumped you.”

“Rode back,” I mumbled through a full mouth.

“Didn’t Mickey leave?”

“When I woke up in the dark, I still had his reins in a death-grip,” I said. “I learned young to keep hold of my reins when I fell off—riding boots aren’t exactly made for hiking home in the Santa Cruz Mountains.”

“How’d you get back on him? That’s your mounting leg.” She frowned at my swollen appendage.

“Hopped to a fallen log, clinging to his mane, then clambered onto his back all anyhow, swearing and sweating like a demented thing. I still ache all over.”

“And you haven’t seen a doctor?” Tamarah said, glancing up from her granola.

“It’s okay, Dr. Allen checked it out.”

She blinked.

“Dr. Allen? The resident? Where did you see him?”

“He was at the barn when I rode in on Mickey.”

“That’s all very well,” she set down her spoon down carefully, “but he’s a vet. You need a human doctor.”

“Are you serious, Tam?” I stared at her. “They’d put me in the hospital.”

“Where you belong,” she stated flatly.

“I can’t make my rent if I don’t finish typing Sarah’s doctoral dissertation before school starts again.”

“You can do that in hospital.”

“Yeah, I can’t even lift the typewriter, I’m sure that’ll work,” I said, crossing my arms and leaning back with a yelp. I kept forgetting about my ribs. “I’ll just have to take care of it at home. I can keep it elevated and massage the heck out of it.”

She shook her head as she rinsed her bowl in the sink.

“Besides, if I’m in the hospital and miss classes, I’ll never catch up.”

“Of course you will.” Her brows narrowed at me. “Why didn’t Dr. Allen take you to the hospital?”

“He tried,” I said, wincing.

“Sometimes you have rocks in your head, girl.” Tamarah shook her head as she picked up my bowl. She slapped it down on the counter and stalked off.

 Some people just seem to be born brilliant. Like Tamarah. Somehow I’d ended up with 150 of them in my vet school class. The rest of us work our buns off just to survive.

I’m not bitter, it’s just the way it is.

***

The jingle of the ice cream truck pulled me out of whatever internal medicine doctorate-dissertation trance I was in, typing myself stupid. I’d been stuck in bed with Sarah’s Previously Unknown E. coli in a Dog for nearly a week and I had a desperate urge to catch that truck—and snag me a chocolate gelato.

Never mind I could barely make it to the toilet.

With a frown at Tamarah’s makeshift desk sitting over my reclining body, topped by 35 pounds of IBM Selectric correcting typewriter, I bit my lip, held my breath and heaved. My sore ribs shrieked, but the typewriter barely budged. I tried again and managed to tip it off my lap, then I swung my legs across and dived for the door…but my leg was trapped in the sheets, wasn’t it?

I hit the floor with a grunt and a scream, then dragged myself to the doorframe and climbed up its slippery surface.

That ice cream had better be good.

I staggered down the hallway, leaning against the wall as I went. If I’d gone to the doctor, I’d no doubt have a crutch, but my stupidity might cost me that gelato. I could almost taste it, and I hurried, nearly falling over Tamarah’s golden Labrador as she rushed up to me, leash in mouth and a hopeful look in her big brown eyes.

“Watch out, Susie, not now,” I mumbled, then stumbled down the porch steps. I was limping across the lawn at a great rate of knots, when the brightly painted van, playing its merry tune, drove away in a cloud of diesel smoke.

I growled beneath my breath at the universe for denying me the chance to add inches to my waistline, then took a deep breath. The mailbox stood just yards away. I might as well check it, now I was out here. As I reached into the box, a movement to my right caught my eye.

 “Susie, what have you got?” I called out to the dog. She looked at me, all big, innocent Labrador eyes, a half-grown bunny draped through her mouth.

“Gently, gently,” I whispered, as I picked up her forgotten leash and followed her into the bushes, dragging my screaming leg. A domestic rabbit like this baby Belgian Lop running around in the middle of town must be someone’s pet. It was still alive, its little chest heaving in triple time, but that could change in a heartbeat.

“Come on, Susie, give it here,” I cajoled, and waved the leash at her.

With a joyous look, she spat the rabbit at me and lunged for the leash. I dove for the bunny like a wide receiver making the final play in the end zone, quite forgetting for one brief moment that I only had one functional leg.

This time, I’m sure the whole neighborhood heard me swear.

Lucky Susie. She got her walk after all. We returned to the house to put the little hopper in a box with some water and lettuce to calm down while I fashioned a rough—operative word, rough—crutch. With the Labrador helping, against my wishes and better judgement, I loaded the bunny into a backpack, where it snuggled down and never moved, then we set off to tour the neighborhood. I’m not sure if Susie’s enthusiasm helped, but I hobbled from house to house, muttering a fairly constant stream of imprecations under my breath. It took over an hour to canvass the neighborhood, but we finally found a little old lady whose eyes watered up when I mentioned the rabbit. Her granddaughter brought it over to show it off last week—and forgot about it while it grazed on granny’s back lawn. When they returned, of course it had gone walkabout. They thought they’d never see it again.

Made my day.

***

A few days later, despite the hydrotherapy, massage, and loving care by Tamarah, the leg actually looked worse. Not content to stay a nice blue color, it had morphed to a camouflage pattern of purple, black and yellow. Understanding the medical significance of the color changes was all very nice, but it sure didn’t make the bruises resolve any faster.

“Do you want to see that blasted horse of yours?” Tamarah said, out of the blue.

“Really? You’ll take me?”

“I go there every day to take care of him, anyway.” She scowled at me. “You might as well come along…on one condition.”

“What is it?” I said, rather ungraciously, under the circumstances. She’d been caring for me, too, since my fall. I peered sideways at her.

“We go by student health on the way back. I don’t want to come home from walking the dog to find you seizuring from a blood clot in your brain.”

Susie jumped to her feet at the W-word and spat her slimy tennis ball at me. I sidestepped, with a yelp, but gave the dog a twisted grin. After the bunny incident, I was thankful she loved hurling things with her mouth.

“My father would shoot me,” Tamarah continued smoothly, “if he knew I’d let you stay away from the doctor.”

That got me.

Tamarah’s daddy, a lovely man, was also a professor…at our veterinary school. I bit my cheek. He wouldn’t be impressed by my irresponsible behavior. Now was not the time to annoy his daughter. It has also occurred to my thick little brain that a more comfortable crutch could be useful when school started—only a few days from now.

“Thanks,” I managed, past gritted teeth. “I’d like that…the first part, but…I’ll go to the doctor.”

“Get a sock on that foot and we’ll go,” she said.

I hopped away as fast as I could, before she changed her mind.

It was sure good to be at the barn again. Swallows flitted in and out of the hay loft and  blooming flowers combined with the smell of molasses to make me feel at home. Mickey at least had the decency to look guilty when I limped toward him with his feed. Afterward, while Tamarah cleaned his stall, I mooned over the fence at him, breathing in his newly-mown hay scent and running my fingers through his mane.

“Don’t even think about taking him for a walk, much less riding.” Tamarah stood between me and the tack room with a look on her face that made me cringe.

I quashed the desire to ask for his halter and kissed his soft nose, instead.

***

“I’ll wait out here,” Tamarah said, with a triumphant smile, as she held open the front door of student health for me.

The disinfectant scent of hospital entered my nostrils and clung to the sides of my tongue as I walked to the receptionist.

“This didn’t just happen,” the doctor said, when I finally got to see her. “You could have had clots! How long has it been?”

“A week and a half,” I mumbled into my shirt.

“I see you rushed right in.” She scowled and shook her head. “What have you been doing for it?”

Her demeanor softened a little when I told her.

“I guess you’re out of the danger zone, anyway. I’d have hospitalized you.”

I nodded.

“So you start school next week? What are you studying?”

“Vet med.”

“Vet?” She blinked. “You should know bett—oh well, vet students…” she sighed, and shook her head as she scribbled in her notes. “Never mind. Small animals, I hope? Try to stay off it. Sit down while you’re treating your patients.”

I mumbled something incoherent. I didn’t have the heart to tell her I was Equine Track and worked as a Large Animal ICU Technician—galloping on foot between three barns, running IV fluids to twelve horses at a time, and tubing colicky horses all night. She’d have the vapors.

Oblivious to her patient’s dastardly plans, the doctor smiled and left me with a packet of anti-inflammatories and admonitions to rest, elevate it, and keep up the massage.

At least I could hold my head up in front of Tamarah again, but I was still glad school was about to start. While I appreciated her loving, if tight-lipped, care, I really didn’t need the pillow under my leg fluffed every half hour and if I kept drinking so many hot chocolates, I’d never fit into my jeans again when the swelling in my leg eventually went down. I could get around, hopping, but getting to class on time would be tricky.

***

My friend Jess returned from a trip away with her family the night before classes were to resume.

“Did you see what our first lecture is tomorrow?” Her voice over the phone line leapt with expectancy.

I pulled the schedule from my bag. It had lain there, forgotten, since the final day of last quarter. One glance, and my grin at her excitement vanished. Spots swam before my eyes as I read the title of the first lecture:

Dystocia: Difficult Birth in the Mare. Determining the Need for Surgical Intervention

I nearly dropped the phone.

Not dystocia. Not foaling difficulties.

Anything but that.

 

CHAPTER TWO

I leaned against a wall in the foyer, resting after my struggle to get to the classroom. When I’d gotten my breath back, the mere thought of the upcoming session’s topic made me start hyperventilating…and the talk hadn’t even started.

When the lecturer enter the anteroom, I closed my eyes for a moment, and my already-warm face heated some more. It wasn’t Dr. Rye today, as scheduled, but Kit.

No—it’s Dr. Allen, I reminded myself, because I needed to think of him that way again. He looked up and our eyes met.

“How’s the leg?” he said, his own cheeks flushing as he approached.

“It’s fine, thanks.” I ducked my head and tried to ignore the fist curling in my gut, then I peered up at him.

He raised an eyebrow and glanced down at the crutch lodged in my armpit.

“So you did see a doctor, after all?”

“Yes, and thanks for your help that night.” I looked at the floor. “It would have been a long walk home.”

“It could have been rough,” he agreed.

I nodded while he hovered, as my fellow students flowed past us into the lecture hall, glancing our way before they walked down the steps toward their seats.

“Well, I’d best get prepared for my lecture.” Kit hesitated, then frowned. “Are you okay? You’re awfully pale.”

“I’ve been behaving, staying inside with my leg up.” I looked away, then glanced back to see his eyes narrow further.

“You take care of yourself, eh?”

“I promise.” I risked a smile upward.

He motioned for me to precede him down the steps, then headed for the podium. His slide carousel clicked into place as I worked my way across the row of seats. I stowed my wooden crutch by my feet and sank down with a sigh of relief. It was a long hobble from the bus stop, but it beat walking or driving my beast of a pickup, and it’d be awhile before I could ride my bicycle.

Jess bounced into the seat beside me, glancing down toward her feet.

“A crutch? Whose is that? Yours?”

“Nailed, first guess.” I gave her a lopsided grin.

“What have you done now?”

I hesitated. She’d scream at me, class or no class.

“Slipped on some stairs and twisted my ankle. Sprained, doctor says.”

“Seriously? Sprained on steps?”

I bit my lip.

“Welcome back to school, everyone,” Kit called out, right on time.

Jess looked at me from the corners of her eyes while she pulled her notebook out, then turned her attention to the lecturer.

 It seemed everything might just be all right. Kit, no, Dr. Allen, had plenty of cute slides of healthy mares and foals cavorting in grassy fields. He even got a grin out of me. I began to breathe again and shared a smile with Jess.

“That’s when everything goes as planned,” Dr. Allen’s voice cut into my reverie, and I gulped, “but this is a surgery lecture,” he continued, “and I wouldn’t be here speaking with you if everything always went right.”

I gripped my hands together as they began to shake.

“When everything goes to plan, most mares drop their foals within twenty to sixty minutes after their water breaks.” He flicked slowly through the next few slides.

He proceeded, relentlessly—pre-and full-term mares, late ones—and finally, presentations of the fetus requiring veterinary intervention. My pen clattered on the concrete floor as my world began to fragment.

Image after image of ropes attached to tiny legs protruding from beneath the tails of down, sweaty mares, and one with red—oh man, the red—coating the mare’s backside, the veterinarian, and the straw. I gripped my armrests and bit my lip until my own blood came, willing myself to hold on, but I finally gave up, staggered sideways along the aisle and raced for the back door. I barely made it to the women’s locker room.

I wiped my face after my time spent kissing the commode and tried to rinse the foul taste from my mouth. Hot, flushed cheeks and haunted, green eyes peeked from beneath my profusion of brown hair in the mirror. I bullied the mass into shape with my fingers and braided it down my back to my waist, then collapsed onto a bench, eyes squeezed shut against the tears threatening to escape. I couldn’t go back in there. How would I ever pass my Equine Surgery, much less my Equine Reproduction rotations? I wouldn’t graduate, much less practice, would never finish what I set out to achieve at seven years of age—and most importantly, couldn’t ever pay the horses back what I owed to them.

I wanted to melt into the shiny pink and gray tiles on the floor and not have to face my classmates, Dr. Allen, or anyone else.

***

I jumped, with a yelp, as the door slammed back against the wall. Jess strode into the locker room, lugging our backpacks and my crutch.

“Are you okay?” Her concerned frown helped.

“A little better now,” I said.

“Stomach bug?”

“Last night’s chicken must’ve been bad.”

“You missed a great lecture,” she said, as a smile stretched wide across her face. “He talked all about cesareans, midline as well as standing flank—”

“—can we talk about it some other time?” I interrupted.

“Sure, I’m sorry. Are you well enough to make our next lab?”

“I’m sure I will be. Maybe I’ll go over to The Granary and have a drink.”

“Thought you’d never ask,” Jess said. She held the door for me as I stumbled out into the hallway—and nearly crashed into my last disaster.

Gareth Barnett-Bayne dodged clear, his bedroom-brown eyes taking in my tearstained face. He looked me up and down as I stood like a rabbit in the headlights, frozen. He flicked his dark mane back, smirked, turned on his heel, and continued down the hall, whistling beneath his breath.

“Glad you’ve done with that creep,” Jess muttered, with a scowl at him. “Come on, we have better things to do than look at the likes of him.”

I inhaled slowly and followed her. Kit, Dr. Allen, I nearly screamed at myself, caught up with us as we neared the front entryway.

“I didn’t think you looked well,” he said, with a frown. “Are you sure you should be up, with that leg?”

Jess glanced at me and I looked away.

“I’ll go have a rest before my lab.” I tried to smile at him, but I think it came out more like a wince. “Thanks for asking.”

“Any time,” Kit said, with his killer smile, and a glint in his eye. He held the front door to the building open for us before he turned back toward his office.

I gathered what was left of my wits, while my gaze shifted back to the front entrance. As I did every time I entered or left the vet school building’s hallowed halls, I nodded a greeting to my old friends, the menagerie of raised-relief marble animals surrounding the doors. I’d first seen them on a 4-H visit, as an elementary school student. They always reminded me why I was here, and that whatever effort it took to get here was completely and utterly worth it. I owed animals, especially horses, so much. My heart a bit lighter, I limped on down the steps to catch Jess.

Just down the block, beside the road teeming with students on bicycle and foot, the front door of The Granary stood open, and I sighed in relief. Jess flicked a look back toward the vet school, then rounded on me.

“What does Dr. Allen know about your leg?”

“He-he saw me twist my ankle.” I bit my lips together and stumbled as my bad leg gave way beneath me. I lost my balance and staggered sideways into the pannier of a passing bicycle.

“Sorry,” called the bicyclist, as my world exploded.

Only years of working with green horses stopped me from shrieking as I sprawled face-first, willing the pavement to swallow me, while the blinding white pain in my leg blanked everything else out.

“Are you okay, Lena?” Jess’s voice came from far away, as I hunched into a ball over my tucked-up leg. I didn’t think it could bend that much. Go figure.

“I—I think so.”

“You aren’t okay.” She ducked down beside me.

“Yeah, well, it’s a bad sprain.” I’ve  never been able to lie to save myself. I struggled to a sitting position and blinked away the blurriness.

“Lena, you look like a ghost—tears? He didn’t hit you that hard, what’s up?”

I couldn’t tell her. She’d warned me.

“And what’s with the skirt and thigh-high boots? I’ve never seen you out of jeans.”

Silence.

“Oh,” she said, assessing. “Why aren’t you wearing jeans?”

“Can’t,” I mumbled to my pearl snaps. She’d find out soon enough anyway. I probably wouldn’t be able to walk after this—the leg felt like it had at the beginning.

“So, what’s up, chick?”

I froze as she lifted the hem of my skirt and gasped.

“Let’s go,” I muttered. “I’m glad it’s close. Don’t think I could walk much further.” Yep, it was worse now for sure. Jess pulled me to my feet and I turned toward the smell of brewing coffee from our favorite haunt. Trying to think of anything but my screaming leg, I wondered how something that smelled as good as coffee could taste so bad. I wiped the sweat from my brow as Jess and I struggled up the coffeehouse’s steps. She dragged me to a corner booth and slid me onto the smooth seat.

“Put your leg up on that,” she said. “Chocolate?”

“You’re a godsend,” I whispered, as she scurried off, then I bodily lifted my booted foot up onto the cushion.

I thought I’d need a scalpel to cut the silence after she returned. I looked up at her cute blonde curls peeking from beneath her cowboy hat and dropped my eyes again.

She sat in silence for a few minutes, then narrowed her brows and cut straight to the quick.

“It was that horse.”

“Okay, I fell off,” I murmured, looking away. I scrabbled in my bag for a pen, hoping she’d believe me.

Her fingernails beat out a tattoo on the table top and I finally glanced up to her frown.

“Let’s have a better look at that leg.” Refusal wasn’t an option, by the tone.

As my clammy fingers slowly pulled the skirt up to my groin, and Jess pushed the boot down toward my nonexistent ankle, her complexion faded to a sort of gray. Heck, the leg looked better than it had a week ago, but I wasn’t about to tell her that.

“Shit.”

Uh-oh. Jess never swears.

“What did the doctor say?” She raised a brow at me, and the steel in her baby blues warned me not to lie. “You did go, didn’t you?”

“Yes.” I’d have to remember to thank Tamarah. Without her insistence, Jess would be dragging me down the street toward student health right now.

“Why aren’t you in the hospital? By the colors in that leg,” Jess said, “it’s been two weeks. Just when did you see this doctor?”

I stared into the depths of my mug for as long as I dared.

“Three days ago,” I murmured.

“No time like the present, eh? Why’d you wait so long? Death wish?” Jess was nearly shouting. “What, did Tamarah make you go?”

“You should thank me—you get to see pathology in action,” I said lightly, but neither the full-color contusion demonstration nor my attempt at veterinary humor did the trick. I gulped.

“Why is it so hard to take care of yourself?” Jess said, shaking her head.

“You know why,” I growled. “She’d have put me in the hospital. I can’t just stop—”

“—oh, hell,” she snarled, “you could have gotten a stroke and died.”

“I’m still here.” I shrugged, with a twisted grin. “Hard to kill a weed.”

She closed her eyes and leaned over the table to hug me, carefully.

“But a much loved one, you idiot. Drink up, we need to move on soon—” she broke off and frowned, but then seemed to reconsider. She drank her coffee, peering at me from the corners of her eyes occasionally, then we headed slowly back to lab at the teaching hospital barn, watching over our shoulders for more demon bicycles.

***

I’d hoped I’d effectively distracted Jess from the details of how my injury happened, but I should have known there was a reason she cooked dinner for me that night. Turned out it wasn’t just pity, after all. Fancy that. She waited in silence until I was cornered behind the little table in her student digs.

“Tell me,” she said, picking up her fork.

“About what?” I knew what was coming, and concentrated on slicing a piece of spaghetti into 0.25 cm lengths like a microtome, afraid to look up from the perfect sections.

“How you did that.” She nodded at my leg.

“I told you.” I squirmed. “I fell off.”

“No, you didn’t,” she said, barely audible, and I jumped as her fork hit the table with a clatter. “The truth,” she barked.

It never pays to mess around with a horsey girl.

Jess sat, waiting for an eternity, arms folded against her chest.

I took a deep breath.

“Mickey and I disagreed. I wanted to go on and he wasn’t so keen.”

“And?”

 I took a deep breath. This wouldn’t be pretty.

“And he reared,” I said, in a rush.

“And I suppose you fell off and knocked that leg on a branch, right?” she said, from between gritted teeth, as her eyes shot daggers. “How stupid do you think I am? That blasted nag threw himself over backwards and landed on you, didn’t he?”

I couldn’t even try for a reasonable excuse. Jess had known all along—and she’d begged me not to buy him, for that express reason.

“That horse’ll be the death of you.” She sat still, head in hands, and finally looked up. “And this isn’t the first time. He’s been doing it for years at that riding school where you bought him. He knew the fastest way home from a ride on the levees was to back up to a deep, steep-sided irrigation ditch and rear.”

“Yeah,” I whispered, staring at my plate. “I saw him do it, once. That student took one look over her shoulder at the water in the bottom of the drain and she practically let him gallop home. Never rode him again.”

“So why did you think Mickey’d be any different for you?”

“We usually get along well…this was the first time he went that high with me.”

“Yeah, well,” Jess drew a big breath, “it might have been the last. Don’t you get it?”

“Yeah, but what else can I do? As fantastic as he is in the arena and on the cross country course, nobody else’ll tolerate his behavior. He’d just end up in a can.” I stirred swirls into the sauce on my plate, and the scent of garlic tickled my nose. “I can usually keep him in line—but I wasn’t on my game that day and he hadn’t had enough work lately. Mea culpa.”

She shook her head, then jerked it up and stared at me.

“So what does Dr. Allen really know about it?”

I shredded my nails beneath the table while I my brain scrambled for an answer.

“He was at Mickey’s stable when I rode in after my accident.”

“And?”

“And, it was dark. No one was around. I had no idea how I was going to get off the horse, much less drive my truck—and there he was. My knight in shining armor, just coming out of the barn. He was…a lot kinder than I expected he’d be.”

“Lucky you.” She raised a brow. “Was it nice?”

“As nice as it could be, with my leg, ribs, and scraped-up body throbbing all to hell.”

“Miranda will be so jealous.”

“Miranda?” I stared at her blankly.

“In our class. She’s been tagging along after him, but he seems to be running just a little faster than she is.”

“He’s a resident, and we’re students,” I said, flatly, then added, in my best snobby tone, “Not a gratuitous combination, by all accounts, according to the edicts handed down from the vet school hierarchy through perpetuity.”

“That’s never stopped you from looking at him before,” she said, with a sly look at me.

“Yeah, well,” I flushed so hot, my cheeks burned, “no use being a fly on the windshield…again. It’s not going to happen. I’m sure I’ll get over a little crush.”

Jess gave me a twisted grin and chuckled.

“We’ll see,” she said.

 

CHAPTER THREE

Dr. Rye was our lecturer for Wednesday’s Equine Surgery lecture, so I didn’t have to see Ki—Dr. Allen, and my focus in class was impeccable.

It seems all I had to do was think of Kit for my face to heat up, and it was starting to look like I had it bad. Maybe that’s why I nearly dropped a container of colostrum when his voice came from over my shoulder as I struggled to get into a comfortable position, half-kneeling, halfway underneath a mare in the Large Animal ICU stall.

“What the heck are you doing under there?” he growled.

“What does it look like? Milking a mare,” I said, my voice shaky. It had taken the better part of a half hour to milk this much out of her, never mind having to do it in strange contortions around my non-bending limb.

“Does your supervisor know what your leg looks like?” He frowned.

That got my attention. I whipped my head around to see if my boss had heard him and nearly tipped over, then clambered the rest of the way to my feet.

“Please Ki—Dr. Allen, please don’t say anything to Frank. I need the hours—I can’t feed that horse or me without it.” I was pleading, now.

“You’re a pain in the rear, you know?” Kit shook his head. “But you’re a trier, I’ll give you that. Hasn’t anyone shown you how to milk a mare with a syringe?”

“A syringe? I think she might object.” I had to grin at that. “She’s really been good—hasn’t moved a muscle for me all this time,” I said, wrapping my arms around the mare’s neck and burying my steaming face in her mane. She whuffled softly as she nosed my bottom, then returned to her hay.

He stroked the mare, while he looked over her back at the premature foal sleeping in the straw.

“Is he nursing yet?”

“His suck reflex is improving a little, but we’re still tubing him with colostrum every few hours,” I said.

“Want to learn to milk a mare…a little faster?”

“You bet.” He had my full attention, now.

“Sit down and put that leg up while I do this.”

I sat, thankful to get my weight off it for a moment, while he searched the cabinet drawers for a big syringe and pulled the plunger out.

“You cut off the business end of the clear part, here,” he began sawing at it with a pocket knife, “then turn the plunger around.” When he was finished, he handed the contraption to me.

I stared at it, with no idea how to begin.

“You place the smooth end around the mare’s teat,” he grinned, “and slowly draw down on the plunger.”

“Seriously?” I jumped to my feet with a wince and tried it. With only gentle pressure on the plunger, the golden, syrupy colostrum just flowed into the syringe. I shook my head and swore softly.

“Works, doesn’t it?” He grinned.

“I can’t believe it,” I breathed. “Thank you so much.” If he wasn’t my hero before, he surely was now.

“That should speed it up a little.”

I filled the rest of my container in three minutes flat.

“I’ve spent…you don’t want to know how long…getting that same volume…” My voice dwindled off and I gazed at him. If student ICU techs hugged residents, I would have.

He took one look at me, then backed away, the beginnings of a smile running screaming from his face.

“Good, well—” he muttered, and spun toward the patient bulletin board, his knuckles so white on the pen in his hand, I thought I’d be cleaning up plastic fragments.

I shook my head and filled another container with the precious golden liquid while he stared fixedly at the pink treatment sheets. His fingers had relaxed, and now he merely played with his pager buttons.

“How is that mare, Charlotte, over in C-Barn?” he called across the room.

“I’m on my way over there now, thanks to your milking gadget. Without it, I’d have been ages longer.”

His narrowed brows softened and the corners of his mouth even lifted a little.

“No worries,” he said.

I stifled a chuckle. Sounded like he’s been hanging out with the new Kiwi Equine Repro resident. New Zealand idioms were popping up all over the vet school. I covered the beakers of colostrum, put one into the fridge, and left the other out for the little guy’s next feed.

“So why,” he remarked, under his breath, “the heck are you working? You should have that leg up somewhere, not running around barns making it worse.”

“I already told you why,” I hissed, glancing around. “It’s been up long enough. Time for exercise, Doc. Soon I’ll be a hundred percent again.”

He shook his head.

“You said you were a farrier before you became a vet,” I said, changing the subject.

“Yes, I was. Why?” He looked sideways at me.

“I spend as much time in the farrier shop here as Sean will have me, but they’re all client horses, so I can’t trim them. I’d like to learn.”

He flicked a glance my way.

“Why do you want to trim feet? You’re training to be a vet, not a shoer.”

“Horses depend on their feet for their living. It’s important they’re right.”

“It’s a lot like hard work.” His brow wrinkled, and he looked away for a moment.

“Way I figure it,” I said, “horse vets need to know about feet—and the fastest way to lose an owner’s confidence is to mangle a shoe removal or basic trim. I don’t want to be a farrier, but I’d sure like to be able to pull a shoe and decently trim and balance a hoof.”

His eyes lit up and his lips slowly formed a twisted grin.

I couldn’t help beaming back. Encouraged, I rattled on.

“I’ve spent a lot of time reading about feet, but I haven’t had the opportunity to actually trim them.” I fell silent for a moment, waiting, but Kit didn’t offer.

He turned away and began looking at records.

I took a deep breath and let it out slowly, then turned back toward the fridge and stared at it, unseeing.

“Guess I’ll have to take a farrier course when I’m done with vet school. Doesn’t look like I’ll learn much about trimming here,” I mumbled, half to myself, half to the fridge.

Behind me, Kit sighed.

“I could teach you,” he said.

I spun to stare at him, just as he blinked, as if he didn’t quite believe he’d just said that.

“Would you? Would you really?” I was stunned. After his last words, I truly hadn’t expected him to say that.

He swallowed hard, then nodded.

“Yep,” he said. “There are plenty of horses in the research herds that could use a bit of attention.”

“When can we start?” I was so excited, I nearly forgot to breathe.

His jaw tensed as he held his own breath in silence for long moments.

“I’ll make you a deal,” he finally said.

I narrowed my brows at him. This couldn’t be good.

“You do only what you absolutely must on that leg for two more weeks, and then if it’s significantly better, I’ll take you out and teach you to trim feet. Mind you, they’re pretty unkempt, and they’ll be a bit rough to handle—”

“—oh please?” I interrupted. Oh cripes, I was begging to do feet…but I meant it.

“Yes,” he sighed, “but remember the conditions, eh?”

“Got it loud and clear, Doc,” I said, and hobbled on before him, eager to show him the progress Charlotte had made since he’d changed the heel elevation of the shoe on her injured leg.

***

“Hey, want to go for some pizza?” one of the girls in my class asked the students standing around me.

“Yeah, let’s go. I’ve got room for one more in my car, Miranda,” one of the guys said, and walked past me to steer her in the right direction, without a glance at me.

I took a deep breath and shook my head, riffling through my pack for my schedule to see what else I needed to do before heading home.

Maybe I was just born different.

But horses liked me…and men, until they got to know me—usually too well, too soon. And then they’d disappear. I couldn’t seem to get that one figured out. My female friends usually kicked me from here to Christmas when I did it…again. I only gave the guys what they asked for…and then they despised me for—

—with a shudder, I saw it—in black and white on the page and my heart hits my boots.

Oh hell. My cousin’s wedding is tomorrow.

More people. I closed my eyes and sank down onto the nearest planter box.

“You okay?” Jess walked up and dropped her pack next to me. “How’s the leg?”

I sighed and let my bag slide to the ground, too.

“Okay, but I’ve a wedding tomorrow.”

“Why so glum? I love weddings. I’ll go.”

“Fine, you go in my place,” I said, and gritted my teeth.

“What’s not to like about a wedding?” She scrunched her face up.

“Too many people, all in one place. When your parents and grandparents all have retail stores, it doesn’t matter if you’re an introvert—you still need to serve the customers and act extroverted, regardless.”

“Probably the best thing they ever did for you—probably helped you get into vet school.”

“Yeah, maybe, but it makes my heart hurt.”

“You’re pretty extroverted now,” she said.

“You’d think so, wouldn’t you? I tell myself it doesn’t matter what people think of me…but it’s not true,” I whispered. “Nobody, even you, gets that I’m terrified—of what they might say, what they might do. At least horses and dogs love you when they love you, even if it’s just cupboard love—and they don’t bother to lie or make promises they won’t keep.”

Jess blinked and stared at me.

“The thought of going to a wedding brought out all that?”

“Well, yes. I mean, the ceremonies are all right. I usually even cry. And the dancing’s good, if there’s someone there who can swing dance…but the rest isn’t so hot…drunk people who want to get close,” I shuddered, “and think it’s okay because it’s a wedding.”

“True. You don’t do drunks, period. I’ve seen that.” Jess put an arm over my shoulders and gave me a hug.

“I can usually escape into a kitchen,” I said, with a hint of a grin. “I hate weddings with caterers, though. No escape hatch.”

“Didn’t you used to work for a catering company when you were an undergraduate? How’d you deal with that?”

“They didn’t maul the kitchen minions. Hey,” I grinned, “that’s an idea. I can take along a black skirt and white blouse…and just disappear into the woodwork.”

“So where is it?” Jess said, shaking her head and chuckling.

“At my Aunt’s ranch.”

“What’s wrong with that? She’s the one with all the horses, right? If the kitchen trick doesn’t work, you could always head for the stables.”

“That’s why I love you so much, Jess. You get it.”

“Yep,” she said. “Are you done feeling sorry for yourself? Because I’m hungry.”

“Aren’t you always?”

She beamed back at me. She’s a tall, gorgeous beanpole and eats whatever she wants. I am eternally jealous.

***

“Oh, Lena, how’s Sunshine been?” The new resident, Dr. Masters, nodded at a post-op colic horse standing with one hind leg cocked, his tail lazily twitching at a fly in the ICU stall beside her.

“He’s looking good,” I said, with a smile, and reached for a second fluid bottle. “He grazes well, ate his feed tonight, and started my shift with a full flake of hay. It’s half gone now.”

“Good, so he’s eating again…” Dr. Masters looked down at the horse’s record in her hand and cocked her head, brows coming together a little. “Have you been writing up the records?”

“If I can squeeze in the time, I do.” My face heated, and I bit my lip.

Did she mind?

“As busy as it is today? You don’t have to do that,” she said. “It’s my job to write them from your treatment sheets entries. You have enough to do.”

I blinked.

“Seriously? You residents never even get time to sleep. If you’d rather write them up, that’s fine, but if not, I’m happy to help.”

“Thanks Lena,” she said, with a sigh. “It’s appreciated. Make you a deal. If you think it’ll be good for your training, go ahead and do them if you want. I’ll critique and sign them off.”

“Really?”

“Sure. Happy to.”

“I’m after all the practice I can get,” I said, as Dr. Masters picked up a stack of records and ferried them toward the office. I jumped when I saw Kit already there, head down over his papers, scribbling for all he was worth. I hadn’t seen him come in. Butterflies bashing to escape my stomach walls, I shivered and turned on my bad leg with two, five-liter glass fluid bottles in my arms. I only just managed to keep my feet, and keep the profanity under my breath on my way to the barns. I really must learn to pay attention, even if the illustrious Dr. Allen was present.

Our residents, all of them, made me smile. For people, they’re pretty awesome, especially after my exposure to the wedding crowd last week. I’d survived, but only just. Ended up grooming horses in my silk dress. By the end of it, I could have come out of the pages of a Thelwell book—the sequence of drawings where a tidy rider begins all dressed for a show with the shaggy, muddy beast she’d evidently just pulled from the paddock…and their magical transformation to a gleaming, braided pony beside an exhausted and filthy ragamuffin with a trashed riding habit.

In C-Barn, I pulled the rope to raise the caged fluid bottle high above Cotillion. The palomino swung her head around and whickered at someone’s approach.

Kit. My heart jerked and I swallowed hard.

He reached out to the mare and she lipped at his fingers as our eyes met and held.

“How’s she going?”

“Her IV drip had stopped, but I’ve fixed it,” I said. “She’s looking a lot brighter than yesterday.”

“You know, you don’t have to write up records.” Kit looked at me sideways.

“I don’t have long until I get to be a real vet…and I need all the help I can get.”

“You’re doing pretty damn well already,” Kit said, his brows lowering. “Most third year students haven’t even tried procedures you do every shift as an ICU tech.”

“Yeah, well, that’s why I wanted to work here,” I said. “Even with this hospital’s big equine case load, the time in clinics is too short for me. I seem a bit slow to learn things.”

He rolled his eyes at that.

“You’re doing just what you need to be doing, and makin’ a good job of it.”

“It’d be nice if other people thought so,” I said, biting my lip. The black plastic cap from the new fluid bottle clicked into place as I shoved it onto the empty one.

“Who doesn’t think so?”

“Nobody,” I said, to my feet.

“Who?”

“I’m a pain in the neck, apparently, to my class.”

“I’d bet no resident or prof would say that,” Kit said, but he squirmed a little.

I swallowed hard. Guess he thought so, too. Must be my questions in class. I truly didn’t do it to show off. I just wanted to understand. If I learned it wrong the first time…

“Maybe if you kept your head down a little in cla—” Kit started.

“Seriously, you too?” I shook my head. And I’d thought…but that wasn’t worth thinking about, clearly. “Is there anything else you’d like to know about this horse, Dr. Allen?” In my iciest tone.

“Now don’t go gettin’ all huffy, I’m only trying to help.”

“Thank you for your concern.” I don’t imagine it sounded overly grateful, coming from between gritted teeth.

He closed his eyes and inhaled deeply.

“Okay, if you want to be that way about it,” he said. “Thanks, anyway, for taking such good care of the horses.”

“Any time,” I spat out, tucked my bottles beneath my arms, and bolted for B-Barn, the hemostats and stethoscope clipped to my scrubs swinging with every hop.

***

My alarm shocked me out of whatever pleasant dream had cocooned me. I smacked it on its head, then lay blinking at the sunshine streaming through the jasmine vines that waved in the open window. Their sweet, heady scent heavy in the early morning air. I rolled over, then sat bolt upright.

Today was the day.

My two weeks of penance were up. I had an appointment to make with a certain resident to trim feet. I stilled, though, thinking about our last meeting. I’d certainly have to apologize. I should’ve done it last week, but what can I say? I was gutless. After a deep breath to settle my butterflies into place, I shot out of bed and leapt into my clothes.

“What’s the hurry, girl? It’s early yet,” Tamarah said, dodging the gooey tennis ball the Lab spat at her from two feet away.

“Susie’s aim is improving.” I laughed. “Soon she won’t miss. I’m off.”

“You really are better,” she said, looking down at my leg.

“Amazing what a little water, sitting in the sun massaging, and jumping rope has done.” Most of the odd colors were gone and it was down to nearly normal size.

“So can you ride your bike yet?”

“Did it yesterday,” I nodded, pouring uncooked oats into a bowl. “Felt fine.”

“One lucky girl,” she said, and disappeared into her room, followed by the bouncing dog.

I wolfed my breakfast and shot across town. The only fly in the ointment was my treatment of Kit the other day. I chewed my lip over it while I waited outside K—I shook my head at myself—Dr. Allen’s office door. He arrived after only a few minutes, so I didn’t have long to stew.

“You all right?” He gave me a quizzical look.

“If I were any better, I’d be twins.” Cocky cover-up, with the butterflies bashing away inside me and my face doubtless bright red. “Um…Dr. Allen,” I groped for words, while I fisted the sides of my shirt, “I’m sorry about my attitude last week.” I dropped my eyes to the linoleum. “I had no call to jump down your throat like that—I’m…just a bit sensitive about the topic.”

“It’s okay, I understand.” Kit tried for a smile and shook his head, then he glanced down at my leg, below my running shorts. And froze in his fumbling with his door key. “What have you done with it?”

“Worked on it? It’s much better…” My heart sank. I thought it looked better…but maybe I was getting ahead of myself.

“It’s amazing.” He blinked, and stared again. “I’ve never seen bruises change that fast. How’d you do it?”

“I had motivation,” I said, resuming breathing again, and told him how, then continued. “I…I wanted to see if we could please make a time to go out and do feet.”

“You sure you’re ready for that?” He winced, glancing at the offending leg.

“I can jump rope, I rode my bicycle over here, and I’ve been working.”

“There’s still swelling on the front of the shin.”

“It seems to be a split muscle—it now sits over the top, see?” I propped my foot up on a handy chair and showed him.

“You’re right,” he said, his face coloring. “Well, I guess we’ve got a date.”

I gulped, at the same time he shuddered and stepped backward.

“Ah…” I said, backpaddling.

“Let me check my calendar,” he said in a rush, then tried a few more times to get the key into the lock.

If we weren’t both so uncomfortable, it would have been comic. As for me, tempting as he might be, it was time to take care of myself—and that didn’t include getting my heart burned again.

For quite some time in the foreseeable future.

 

CHAPTER FOUR

“You point your toes together, like this, and rest her hoof on your knees,” Kit said, using one hand, while he tucked the mare’s looped leadrope into his back pocket with the other. The shaggy chestnut, covered in mud, nuzzled his rear and stood like a rock. I’d never seen feet in this condition: long, broken up, and stinky.

Kit’s shoeing apron, its leather cut and scarred by years of knives, nails, and fire, was strapped around his waist. Reaching into one of its narrow pockets, he withdrew a knife, its wicked edge curved, with a tiny arc in the end.

“Have you sharpened that thing lately?” I said.

“Every time I take it out,” he said, as he slid a sharpener from a pocket on the other side of the apron and wiped it a few times across the front side of the blade, then once across the back.

I blinked.

“Is that all you do?”

“It’s diamond,” he grinned, “that’s all it takes.”

I must’ve looked as dubious as I felt, because he held it out to me.

“Check it out for yourself. Be careful.”

I touched the—very sharp—edge.

“I can see another item jumping onto my wish list.”

He grinned, then trimmed the hoof, explaining his method, step by step. The muck and flaky old sole flicked out under his flying knife, then he nipped around the wall from toe to heel, toe to heel. A final rasp of the sole, checking the levels carefully against the heel bulbs, then he slipped out from under the horse, crouched under her neck, and trimmed the flares from the dorsal, medial and lateral walls. A few swoops around the edges to prevent chipping, and he offered the hoof back to the mare. She sighed and dropped her head, closing her eyes.

“Bet she can’t wait for you to do the next one.” I smiled at Kit and he returned it.

Those butterflies. All it took was a smile. I shook my head.

“You can finish her feet. I think she’s the nicest one of the lot. Some of the others are…probably not ideal for your first trim.”

I can do this. Piece of cake.

Well, it looked like a piece of cake. And I’m sure it would be…in my dreams, or after years of practice. It must’ve taken me a good half-hour to do the next foot. Awfully pleased it was a cool evening, I wiped the sweat dripping from my brow with the back of my forearm—my hands stank of thrush—and set the hoof down gently, as Kit had done. Leaning against the mare for a moment, I peeked over her back at the rodeo going on fifteen feet away and straightened up.

“Do you want me to hold her?” I said, softly.

“Naw, she’ll be okay, she’s just young. I don’t think she’s been broken in,” he said, with a chuckle, still trimming, as the filly bounced around. Sure enough, within minutes, she was standing like a statue, her nose against his jeans. She started chewing on his belt and never moved her legs again, except to pick up her feet. “Someone must have worked with her, though. She doesn’t mind my picking up her hind legs.” He set her foot down. “And see here?” he pointed with the tip of his hoof knife. I sidled over slowly and looked at the horizontal slit just below the hair above one hoof. “She had a reason to object,” he said. “She’s had an abscess blow out the coronary band recently and the hoof is still painful.”

“Do we need to do anything with it?”

“We might have helped her last week, but it’s already burst. She’ll be okay now.”

I shook my head and sighed. He’d trimmed that filly, green as she was, in the time it took me to trim one hoof.

I’d better get back to it.

By the time I picked up the chestnut mare’s last hoof, he’d done another two horses. I was slowing down and the sweat poured off me. My legs shook so hard, I could barely control them.

Frankly, I thought I might die before I finished that last hoof, but even that was preferable to having Kit see me quit. Simply not an option.

He wandered over, fresh as a daisy. He’d done another horse while I struggled to finish that last foot.

I stood up, hands on hips, stretching my back out, and took a deep breath.

“I did it. Could you please check her feet?”

“You sure did.” His grin went from ear to ear as he looked at my heated face, then he spied my muddy hands, tinged with red. “Uh-oh. You need gloves, next time,” he said, as he reached for one of the hooves I’d trimmed. “Good job.”

“Thanks, but I’m sure I could do better. What can I do next time to improve the trim, Dr. Allen?”

“Pretty good job for the first time,” he smiled, “but since you asked…” He showed me where I could take a little more or a little less on each foot. “Not bad, though. Better than most beginners.”

Those words were keepers. True keepers. Worth the sweat…and the blood. Not so sure I wanted the tears, though…I’d have to keep my wits about me…and my heart under lock and key. It seemed to be slipping away…again.

“And I think we can drop the Dr. Allen bit, okay?” His green eyes glowed up at me from the hoof he was perusing, and my heart wrenched. Could I? Should I?

“Okay…Kit.” How could I say no?

A little voice started screaming at me in my head and I ignored it. Maybe this could be different…maybe we could be really good friends. A tightening in my abdomen told me how very much I was lying to myself.

I was in trouble.

His voice brought me back to reality, or safety, anyway.

“These horses really need some attention. The herd managers try, but there are an awful lot of ponies here. What about teeth? I’m sure they need care too. Here, I’ll show you how to check teeth.”

With that, he rubbed my chestnut’s forehead for a moment, breathing deeply and slowly, then held her halter in his left hand and slipped his right arm into her mouth, up to his elbow.

“Kit.” I barely got out the word. Those cheek teeth were deadly.

He glanced around at my tone, then smiled.

“It’s all right. I’m pushing her tongue out of the way and in between her opposite teeth with the back of my arm. She won’t bite her own tongue, so she shouldn’t bite me. Just, for goodness sake, keep your fingers right back, or you won’t have any.”

I shook inside, but stuffed it down deep and inspired slowly. In, out…and the mare stood still for me and never moved her head when I did as he instructed.

“Man, the inside edges of her lower teeth are sharp as knives, and so uneven,” I said.

“Sure are. Those overgrowths are nasty. Hop out of there and I’ll show you how to check the outsides.”

Only too happy to oblige, I watched him slid his fingers between her teeth and cheeks.

“You can’t safely feel the back ones this way, and you can still get bitten, but just keep those fingers arced back. To really see what’s going on in there, you need a full mouth speculum and a light.”

“Rinsing out her mouth first would go a long way to letting you see what was in there, too,” I said, wiping green, grassy slime from the mare’s mouth onto my jeans.

“You got it. So you keen to do more feet and some teeth?”

I took a deep breath.

“Yes, please, just give me a few days to get over this one. Sorry to be a wimp.”

“You’re not a wimp, and you did a great job. Tomorrow you’ll be stiff, and the day after, worse. How about three days from now?”

“Sure, I’m a glutton for punishment,” I said, laughing, as I scratched the mare’s forehead again. We packed up our gear and headed for the gate.

I couldn’t remember being this tired for a long time, but I was happy. It would all be worth it. And I’d get to spend more time with Kit.

“So how’s that roan of yours?” he said, as we neared the truck.

“Mickey? He’s…good.” Silence. “I’m afraid to get back on him,” I admitted, finally.

“Look, I know you’re keen on him,” he looked across at me and shook his head, “but whyever do you keep a horse like that?” Kit held his breath as I fumbled for an answer.

“I dunno—I could afford him—and he needed a home. He’s a little like me.”

He blinked, brows coming together.

“Pardon?”

“Not feeling sorry for myself, but nobody really wants me around either.”

“What do you mean?” He glanced sharply at me. “You’re drop-dead-gorgeous. There must be plenty of guys after you.”

“Yep,” I finally said, peering at him from the corners of my eyes. “but only for one thing.”

“I can’t believe that,” Kit said, but his tone didn’t sound very convincing. At least he seemed to like me for something besides that.

“So what is it about horses that you like so much?” he said.

I blinked at that. What was he getting at? I flicked a glance at his wrinkled brow. It sounded like he really wanted to know.

“I don’t know…I seem to only be happy around horses, and a few people. Most people scare me. I’d rather stay away than be pushed away, so I do. Horses, though…I guess I only feel in control of my world when I’m on a horse.”

“I have to say,” Kit turned to me and our eyes locked, “I get it. Me, too.”

It warmed a little spot in my very cold heart to hear his words. I was so lucky to have found him, as a friend. I kicked myself. I had to stop this. He was my teacher. I needed to remember. Work hard and learn. Horses had done everything for me. I owed them that.

***

“What time are we leaving for Lake Berrymore on Saturday?” Simon said, to no one in particular in the group of students waiting for class outside the foyer. I bit my lip and chanced a glance toward him. He avoided my gaze and looked at the girl beside me. I hung around the edge of the circle, hoping to be invited…I’d learned my lesson last time I invited myself.

“Sure, you can come along,” one of them had said, and then gave me the cold shoulder for the whole day. I’d love to have gone this time—town was blinkin’ hot this time of year, but it just wasn’t worth it.

Maybe I was too soft, and maybe I was a pain in the behind.

“You just try too hard,” Jess had said, when I’d asked if they really thought that of me. I closed my eyes. I’ve been trying hard for so long, I guess I don’t know how to stop.

I could always go to the barns between classes and see the horses. They were usually happy for an extra pat or scratch behind the ears. Horses, I could do…people, not so much.

My day was about to improve, though, heat or no heat. I had a hoof-trimming date with Kit. I jumped into my truck with more energy than I’d had all day and drove out to the clinics. He was coming out the front door as I drove into one of the visitor’s slots.

“Hey Doc, want a ride?”

“Sure.” He smiled and motioned toward his own pickup. “Let me dump the pack and get my shoeing gear.”

That smile always got me right in the gut and I struggled for a breath.

Kit slammed the door on his truck and hopped into mine, then sighed and rubbed his eyes.

“Long day?” I gazed over at him.

“Yep, but at least there were horses in it,” he said.

“Man after my own heart,” I said with a grin, then froze as my chest tightened.

He flinched too. I’d better watch my words.

***

“We’ve trimmed quite a few today,” Kit said, with a smile, after we’d finished the trims. “We’ll work our way through the lot, at this rate.”

“It was easier this time.” I wiped my brow, with a glance at the setting sun. “Wearing a sweatband on each wrist was truly inspired, and the horses cooperated beautifully.”

“You did well today,” he said, as he rolled up the rasps and nippers in his apron and stuffed the extra hoof knives into his back pocket.

“It must be the teacher,” I shook my head, “you still trimmed three times as many as I did.”

“How many years have I been doing this? Something like eighteen? Give yourself some credit. Your quality and speed are improving by leaps and bounds. And,” he reached for my hand and turned it over, gazing at it, “you even remembered your gloves. No blood.”

I managed to breathe again after his touch and tried not to grin like an idiot as I unlocked the truck door and pulled my jacket over my clammy torso, still damp with sweat. For a stationary activity, hoof trimming sure took it out of me. I dragged myself into the cab and began to shake like a leaf.

 Forcing the fingers of one hand to bend around the steering wheel, I turned the key and she started.

Kit hopped into the passenger seat and glanced at me.

“You cold?” He reached for the dashboard controls. “Let’s get this heater going.”

“Don’t bother.” I gave him a rueful grin. “She takes more time to warm up than we have to get home. I’ll be fine when I defrost.”

“When did you get cold?”

“I don’t know, on the walk from the back of the facility, I think.” The chill of the evening seemed to have penetrated all the way to my core.

“When did you last eat?”

“Mmmm… must’ve been lunch.”

“Well it’s after nine now—you’ve got no blood sugar.”

“Guess I forgot.”

“How could you forget to eat?” He stared in amazement.

“I was so excited about going out to trim feet, I forgot to grab a snack.”

“Well, you’re keen, anyway,” he said, with a grin, as our eyes met and held. “You sure give it your all, don’t you?”

“You’d know about that,” I said.

“No, you really put your whole heart and soul into everything you do.”

“Yeah…whatever it is…heart and soul. Not always the smartest thing, I’ve discovered.”

As it predisposed me to disaster in relationships.

I needed to remember my place, and his, despite what my conniving little heart was saying.

No more crash and burn. It took more energy than I had to lose.

***

By the time a new week had come around, I thought I might be ready for another go-round of hoof trimming.

The pager at my hip beeped. I smiled, my heart surging, and reached for the answer button. Veterinarians wore pagers. Doubtless, down the road I’d curse them for intruding on my life, but for now, I reveled in packing one.

“Lena, can you please report to Equine Surgery, report to Equine Surgery II. Surgeon needs assistance. An ICU tech is on her way to assume your duties in ICU,” came the sweet voice of the receptionist.

Odd. That’d never happened before on a shift. I hustled over to Surgery II and slipped quietly in the door, careful not to spook a half-sedated horse, and sunlight streamed through onto the surgeon’s—Kit’s— surgical field.

He lifted his head and glanced my way.

“Oh, Lena, you’ve come from ICU? That was quick.” He turned back to the rear end of a mare and nodded at a tray with a sterile gown and gloves laid out on a nearby tray. The mare’s head lolled as she leaned against the steel stocks, sleepy with sedation. “Ever seen an ovariectomy?”

“We did them in lab last quarter,” I said, with a nod.

“Can you scrub up, please? Two of my surgery techs have come down sick this afternoon,” Kit said, “and I could use some help. Not a lot of room in here, but she has a big ovarian tumor and we need to get it out.”

“Sure,” I said, and headed for the sink.

“Size seven gloves?” Sue, the remaining surgery tech, picked out a packet of sterile gloves, then held up a gown for me to slip into after I’d scrubbed. She tied it while I donned the gloves, biting my tongue as I tugged the ends up over my sleeves.

“We’re using a colpotomy approach and I think we can get the ecraseur over the ovarian tumor, as big as it is, to remove it. We need, and that’s where you come in, to keep hold of the mass so it doesn’t drop down into the abdomen,” he said, as he slipped the instrument inside the mare’s vagina and through the incision in its wall. “I’ve blocked the ovarian pedicle, and Sue’s already attached sterile umbilical tape to the clamps. We need to place the clamps onto the mass before we cut.”

I smiled my thanks at Sue.

“Your job will be holding on to the tumor,” Kit continued, “so it doesn’t get away from us inside the abdomen. I don’t think I need to tell you what a disaster that might be.”

“I’ll not let go,” I said, with a shudder.

The surgery went smooth as silk, the only difficulty being the sheer size of the massive tumor, requiring enlargement of the incision Kit had already made in the vaginal wall.

“She ought to start feeling more herself, or less of herself, as the case may be, when the hormones from that tumor get out of her bloodstream.” He smiled and stretched his arms up over his head. The mare was small, and with his height, he’d been crouched over for the past hour. “She’s been acting more and more like a stallion for the past few years, as the tumor grew.”

“Granulosa-theca cell tumor?”

“Probably. Her testosterone levels from that tumor were sky high,” he said, giving her a pat and picking up her record. While he scribbled, I helped Sue tidy the mare and clean instruments.

“It must be time for lunch,” Kit said, and glanced at the clock. “Oh hell, it’s already four o’clock.”

“Thought I was getting hungry,” I murmured.

“Let’s go get some food. I’ll finish this record afterward,” he said.

—beep, beep, beep, beep.

“Dr. Allen, emergency, please call the front desk, emergency, please call the front desk.”

He turned to the phone on the wall beside him. While he listened, he turned and assessed the room. His eyes stared at the other set of standing stocks and he frowned. “Okay, send them over, I’ll take care of it. Yes, I have help. Thanks.”

“Another surgery?” I said, with a smile.

“Yes, but I’m about to pass out. How about you go over to the cafeteria,” he fumbled in his pocket and pulled out a few bills, “and get us both some lunch. I owe you. I’ll be keeping you past your quitting time, if you want to stay and help. Do you mind?”

“Not at all. I’ll be right back.” I grabbed the money and trotted out the door. Stop work when I could assist with a surgery? No way.

I was nearly skipping when I returned with our lunch, halfway through my ham and Swiss on rye. I peeked in the door as before and froze in my tracks.

A perfectly white mare, or she would have been, if she hadn’t been drenched with dark sweat, stood shaking in the stocks. Her tail was bandaged, her vulva visibly distended, and her huge abdomen barely fit between the rails. Sue was just suturing the mare’s jugular catheter into place.

My stomach flipped over and I gripped the door. Stars swam before my eyes as sweat broke out on my forehead. I had to leave.

“Lena, good, you’re back. Thanks. I need a few bites before I scrub up,” Kit said, white-lipped. He flashed a brief smile my way as he accepted the sandwich and unwrapped it.

“Kit…what…” I started.

He glared at a greasy, weasel-eyed man that slipped past us and out the door.

“I told him to leave before I made him,” he spat out, between bites.

I stared at Kit. I’d never seen him like this.

“Bastard’s been trying to pull this foal since before breakfast. He’s a farm manager. Thought he might call his vet sometime this afternoon. Experienced vet, thankfully. Took one feel and sent them straight here. Foal’s got a wry neck and it’s huge, so we’re just going straight in her side.”

“So why isn’t she not going in for a ventral midline cesarean?” I whispered.

“He won’t let us. Mare’s worth 45 grand, and the foal probably more, but he’s told the owner it can come out standing, and that’s that. All the anesthetists are tied up in surgery, but it’s no big deal. She’s already sedated.” He gritted his teeth as he filled a syringe with lidocaine and began to block the mare’s left paralumbar area.

“I’m not so good with…” I murmured, as I swayed, fear striking cold through my body.

“Got some food?” He glanced at my half-eaten sandwich. “Good. Gown up, this mare’s been through enough.”

 Sue was busy prepping the surgical site, but I managed to get a gown on, and somehow tied. The gloves kept sticking on my clammy, shaking hands, and they nearly escaped my grasp as I tried to pull them on in some sort of a sterile manner. I didn’t think I’d win, but then they were on. I tried to focus, working by rote, as my mind went blind. I couldn’t breathe, and then I was breathing too fast.

“What’s the matter with you?” he growled. “You’re not sick too? Feverish?”

I shook my head.

“Is it the horse?”

A muscle twitched rhythmically beside Kit’s eye and I tried to focus on it as I nodded, struggling to clear my vision and get rid of the stars floating before me.

Then he snapped.

“If you can’t stand surgery, what the hell are you here for?” he barked.

I gritted my teeth and turned away, then rolled the surgical tray closer and focused on the instruments. I found I could watch as the shaved skin split cleanly from the scalpel, and hand him the correct instruments: the blunt scissors to make his way through the planes of three muscle layers, sharp instruments for the peritoneum. I held the stay sutures exteriorizing the uterus, but then I saw the foal—who would never breathe in its life—and I lost it. Full hyperventilation and tears.

“Sue! Get her out of here and get someone else to help,” I heard, as hands propelled me from the surgical field and out the door. His look of disgust remained, and haunted me.

 

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