High Country Christmas. Joanna Sims

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      London used a calm, quiet voice to answer his question. “She’s been showing some pretty strong signs that she’s going into labor. Her nipples are thicker and hanging down lower...”

      “Any sign of waxing?”

      London nodded. Some mares developed a waxy coating on their nipples a couple of days before giving birth, which signaled that they were getting ready to foal. “I was just about to tie up her tail and put down a fresh bed of hay for her.”

      “I’ll grab the hay.”

      While London set herself to the task of wrapping Rising Star’s thick, long tail up and out of the way of the birth canal, Tyler stacked fresh bales of hay outside the stall. They worked in silence, methodically preparing for the birth. Once the tail was wrapped, London left the stall to mix a warm, soapy solution. When she returned with a bucket and sponge, Tyler had already spread the hay around the stall, creating a soft, clean bed for Rising Star.

      London quickly washed Rising Star’s teats, udder, hind legs and muscular buttocks. Tyler grabbed the feed and water buckets, and then they both left Rising Star alone, in peace. They had done everything they could do to help the mare have a successful birth, but the rest was up to her. All they could do now was wait. Watch and wait.

      London slipped into the adjacent stall and sat down in a patch of hay. From her vantage point, she could have her eyes on the pregnant mare without disturbing her. Tyler, to her surprise, joined her in the stall.

      “I thought you were going out with your sisters tonight,” London whispered to him.

      “I never miss a birth at Bent Tree.”

      Tyler leaned back, one leg stretched out straight, the other one bent. He dropped his worn Stetson onto the ground next to him, rested one arm atop his bent knee and riffled his longish light brown hair. Then he dropped his head backward to rest it on one of the stall’s wooden slats and closed his eyes with a long, tired sigh.

      London frowned at him. “If you have to stay, you know you have to be quiet, right?”

      “You’re the one who’s talking.” Tyler’s mouth lifted at the corner, but he didn’t open his eyes.

      “Shh.” She scooted away from him an inch or two. “And quit crowding me.”

      Tyler crossed his arms over her chest. “Wake me when it’s time.”

      Within minutes of shutting his eyes, Tyler fell asleep sitting upright. She’d never seen anything like it before. But then again, she’d never seen anyone like Tyler Brand before. He was such a hard worker, dedicated to the ranch and his family. Tall. Lean. Cowboy rugged. Cowboy handsome. And he made her laugh. It had been a chore to push him away. There had been chemistry between them from the start—he had felt it, and even though she had consistently denied it to his face, she had felt it, too. She just couldn’t allow herself to act on the attraction and risk losing focus on her primary goal: get her degree and get back to Virginia ASAP.

      For nearly two hours, London sat very still, waiting for the mare to begin labor. As one hour blended into the second, nighttime cooled the air and dimmed the light in the barn. The sounds of the ranch quieted as the last of the ranch workers started their trucks and slammed their doors, their loud voices fading as they drove away. Knowing that mares were known to wait until the stillness of the night to give birth, London had turned on a low-wattage light in the foaling stall so she could still see Rising Star as day transitioned to night.

      Tyler was still asleep, it was dark and a little cold, and she had to pee really badly, but she didn’t dare move. The slightest noise could stop the mare from starting labor. Fifteen minutes later, her patience paid off. Rising Star began to pace in the stall, making short, tight circles. The mare nipped at her flanks several times before her legs buckled at the knees and she lay down on her side with a moan. Flat on her side, legs extended, her nose nuzzled into the thick bed of hay, Rising Star was in labor.

      London hit Tyler on the leg. He stirred but was savvy enough not to make a noise. In a spontaneous show of excitement, they reached for each other’s hands, squeezing tightly. This was the moment she had been working toward since she had arrived at Bent Tree. She felt a personal connection with this foal. During her junior-year internship, Tyler’s mom had asked her to research bloodlines and select a sire for Rising Star’s insemination. When she returned to the ranch to start her summer job, she discovered that Rising Star was pregnant by the sire she had chosen. She felt honored to be the one to care for the mare and her unborn foal in the last stages of a pregnancy. And, now that she knew for certain that Rising Star was in labor, she had to be kind to her bladder.

      A quick bathroom break, then back to her post. It was so still in the barn, she could hear the sound of Tyler’s breathing intermingled with her own. He shifted every once in a while, his arm brushing against hers, but other than that, he was a perfect witness to the beginning of the birth of her foal.

      She checked the time on her phone. Rising Star had been down for thirty minutes, but the white amniotic sac hadn’t appeared. London had an odd, sick feeling in her gut. She shook her head as she stood up.

      “We need to try to get her on her feet,” she told Tyler.

      Tyler switched on the aisle lights before he followed London into the foaling stall. London had hooked a lead line on the mare’s halter and she was talking in a sweet, calming voice to the horse.

      “She’s having hard contractions,” London confirmed. “We should have seen the sac by now. I’m concerned that the foal might be presented wrong.”

      “Dystocia.” Tyler positioned himself at the mare’s hindquarters.

      London looked at him, surprised. “Yes. Help me get her up.”

      He had heard about London’s ability to stay perfectly cool under pressure, but he’d never witnessed it firsthand. She was calm, confident and certain of every move. She was elegance in motion.

      After several attempts, they coaxed the mare to stand.

      “Come on, Star...” London led the mare out of the stall. “Let’s you and me go for a little walk...”

      The three of them walked together, up and down, up and down the long, wide breezeway of the barn. Tyler stayed at the mare’s flank to stop her from lying down in the aisle when the contractions started to cause her pain.

      “We’ll walk her for ten more minutes and then take her back. Hopefully the walking has repositioned the foal and Star will be able to do this on her own,” London told him.

      Tyler didn’t usually take a backseat in the deliveries on the ranch, but he knew that London had devised a birthing plan with the vet. She needed to run the show. He didn’t care about being in charge—all he cared about was seeing Star safely deliver a healthy foal.

      “If this doesn’t work, then we’ll have to call the vet and let him know that he needs to stand by for a possible breech,” London continued. “After we get her back in the stall, we’ll give this a chance to resolve naturally, but if it doesn’t, I’ll have to glove up and try to reposition the foal manually and—”

      “London,” Tyler interrupted her. “The placenta...”

      They took Star back to the stall, dimmed the aisle lights and went back to their СКАЧАТЬ