Sasha's Dad. Geri Krotow

Чтение книги онлайн.

СКАЧАТЬ opened to the large grazing area adjacent to the barn.

      She sighed and sank down on the stool she’d kept in the barn for this reason. Waiting for Stormy to give birth.

      She glanced over her shoulder at the two-hour-old cria, who remained in front of the warming fan. The newborn llama watched her while it soaked up the heat from the blower. That piece of equipment had cost her several hundred dollars six months ago. Claire didn’t regret a penny of it.

      She’d read every agricultural manual she could get her hands on when she made the decision to leave her reporter’s career in D.C. and come back here. She’d talked to countless llama and alpaca farmers on the phone and spent whole weekends on the Internet gleaning anything that would make her transition, and that of her llamas, easier.

      She heard the slam of a truck door.

      Finally.

      She stroked the side of Stormy’s neck.

      “It’ll be okay now, gal. Dr. Charlie’s here.”

      At the slap of boots against the barn floor Claire looked up and saw the tall male figure at the other end of the building.

      She stood.

      “Over here, Charlie.” She waved, then sat back down next to Stormy.

      “It’s not Charlie.”

      At the sound of his voice, she felt instant shock—and despair.

      “Dutch.” Her whispered response floated over the hay-strewn stall floor.

      She forced herself to look at him as he approached, to keep her expression neutral.

      He’s not twenty anymore.

      Unlike the other times she’d seen him since she’d moved back, she made herself stand tall and take in his full length. He was leaner than she remembered, more sharply defined. The barn’s fluorescent lighting harshly illuminated her observations. His eyes were the same inky blue, but his hair was no longer the same shade—it was moon-silver, shockingly so. Only a small patch of blond hinted at the color it’d once been. The lines around his mouth and eyes had deepened, but not, she suspected, from laughter as much as the sorrows of his life over the past several years.

      He stopped a stride away from her, his gaze steady and guarded.

      “Claire.” One word of greeting, but it sounded more like a condemnation.

      She stood too quickly. Her knit cap slid over her eyes and she shoved it back.

      “Dutch.” Adolescent awkwardness returned, along with the acute awareness that she was in grimy sweats and hadn’t showered since early yesterday.

      She squared her shoulders and gave Dutch a glance she’d used on Afghani warlords.

      Why should she even care what he thought about her?

      Dutch strode over to Stormy.

      “How long since the first was born?”

      He was beside her, listening to Stormy’s heart with his stethoscope. She had a hard time fathoming how two years of avoiding Dutch had suddenly yielded to this instant of need on the part of her animals.

      “A couple of hours, from what I can guess. He was shivering when I came in here. I was surprised Stormy wasn’t cleaning him, so I set up the heating fan and then I checked her. That’s when I figured out she wasn’t done.”

      “You figured right. What took you so long to call it in?”

      What had taken her so long? She’d been so intent on following all the rules, making sure she’d be able to do this herself. She’d only called Charlie because it was a last resort. But Charlie hadn’t come, Dutch had.

      “I called as soon as I realized what was going on.” She truly hadn’t known Stormy was in labor until late last night. “Where’s Charlie?”

      “Away.” Dutch didn’t elaborate. He gave a quick look at the cria. She hated herself for studying his eyes, noticing the crinkles around them.

      “You’ve already rubbed him down.”

      “Yes, I—”

      “How about you continue to take care of him and I’ll tend to the mother, okay?”

      It was worded as the question it wasn’t. At least that hadn’t changed about him.

      Claire massaged the cria, relieved that he seemed content to stay in the warmth of the barn and not run about in the freezing weather.

      “I was worried about the temperature all day. I’ve been checking on Stormy every hour on the hour since late yesterday afternoon. I know llamas won’t birth in bad weather if they can help it.”

      Dutch didn’t reply. Maybe he hadn’t heard her, since his concentration was focused on Stormy.

      “Easy, girl. That’s it.” His tone was gentle yet persuasive, the perfect blend of coach and drill sergeant. Claire wondered if he’d used the same tone when Natalie gave birth to their child.

      The wave of guilt at the memory of Natalie grabbed her by the throat and she coughed to cover the groan that rose up in her.

      “Come over here and watch this.”

      Claire didn’t miss that he didn’t say her name.

      As she watched, Dutch eased out the second cria as though he delivered breech babies all the time. He was sweating; she saw the stains under his arms. But his breathing remained steady and there was no strain in his expression. His eyes met hers for the briefest moment, and she saw a tiny flicker in their indigo depths. Of hope? Joy?

      Dutch had wanted to be a vet since they were kids. He’d saved as many creatures as the Dobinsky brothers had pulled the tails off, including her beloved lizard.

      “Here it is.” Dutch finished delivering the second cria, but it was clear to her that this baby llama wasn’t going to have as easy a time as his twin. It was much smaller and shivered constantly.

      “It’s a girl,” Dutch murmured. “Blanket?” He reached out a gloved hand toward Claire.

      She passed him one of the many clean blankets and towels she’d stacked for this occasion. He swaddled the cria and walked it to the heater. Claire held her breath as Dutch listened through his stethoscope. She stared at his face for the slightest clue.

      He removed the stethoscope from his ears and kept massaging the cria. It almost seemed too rough as far as Claire was concerned, but he was the vet. She wasn’t even a llama farmer by most standards, not yet. This birth was supposed to be her stepping stone into the professional status she longed for. A breeder couldn’t call herself a breeder until her animals actually had off-spring.

      And she’d failed.

      “She’s breathing. We won’t know for a bit if she’s going to make it.” Dutch’s voice was reserved, even with the grimness running through it. He didn’t want to get СКАЧАТЬ