Page 41 of Home Hearts Hooves

“The horse. I think he’s dead. I was just going to pat him. Give him a carrot, you know? And he just fell right over.”

I try not to laugh.

“I’ll send Atlas right down, but I’m sure he’s just playing, darlin’. No need to worry.”

“Are you sure? Because he looks dead.”

“I’m fairly sure. But Atlas is on his way.” I hang up, and Atlas is already standing.

“A guest has spooked Loki. He’s probably fine but best to head down and check on him and settle the guest so she knows she didn’t kill him.”

“I knew I should have stabled him before coming in for dinner, but it’s such a nice night out and he was loving the paddock. He’s been jumping the old log that’s in the middle all day.”

“No one eats my pie,” Atlas says, pointing at the piece he’d only just grabbed as his second helping.

“No promises.” Nial laughs, and Atlas takes a step back, grabs the plate and takes it with him out of the house.

It was probably a smart idea. We finish up dinner, and Skye slips on my shirt from yesterday, it hadn’t been put through the wash yet and as gross as it might be to be wearing another man’s sweaty shirt, Skye looks like he is too happy to be holding Cuddles to care.

“This is so cool,” he beams as I slip the noose of the sling over his head, Cuddles snoring against his chest.

“The bottle is in the warmer now, give him that in about ten. I’ll be back as soon as I can.”

“No problem. I’ve got him,” he says, and I pull on my boots and grab my hat before heading down to the mini barn to check on the birthing.

I pull open the barn door and find Preston and Connor positioned behind Fairy, a three-year-old black and white, her new baby’s legs sticking out, with a rope tied around them. Both guys are holding on for dear life.

“Where do you need me?” I ask, and Preston nods up towards Fairy’s head.

“Our girl could use some love,” he says, and I smile at how he calls her our girl and make my way over. She moos and tilts her head my way, and I brush the palms of my hand over the top of her head. Fairy was part of a herd of fourteen Preston saved from the slaughterhouse when a dairy farm went belly up a few towns over. It wasn’t a hard sell. We had the room with only a quarter of our milking barn taken up at the time. He got them for a steal, too. Rescuing farm animals, or any animals, seems to have been ingrained in him since he was a little guy. I remember me and my brothers running up the dirt road and seeing Preston there, crouched in the ditch with three kittens in his lap, their momma beside him, not too long gone. He had tears streaking his face when we pulled up on him, and he begged us to help carry the momma to his place for a good burial. If it had been any of us who found that litter, the things would be feral out hiding from shotgun pellets, but not Preston’s pa. The town vet instilled in Preston the same love of animal kind he had. Old Kathy Potts still has them three cats, too. She takes them for walks in an old pram twice a week down to the shops.

The momma cow moos again, leaning into me with her large head.

“Easy girl, you got this, Momma. We’re here, come on, darling, you got this,” I say, resting my head against hers for a moment between contractions. The guys are pulling at her, as I keep patting her back, telling her how good she’s doing, and then it’s like she lets out a giant sigh and her calf is out.

“We got a big healthy girl,” Preston says, rubbing the calf’s side as it stirs to life and shakes its head.

“See that, girl? You got a new baby,” I say, giving her a kiss on her huge warm head and moving back so that she can turn to get to her calf.

“No rest for the wicked. We got another one over in bay four,” Connor says, and I head over with Preston.

“Nope, she’s done, baby’s out.” Connor laughs, and I lean over the rail to see. The all-black calf is standing under its mother, drinking from the teat already.

“Good girl, Jose, good girl,” I croon, and Preston chuckles and heads toward stall seven.

“Lilly has about an hour to go, I’m thinking,” he says, checking her progress. “Feet are in a good position, but they’re still a way down. We’ll hang out and keep an eye on her. If she doesn’t progress soon, we’ll tie them up and give her a hand getting this one out,” Preston says, and Connor nods, his stomach grumbling fills the space.

“I got this, you should go eat,” I tell them.

“Seriously, that would be amazing,” Connor says, heading for the wash station to clean off a bit. He’ll have to change his clothes on his way back up at the house before Sally-May will let him sit at her table, but it’s easier to get most of the muck off in here first. Connor lives in a cabin off the cuddle cove, he built it himself over a few weeks when he started with us. There’s plenty of room in the house for him to stay up there, but he likes his own space, and to be honest, I reckon he likes being able to hear the cows at night.

Preston leans against the railing of Lily’s stall. “I’m okay, I had a late lunch,” he says.

“You sure?”

“If she starts getting in distress, I’d rather be here to help, save you running up the house to collect me and leaving her all alone.”

“We could get Atlas to come down, you know, just in case?”

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