Page 1 of All Grown Up at Mountain Creek Ranch
1
DELANEY
The MMAS call came in for Mountain Creek Ranch a little after one in the morning. My father had already been in bed for hours, but I was still up. I had a lot on my mind and was eager for the distraction.
“This is Mountain Medical Answering Service. We have an urgent message for Dr. Morgan.”
I sit up on the couch. “I’m Dr. Morgan.”
This call istechnicallyfor my father. He's the only vet in Centennial Springs, but he also works in many of the state's surrounding areas.
Joining him in the family business is one reason I went to Cornell, my father’s alma mater, and graduated second in my class with a Doctor of Veterinary Medicine degree. Despite the many internship offers I received after graduation, I passed on all of them to work alongside my father.
“We’ve received a call from a Landon Holloway at Mountain Creek Ranch. They have a cow experiencing a breech birth and need assistance. Are you available?”
“Yes, I’ll be right there.” I hang up the phone.
For a moment, I wonder if I should wake up my father. I've been trying to get him to let me take on more responsibility in the business, but he likes to treat me like his glorified assistant instead of a licensed colleague. I’ve seen and dealt with many breech births before. I know I can handle this situation. Maybe if I can show him that I’m completely capable of dealing with this emergency, he will let me take on more of a business role.
I already know what will happen if I wake my father. So I don’t stand around and let my brain talk me out of this plan. I run upstairs to my room to change. I pull off my pajamas, slip into a pair of jeans, a tank top, and a flannel shirt over it. I grab my medical bag, the keys to my father’s truck, and I’m out the door in less than five minutes.
Growing up in Centennial Springs, I spent a fair amount of time at many of the ranches in town. After my mom passed, I got to tag along with my father on many of his work calls. My love of caring for animals stems from watching him work and wanting to be just like him.
The Holloway’s place, Mountain Creek Ranch, is one I remember well. Located about twenty minutes on the outskirts of town, it was there, fifteen years ago, that my father first asked for my help. I knew then what I wanted to be when I grew up.
I went to the same schools as the Holloway kids, but Landon was the only one I knew personally. We were in the same grade, and he was one of the popular kids in school.
I shouldn’t be surprised that Landon is still working there. After he screwed up his knee and lost his football scholarship to Ohio State, I doubt there were many job openings for a washed-up high school football jock with zero ambitions beyond playing football and drinking. I’d be shocked if he even remembered me. I was nothing more than the nerdy girl with thick glasses who he copied off of in Biology.
Well, I'm not the same person I was back then. I’ve grown up. But I can say with almost complete certainty that the same can’t be said for Landon Holloway.
LANDON
The doc's truck pulls up the drive twenty minutes after MMAS called back to let me know he was on his way. Jameson, my younger brother, is usually the family's go-to guy for issues with breech births, but he wasn't picking up his phone. And I couldn’t do it on my own after I jammed my shoulder in the ATV accident a couple of weeks ago. Nash, my older brother, will be pissed when he finds out we will be getting a vet bill for an issue we could have handled ourselves because Jameson was screwing around with some girl when he knew Greta was going to give birth any day.
“It’s going to be okay, Greta.” I pat her on the back before I jog to the barn door to meet Dr. Morgan.
He's a moody old bastard on the best of days, but I can only imagine how he's going to act getting pulled out of bed at one in the morning. The truck door opens, and a woman steps out, stopping me dead in my tracks. Her long brown hair is like a curtain over her face as she leans into the bed of the truck and pulls out her bag. But the ample swell of her ass in those tight jeans that look painted on her legs has my dick twitching in my pants.
“You’re not the vet,” I say, managing to find my voice.
She turns to look at me and closes the truck door. Something in the look she gives me is familiar, but I can’t place it. I watch as she pulls the hair tie from her wrist and pulls her long hair up into a messy bun on top of her head. My gaze drifts down to the cotton fabric of her tank top pulled tight over her full breasts. The tightness in my jeans grows slightly uncomfortable at the sight of her.
“Sure I am,” she says as she finishes and walks past me towards the barn as if she knows exactly where she's going. But I know she’s never been here. I would remember this woman if she'd been here before.
“Are you my patient?” she asks, walking up to Greta and patting her on her back.
Greta moos a response back to her. I watch as she gets to work. Opening her bag and removing some supplies. She pulls off her flannel shirt and ties it around her waist. She rolls up a plastic sleeve over the length of her arm and up to her shoulder.
“Do you mind holding onto her?” she asks.
"Uh, sure." I move around her towards Greta's front and hold onto her.
“Greta, you are in good hands. I’m going to make you a momma in no time.”
She pushes her arm into Greta's backside. Greta moos loudly, but I hold onto her, talking to her quietly to try and keep her calm. I look up at this mysterious doc and can’t take my eyes off her as she works. Not only is she the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen walk in my barn, but she’s shoulder-deep in my cow, and I still am trying to imagine her naked.
It takes a few minutes for her to adjust the calf's legs so that she can pull them out. But with the skill of an experienced vet, she frees the legs. It takes some pulling on her part, but the calf is pulled free. We wait and watch as the calf soon struggles to her feet and begins nursing from Greta.
