Page 24 of Broken Trails
The woman in the middle, with long brown hair clipped messily at the back of her head, steps forward, her face softening as she peers down at the towel in my arms.
“Oh, little darling.” She gently plucks the bundle from my hands, her voice dropping to a coo. “Come here, sweetheart, you’re safe now.” She glances back at me, flashing a warm smile. “Thank you for bringing it in. I’m Dr. Isla Mitchell. Why don’t you come through? We’ll take a quick look.”
I hesitate, my instincts screaming at me to bolt, but she’s already leading the way down the hall. When the kitten lets out a soft, pitiful mewl from the bundle of towel, my boots somehow drag themselves across the floor after her. I cast a quick glance at the girl still cradling the rabbit, muttering something under her breath about “guinea pig liberation.”
The exam room is too bright. I take in the tall counter already laid out with neat silver tools and white towels. Isla moves efficiently as she gently unwraps the kitten and starts checking it over. She’s beautiful, in that effortless kind of way. Long brown hair with subtle highlights through it, green eyes that seem clear and kind, and skin that somehow still glows under the terrible hospital lighting.
Out of the corner of my eye, I notice the younger girl following us in. “Hm, looks like dehydration and a bit of malnourishment to me,” she murmurs, watching Isla as she runs her skilled hands over the kitten’s tiny frame.
“Yep. No obvious injuries, though, which is good news,” Isla confirms. She glances up at me with a soft smile. Her head tilts slightly, like she’s studying me—trying to slot a missing piece into a puzzle. “You must be new here. I don’t think I’ve seen you around here or in town before.”
I shift my weight, feeling the familiar itch under my skin that always comes when people start poking where they shouldn’t.
“Just passing through,” I mutter, voice dry.
Her smile only grows. “Oh, you’ve got family here, then?”
“Something like that.”
Isla opens her mouth like she might dig a little deeper, but something in my face must warn her off, because she hums lightly instead, turning her attention back to the kitten. She pulls off the stethoscope around her neck and listens carefully to its heartbeat.
“She’s definitely underweight and dehydrated,” Isla reiterates, shifting the kitten with a kind of gentle precision that I hate to admit is almost soothing to watch. Female, I realise, catching the subtle way Isla says she.
Something small and helpless and struggling to survive. It punches a little harder than it should, scraping against the brittle feeling in my chest that I’m trying my hardest to bury. I clear my throat, feeling awkward for just standing there like an idiot.
“What happens to it? You know… after this?”
“We can keep her here for a while,” Isla replies, glancing at me. “We’ve got space to house a few strays short-term. But if no one claims her or adopts her, eventually we’ll have to send her to the animal shelter in Burralee.”
I have no idea where that is. Could be the next town over, could be on the bloody moon. I nod anyway, like I understand, but a knot coils low in my gut. I don’t know this kitten. I don’t owe her anything. It’s not my responsibility. Still… the idea of her crammed into some steel cage under buzzing lights, forgotten and terrified, leaves a bitter taste I can’t swallow down.
Maybe Isla catches it—the way my jaw tenses or my hand curls slightly at my side—because her smile softens.
“We’ll do everything we can first. Get her strong, give her a real chance,” she says quietly, almost like she’s offering me a lifeline too. “And if no one comes…” Her small shrug speaks volumes. “Well. We just hope someone kind will come along and take her home.”
Isla finishes her checks and straightens up, offering me another one of those soft, understanding smiles that makes me feel more seen than I’m comfortable with.
“Thank you again for bringing her in,” she says warmly. “We’ll take it from here.”
I nod stiffly, already backing toward the door like the place might catch fire if I stay too long.
“Yeah. No worries.”
Without another word, I pull the door open and step out into the fading afternoon sun, the scent of antiseptic and warm hay still clinging faintly to my clothes. I shouldn’t feel guilty. I did what I came to do. It is what it is.
And yet, as I climb back into my car, the empty passenger seat feels heavier than it should.
10
The shop’s so dead this morning, I’m half convinced tumbleweeds are about to roll through the workshop.
Jono’s leaning on the counter, moaning about being hungry, and Sam’s not far behind.
Normally, I’d tell them both to get off their asses and grab their own food, but boredom’s a dangerous thing—I might actually start reorganising the tool wall if I don’t get out of here.
So, I volunteer to pick up food from the bakery in town, partly to shut them up, mostly to save my own sanity.
With the order not ready yet and the bakery already bursting at the seams, I take a detour.
