Page 28 of The Front Runner
“Hi?” She’s clearly confused about why I’d be calling her at ten p.m. on a Friday.
“There’s something wrong with Loki.”
She doesn’t even miss a beat. “I’ll be right there.”
Her heart is so damn pure. Far more pure than someone like me deserves.
Within twenty minutes, she arrives, bursting through the door looking like some sort of country goddess.
“I’m here!” Inky black hair billows out over her brown suede bomber jacket as she struts down the hallway. Her long legs are poured into a skin-tight pair of jeans and the ornate cowboy boots on her feet click swiftly against the concrete. I’m still not accustomed to seeing her in anything other than her cargo pants and oversized Carhartt jacket.
She drops her kit and looks up at me, cheeks rosy and eyes narrowed. “Tell me what’s wrong.” She doesn’t waste any time digging into the box that carries all her general medical stuff, only grabbing a small flashlight and her stethoscope.
Her level of seriousness alarms me. This is what poor Loki gets for having me take care of him. I’m a goddamn angel of death. I can’t keep anyone safe.
“He was fine when I checked on him before dinner.” She comes close, listening to his heartbeat and nodding, urging me on. “I came down to check on him before bed, and he seems lethargic. I mean, look at him. He’s been a bit of a terrorist lately. He’s not himself.”
“Diarrhea?” She looks around the stall and stands up straight, eyes landing on what looks like very liquified poop.How did I not notice that?She pinches the skin on his neck and when she lets go, it stays pinched together, not returning flat as it should with a properly hydrated horse. Next, she opens his droopy lips and presses her thumb against his gums, testing how quickly they pink back up under pressure. Her movements are efficient, not panicked, but prompt.
“Okay. He’s dehydrated. Orphan foals are prone to infection if they miss out on colostrum—which he did for a few days. Just stick with him while I grab some stuff from my truck.”
She darts out of the stall, and I’m left patting the small chestnut horse and murmuring to him. “You’re gonna be fine, little dude. I’m sticking with you. And did you know Mira is the best vet I’ve ever known?” His eyes flutter and his head bobs. “It’s true. She’s very impressive.” My voice cracks.
I hear her steps behind me and feel her dainty hand land at the top of my back. Her fingers pulse against my spine in a light squeeze before she pulls an IV pole into the stall and gets to work, setting up a drip.
“Fuck,” she mutters to herself as she struggles to find a suitable spot for the catheter. Her thumbs work, pressing down the line of his neck, trying to make a vein bulge. The only sign that she likes what she sees is a quiet grunt and then the precise movement of her hand sliding the needle into the spot she selected. “Good boy, Loki. Tough man. You’re a fighter, aren’t ya?”
Within a few moments, Mira has the gauge taped to Loki’s neck, and the line attached. Hopefully, whatever is in that clear bag hanging above us is what he needs. I don’t think I can bear the thought of anything happening to him.
“What now?” I ask quietly from where I kneel beside her.
Mira’s lips press into a thin line as she looks down at me and sighs so heavily her shoulders rise and then fall. “Now we wait.”
* * *
“Coffee?”Mira is back, peeking down into the stall from between the bars. “It might be a long night.”
“I thought you left?” I ask sullenly, feeling kind of low and introspective. I guess that’s why I haven’t moved off the stall floor. Again. I don’t want to leave Loki. Just in case. So here I am, leaning against the wall once again.
“Nah. Figured I’d camp out with you for a bit.” She kicks the stall door open and steps in with a steaming cup of coffee in each hand. “I think I might have gotten it right this time.” She grins mischievously as she comes to stand before me.
The scent wafts off the hot liquid as she folds herself down about a foot away from me. “Is there booze in this?”
“Yeah.” She smiles as she blows on her mug. “I found some Bailey’s in the fridge. You look like you could use some.”
I peer back at her, following the strong angle of her pronounced cheek bones down her perfectly straight nose.
“No Bailey’s for you?”
“I’m technically on call. They generally frown upon practicing veterinary medicine while under the influence. I take turns being on call overnight with a few other vets so the area is covered for emergencies.”
“I didn’t know that,” I say thoughtfully.
“Of course not. You just call me directly when you need something.” Her laughter is light and airy as she leans in to sip her coffee.
“Black coffee for you?”
“Like my soul.” Her lips tilt up in a wry twist, but her eyes stay focused on the horses before us. Farrah hangs her head over Loki protectively. I marvel at the way she’s taken him over, the way she cares for him when he’s not even hers. Or maybe he is hers now.
