Page 85 of Wishing Hearts

I huff a laugh. “Just can’t catch a break,” I answer, pulling out my phone when it pings. There’s a new text from Sam.

Sammy: Want to do tacos tonight? I bet I can get Winnie to try avocado.

There’s a picture below the text of a smiling Sam because the man likes to tempt me. Or maybe he simply wants to make me happy. I’m not sure if there’s even a difference.

“Yum,” Deborah says, looking over my shoulder.

I hum my agreement.

“Doctor Bailey?” Tessa says, sticking her head around the corner. “Your eleven o’clock has been waitin’ for ten minutes.”

“Shit,” I mutter, pocketing my phone. “Thanks, Tessa.”

She nods, and Deborah laughs, slapping me on the shoulder as I hustle away. The rest of my morning passes before I’ve blinked, and as I’m putting the finishing touches on my patient files, my phone starts to ring.

The school.

I answer quickly. “Hello?”

“Hello. Is this Harrison Bailey?”

“Yes,” I say, stomach sinking.

“Good day, Mr. Bailey. I’m callin’ because Winifred is in the nurse’s office. She’s all right, but she and another student bumped into each other pretty hard on the playground. We’ve got an ice pack on her elbow, and the nurse assured us it’s only a bruise, but we wanted to let you know.”

My pulse comes down. That’s not so bad. “Thank you for the call.”

“Of course. We’ll let you know if anythin’ else comes up.”

We say our goodbyes, and I tuck my phone back in my pocket, bracing my hands on the counter. It’s okay, I tell myself. This day has been a fucking disaster, but it’s okay.

“Harrison, comin’ to lunch?” Deborah asks from down the hall.

I shake my head. “I need to grab something to eat. I left my lunch at home.” Except… Shit. Checking my calendar, I realize I’m off-site this afternoon. Which means, “I have to go, Deb. See you later.”

Deborah’s face is creased in concern when I head around the corner, but I don’t stop. I grab my supplies and make my way directly to my truck. The Hortons’ farm is a good forty-minute drive from here, so I’ll have to skip my meal after all.

“Seriously, can’t catch a break,” I mutter, pulling out of the clinic parking lot.

My phone dings on the drive over, but I don’t check it. My mind is distracted enough as it is, and with the way today is going, it’d be just my luck to add a texting-while-driving collision to the list.

When I get to the Hortons’, I park my truck and grab my hat, settling it on my head just as the elder Mr. Horton comes out of his house.

“Roy,” I call out, lifting a hand in greeting.

“Doc,” he calls back, hustling my way, his usually ruddy cheeks even redder than normal. “I’m glad you’re here. We’ve got a situation.”

“Uh-oh,” I say, grabbing my med bag. “What’s going on?”

I walk with Roy as he leads me toward the barn. The Hortons run a small dairy cow operation, but they also have a handful of family animals: a couple “pet” cows, a donkey, a few pigs, and a pony. I was supposed to be doing a checkup on the old pony to evaluate whether or not she’s ready for arthritis meds, but it sounds like that’s about to change.

“One of our dairy girls went into labor last night,” Roy explains. “She’s been at it for a while, and the calf’s feet are visible, but it’s not comin’ out.”

“How long have you been able to see the feet?” I ask.

“Gerald’s been with ’er,” he says. “Said it’s been two and a half hours.”

Crap. “All right, lead the way.”

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