29
CARLY
I jerk out of my sleep—which was a nightmare, but not about my time on the island.
No. This one was about those sightless gray eyes staring at me yesterday morning. Remembering how it felt to trip over the body. Hard, but soft, too. A person, but…not.
I blink and take a moment to adjust to the darkness. Where I am. My bed. The familiar strip of light that comes in beneath my bedroom door. The scent of pine cleaner mom uses on the wood floors. Everything is familiar. I only spent one night with Austin and I want that again. I want to be in his bed with him. Not in my sleep shirt in my twin bed with sheets my mom and I picked out on a trip to Missoula when I was in eleventh grade.
My phone is ringing. That’s what woke me from my bad dream.
I fumble around, knocking it off my nightstand. I move to retrieve it, and I don’t recognize the number.
“Hello?” I say breathlessly when I answer.
“Is this Carly?”
I rub my tongue over my teeth. “Yes, speaking. Who is this?”
“This is Abe Hawkins over at Bridger Ranch. I tried to get Lexie Davis on the phone, but she’s not picking up. I don’t know who else to call.”
I wipe sleep out of my eyes. “What’s wrong?”
“It’s that foal she operated on. The inguinal hernia? The poor thing’s running a fever, and the incision doesn’t look good.”
“Oh no.” I’m suddenly wide awake. “Sounds like there’s an infection. But I’m not a vet, Abe. I can’t help you.”
“You’re on the list as the first person to call after Lexie and Blaine. And Blaine’s still out of town.”
“There are other vet techs,” I say.
“Lexie put you on the list above them. Said you’ve had some vet school?”
She did? She listed me third? Even with my background and— he’s waiting on an answer. “I have, but it was a long time ago.”
Abe sighs. “Please. I don’t know what to do for this poor thing. He’s the offspring of one of the Bridgers’ prized studs. He has to be okay.”
A yawn splits my face. “All right. I’ll be there soon as I can.”
I stumble out of bed and throw on a pair of jeans and a long-sleeved shirt. Once my cowboy boots are on my feet, I give Ernie some loves, although he barely lifts his head from his bed in the corner, and then sneak through the house quietly so I don’t wake Mom and Dad. Once I’m out of the house, I drive to the ranch. Rain is falling lightly as I park and head to the stable where the foal is recuperating from his surgery.
Abe and another hand are tending to him.
“Carly, thank God,” Abe says when I walk into the stable. “The poor thing’s not looking good.”
The colt is lying on his side. First thing I do is check his surroundings. Everything looks clean. The hands have done a good job keeping the animal in a sterile environment.
I kneel down. “Let me take a look.”
Abe’s already removed the bandage and I can easily see Lexi’s stitches are even and impressive, but the skin around the surgical site is raised and red, and a few streaks of pink radiate from the area outward. For a moment, I’m thankful that the horse has pink skin. If it were dark, I wouldn’t be able to see this redness, which indicates the situation is serious. For a moment, I remember Ivory, the beautiful cremello mare I groomed on my first day at Bridger Ranch. Is this foal related to her? She didn’t appear to have foaled recently. But this young horse has skin like hers, though his eyes are light brown and his coat a gorgeous roan.
He’s in distress, and he’s breathing rapidly. I don’t need to recheck to see that he’s feverish.
“This colt needs to survive,” Abe says again. He’s in his late forties and looks exhausted. We usually wear a Bridger Ranch shirt as a pseudo-uniform, but now he’s sloppy in jeans and a misbuttoned shirt. The other hand doesn’t look much better.
I can relate.
“Does he have a name?” I ask.