Dutch strode over to Stormy.
“How long since the first was born?”
He was beside her, listening to Stormy’s heart with his stethoscope. She had a hard time fathoming how two years of avoiding Dutch had suddenly yielded to this instant of need on the part of her animals.
“A couple of hours, from what I can guess. He was shivering when I came in here. I was surprised Stormy wasn’t cleaning him, so I set up the heating fan and then I checked her. That’s when I figured out she wasn’t done.”
“You figured right. What took you so long to call it in?”
What had taken her so long? She’d been so intent on following all the rules, making sure she’d be able to do this herself. She’d only called Charlie because it was a last resort. But Charlie hadn’t come, Dutch had.
“I called as soon as I realized what was going on.” She truly hadn’t known Stormy was in labor until late last night. “Where’s Charlie?”
“Away.” Dutch didn’t elaborate. He gave a quick look at the cria. She hated herself for studying his eyes, noticing the crinkles around them.
“You’ve already rubbed him down.”
“Yes, I—”
“How about you continue to take care of him and I’ll tend to the mother, okay?”
It was worded as the question it wasn’t. At least that hadn’t changed about him.
Claire massaged the cria, relieved that he seemed content to stay in the warmth of the barn and not run about in the freezing weather.
“I was worried about the temperature all day. I’ve been checking on Stormy every hour on the hour since late yesterday afternoon. I know llamas won’t birth in bad weather if they can help it.”
Dutch didn’t reply. Maybe he hadn’t heard her, since his concentration was focused on Stormy.
“Easy, girl. That’s it.” His tone was gentle yet persuasive, the perfect blend of coach and drill sergeant. Claire wondered if he’d used the same tone when Natalie gave birth to their child.
The wave of guilt at the memory of Natalie grabbed her by the throat and she coughed to cover the groan that rose up in her.
“Come over here and watch this.”
Claire didn’t miss that he didn’t say her name.
As she watched, Dutch eased out the second cria as though he delivered breech babies all the time. He was sweating; she saw the stains under his arms. But his breathing remained steady and there was no strain in his expression. His eyes met hers for the briefest moment, and she saw a tiny flicker in their indigo depths. Of hope? Joy?
Dutch had wanted to be a vet since they were kids. He’d saved as many creatures as the Dobinsky brothers had pulled the tails off, including her beloved lizard.
“Here it is.” Dutch finished delivering the second cria, but it was clear to her that this baby llama wasn’t going to have as easy a time as his twin. It was much smaller and shivered constantly.
“It’s a girl,” Dutch murmured. “Blanket?” He reached out a gloved hand toward Claire.
She passed him one of the many clean blankets and towels she’d stacked for this occasion. He swaddled the cria and walked it to the heater. Claire held her breath as Dutch listened through his stethoscope. She stared at his face for the slightest clue.
He removed the stethoscope from his ears and kept massaging the cria. It almost seemed too rough as far as Claire was concerned, but he was the vet. She wasn’t even a llama farmer by most standards, not yet. This birth was supposed to be her stepping stone into the professional status she longed for. A breeder couldn’t call herself a breeder until her animals actually had off-spring.
And she’d failed.
“She’s breathing. We won’t know for a bit if she’s going to make it.” Dutch’s voice was reserved, even with the grimness running through it. He didn’t want to get her hopes up, or so she assumed—until she reminded herself that her welfare wouldn’t be high in Dutch’s priorities.
“What about Stormy?”
Claire kept her hand on Stormy’s side as she spoke, as if by touch she could preserve the dam’s will to live.
“Let me look at her. Here, come and rub this cria. Don’t stop. I’ll check her out.”
While Claire rubbed the tiny llama, and occasionally patted its older sibling, she agonized over her stupidity. It was one thing to want to claim her farm, her business, for herself. It was quite another to put Stormy at risk.
If only she’d recognized Stormy’s distress earlier last night. She’d assumed it was going to be a regular birth, just earlier than Charlie had predicted.
Stormy was more than a resource to her. She was Claire’s hope for a new future. A future that was free of the pressures of the political life she’d left behind. Free of the constant drone of the newsroom and the stress of breaking the next story.
With a start Claire realized she was perspiring more profusely than she ever had while working in the press corps. Stormy and all the rest of her llamas had at some point become more than animals to her. They were embedded in her heart.
Yet another reason to regret her decision, which had led to danger for Stormy and the two crias.
Waiting for Dutch to finish dealing with Stormy stretched Claire’s anxiety to the max.
“How is she?” Claire asked the top of his silver mane. That was all she had in her line of vision.
“Shh.” Dutch’s admonition cut across the stable.
Claire kept rubbing the baby and decided to focus on naming the twins. They would both make it. They had to.
After what seemed like hours, but in reality wasn’t more than twenty minutes, Dutch snapped off his gloves.
He made direct eye contact with Claire, and she squirmed at the intensity of his gaze. But it wasn’t about her, or her and Dutch. It was about Stormy.
“She’s okay for now. Her uterus is intact and the afterbirth looked normal, which is a positive sign.” Dutch shook his head. “However, she’s had a huge shock to her system. She won’t be out of the woods for a day or so. I’m going to start her on IV antibiotics as a precaution.”
“Is there any way to avoid the stronger medications? She’s still young and I really don’t like—”
“No, there is no other option—you made sure of that when you took this birthing on yourself. Llamas, livestock—” Dutch waved his hand around her barn “—aren’t pets, Claire. They’re domestic animals who serve a good purpose and need to be respected as such. They weren’t put here for your entertainment.”
His emotional sucker punch echoed Claire’s own thoughts and drove the taste of bile into the back of her throat.
“This isn’t entertainment for me, Dutch. These are my animals, my vocation.”
She hated the electricity that quaked between them, even as they faced each other in total disgust, ignoring any remembrance of their past relationship.
“You’ve never been one for commitment. Is this something else to throw away when you grow tired of it?”
Her mind finished the observation: The way you threw away your best friend? Your hometown?
As soon as he fired the words at her and before Claire could reply, Dutch looked down.
“Damn it all to hell.” He slapped the OB gloves against his thigh. After a few deep breaths, he looked back up at her.
“This