Read Online The Curvy Vet and the Billionaire Cowboy (He Wanted Me Pregnant!) by Victoria Wessex - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Victoria Wessex
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God,” he said. “I thought I was going to lose you.”
I just pointed ahead of us, and he gasped.
No more than forty feet away, the mustang was walking shakily through the trees towards the lake. It looked even weaker than before, its legs shaking, its head moving awkwardly.
Chapter 8
My panic faded away. My breathing slowed down.
“Holy…” said Russ. He hesitated. “Will you stay? Will you help me?”
I hesitated. And then nodded.
He let out a long sigh of relief. “Stay here while I get a rope on her.”
I nodded dumbly and watched as Russ approached the horse. He didn’t try to hide himself and sneak up on her. He let her know he was coming, whispering nonsense to her the whole way. Moving so carefully and slowly that he almost became part of the scenery, something the horse could trust.
He was a natural. It was the first time I’d seen him work with a horse and watching him was awe-inspiring. This is what he should be doing. This is what he needed to be doing.
I watched as he petted the horse, very gently, and slipped the rope around its neck. It looked at him with panicked, confused eyes. God knows what the poor thing was seeing or hearing, through its delirium. We could only hope it didn’t try to bolt or kick.
Russ motioned me over. Luckily, my medical gear was still in Constantine’s saddle bags. I dismounted, grabbed my gear and a couple of lanterns and hurried over to him. When I got there, he gave me a long look and I nodded. We’ll talk later. And then I got to work.
The signs weren’t good. The horse’s temperature was up to 105° and I could see she was barely able to move her head or swallow. We filled Russ’s hat with water and propped it up on some gear so that she could reach it more easily, and she drank greedily. But she could barely swallow. I didn’t want to say it, but it looked as if we were too late. The disease was just too far progressed.
“What can you do for her?” asked Russ. When I looked across at him, he’d gone pale in the lamplight.
“I can try to help her through it,” I said, prepping a needle. “I can dose her up with corticosteroids. We can try to get a line into her and give her fluids—that may help.” I looked around. “This isn’t the best place to be doing this, though.”
He nodded. “I know. Just…do your best. Please.”
Russ soothed the horse while I gave her a shot of steroids to help her fight the infection and an antipyretic to try to get the fever down. Then I found a vein and ran an IV line. There was no drip stand, so I had to hang the bag from the branch of a tree and hope to God the horse didn’t move and rip it out of the vein.
“That’s it,” I said.
Russ looked at the horse as it tried to choke down water. “That’s it? Can’t you do anything else?!”
I felt that familiar double-punch of guilt and frustration all vets—all doctors too, I guess—get when they face a relative. I ran a hand through my hair. “I can give her anticonvulsants if she starts to convulse. Otherwise, we keep the fluids going and monitor her. Her immune system will either fight it off by morning, or….”
He stared at me and then stared at the horse. “We found her too late, didn’t we?”
I shook my head, thinking exactly what he was thinking. If we hadn’t had breakfast. If I hadn’t been so useless and had ridden a little faster. If we hadn’t had sex. If, if, if.
He nodded sourly and I went cold inside. Damnit.
We settled down to wait.
***
It was a long, long night, Russ stroking the horse’s neck for hour after hour while I hung new IV bags and dosed her again with drugs, pushing the dosage as much as I dared. There was a tension between us and it was all the worse because of the intimacy we’d shared. Several times, one or the other of us would try to start to talk, but we were both too on edge.
The horse slumped to her knees, and eventually onto her side, where she lay panting and writhing.
Around
I just pointed ahead of us, and he gasped.
No more than forty feet away, the mustang was walking shakily through the trees towards the lake. It looked even weaker than before, its legs shaking, its head moving awkwardly.
Chapter 8
My panic faded away. My breathing slowed down.
“Holy…” said Russ. He hesitated. “Will you stay? Will you help me?”
I hesitated. And then nodded.
He let out a long sigh of relief. “Stay here while I get a rope on her.”
I nodded dumbly and watched as Russ approached the horse. He didn’t try to hide himself and sneak up on her. He let her know he was coming, whispering nonsense to her the whole way. Moving so carefully and slowly that he almost became part of the scenery, something the horse could trust.
He was a natural. It was the first time I’d seen him work with a horse and watching him was awe-inspiring. This is what he should be doing. This is what he needed to be doing.
I watched as he petted the horse, very gently, and slipped the rope around its neck. It looked at him with panicked, confused eyes. God knows what the poor thing was seeing or hearing, through its delirium. We could only hope it didn’t try to bolt or kick.
Russ motioned me over. Luckily, my medical gear was still in Constantine’s saddle bags. I dismounted, grabbed my gear and a couple of lanterns and hurried over to him. When I got there, he gave me a long look and I nodded. We’ll talk later. And then I got to work.
The signs weren’t good. The horse’s temperature was up to 105° and I could see she was barely able to move her head or swallow. We filled Russ’s hat with water and propped it up on some gear so that she could reach it more easily, and she drank greedily. But she could barely swallow. I didn’t want to say it, but it looked as if we were too late. The disease was just too far progressed.
“What can you do for her?” asked Russ. When I looked across at him, he’d gone pale in the lamplight.
“I can try to help her through it,” I said, prepping a needle. “I can dose her up with corticosteroids. We can try to get a line into her and give her fluids—that may help.” I looked around. “This isn’t the best place to be doing this, though.”
He nodded. “I know. Just…do your best. Please.”
Russ soothed the horse while I gave her a shot of steroids to help her fight the infection and an antipyretic to try to get the fever down. Then I found a vein and ran an IV line. There was no drip stand, so I had to hang the bag from the branch of a tree and hope to God the horse didn’t move and rip it out of the vein.
“That’s it,” I said.
Russ looked at the horse as it tried to choke down water. “That’s it? Can’t you do anything else?!”
I felt that familiar double-punch of guilt and frustration all vets—all doctors too, I guess—get when they face a relative. I ran a hand through my hair. “I can give her anticonvulsants if she starts to convulse. Otherwise, we keep the fluids going and monitor her. Her immune system will either fight it off by morning, or….”
He stared at me and then stared at the horse. “We found her too late, didn’t we?”
I shook my head, thinking exactly what he was thinking. If we hadn’t had breakfast. If I hadn’t been so useless and had ridden a little faster. If we hadn’t had sex. If, if, if.
He nodded sourly and I went cold inside. Damnit.
We settled down to wait.
***
It was a long, long night, Russ stroking the horse’s neck for hour after hour while I hung new IV bags and dosed her again with drugs, pushing the dosage as much as I dared. There was a tension between us and it was all the worse because of the intimacy we’d shared. Several times, one or the other of us would try to start to talk, but we were both too on edge.
The horse slumped to her knees, and eventually onto her side, where she lay panting and writhing.
Around
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