Page 27 of High Frequency

“How is he?”

Jonas looks up from his desk.

I noticed he was back earlier this morning, but the new vet had just rolled up. Old Doc Evans finally hung up his hat two months ago, at six months shy of his seventy-eighth birthday, and his practice was taken over by Janey Richards, a new transplant from the Eureka area.

Doc Evans did the rounds introducing her before he took off on a South American cruise to celebrate his retirement, but we haven’t had reason to call her in yet. Most of the minor stuff we can handle ourselves. Today she was here to administer booster vaccines for equine influenza and equine herpesvirus. It’s always a significant job, given the number of horses we have, and normally requires quite a few of us to facilitate.

We do two of these a year—the spring vaccinations and the fall boosters—so we had a routine going with Doc Evans. But since this was the first time with Doc Richards, and she had a few of her own preferences, it took us a little more time.

I just saw her off before I came inside.

“He’ll live. He’s alert but not happy about it. I’m not sure what to do with that, he’s a mess. Won’t talk to anyone, but Alex is still there; sitting, waiting, until the nurses tell her visiting hours are over. Then she moves to the waiting room. I swear, she’s got the fucking patience of a saint.”

He rubs his face with his hands before sighing deeply.

“Any idea when they’re going to let him go?”

“Probably tomorrow he’ll be moved to the psychiatric ward for a twenty-four-hour assessment. Depends on his cooperation what’ll happen after that.”

“Jesus.”

“Yeah. Hope he smartens up and lets us bring him back here, where he can learn to feel useful again.”

Jonas slaps his hands on the desk before he changes the topic. “How did it go with the new doc?”

“Fine. We’re all done.”

The phone on his desk starts ringing.

“Good. Go grab some lunch. I’m just gonna take this and will join you in a minute.”

Exiting the office, I head toward the kitchen where Thomas and Sully are already eating at the long kitchen island. But my attention is drawn to the playpen in front of the large sliding glass doors.

“Hey, pretty girl,” I mumble, leaning over the side to find Aspen looking up at me, shoving some kind of plastic ring in her mouth.

Her little fist is drool-covered, and the bottom of her sleeve is soaked. Sloane had mentioned she was teething. Poor thing. Doesn’t stop her from flashing me a big smile though. I can’t help smiling back.

“You having fun?”

In response she purses her lips and starts blowing raspberries, her little legs kicking excitedly.

“Could you grab her for me?” Ama calls out behind me. “I’ve got her bottle ready.”

As soon as I reach down, both her little arms come up.

She weighs next to nothing as I settle her in the crook of my arm and turn around. Three pairs of eyes are on me, two of them grinning, and a set of blue ones glaring. I ignore them all as I reach for the bottle on the counter. I shake a drop on my hand, testing the temperature like I saw Sloane do at dinner last night. Aspen’s lips automatically open when I offer her the bottle.

Then I slide my ass on the nearest stool and settle the baby on my thigh.

“What’s for lunch?”

Ama shakes her head, turns to the stove where she loads a couple of quesadillas on a plate, and sets it in front of me. Feeding Aspen with one hand, I start eating with the other.

When Jonas walks in a few minutes later, Ama is burping the baby, and I’m diving into my second serving. I was hungry.

“That was Junior Ewing,” Jonas directs at me. “Looks like you’re taking Sloane up Pointer’s Creek in the morning.”

My quesadilla freezes halfway to my mouth before I lower it back to my plate.

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