Page 16 of Stables

Waving my hand towards the blinking light, I turn away. “Tell her I’ll be there soon. Find me some children’s Tylenol.”

Maggie’s chair squeaks when she swivels towards the phone.

Charlotte’s chart has her address on the front. When I plug it into my GPS on my phone, it comes up as only twenty minutes from here, and not much of a detour.

Grabbing my bag, I dig out one of my protein bars and peel it open. Who knows if I’ll have a chance to eat dinner tonight.

When I’m on rotation in the ER, it’s difficult to make time to cook.

And I absolutely detest microwave meals.

I’d rather have one of these cardboard equivalent snacks than soggy rewarmed dog food.

“Good luck, doc.” Maggie hands me a small dropper bottle as she swings her purse over her shoulder.

“Thanks.”

I salute the incoming night crew in the hall as I pass.

“Anything I need to know about?” Dr. Melvin asks while pulling her hair back into a thick gray ponytail.

“Nope. Empty house for you.” I give her a nod and push out into the cool night.

One of the best parts of Montana is that no matter how hot the July sun is, it’s always comfortable once it sets.

But my Tundra is still toasty when I climb in. The leather seat creaks when I slide across it. My pickup is six months old, yet smells brand new.

If I drove it more, it’d break in. Trips are relegated to work and the ranch, with very little in between.

Hughes Farms

My headlights bounce off of a white panel fence when I turn into the long gravel driveway. Two huge grain silos catch illumination from my truck and the house.

This place looks vaguely familiar. If I’m right, there will be a large barn just…yep. There it is.

Did Sophia buy a horse here a while back? Pretty sure this is where she bought Misty, her barrel horse that broke her leg last summer.

Huh. It’s a helluva mare. Sophia said she’s already back to record breaking speeds again, despite the tumble and time off.

Grabbing my trauma bag first, I stuff the small bottle of meds into the side pocket before slinging it across my shoulder.

Skipping the bottom step puts me up on the wrap around wooden porch of the old farmhouse. A warm yellow glow bathesthe rocking chair and swinging bench seat suspended from the eaves.

It might look worn, but it’s tidy.

Knocking just above the peeling paint on the front door sends a deep echo inside.

A horse nickers from the darkness, but otherwise, silence.

She should at least have a dog. I can’t get within thirty yards of Mason’s front door without his border collie raising hell.

My knuckles rap again, rattling the stained glass inset.

Fuck. Am I in the right place?

Yes. I know I am.

Shit.

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