Page 32 of The Knitting Club at Wagtail Ridge

‘That one. Digby. The brown one.’

Bree still had a halter in her hand. Leaving Matt and Vicki outside, she went through the gate and slid it over Digby’s face. ‘What have you done to yourself, Digby?’ She ran her eyes over the animal and spotted the red stain on his chest and blood on his leg. She crouched down to get a better look.

‘It’s not too bad,’ she called to reassure Vicki. ‘It’s just a cut. But it will need tending to.’ She led the animal out of the yard and towards the stables. Digby was quite calm, occasionally stomping the bloody leg a little harder than the others. ‘Matt, through that door in the feed shed there’s a cupboard with first aid supplies. Can you get me a bucket of water, and cotton wool and a few other things?’

‘Sure, tell me what you need.’

A few minutes later he was back. ‘Is this everything? What else can I do to help?’

‘That’s it. Thanks. This won’t take long.’ For the next few minutes, Bree’s attention was entirely on her injured animal as she cleaned the wound and applied antibacterial cream. She didn’t think it needed stitches, but she’d call Anna Prentiss to take a look at it. There was no way to cover or bandage the wound without clipping away a section of Digby’s coat, so that too would have to wait for the vet’s visit. ‘You’re going to have to stay inside for a couple of days, old boy.’ She released him into a big, airy, loose box, then stepped back, shutting the door behind her.

‘Is he going to be all right?’ Vicki’s voice was shaking a little and her eyes were red with tears—not for herself, but for the injured animal.

Bree opened the stall door and allowed the girl to step in. ‘Of course he is. See, it’s a small cut. Alpacas don’t hurt themselves very often, but this is a new place for Digby. He must have tripped on something he didn’t see.’ Probably an old piece of wire or a fallen tree branch. Bree would go looking for it to make sure it didn’t happen again.

‘Can I pat him?’

‘You can, but be careful not to touch the injured place. Come around here to the other side.’ Bree put an arm around Digby’s neck to make sure he stood still.

Vicki walked ever so carefully up to Digby and gently stroked his shoulder. ‘You be careful, Mr Digby. You need to look where you are going. Daddy tells me that all the time. And he’s right.’

‘I’ll remind her of that next time,’ Matt whispered conspiratorially to Bree.

Bree put her hand on Vicki’s shoulder. ‘We should leave him to rest now.’ As she spoke, Digby’s ears flicked back and his mouth started to move. Bree stepped in front of Vicki just as the alpaca spat. A wad of mucus landed on her cheek and began to slide down her face.

‘Eww.’ Vicki stepped back and darted out the stall door. Bree followed and locked the door.

‘Eww,’ Vicki said again. ‘He spat on you.’

‘He did.’ Bree reached into her pocket for the wipe she always kept there for this very reason. ‘Alpacas do that sometimes. He’s a little bit upset and grumpy, so he was letting me know he wanted to be left alone.’

In the stall, Digby shuffled his feet and finally lay down in the deep bed of straw.

‘It’s time we went home,’ Matt said.

Dragging her feet, Vicki complied. When they arrived back at Matt’s car, he looked at his daughter and raised an eyebrow.

‘Thank you for letting me visit, Miss Johnston,’ Vicki said in her most polite voice. ‘I hope Digby is going to be all right.’

‘Thank you for coming. I’m sure he’ll be fine. If you hadn’t seen his injury, I might not have noticed until tomorrow, and that wouldn’t have been good. So thank you from Digby for that.’

Matt saw Vicki safely into the car with her seat belt on. ‘Thank you,’ he said to Bree as he opened his own door.

‘You two are very welcome.’ She meant it. She’d enjoyed their visit.

‘I wanted to say …’ Matt hesitated.

‘Yes?’

‘Would you like to have dinner with me and Vicki one night? To say thank you.’

An excited squeal from inside the car told them that Vicki had not only heard, but that she approved.

Bree was about to say she’d love to, but stopped. Was this a friendly meeting or something more? And was she ready for something more? Was Matt? Probably not. He was clearly still struggling with his grief over losing the woman he loved.

What was she thinking? This was a friendly dinner. Nothing more than that.

‘I’d love to.’

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