Page 12 of Buried Roots

He puts his hands on Eclipse’s snout, his face right next to hers. He whispers something to her, and she immediately calms.

I wouldn’t believe it if I hadn’t seen it myself.

“What is he doing?” I say to Frankie.

Her face glows with pride. “What God put him on this earth to do.”

And I’ve never seen anything like it. As my brain tries to compute all the pieces of information hitting me like paintball pellets, Frankie says, “Go get towels, Willow.”

I’m glad to be useful as I beat feet to the house, running so fast my legs burn. When I make it into the bathroom, I plow through the cabinets until I find the stack of towels. A zing of guilt hits—I treated Owen like a B film creeper earlier today, and now, he’s helping me with my horse in the middle of the night.

After rushing back to the stables, I enter to see Owen in a surgical gown, gloved up and inside Eclipse, who’s standing. He keeps talking to her, calm and soothing, but his face tells a different story. Finally, he looks at Frankie and whispers, “I can’t get a hold of the hindlimbs.” He reaches deeper, and Eclipse jumps and neighs, stepping away.

“Dammit,” Frankie mutters, and my stomach plummets.

After Owen shuffles around to whisper to Eclipse again, the horse calms down. He leads her around the stable, looking at Frankie when he says, “Movement should get the foal to shift.” After a stroll around the perimeter of the stall, Owen puts his gloves back on and tells Frankie to hold the chains.

What arethosefor? I shudder.

The creak of the barn door pulls my eyes toward the entry, and I see a little girl, about nine or ten, dressed in thermal footed pajamas. Her tiny face, twisted in terror, glows in the light of a lantern she’s holding.

“Hello. Who are you?” I say.

“Oh, no.” Frankie scrambles over to the girl before kneeling. “I told you to stay in bed, baby.” She takes the child’s small hands. “I know you’re scared, but your brother’s the best vet around. You know that.”

“I can be here—I’m not a baby, Ma. I heard you say they might die.” The girl’s lips quiver, and she’s clearly fighting off tears, but she lifts her chin.

I struggle to hold it together.

Frankie runs a hand over the girl’s light hair. “Trinity, you can’t stay here.” Her voice is calm, but it seems she’s fighting to keep it that way.

“Take her home, Ma. Willow and I got this.” Owen strokes Eclipse’s mane.

We do? Is he serious? My stomach goes into free fall.

Owen’s voice softens when he says, “Go get some sleep, Trin. You can come and name the foal when you wake up, okay?” His eyes dart to me. “If that’s okay with you, Willow?”

“Of course. I’d love that.” Through my raging emotions, I muster a smile for Trinity because Iwouldlove it if she named the foal.

Trinity folds her arms, defiant, but finally bows her head and nods.

Frankie looks at me, her tired eyes filled with concern. “Owen will walk you through it.”

“I’ll give it my all,” I say, resolving myself to do anything and everything I humanly can.

Frankie gives me a curt nod before standing and ushering Trinity home.

The second they’re out of earshot, Owen says, “Trinity plays tough, but she’s not doing well with Bo’s passing. They were tight.”

“That’s rough.”

Eclipse’s panting worsens, splitting my heart in two. Owen’s tough facade crumbles as panic flashes on his face. “It’s been too long. I need to get the foal delivered. Now.” He nods at the chains. “Pick those up and have them ready for me when I get a hold of those hindlimbs.”

I look at them and my vision fogs. “Chains?”

“Normally, foals are born forelimbs first. In breech, it’s the hindlimbs first, and the foal can’t come on his own. These are necessary to deliver the animal quickly and save his life.” Then Owen mumbles, “Ifhe’s alive.”

Acid rushes up my throat, but I swallow it back. I can’t watch this—I can’t see a dead baby horse, but I have to help. I force a steady tone when I say, “Got it.” As I stand next to Owen, his entire arm disappears into the horse, and I fight back the gag that lurches.

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