Page 22 of Spindrift

“Whynot?” The challenge in Emilia’s voice as she leaned back against the counterdid unfair things to Morgan’s heart rate. That blend of hauteur and femmeconfidence had always been her weakness.

“Youcould always split the bill,” Stormy suggested with a grin that Morgan longedto wipe off her face.

“No,I’ll pay.” Emilia tapped her phone to the card reader before Morgan could pullout her card.

“Technology.Amazing, isn’t it? Boifriend, say ‘thank you, Emilia,’” Stormy instructed.

Morganshoved a ten into the tip jar. Her face felt hot and her throat was dry despitethe beer. She glared at Stormy before turning to Emilia. “Next one’s on me.”

“Sure.”Emilia patted her dog’s head. “Ready, Nell?”

Stormyraised her eyebrows as Morgan moved to follow Emilia to the door. Morgan shookher head at the question in her eyes.

Chapter Five

Of courseMorgan was a vet. Emilia stared at the business card, her mouth full of thecoppery taste of disappointment. Morgan Donovan, DVM. Why couldn’t she havebefriended a lobsterwoman or an investment banker or an artist—or a person inany profession, really, besides veterinary medicine? She’d left Boston to getaway from her old life. Enmeshing herself in that world again was a terribleidea. She wasn’t ready and, besides, eventually she’d have to tell Morgan shewas also a vet, which would mean explaining her breakdown and her doubts. Shehad her hands full already. She didn’t need more complications.

Shealso couldn’t deny to herself any longer that she liked Morgan. Her handscurled around the smooth stainless-steel curve of her father’s urn. The darkbedroom surrounded her with the familiar sounds of the house. Tree branches onthe roof. Joints and joists creaking. A few smaller scuttlings that could bemice. She smiled as she recalled Morgan’s confession. Morgan Donovan, thief ofcheese at midnight. Morgan, whose easy smile made the ache of Emilia’s grief alittle less sharp. Maybe her mother had a point. She did need a friend, andMorgan didn’t need to know everything about her recent past. It gave her afresh start.

Andshe knew my dad.The urn’s smooth surface comforted her. “What do you think? Is she goodpeople?” she asked his ashes.

Herfather didn’t answer.

Restlessand still a little buzzed from her evening, she pushed back the covers and gotout of bed. Nell groaned in protest. Outside, moonlight illuminated the meadow.She wrapped a thick blanket around her shoulders and padded out to the porch tocurl up in her father’s Adirondack chair. Dew coated the grass. It was tooearly in the season for fireflies, but tree frogs peeped and the boldest springinsects chirped in chorus. Something that might have been a coyote yipped.

Thiswas nothing like her Boston apartment. No car sounds. No sirens. No neighbor’stelevision blaring the Patriots game through an open window, and no waftingcigarette smoke. Just clean, cool air.

Nowonder he’d loved it here.

Oneday at a time. Itwas good advice, but she’d have to make decisions about her future eventually.Summer was the best time to put a house on the market anywhere, and especiallyin Maine. If she waited too long, she’d have to deal with the house over thewinter. Empty houses didn’t fare well. Pipes froze and burst. Renting wouldmake sense, but as she’d nearly told Morgan, she couldn’t stand the thought ofa stranger in her father’s house. Selling provided closure. A clean break.

Aherd of deer picked their way across the meadow. She watched them, grateful forthe break in the repetitive cycle of her thoughts.One day at a time.

• • •

Morganconsidered Joanna Mason and her father, Jack, from the side of the sheep pen.Two ewes milled about inside. Both were still pregnant, thanks to a later-than-usualbreeding, and one had a lamb’s head peeking out from her vulva. The tonguehadn’t turned purple yet, which meant it had not been stuck long. That was agood sign.

“Okay,Jo.”

Thekid looked up at her with wide eyes. These sheep were part of her 4-H flock,and the fourteen-year-old scuffed the toe of her muck boot against the cementfloor of the small barn.

“You’regoing to let her do it?” Jack asked.

“Onlyif she wants to learn.”

“Ido.” The girl’s brown ponytail bobbed.

“Thisway, you can try helping on your own first, next time. That can make a bigdifference for the lamb. Saves your dad some money, too.” She winked at Jack.

“Whatdo I do?”

“First,get the sheep.”

Joannacaught her ewe and tipped her gently into the straw. Her competency impressedMorgan. The kid had good handling instincts. Morgan knelt beside the sheep andmotioned for Joanna to do the same, and she was further impressed by the legthe girl placed carefully over the ewe’s neck to prevent her from getting upduring the birth. She handed her a pair of disposable birthing sleeves and puta pair of normal latex gloves on herself.

“Now,hold out your hands.” She poured a liberal amount of lubricant onto Joanna’sgloves. “What do you think is going on in there?”

“Ithink the legs are stuck.”

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