Page 36 of When the Sun Rises
The pace I set toward the birthing block was slow but deliberate, not wanting to do anything to stress Holland or speed along her foaling, despite the snorting the mare was making at being moved. Thank God the barn was near the pasture the mares were in, but it felt like miles away.
“I’m on my way.”
Relief washed through me, cool and refreshing like a dip in a natural spring on a hot summer’s day. Tucker was coming. I hadn’t realized the slow rising panic that had started to claw at my chest until it was ripped away, but the sudden shift had something welling up in my throat.
“Yeah. See you soon,” I croaked, blinking back my emotions. I hung up the phone and swallowed heavily, trying to shift myself into work mode. Everything would be okay. I’d been present for a hundred births, if not more. I knew what I was doing.
And Tucker was coming.
The walk into the birthing block still felt like an eternity, but I got Holland into one of the large stalls specifically made with enough space for the mares to pace and labor however they wanted without fear of them getting too close to a wall. I’d just shut the stall door when a low groan came from the mare and a flood of liquid rushedfrom her. Holland lowered herself to the ground, and I could just make out the beginnings of the amnion sack.
Here we go.
Tension left my body as I leaned against the cutout window in the door, grateful we’d made it and she was still progressing. “That’s right, Momma, go ahead and do what you gotta do,” I softly cooed, resting my chin on my crossed arms.
It didn’t take long for one little hoof to appear with more of that leg slowly starting to show after the mare continued to gently push. Holland had just shifted to her feet again and began to pace when the sound of heavy boots came from down the hallway of the barn. I leaned back, suddenly desperate for the sight of Tucker Legare.
He was a dream in a heavy work coat, dirty jeans and his hair curling in unruly directions all under the band of his baseball cap. He looked like he threw himself together in a rush to get down here, and he was perfect. Rugged. Beautiful. Mine.
Not mine. Not yet, but maybe one day.
Tucker came up beside me, our eyes connecting, and I swore so much was loaded in that split-second stare. Relief, happiness, desire, resignation. Then those whiskey eyes were swinging through the window to look at Holland.
“One hoof out,” I confirmed, bringing my gaze over to the mare now happily munching on some hay in the corner of her stall. “Her water broke almost the second we got her inside.”
Tucker sighed. “I know some places let their mares foal in the pasture, but it's harder to intervene that way, in my opinion.”
I nodded slowly, not taking my eyes off the tiny hoof. It was all white and the part of the leg I could see was a creamy brown, like coffee with lots of milk poured in.
“Who’s the sire?” I asked, suddenly curious on what the possibilities for this foal’s coloring would be.
“Monaco’s Victory. The buckskin.”
I raised an eyebrow at that, glancing toward Tucker. “Monaco’sVictory and Holland’s Reprieve?” I asked, using both horses’ official names. “Who the hell decided to pair these two?”
Tucker shrugged. “I thought she might produce some pretty colorings. Her father had some gray markings. Plus they both did decent on the track in past seasons.”
I hummed a little. “And what are you going to name the foal? Victory’s Reprieve? Monaco’s Big Release? Good Luck Chuck?”
Tucker chuckled low, and it filled my chest with so much warmth. “We need to find out the sex first, but I’m sure we can come up with something original for this little one.”
A snort from inside the stall pulled my attention, and I turned to see Holland had dropped down, lying fully on her side now as she pushed. The little muzzle of the foal and second hoof had breached while we’d been talking, and I could already tell this one was going to be adorable.
“We should probably give her some privacy, huh?” I murmured a little reluctantly. All the stalls in the birthing block were set up with cameras so we could provide the mares the isolation they preferred without being completely out of the loop. The video feeds all came up in a room in the back of the barn where we could watch from.
But I didn’t know what it was about this foal. It might’ve been that it was my first with Juniper Grove. Maybe it was the lingering remnants of adrenaline still coursing through me. Either way, I felt drawn to be here completely for this birth. Not watching through a TV monitor, but just on the other side of the door.
Tucker looked back into the stall, the silence hanging in the air. I’d already resigned myself to sulkily clomping down to the media room, but then those rich brown eyes were on me again. “I don’t think she minds. She wouldn’t have relaxed enough to keep on laboring if she didn’t trust you being nearby.”
My breath caught in my lungs at his words, my heart going ninety to nothing in my chest. The grin that spread over my face was nearly painful, but I couldn’t have stopped it even if I wanted to. Somehow, I knew he was giving me this. Letting us share this moment together,up close and personal. Wordlessly, we both turned back to the scene inside the stall and waited for the newest member of this world to officially join us.
It took Holland another ten minutes before the foal was completely born. They came out dopey eared and struggling to comprehend their sudden change in scenery, but a gorgeous golden brown. Holland’s motherly instincts kicked in right away, and watching her clean her new baby made my chest fill with all those warm and fuzzy feelings. The foal quickly got themselves up on their wobbly, toothpick legs, and they stumbled around quite a bit before figuring out how to properly use them.
When the foal began to nurse, Tucker slowly slipped into the stall, mindful of Holland’s reactions to gauge if he was welcome or not. When she paid him no mind, going back to munching on some hay again, he made his way behind the foal to quickly sex it.
“Filly,” he announced, moving to slip through the door without disturbing the pair any further.
“Sweet girl,” I murmured, totally enamored by her. “She’s gorgeous. What are you going to name her?”
