Total pages in book: 102
Estimated words: 100367 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 502(@200wpm)___ 401(@250wpm)___ 335(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 100367 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 502(@200wpm)___ 401(@250wpm)___ 335(@300wpm)
“Take it.”
I run my hand up and down her back, still covered in my shirt, when her spine goes rigid, and her eyes fly to mine.
“How far apart are her contractions?”
I can’t hear his responses, but she rubs her hand over her face, and I take that to mean that it’s not good news.
“I’m on my way, just send me the address. I’ll be there as soon as I can.”
She hangs up and then leans her head on my shoulder.
“I’m so sorry.”
“Hey, you’re a doctor. Doctors get called out for emergencies.”
She groans and frowns up at me. “But we were just getting started, and—”
“Duchess.” I take her chin in my fingers and lean in to brush my lips over hers. “I’ll be right here. I’m not going anywhere. We’ll pick up where we left off when this emergency is over.”
“I’m sorry,” she says again, but I press my lips to her forehead. Christ, she’s the sweetest thing.
“No more apologies. Go hop in the shower and wash us off you. Do you need anything from your cabin?”
She blinks fast, thinking about it. “I’ll need a clean shirt.”
“I’ve got one for you.”
Her smile could light up the night sky. “Yay, a new shirt to steal. No take backs, but I’ll also need one that fits me. Aside from that, my bag is downstairs. I think I’m good.”
“You get cleaned up, and I can run over for the shirt.”
“Just a T-shirt out of the dresser. Any one of them will do.”
She stands and glances back at the bed, and her eyes go wide at the huge wet spot where her pussy was just minutes ago.
“Oh my God.”
“You’re a squirter, Duchess.” I pull her to me and kiss down her neck, not ready to let her go, but I know how important her job is. “And it was fucking delicious.”
“Part of me wants to be embarrassed.”
“Fuck that. I did that on purpose. Damn proud of myself too.”
She laughs and then reaches for her underwear. “I need these. You can have them back another time.”
“Fine. I guess.” I swat her butt. “Get in the shower, Dr. Lexington.”
“You know what really sucks?” she asks as she moves toward the bathroom.
“What?”
“I didn’t even get to see you naked, and I’m really excited for that part.”
I smirk at her and lift my shirt, so she can see my stomach. Her jaw drops, and her eyes widen, and I can’t help but laugh.
“There, you’ve had a peek. Go take that shower.”
“The universe hates me,” she grumbles as she leaves the room, and I rub my hand over my chest, where an ache has set up residence.
I already miss her.
CHAPTER TWELVE
DARBY
It was one of the worst nights of my career so far, and I know I haven’t been doing this long, but I’ve already seen a lot of gross, sad, crazy things. I can’t say it was the worst of my whole life because, well . . . I’ve had nights when I was a kid that I’ll never get out of my head. But on the scale of shitty ways to spend a night, this one rates about a ten.
Maybe a twenty.
I stare at the mare who’s lying on her side, struggling to catch her breath, her whole body convulsing with contractions that have racked her poor body all night long. She’s whining, and scared, and I fucking hate this for her. I wish we could take it all away. She shouldn’t have to struggle like this to birth a baby.
“She’s not going to make it,” I murmur to Dr. Fisher, and he shakes his head grimly, also dirty and tired, beside me. “She’s just being tortured at this point.”
“I know,” he says with a deep sigh as we squat next to the mare trying to give birth. “Breech deliveries are tough and don’t usually end well. I thought we had the foal turned, but it keeps moving on us. It’s so damn frustrating.”
It’s heartbreaking. Because this horse is young, this is her first foal, and it just feels like such a fucking waste.
We can’t get the foal to stay turned. We’ve tried everything, including having our arms up her until we’re shoulders deep, and it’s not working. It’s trying to come out back first, and it’s ripping the poor mare in two.
“We have to put her down,” Dr. Fisher says. The owner told us to do whatever we have to do, that he understands that he’ll likely lose the horse.
“Can we save the foal?”
“If we hurry.”
With grim determination, we first euthanize the horse, and when that’s finished, and she’s finally out of pain, we work fast to cut the horse open and deliver the foal. We have to tear the membranes around its face and make sure it’s breathing, but we do manage to deliver a live horse.
“Oh, she’s beautiful,” I murmur, wiping her down with a towel. The mother would usually lick all the afterbirth away, but this little one is an orphan. She’s brown, with a white patch right between her eyes and white socks on her feet. “You caused a lot of drama, little one.”