Lauren gave a little wave as she left. “Thanks, V.C.”
Chapter Two
Thirty minutes later, Lauren rolled into the yard at Poplarcreek and parked by the cattle barn. The property had several buildings. A large cattle barn capable of housing a hundred head of cattle protected Callie’s herd of sixty from the worst of the winter weather. An empty horse barn with six stalls stood beside the cattle barn. It wasn’t decrepit but could use a cleaning.
The small utility building, west of the house, would house a generator. A huge machine shed held tractors, a cultivator, a planter, and a combine. Callie’s house appeared to be an old farmhouse the same age as the wooden barns and would have at least six bedrooms. It had a wraparound porch encrusted with faded, peeling green paint. It was a solid house, but the porch made it look shabby. The porch probably wasn’t a high priority to Callie, but a few dollars and a couple of high school kids would have sorted that out. How could she stand to have people see it that way?
Most farmers brought their cattle into PVS for C-sections. They didn’t want to stand in a cold barn any more than Lauren wanted to work in one. But Callie couldn’t transport her animals. She had a stock trailer and a truck with a hitch, but towing the trailer scared her, especially with snow on the roads. And even if she got it to the clinic, Callie hadn’t learned how to back it up to the loading chute. When Lauren had moved to Saskatchewan, she’d towed a trailer of her belongings from Ontario and only stopped where she didn’t have to back up, so she understood, to some extent. But if you’re going to own cattle… Lauren shrugged. She’d do her job and go.
Lauren jumped from her truck and yanked on her rubber boots. She grabbed her calving kit and squared her shoulders before striding into the barn toward the calving pens, figuring Callie would probably be with the heifer in trouble. The cattle barn housed livestock on the ground floor while the upper floor was storage for hay and straw. As she passed pens of cows and calves, the air was hazy with their breath and the steam that rose from their bodies. The water system would have supplemental heating to keep it from freezing, but the animals’ body heat warmed the barn. It was warmer inside than outside, and the barn protected Lauren from the wind, but she would need to work quickly to stay warm.
She peeked inside each calving pen until she found a heifer flat on its side on a thick bed of fresh straw. The animal emitted feeble groans with each pitiful contraction. The heifer was a healthy Charolais, well-muscled, but much too young to be calving. Crouched by the beast’s shoulder and stroking its neck was Callie. “Mrs. Anderson? Callie?”
Callie glanced at Lauren and nodded before turning away. “Hi, Lauren.” Callie wiped at her eyes with the sleeve of her jacket and tugged her wool cap firmly over her ears.
Callie’s dejected state almost made her feel sorry for her. But her past had taught Lauren to keep her head down and her eyes on the job. There was no room for emotions here. She advanced into the calving pen. “What’s been happening?”
“She’s been pushing for at least an hour, but I don’t know when she started.”
Poor creature. The thought leaped into Lauren’s head, but she wasn’t sure if she meant Callie or the heifer. She set her kit down and slipped off her heavy parka. She shivered in the chilly barn and wished she could keep the coat on, but it was too bulky to work in. She hung it on a handy nail.
Callie rose and stepped out of the way. “I’ll get the water.” Callie disappeared and a few minutes later, returned with a bucket. The steam rose off the hot water and mingled with their breath.
Lauren pulled on a rubber calving suit over her coveralls to keep her dry while she worked. She opened her calving kit, snagged a bottle of liquid soap, and shot two squirts into the bucket. “Let’s see what’s happening.” Using the side of her boot, she pushed a pile of fresh, dry straw behind the animal and kneeled.
Lauren washed the heifer with warm soapy water around the vulva and below her tail. Then she tugged on a shoulder-high disposable OB glove and reached inside. “The calf’s too big for the heifer’s pelvis. Another C-section. Sorry.” Lauren stood and stripped off the OB sleeve.
Callie’s shoulders drooped and she groaned. “Of course, it’ll be a C-section.” Callie sighed in one loud puff. She fetched a long extension cord, two more buckets of hot water, and a ten-foot length of baling twine. “Let’s do it.”
Nearly an hour later, they managed to get the calf out and the mother sewn up. The sight of the calf wobbling toward its mother for its first drink was sweet.
“She’s a nice heifer calf and will cover the cost of the C-section if you sell her in the fall.” Lauren was impressed by Callie’s calm demeanor throughout the ordeal, and she thought of what Val had said. Maybe she would succeed after all. But probably not.
Callie grimaced. “I’m relieved I have a healthy calf, but please, don’t mention my huge vet bill.”
Lauren grinned. “Every tenth C-section or calving should be free. I’ll suggest to Fiona and Ian we enroll you in our frequent heifer-surgery reward program.” As she spoke, Lauren started gathering up her tools.
Callie nodded, but had no smile for Lauren’s joke as she watched her work. “I know my heifers are much too young to be calving. They were in the paddock by the creek. I’d planned to leave them there to grow and play all summer and fall, then bring them in for the winter. My neighbor’s bull busted into the paddock and bred them. You know Heinz Kruger and his sons, Tommy and Kyle? Anyway, they searched for the bull and when they found him, they roped him and towed him out with a tractor. Then they patched my fence. But obviously the damage was already done.” Callie counted on her fingers. “There’ve been six C-sections and four calvings and I still have ten heifers left to calve. Not a good start to this calving season. The only upside is I have amazing calves because my heifers and the bull are purebred Charolais. At least that’s lucky.”
Lauren busied herself with her task to avoid eye contact with Callie. “Yes, lucky.” She doubted the bull breaking into the heifer paddock was an accident. Callie’s too naive to spot whatever scheme Heinz Kruger is up to. And how long was the bull in with the heifers? Lauren tossed her dirty instruments in a bucket of water and scrubbed the debris off them.
Callie untied the heifer mom, rinsed her hands in the bucket, and helped Lauren carry her equipment out of the pen. A healthy calf seemed to have improved Callie’s mood. She grasped Lauren’s forearm and held it for a few beats. “Thanks, Lauren.”
Startled by the contact, Lauren’s cheeks burned as she grinned back. She would have recoiled if any other stranger had touched her. She preferred to keep her distance until she got to know a person.
When Callie released her arm, Lauren collected her gear and stowed it in her calving kit. Callie handed Lauren her parka, and she pulled it on. “Let’s look at the other calves while I’m here. It might save you the cost of calling us out again.” Lauren had no intention of spending all day driving back and forth to Poplarcreek.
They strolled to the other pens to inspect the new crop of youngsters. “Have you seen any scour? Ian asked me to check.”
Callie nodded. “Possibly the little one, or maybe he’s the littler one. He’s in the corner pen by the door with his mother. I’m not sure I know how to treat calves for scour.”
Lauren gazed into warm blue eyes framed by strands of white-blond hair escaping from a wool cap. Callie was strong and beautiful. Lauren sucked in her breath, amazed that Callie could still smile. She marveled that Callie stayed optimistic with so much responsibility and after being widowed young. Lauren would have been ranting, swearing, and mad at the world. Hell, she was like that anyway, and her ex was alive and well. Callie must have a core of steel and determination that helped her stay positive.
“No problem. It’s good you’re willing to say when you don’t know how to do something. Heifers don’t supply as much immunity to their calves as mature cows do. Calves without immunity are more prone to developing scour. Calves with scour ma
y dehydrate and die. Electrolytes replace the minerals lost because of the diarrhea.” Lauren stopped, conscious of their argument that morning. “Was that a lecture? It wasn’t meant to be.”
Callie shook her head. “Thanks for the information.”
Lauren examined the calf and noted its elevated temperature and the wet, yellowed fur under its tail. She observed mild lethargy and drooping ears. “Watch the abnormal way its skin tents when I pull it. He has scour for sure. He’s dehydrated, but not at the dangerous stage yet. I have antibiotics and electrolytes in the truck. Bottle-feed the electrolytes if he’ll drink them. If he won’t drink them or it takes much longer for his skin to smooth out, you’ll need to bring him to the clinic for IV fluids.”
Lauren jotted the calf’s ear tag number on her PVS record pad of NCR paper and noted the animal’s clinical signs. At the bottom of the page she wrote the dose of antibiotic to give and instructions on how often to administer the electrolytes. When she finished the note, she handed the original to Callie and kept the copy for the clinic records. “Do you want help to get started?”
“I can do it, thanks.” Callie rolled her shoulders and sighed. Then she raised her hand as if reaching for something. Then she lowered it. A second later, she raised it again.
Lauren frowned. “Is there something else?”
“You have a streak of something on your face.” Callie tried to wipe it off Lauren’s cheek. “Yikes, now I’ve smeared it. Come to the house for coffee and you can clean off my artwork.”
It wasn’t a busy day, but Lauren had other farms to visit. She could wipe her face clean using her truck rearview mirror and probably should. As a rule, she turned down all offers of a cup of coffee or something else from clients. Going into their houses invited unwanted confidences and often made it necessary for her to fake appreciation of the new couch, a child’s art project, or the latest recipe for muffins.
Lauren spoke, not sure where her words came from. “Thanks. It would be nice to wash my face. And a hot drink sounds amazing.”
After stowing her gear in the truck, Lauren retrieved the antibiotics and electrolytes from her front seat and gave them to Callie. Then she snagged her flashing phone off the dash and listened to a message from Janice.
Calving at Myrondale. Call the clinic if you’re too busy and Ian will go. Lauren smiled with relief as her excuse to linger evaporated. “Sorry. I wish I could come in, but I have another calving. Thanks anyway.”
Lauren had her escape, but she wished her next calving wasn’t Myrondale. Barry Myronuk didn’t bring his cattle to PVS for C-sections or calvings, because he was lazy. He made his son stay in the cold barn with the veterinarian, unwilling to brave the cold himself. Lauren shuddered. There would be no buckets of hot water at Myrondale. Their animal would be in a squeeze chute or lying on a cold cement floor cushioned by only a few wisps of dirty straw.
Callie shook Lauren’s hand and Lauren was sure she held it a few seconds longer than necessary.
“Maybe next time.” Callie shrugged and a slight grin floated across her face a second before she returned to the barn.
Flattered by the disappointment in Callie’s eyes, Lauren smiled. Then warning bells blared in her head. Put those thoughts out of your head, Lauren Louise Cornish. You’re in Saskatchewan to do a job, not to make friends. Besides, Callie had a farm to look after and a kid to raise. Lauren cleared her mind of all things blond and beautiful and switched her thoughts to another calving.
Chapter Three
Callie mixed the electrolytes for the scouring calf. He was a sweet calf with appealing deep brown eyes and an innocent face. She poured the liquid into a calf nursing bottle. “Here you go. The sexy vet says electrolytes will stop the scour, so drink up, honey.”
Doug had taught her how to lean over the calf and hold the bottle. It drank when something above its head mimicked a cow’s body. Callie chuckled as the tiny calf butted her with its head while it drank.
Callie spoke to the calf as he suckled. “Becky is nine years old and old enough to feed calves. You and I’ll give her lesson number one after school today.”
Callie’s morning had been horrendous, but the tension had drained from her body with Lauren’s arrival. Lauren was an attractive blend of confidence and compassion, for the animals and inexperienced farmers, both. Callie was grateful there were no sharp words or hurt feelings, this time. Whoever said women looked beautiful when they were angry had never met Lauren Cornish. When angry, she was scary, but she could cause a girl to melt inside with one bright smile.
Callie shook her head to dispel the image. She had no time for melting around Lauren. She laughed. Who had time for all that romantic nonsense? It was too bad Lauren had rushed off, though. A cup of coffee would have been nice, and she had no objection to making a friend. A friend who understood agriculture and what she was up against.
When the calf finished his electrolytes, Callie gave him an injection of antibiotics using the dose Lauren prescribed. “Sorry, honey.” Callie winced as he kicked out with the leg she injected. “The needle’s done, sweetie. That’s the good drugs working.” Callie had flinched the first few times she gave injections. She wrapped an arm around the calf and held him against her body. Then she rubbed his leg where she had injected him, to help clear away the sting of the needle. Baby animals liked touch as much as baby humans, and she was good at that.
She closed the barn and fetched her small tractor from the drive shed. She grabbed a large round bale of hay and drove into the paddock where she placed the hay in the feeder for the cows. When she finished her chores, she headed to the house. It was only ten a.m. and she was tired already.
In the mudroom, Callie hung her coat on a hook, kicked off her boots, and dropped her gloves on the heater to dry. She used the bathroom and then shuffled downstairs to feed the washing machine. “How do two people create such a mountain of laundry?”
She emptied the dryer and folded the laundry. She held one of Liz’s old RCMP sweatshirts to her chest and buried her nose in it, hoping to find Liz’s scent. Callie had worn it to bed for five years. The collar was in tatters and she could no longer read all the letters spread over the chest. When it was new, the shirt had said, Royal Canadian Mounted Police. She folded the sweatshirt and put it in a bin with Liz’s other clothes. It was time to stop wearing them.
Her sister, Martha, was visiting for three weeks and helping her sort through Liz’s belongings. She had saved one box of items for Becky, one box for herself, and the rest she would let go. Liz had died five years ago. She still missed her, but not with the deep, crushing grief she’d had in the beginning.
The first two years after Liz died, Callie and Becky had lived with Callie’s parents. Callie had spent hours hiding in bed or staring at the wall. Then she’d moved from British Columbia to Poplarcreek to be near Liz’s father, who needed some help and company. The change had also been good for Becky, who loved the animals and the adventure of riding the school bus.
Callie sighed. Liz had been gorgeous and strong, and her deep brown eyes were always full of laughter. But things hadn’t been perfect. Liz had always been in charge and Callie had let her make most of the decisions. When Liz was gone, Callie realized just how much she didn’t know how to do, how naive she was, and how much she had to learn. Now that she was older, Callie would insist on an equal relationship. If and when that time came.
Callie extracted her sheets from the washer and added them to the dryer. She loved the subtle shades of peach and the flower pattern on her sheets. When they moved in, Doug had insisted she have the largest bedroom. She’d brought little from the house she’d shared with Liz. So, after painting the room, she had forced herself to pick new curtains, sheets, bedspread, and carpet. Her pillows had soaked up many tears over Liz in those early years. Her bedroom was a bright, cheery room with a view of the small backyard and garden.
Callie carried the basket of clean laundry upstairs and set it on the kitchen table. Breakfast was
the next task. While the coffee perked, she put two slices of bread in the toaster and dug through the refrigerator to find the egg salad Martha had made. As she leaned against the counter waiting for the coffee and toast, she flashed to Lauren’s smiling eyes and curvy body. It was a shame Lauren had vanished in such a hurry. One minute, she’d appeared eager to stay, but after the call about the other calving, she’d looked relieved to go.
“Oh well, she wasn’t interested in visiting with me. Lauren is smart, educated, and a doctor. I only have two years of technical college. I’d bore her straight. Well, not straight.” Callie chuckled at her conversation with the coffeepot. “Talking to small appliances? Time for a break from the farm.”
Callie sifted through three days’ worth of mail. She got tired of the all the bills, many overdue. She peeled open the intriguing red envelope and removed the Valentine’s Day card. She gagged when she read the saccharine sentiment, then she tore the card in eight and stuffed it in the trash. A card from Kyle Kruger, her irritating and revolting neighbor. The man didn’t take no for an answer. She bet she could yell at him and he’d see it as encouragement. He was creepy, but not scary like his father. Heinz Kruger’s last letter had been a list of how old all her farm machinery was. How did he even know that? Then he’d included the cost to replace it if there were a fire. That letter she had kept for the police just in case her drive shed mysteriously caught fire.
Callie spread egg salad on her toast and set it on the table with her coffee. She dropped into a chair and surveyed her kitchen with satisfaction. After calving season and before seeding, she would tackle the kitchen cupboards or the front porch. But then the porch looked pleasantly rustic and it was days of work. “Cupboards first.” Callie nodded, pleased with her decision. It was more important to be comfortable inside, and the kitchen cupboards screamed for sanding and repainting. Callie sighed. Her three-story house was almost one hundred years old, but still sturdy. After she and Becky had moved in with Doug, he’d suggested redecorating. Callie had agreed because the house needed it, but she knew Doug had sensed she needed a project to keep her busy.
Veterinary Partner Page 2
