Chapter eight
“You said when you were settled in I could come down,” Becky whined. “It’s been almost a month so I’m coming down on Saturday. I’ll stay overnight, meet your new friends and drive back Sunday lunch time. See, that wasn’t difficult was it? I’ll aim to get there in time for lunch, make sure you have the kettle on. ‘Bye.”
The line hummed in his ear, she’d hung up. The entire conversation had been one-sided, which was, of course, the only way she could get him to agree. How could he refuse if he couldn’t say anything? Oliver stared at the phone then tossed it onto his desk. His last patient of the day was due in five minutes then he could go home, slob on the couch and catch up on his shows. At least that had been the plan, when he wasn’t expecting visitors. He’d managed to put his parents off for another few weeks, declaring that it was going to take him that long to spruce up the cottage, however, Becky would not be swayed.
“Mr. Allen is here, Doctor.” Hilary’s voice sounded tinny over the intercom and he pressed the button.
“Thank you, Hilary, please send him in.”
The door opened a few moments later and Hilary showed a very austere looking man into the room. “Mr. Allen,” Oliver said, rising from his chair. He held out his hand and shook the older man’s hand. “It’s good to meet you, please have a seat.” Oliver waited until he’d sat down before retaking his seat and asked, “What can I do for you?”
“It’s my bad ear, Doctor,” Mr. Allen replied with a sad shake of his head. “I’ve not been able to hear anything at all out of it for the last three days. I’ve checked the battery in my hearing aid, but the man at the shop said it was working perfectly. But if the hearing aid is working perfectly then it must be the ear!”
“Okay, Mr. Allen,” Oliver said, keeping his tone low and even. “Let’s have a look and see if we can sort this out.”
He examined Mr. Allen thoroughly, making sure there was no infection and taking a thorough history. He even checked the battery in Mr. Allen’s hearing aid and came to the same conclusion as the man in the shop, it was working perfectly. Oliver frowned and looked through Mr. Allen’s notes again. If there was no infection and the aid itself wasn’t faulty, why couldn’t he hea—?
Seriously?
Oliver cleared his throat and said conversationally, “Mr. Allen, I wonder if you’d just check for me which ear your hearing aid is in.”
“What?” Mr. Allen frowned and looked at Oliver if he’d just dribbled on himself. “What sort of question is that?” he blustered. “It’s in the left ear of course, where it’s—” His lips snapped shut, his cheeks flushed bright red and he swiftly removed the hearing aid from his right ear and inserted it into his left.
“How’s that?” Oliver asked, biting the inside of his cheek. How he kept a straight face was nothing short of miraculous.
“Yes, well, much better,” Mr. Allen mumbled. He stood up and headed to the door, turning on his heel before he opened it. “Um… I trust this will go no further… patient confidentiality and all that.”
Oliver mimed zipping his lips, locking them with a key then threw it over his shoulder. Mr. Allen nodded and fled the surgery with as much dignity as he could muster. He waited for the closing of the outer door before he laughed until his face hurt and his ribs ached. Life in Little Mowbury was definitely entertaining.
“Oliver, dear, can I come in?”
He wiped his eyes at the sound of Violet’s voice and croaked, “Of course!”
“Good God, what on earth’s the matter?” she asked as she walked into the room, carrying a large crock pot.
“Nothing, I’m fine,” he assured her and glanced at the pot she carried. “Is that my dinner?”
“Sort of,” she replied and he raised his eyebrows, as he’d only been teasing. “I was hoping you’d be a dear and do me a small favour.”
“Anything for you, Violet, you know that.”
“You’re such a good boy,” she cooed and put the crock pot down on the desk. “Could you take this out to the farm for me? Deano’s got a mare in labour and I know he won’t leave her side until it’s over. Eating will be the last thing on his mind so I knocked up a beef stew. It’s all ready, you only have to reheat it and there’s more than enough for two.”
“Oh… right… well…I…,” Oliver rambled, trying to find the right words to say. Not that he had a chance. For the second time that night he was left hanging in the wind by a woman. By the time he’d looked up, Violet had gone. He crossed his arms on the desk and laid his head on them, inwardly cursing his inability to be impolite and, uncharitably, his mother for making him that way. Oliver sat up and scrubbed his hands over his face and resisted the urge to stamp his feet.
Fine, I’ll do it. But I’m going home for a shower first. If he’s hungry he’ll have to start on the horse!
Forty-five minutes later Oliver turned onto the bumpy dirt track that led up to the farm and pulled to a stop outside the farmhouse. He turned off the engine, clambered out and made his way round to the passenger side to retrieve the crock pot from the front seat. Balancing the pot in his arms, Oliver kicked the door shut and activated the central locking, not that he could imagine anyone stealing anything way out here. He knocked on the front door and waited for Deano to answer. And waited. And waited. Hadn’t he been here before?
Didn’t she say he’d be with the horse?
Oliver sighed heavily and returned the crock pot to the front seat of the car, this time not bothering to lock it. The first time he’d been here he’d only been interested in the farmhouse, so he took a good look around him at the various buildings dotted around—the first being about sixty feet from the house. Glad the ground was hard and dry, Oliver headed towards the first building, his worn converse scuffing on the dirt as he walked.
When he reached the first outbuilding he looked inside and blinked at the array of what could only be described as crap, he saw there. Four or five tractors in differing stages of completion, or demolition, he wasn’t quite sure, and enough scrap metal to open an ironmongers. The next outbuilding looked like some sort of feed and hay storage shed, but the next was obviously the stables, because the strong scent of horse hit him like a slap in the face as he approached.
He strode into the stables, his gaze flitting from one side to the other, taking in the beautiful animals in their stalls. When they were growing up, horses had been Becky’s thing, but he’d always thought they were amazingly majestic beasts with an all-knowing gaze that often seemed to pierce your soul.
Thank you, Oprah.
Oliver ignored the drawling sarcasm of his inner voice as the shuffling of hooves and low, pained whinnies drifted towards him from the back of the building. In the end stall, Deano stood beside the foaling mare. His long fingers stroked along her neck as he spoke to her, soft and low. Oliver couldn’t make out any of what he was saying, but whatever it was the mare appreciated it because she hung her head and leaned into him. Oliver’s gut tightened as he watched the big man soothe the frightened horse. If he hadn’t already been drawn to him, the softer side he saw right now sealed the deal. Oliver leaned against the open stall door and cleared his throat, wanting to make Deano aware of his presence, but not wishing to disturb the mare. Deano looked up and Oliver thought he saw a flicker of momentary pleasure when he saw him, but it was gone too quick for him to be certain.
Deano patted the horse and indicated with a nod of his head that Oliver should follow him. They walked towards the entrance to the stables where Deano suddenly stopped and turned on his heel, his expression guarded.
“What’re you doing here?”
“Violet sent me.”
“Auntie Vi sent you? Why?” Deano stared down at him, his hands on his hips.
“She said you had a mare in labour and wouldn’t remember to eat,” Oliver said, crossing his arms as he stared back at him. If he was supposed to find Deano’s stance intimidating, he didn’t. “So she sent me with dinner.”
“I know she’s been looking for a new lapdog since Fifi died,” Deano scoffed. “Looks like she found him.”
“Piss off, Denton,” Oliver grumbled. “When was the last time you said no to her?”
“When I was eleven,” Deano replied, his lips twitched. “And I still have the handprint on my arse to prove it.”
Oliver snorted. “I bet you do.”
“So where is it?”
“What?”
“Dinner…?”
“Oh.” Oliver shrugged. “I left it in the—” A high pitched whinny cut him off mid-sentence. “What the fuck is that?” he asked. He’d never heard anything like it.
“That, Doctor,” Deano said, his face suddenly alight with excitement. “Is show time.” He turned and headed back towards the stall, pausing at the door. “Well don’t just stand there, come on. Sassy's about to do her thing. You do not want to miss this.”
Oliver trotted after Deano and into the stall where Deano was staring intently at the horse’s arse. His eyes widened as what was obviously milk leaked freely from the horse and onto the straw. “Is it coming?” His pulse picked up pace as Deano nodded and indicated he should join him. Oliver stepped gingerly around the mare and his mouth dropped open as he followed Deano’s gaze. “Oh my God.” Two hooves in a white mucus membrane poked out from the mare’s body just below her tail.
“Move back,” Deano instructed softly. “She’s gonna lay down.”
Oliver did as he was bid and watched the horse ease her way down onto the straw and roll onto her side. “What’s she doing?” he whispered.
“She’s helping the foal get into position,” Deano replied, keeping his gaze on the mare. “It’s easier for it to pass through the birth canal if she’s on her side. That’s it, my lovely. You’re doing it.”
“Can we help her?” Oliver winced in sympathy when the mare’s entire body shuddered against the wave of another contraction.
“Not yet.” Deano shook his head. “She needs to get most of him out herself. If she gets stuck, I’ll give her a hand.” He grinned widely. It was infectious and Oliver couldn’t help but grin back. The man was in his element. “Just keep watching, Doctor—you brought the dinner and Sassy here is providing the show.”
Oliver stared in absolute awe as, over the next half an hour, the mare grunted and twitched while she pushed her foal into the world. He was dumbstruck as one of the foal’s hooves pierced the membranous sack before its head had even been born and he could see the hair on its thin legs. As more and more of the foal appeared Sassy kicked her back feet out, trying to birth the foal’s body. Oliver felt like an expectant father. His gut tightened and he looked desperately to Deano. Of course, he’d witnessed birth before, but the patient could usually vocalise her needs. Poor Sassy had to do it all alone.
He looked at Deano again, whose gaze was zeroed in on the horse. Oliver slapped out at him in frustration. The back of Oliver’s hand connected with his broad chest and Deano blinked at him, his brows etched into a frown. Oliver gestured to the horse. He was practically crawling out of his skin waiting for him to do something. The silence between them stretched until he couldn’t stand it a moment longer and he growled, “Dean!”
“Okay, Daddy,” Deano said sarcastically and moved towards Sassy. The foal was half way out. Oliver watched as Deano cleared the membrane from around the foal’s head then took hold of its forelegs.
“What are you doing?” Oliver squeaked as Deano pulled gently on the foal. “Don’t hurt them!”
“Shut up, Oliver,” Deano said in a perfectly calm and soothing voice, which Oliver quickly realised was for Sassy’s benefit, not his. “This isn’t the first foal I’ve helped deliver and it won’t be the last. So if you could just stand there, wring your hands and look pretty, I’d appreciate it.” He pulled again and most of the foal’s body plopped onto the straw behind Sassy, leaving its hind quarters still inside. Deano sat back on the straw and smiled as Sassy rolled onto her belly and turned her head to tug at the membrane with her teeth. “That’s it, mama, one more push, just one more push.”
Deano put out his hand to Oliver and he didn’t hesitate, too caught up in the miracle unfolding before them. He slipped his fingers in Deano’s and knelt down on the straw beside him. They stayed like that, both of them open-mouthed and glassy-eyed as Sassy grunted once more and the rest of the foal flopped onto the floor.
“That was,” Oliver murmured and shook his head. “That was amazing.”
Deano chuckled softly; his eyes bright as they watched mother and baby meet each other for the first time. “Didn’t I say you wouldn’t want to miss it?” He turned his head to look at Oliver and dropped his hand, as if he’d only just realised he still held it. “Anyway, I need to clean up a bit in here and get her something to eat.” He stood up and Sassy followed suit, nudging at her foal to do the same. “Um… thanks for bringing the… um… food.” Oliver blinked. Was that it? He could piss off now? Oliver narrowed his gaze.
I don’t think so, Farmer Wells.
“Give me your keys.” Oliver held out his hand.
“Excuse me?”
“I had to smell whatever it is in that pot all the way here,” he said firmly. “And I’ve just run an emotional marathon, so if you think I’m going anywhere without something to eat, you need a lobotomy.”
“Oh I do, do I?” Deano put his hands on hips again. But Oliver wasn’t intimidated—again.
“Yes,” Oliver replied caustically. “And one I’d be more than happy to give you if you don’t give me the keys.” His gaze flitted to the pocket of Deano’s jeans and he raised an eyebrow. “Or do I have to look for them myself?”
Something dark and dangerous flashed in Deano’s eyes and his lips curled into a lop-sided grin, which Oliver found extremely sexy. “You don’t have the balls, Doctor.”
Oliver stood his ground. “Maybe not. But…” He pulled his mobile out of his back pocket. “I can call Auntie Vi…?”
“You wouldn’t dare.” Deano stared at him in disbelief. Oliver waved the phone and they had a staring match for about a minute before Deano crumbled. He fished around in his front pocket for his house key and shoved it at Oliver. “That’s low. Really low and I want you to know that I’m agreeing under duress.”
“Yeah, yeah,” Oliver said on a mock yawn and plucked the keys from Deano’s fingers. “It’ll be ready in twenty minutes. Don’t be late.” He waved the phone again for effect and could no longer hold back his laughter at the childish scowl on Deano’s face. In fact, he laughed all the way out of the stables and back up to the house.
As he opened the oak front door, Oliver wondered if he was playing with fire by baiting Deano. A shiver of delicious anticipation slithered down his spine—he hoped so, he really hoped so.