Two Weeks 'til Christmas

by Laura Greaves

  Her voice seemed to jolt him out of his reverie. He pushed open the door and jumped out. ‘I am,’ he said. ‘Just let me know what you need from me. You take the lead.’

  Another wave of irritation crashed over her. ‘Well, obviously, Scotty,’ she said. ‘That’s the whole reason I’m here.’ She shook her head. He’d seemed sober enough in the pub – at least he’d had the self-awareness to know he wasn’t up to treating Autumn – but maybe those three beers had gone to his head more than Claire had realised. Why else would he be trying to micromanage a situation his own actions had excluded him from? It wasn’t like her to be so snippy, but she was in no mood to be told how to do her job.

  Without giving Scotty the chance to further annoy her, Claire followed Chris to the stable block and Autumn’s stall. She heard the mare well before she saw her. Autumn was coughing. It was a strange sound – like a cross between a sneeze and a bark – and, to Claire’s dismay, each cough was followed by a deep, rattling wheeze as Autumn tried to drag air into her lungs.

  Claire stopped to wash her hands in the stable sink, then thrust the stall door open with her hip and went inside. Scotty was close behind her. Immediately, she could see that Autumn was in agony. The heavily pregnant horse’s neck was extended and she was holding her head down, a clear sign that she was trying to alleviate pain or pressure, most likely in her throat. There was swelling below her jaw and Claire could see that the lymph nodes around her throat were inflamed. She pressed her fingers to one of the lumps – it was rock hard.

  But the most worrying thing was Autumn’s nose. It was crusted with a thick, yellow discharge.

  Scotty saw it at the same time Claire did. They exchanged a loaded look.

  It didn’t escape Chris. ‘What is it?’ he demanded. ‘What’s wrong with her?’

  ‘Stethoscope,’ Claire said to Scotty. Turning to Chris, she added, ‘Just give me a sec.’

  Wordlessly, Scotty opened her instrument box and retrieved the stethoscope. He handed it to Claire and watched as she pressed it to the flat plane between Autumn’s eyes. Gently, she tapped her index finger all over the horse’s head.

  ‘What’s she doing?’ she heard Chris whisper.

  ‘It’s called percussion of the sinuses. She’s listening for a hollow sound,’ Scotty said quietly. ‘If it doesn’t sound like that, it means there’s fluid in Autumn’s skull.’

  ‘Fluid? Like water?’

  Scotty shook his head. ‘No, mate. Not like water.’

  Claire moved to Autumn’s chest and listened there. Then she removed her earpieces and faced Chris.

  ‘It’s pus. Her lymph nodes are full of it and her throat and larynx are severely inflamed, which is why she’s struggling for breath,’ she said, her tone grave. ‘Autumn has Strangles. It’s a very serious and highly contagious bacterial disease.’

  Chris groaned. ‘I know what it is,’ he said, burying his face in his hands. ‘I’ve seen it before, but not for years. I thought they couldn’t get it in summer. And Autumn’s had the vaccine – all my horses have.’

  ‘It’s unusual to see it outside of winter, but not unheard of. And you’d know that the vaccine isn’t one-hundred-per-cent effective,’ Claire replied. ‘In Autumn’s case, the fact that she’s pregnant and also has an underlying genetic condition may mean her immune system is weaker than it usually would be.’

  ‘She must have been infected when she was down south,’ Scotty said to his brother. Claire heard the urgency in his voice. ‘You need to get on the phone to them now.’

  ‘You’ll also need to get all your other horses into isolation well away from here,’ she said. ‘And call your grooms. Everything needs washing and disinfecting as soon as possible. Saddles, blankets, food boxes – the lot.’

  Chris nodded, his face ashen. ‘Okay. I’ll call everyone in now,’ he said. He ran his hand down the mare’s flank. ‘But what about Autumn? Will she be all right? Please, Claire, just do whatever you can for her.’ He sounded close to tears.

  ‘The first thing I need to do is help her to breathe properly. We can’t transport her – it will stress her too much and time is just not on her side,’ Claire said. She spoke slowly and deliberately, in spite of the urgency she felt, so that her words could penetrate Chris’s distress. ‘I need to bypass the inflammation that’s obstructing her airway and I’m going to do that by performing an emergency tracheotomy.’

  He looked at her, horrified. ‘Cut into her throat? Won’t that hurt?’

  There was no way to sugarcoat it. ‘Yes. We can’t sedate her because there’s a chance it would make her breathing issues even worse,’ she said. ‘But she’s already in terrible pain, Chris. And it’s preferable to the alternative.’

  ‘Mate, it’s the only way to save Autumn,’ Scotty said, gripping his brother’s shoulder. ‘You’ve got to trust Claire. She’s already saved Autumn’s life once. When it comes to horses, I’m telling you there’s nobody better.’

  Claire felt her cheeks flush with pride at Scotty’s endorsement. She knew that what he thought of her veterinary skill shouldn’t matter to her – she knew she was a good vet – but it did. What Scotty thought of her in general mattered. It mattered a whole lot.

  Chris took a deep breath. ‘Okay. Whatever it takes,’ he said. ‘The tracheotomy – will it fix her?’

  Again, Claire looked to Scotty. She had an obligation to tell Chris that Autumn’s prognosis was bleak. Strangles could lead to anaemia, inflammation of the heart, even lung abscesses. Plus, there was the added risk that the stress of the illness would trigger another heat-stroke episode. As Chris was a lifelong horse owner and the owner of an equine business, Claire knew that he appreciated how serious the mare’s condition was. But she didn’t want him to lose hope – she could see how much he loved this horse. She needed Scotty to guide her, to help her decide how ‘real’ to get with his little brother.

  Scotty gave an almost imperceptible shake of his head. Claire got the message loud and clear. Go easy.

  ‘It will fix her breathing problems straightaway,’ she said. ‘And I’ll give her some pain relief, so she’ll be a lot more comfortable. After that it’s a matter of treating with antibiotics.’

  She didn’t tell him that sometimes the antibiotics didn’t work – that they could even make the condition worse. There was no point. The drugs were her only option.

  Instead she added, ‘Autumn is one tough horse, Chris. We’ve seen that already in the way she came through the heat stroke last week.’

  Had it really been only a week ago that Scotty had arrived at the clinic with Autumn? It felt like a lifetime. Claire couldn’t believe how much had changed in her life in seven days.

  Chris seemed heartened by Claire’s words. He even managed a wobbly little smile. He pressed his cheek to Autumn’s belly. ‘Hang in there, girl,’ he said quietly. Her ragged breathing seemed to calm slightly at his touch. Then Chris turned to Claire. ‘I’ll leave you to it. I’ll be down at the house making calls. Just yell if you need anything.’

  Chris left and it was just her and Scotty. The stall that had comfortably accommodated three adults and a pregnant horse just seconds ago now felt too small. Claire could almost feel the nervous energy vibrating within him.

  She needed some fresh air – a moment to collect her thoughts before she operated, away from the dizzying closeness of him. Propinquity. Isn’t that what Gus had called it? The word rolled around in her head like a marble.

  She stepped around him and grabbed a box of surgical gloves and a container of antibacterial soap from her kit. ‘Help me scrub in?’ she said over her shoulder as she left the stall.

  Scotty followed Claire to the sink. He washed up first and donned a pair of gloves, then watched as she took an elastic band from her pocket. Holding it between her teeth, she twisted her curls into a messy bun and secured it with the elastic.

  Scotty chuckled. ‘Look out,’ he said. ‘Claire’s not here to mess around.’

  She planted
her hands on her hips and raised her eyebrows, daring him to elaborate.

  ‘You’ve always done that. Put your hair up when you really mean business. It’s one of your little rituals.’ He leaned forward and tucked an errant curl behind her ear. ‘I love it.’

  The air felt charged, fizzing with something other than the summer humidity. But there was no time to contemplate whatever this current was that ran between them. Scotty was right: Claire did mean business. She turned on the tap and pumped a dollop of soap into her cupped hands. She scrubbed her hands three times, then shook them dry and held them up to Scotty.

  Slowly, deliberately, he eased the gloves on, one finger at a time. She’d had surgical assistants help her scrub in before a procedure a million times. It was a necessary chore that she could complete with her eyes closed. But this was different. It felt incredibly intimate.

  She felt his warm breath caressing her skin as he bent his head low. She saw the focus in his eyes as he concentrated on the task. She noticed for the first time a sprinkling of silver strands in Scotty’s dark hair and smiled. He would hate that he had grey hair at twenty-nine, she knew, but it made perfect sense. Scotty had always been more advanced than his years. He was an old soul.

  Soul mate.

  The thought came from nowhere, unbidden and unwelcome. Claire snatched away her hands. ‘Thanks,’ she said. ‘Let’s get on with it.’

  She felt foolish, wasting precious seconds imagining that something as banal as Scotty putting on her gloves held deeper meaning. There was no meaning. She was at Cape Ashe Stud as a professional, helping out an old friend – an engaged old friend – who was in a bind.

  They returned to Autumn’s stall. The mare seemed more distressed now that Chris wasn’t there to soothe her. Every breath rattled and groaned like a steam train.

  Claire positioned herself and her sterile instruments by Autumn’s head and gestured for Scotty to stand beside her. ‘You’ve done a trach before, right?’ she said.

  He nodded. ‘Yeah, plenty of times, but, um . . .’

  ‘But what?’

  ‘Always as the lead surgeon. Not as an assistant. Well, not since uni.’

  She fought the urge to roll her eyes. Of course Scotty wasn’t used to assisting in surgery. Playing second fiddle wasn’t his thing. He preferred to call the shots.

  ‘Okay, I need you to hold her head up and straight. Like this.’ Claire gently guided Autumn’s head into position and held it firmly. The mare tried to shake free, jerking her head backwards and letting out a short, sharp squeal. ‘She doesn’t like it, because it hurts and she wants her head down. You have to hold on tight.’

  ‘Got it,’ Scotty said. He placed his gloved hands over Claire’s. The warmth of him was electricity. She felt herself shudder as if she’d been shocked. ‘Are you okay?’

  She extracted her hands from beneath his. ‘Fine,’ she said quickly. She reached for her scalpel. ‘Ready? She’s going to lurch and pull, so be prepared.’

  Scotty nodded and braced his legs against the stall wall. ‘It’s all right, girl,’ he murmured to Autumn under his breath. ‘You’re going to be okay, mama.’

  Claire scrubbed the surgical site near the top of Autumn’s neck with antiseptic liquid, then made the incision. The horse tensed and squealed, but Scotty held fast and she hardly moved.

  ‘I can see the trachea,’ Claire said. She made a small cut in the windpipe and there was a rush of air through the incision as Autumn was at last able to take a deep breath without pain. Claire felt the mare relax as she put the tracheotomy tube in place, the panic Autumn had felt as she’d struggled to breathe immediately easing.

  Claire’s own breath came out in a rush as she slumped back against the wall. The procedure had taken less than five minutes, but she felt like she’d climbed a mountain. She wasn’t sure whether it was the pressure of racing against the clock or the added distraction of Scotty standing so close to her while she worked. Either way, she was exhausted.

  Scotty released Autumn and, without warning, wrapped his arms around Claire. ‘Great job, Thorne. This horse is bloody lucky she knows you,’ he said. ‘We all are.’

  Claire felt herself relax, just as Autumn had. She rested her head against Scotty’s chest and let her eyes drift closed. Being held by him was so comforting. It always had been. He was so solid, so steadfast. Being in Scotty’s arms was her safe place. It felt natural, she realised – dangerously so.

  Eventually, though he gave no indication of wanting the moment to end, Claire extracted herself from his embrace. ‘I still need to drain the abscesses, get some fluids into her and start the antibiotics,’ she said, all business once more. ‘She’s not out of the woods yet. Let’s give her a few moments of peace. I want to get her heart rate down before I continue.’

  She put her instruments back in their box and peeled off her gloves. She would have to scrub in again in a few minutes’ time, but that was okay – it was more important to allow Autumn to calm down and reduce the risk of triggering another heat-stroke episode.

  Claire stepped out of the stall into the still night and leaned against the stable wall, breathing deeply. She shook out her hair and rubbed her temples. The spicy-sweet scent of the light-bedecked pine tree filled the balmy air. How she had missed that smell. It just didn’t feel like Christmas without it.

  Scotty smiled as he emerged from Autumn’s stall and came to stand next to her. ‘Do you hear yourself, Claire?’

  She blinked, confused. Had she said something wrong? ‘What do you mean by that?’

  ‘You say you’re not decisive, that you don’t know what you want, but listen to yourself. And look at what you’ve just done,’ he said. ‘From the moment I asked for your help tonight, you just took charge. You knew exactly what to do and you did it. You saved Autumn’s life. Even though I ruined your date.’

  She looked away. Down the driveway, inside the main house, Claire could see Chris pacing agitatedly in the kitchen, his phone pressed to his ear. She needed to tell him the procedure had been a success. And she would, just as soon as she mustered the energy.

  ‘It’s not the same thing,’ she said at length.

  ‘It’s not?’

  ‘No,’ she said, shaking her head. ‘It’s different at work. I have fewer options to choose from and in most cases I can predict the outcome of whatever decision I make. I can trust myself more. And other people trust me to make the right call.’

  Scotty frowned. ‘And it’s not like that in life? You don’t think people trust you?’

  ‘Nobody ever has,’ she said, and she heard the bitterness in her voice. ‘My whole life, people have made my decisions for me. Mum and Dad decided I’d never amount to anything in Bindallarah, so they sent me away. Dad decided I couldn’t come back to help him on the farm after they split up, then he decided I couldn’t handle his problems, so he lied to me instead. Vanessa decided I couldn’t manage his estate after he died and just made all the decisions about the farm herself.’

  As the words passed her lips, Claire realised for the first time that they were true. She hadn’t capriciously left her father’s estate for Vanessa to unravel. She hadn’t thrown his problems at her aunt’s feet and skipped off to the United States without a backward glance. Vanessa had simply taken it upon herself to do those things. She had never asked Claire what she wanted. Not once.

  She felt her stomach starting to churn with anger. What she’d said to Scotty was the absolute truth. Nobody had trusted her to play any part in the decisions that affected her. And she had grown so used to it, become so accustomed to having decisions made for her, that she had lost the ability to do it for herself.

  ‘And you,’ Claire said, her voice barely audible. ‘You did it too.’ She looked up at Scotty. His green eyes reflected the pain in hers.

  She expected him to protest, to tell her she was crazy. Instead, he held her gaze and said, ‘I know. I’m sorry.’

  His words knocked her for six. ‘You know?’

/>   He nodded sadly. ‘When I asked you to marry me it was because I’d decided it was the most sensible thing. If we were married we could run Thorne Hill together, make it work somehow, even though we were both so young.’ He wearily ran a hand over his face and through his hair. ‘I didn’t ask you what you thought, if you actually wanted to keep the farm. I never even asked you.’

  The look of self-focused disgust on his face wounded her. Claire attempted a smile. ‘And here I thought you proposed to me because you loved me and you wanted to be my husband.’ It was a lame attempt at a joke, but she had to do something to try to assuage the ache in her chest.

  The disgusted expression gave way to horror. ‘I did! I always – I wanted . . .’ Scotty sighed, his frustration obvious. He was silent for what felt like hours. When at last he spoke again, his voice was gruff. ‘I loved you more than anything, Claire. When you left and went to America, it ripped my heart out. But I know now why you had to do it. You had to take control of your life. And . . . and I deserved it. I deserved to lose you.’

  She wanted to shake him, to wrap her arms around him and tell him he was wrong. He didn’t deserve what she had done to him. Scotty had made mistakes, missteps driven by the hubris and unfettered optimism of youth, but the truth was that she was unworthy of him – both the idealistic boy he had been then and the thoughtful man he had become. She had always known it and she had spent eight years wishing she could undo it, wishing she could travel back in time, say yes to his proposal and then do whatever it took to become a better version of herself.

  But she couldn’t go back. She could only go forward. Scotty was moving on – with Nina. Whatever her misgivings about his coming marriage, Claire knew she had to free Scotty from this guilt he carried. They couldn’t both spend their lives wallowing in the miseries of their shared past.

  ‘You didn’t lose me, Scotty. You escaped me,’ she said. ‘I wouldn’t have made you happy in the long run.’

  ‘I disagree,’ he replied.