After fifteen minutes, Suzy Q’s breathing became more labored, and soon enough, he could see two hooves, then a head. Then, the difficult part over, the foal slid into the world. Once more, he glanced over to look at Peyton, and was shocked to see one tear rolling down her cheek. She didn’t wipe it away or pretend it didn’t exist. To his surprise, she didn’t seem at all embarrassed by it.
They stood together, by silent agreement, getting a better angle on the action as the new mommy cleaned her baby.
She nodded to the door, and they shuffled out and shut it behind them, Peyton keeping the camera trained on the new family even then. She stepped on a bench and continued to film over the top rung as the little one tried to find its legs, wobbling around before figuring out which foot went where. Then he, or maybe she, snuggled next to mama for a first meal. Red took picture after picture, a little surprised to realize that the process felt much different from behind the camera. Or maybe it was the company.
Finally, she stepped down, closed her camera, and pointed out of the barn. They walked out together, leaving Arby and Steve behind, before she let out a wild whoop and jumped up and down.
Her grin was as wide as it could go, the single drying tear track down her cheek shining silver in the moonlight. “Holy shit, that never gets old!”
She started walking toward the house, and it seemed natural to just follow. “Where was Browning? Don’t you need the vet here?”
She shook her head. “I’ve always felt like both mom and baby do best when there’s as few people present as possible. Morgan lives about ten minutes away. Easy call to make. The guy all but sleeps in his clothes during foaling season. I’ll call him first thing in the morning to come over and give them a good checkup.”
She opened the side door of the main house and waited for him to walk through before following him and locking it behind her. They toed off their boots and headed for the office, like it was something they did every night.
Ha. Right. But she walked behind her desk and held out a hand. He gave her the camera, and she went to work uploading the photos to her computer.
“I’ll make a disc for them, with both the pics and the video. But for now, I know owners like to have a couple pictures as soon as possible, so I’ll send a few of the best shots in an e-mail. Can’t blame them for wanting to see right away.”
Red sat in the chair opposite the desk and watched her work. Her fingers flew over the keyboard as she typed out a quick note to the owner explaining the details and uploaded the pictures to attach to the message. Then she hit send, leaned back in the chair, and grinned like a loon.
“Done, done, and done.” She spun in the chair once like a little kid. “Want something to drink? I’m way too jazzed to get back to sleep.” She didn’t wait for his answer before walking past him—no, more like floating—and heading toward the kitchen.
They crossed through the sitting area, with its furniture that looked like it’d never been sat on, past the fireplace that had probably never been used.
“My mother’s taste,” she said over her shoulder as they hit the kitchen. A decidedly homier room than the rest of the first floor.
“What?” He reached in the fridge behind her and grabbed a bottle of beer. Drinking on the job was never okay. But this was after hours. More like after-after hours.
“I noticed the way you were—you were—” She grunted as she worked on the twist top to her own bottle of beer, then sighed and gave up, holding it out to him. When he popped the top easily and handed it back, she rolled her eyes and took a swig. “Figures. Anyway, the decorating on the first floor. It’s all Sylvia’s doing. She thought the place needed to look like money to attract money.”
“Did it work?” he asked mildly.
She raised a brow, then hitched herself up to sit on the countertop. “If it did, it was before I knew how checking accounts worked. But I’m guessing not.” Her head dropped back to the cabinet behind her. “I’ve loved this place since I knew what it was. Since I realized what it meant to work for it, live for it. Breath it. It’s in my blood.” She hitched one shoulder. “Was never in Mama’s. Or Bea’s.”
“Bea?”
“Beatrice. My sister. Our sister. I thought Trace had the fever, that he’d stick around. But he lit off at nineteen. This is the first he’s been back, except for very short, sporadic visits.” She took another sip of beer and let the bottle land back on the counter with a thud. “And why am I going over all this family history with you? Not at all interested, I’m sure.”