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
