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Eli froze in front of the sink, arm stretched upward and his hand on the cabinet pull.

“Ever since a particularly bad knee scrape when we were kids—if I remember correctly—Bethy’s been terrified of injuries that involve any sort of bloodshed, but our mom had the magic touch.”

He heard Delaney sigh, and he forced himself to turn around.

Beth hopped off the counter, wobbling on her left foot before steadying herself.

“I’m a big girl now, Lanes,” she remarked coolly. “I’m certainly not afraid of a little scratch. Thanks to the pandemic, I made it through surgery and a night in the hospital all by myself.” She brushed off her T-shirt even though there was nothing on it. “I’m going to finish drying my hair so Eli can show me around the clinic.” She backed toward the bedroom. “Pick me up later for dinner?”

Delaney nodded, and Beth disappeared into the bedroom, closing the door behind her.

Eli tossed the kit back into its cabinet and turned back to Delaney. “She went through the surgery alone?”

Delaney nodded, pivoting to face him.

“And she’s a dancer?” He’d been trying to piece it all together without asking. He knew enough from experience not to ask someone about their trauma when it was still so new. If they wanted to talk about it, they would.

Delaney nodded again.

Behind the closed bedroom door, he heard the muffled sound of a hair dryer as Beth turned it on.

Delaney glanced over her shoulder and then moved closer. “This is it, Eli,” she whispered even though there was no way Beth could hear them over the sound of the dryer. “The doctor told her that because of her age and the severity of the tear, this is a career-ending injury.”

“Age?” Eli asked. If he had to guess, which he never would out loud, she couldn’t be more than twenty-five.

“Her thirtieth birthday is next month. You know how there’s dog years and stuff like that for animals with shorter life spans than humans?”

He nodded.

“Well, the same goes for dancers and the hell they put their bodies through. She was this close when…” Delaney held her thumb and index finger an inch apart, but then she trailed off.

Eli crossed his arms. “So Beth was right. You don’t believe she can come back from this.”

Delaney’s eyes widened. “You’re a doctor. Are you telling me I shouldn’t trust the medical professional?”

The hairs on the back of his neck stood up again. He was a doctor, and he had no idea why he was tossing logic out the window when he was sure Beth’s surgeon knew what the hell they were talking about. But Eli tossed it nonetheless.

“Trust the doctor, sure. But it’s also okay to trust your sister. I’m not saying I believe in mindset over science or the psychic abilities of chickens…” He raised his brows and glanced toward the front door and the direction of the coop. “But there’s something to be said for a patient’s attitude and how it contributes to their healing. I’ve seen horses with leg breaks I thought I could heal who just seemed to give up after the injury, leaving euthanasia as the only option.” He scrubbed a hand across his jaw and squeezed his eyes shut, forcing images of Fury out of his head. “All I’m saying is that no matter what the future holds for your sister, don’t let her give up on herself. She’s got a shit ton of fight in her still, and that’s coming from someone who’s known her for a matter of hours.”

Delaney raised her brows.

Eli slid past her, suddenly needing a change of location.

“I need to check on the new horse Boone brought over this morning. Can you tell your sister to meet me inside the clinic in twenty minutes?”

He was already backing toward the front door.

Delaney crinkled up her nose. “Was someone cooking with bananas? I swear I used to love them before I got pregnant with Nolan. Can’t stand them now.”

Neither could Tess.

He spun on his heel and called over his shoulder, ignoring her question, “Twenty minutes, okay?”

“Okay,” Delaney called back. “Also, I don’t care if you don’t believe in psychic abilities! You know Lucy is always right, and I think maybe the reason she went vampire on Beth was…”

But he was already out the door, hightailing it to the barn, before he heard the rest.

Chickens weren’t psychic.