Page 10 of Christmas at the Home Farm Vets (Hartfell Village #2)

‘Is it always like this, the weather?’ He unscrewed a flask of coffee that Elaine had thoughtfully provided. He poured some into a cup and replaced the lid before taking a grateful sip.

‘No. Sometimes it’s worse.’

‘Bit different from growing up in a town,’ he remarked. ‘It doesn’t faze you, but then not much ever did.’

She would never admit that Oli had, tilting her world to a degree she hadn’t imagined possible until they’d met.

At times she’d resented the feelings she’d had for him then, leading to that unforgettable kiss, the one she still tried not to measure against every other.

She offered no reply and ten minutes later was relieved to arrive at their first call and escape any more reminders of their history.

She followed a rough drive alongside paddocks empty but for two grazing horses in navy rugs and a small flock of Swaledale sheep, their horned black faces marked with white around the nose and eyes.

She pulled up at a five-barred metal gate fastened to a concrete post with orange baling twine.

Usually she had to jump down and open the gate herself, and she looked at Oli meaningfully, hoping he’d get the message.

‘Oh yeah. Like being a student again,’ he muttered, wincing as he opened the door, and a blast of wind attempted to tug it from his hands. He undid the gate and offered a wry grin as she drove through, and Erin waited for him to close it. He jumped back inside with a shudder of relief.

She parked outside a barn in the yard, the usual jumble of machinery, bales and fencing equipment propped inside, shivering as she pulled on the essential coat, woolly hat, wellies and waterproofs, and Oli did the same.

She’d learned never to use the heated seats unless she’d been on the wrong side of a soaking, as leaving the warm vehicle made heading out into freezing wind or blinding rain even worse.

She introduced Oli to the farmer and collected equipment from the boot before following them to a small pen at the back of the barn, separate from the rest of the herd housed in another building.

Inside a beautiful red-and-white calf was standing lethargically, head lowered, as its mother looked on.

Erin stood aside so Oli could lead the consultation, and he quickly established the calf had a poor appetite after a difficult birth and the farmer had tube fed the necessary colostrum to provide it with essential viral protection.

Its temperature was on the higher side of normal and after further examination he diagnosed pneumonia.

He prescribed seven days of medication and advised the farmer to keep a close eye on the calf for any signs of dehydration or worsening of its condition.

She was confident the calf would recover as they’d caught the illness in its very early stages.

‘Looks like a good outcome.’ Back in the yard, Erin glanced at Oli as they disinfected their waterproofs and boots, and changed their footwear. The wind was cutting on her face, and she felt its icy chill the moment she took off her hat and flung it onto the back seat as she leaped into the pickup.

‘Yeah, it should be fine,’ he said lightly. He hadn’t wasted any time getting inside either, and they shared a grin at the calf’s hopeful prospects. She raised a hand to thank the farmer as he followed them to the gate and closed it behind them, saving Oli a job.

When they arrived at a smallholding to see their next patient, they learned the donkey was a recent rescue and at three, quite a bit older than was usual for castration.

The owner cheerfully explained that it was necessary because his being entire was causing problems for her two females and she wanted all three to live quietly together.

She also pointed out that he was a bit of a handful.

The donkey was turned out in a paddock, and it didn’t take them long to discover he was also a nightmare to catch.

It took all three of them a good fifteen minutes to corner him, and Erin couldn’t stifle her laughter when Oli slipped in a deep patch of mud near the gate and was sent sprawling to his knees.

Eventually he managed to fling a lead rope around the donkey’s neck and hold him steady long enough for her to administer a hasty sedative.

Soon the donkey’s head began to droop and once she’d followed up with the general anaesthetic, it quickly took effect, and they supported him as he went down on the grass.

Thankfully, the rain had stopped, and she covered him with a waterproof rug as Oli injected local anaesthetic into the appropriate area as well, fingers stiffening from the cold as he worked.

She couldn’t be certain, kneeling on the wet grass at their patient’s head, but it seemed as though the two jennies were watching on with interest, and perhaps even a degree of satisfaction at the sight of their bolshy companion being separated from part of his manhood.

Once Oli had completed the castration and sutured the blood vessels, he administered another drug to reverse the anaesthetic and they waited while the donkey came to, legs unsteady as he climbed groggily to his feet.

He tottered meekly alongside the owner into a stable and, satisfied after a short while that he was fine and recovering well, Oli and Erin tidied up and returned to her vehicle to disinfect and strip off outer layers once again.

‘Well done.’ Wincing – even to her that had sounded patronising – she reached for her flask to gulp a welcome mouthful of hot tea before setting off.

‘I know what I’m doing, Erin,’ he said flatly, staring at his phone before shoving it back into the glove box.

‘I’m not still some student straight out of uni with everything to prove.

Gil gets that I’m qualified to do this work, and I spent as much time on farm animal rotations as you did, even if I do have less experience in practice. ’

She knew she was falling into the trap of judging him on their history.

She couldn’t fault his diagnoses or treatments; he’d been warm and friendly with the clients, and he’d handled the animals with a gentleness and sympathy she remembered.

She was also uncomfortably aware that it was her own attitude making her unprofessional right now, and she couldn’t allow that to cloud her opinion of his experience and skill.

‘You’re right, and I’m sorry.’

‘So who’s Dorothy then? Gabi showed me the diary before we left.’

Erin was looking forward to their next visit. ‘She’s Gil’s great aunt, a bit eccentric. You’ll see.’

Dorothy was Gil’s only relative in the village, with his eldest son managing a vineyard in Australia and his youngest at university in Portsmouth.

She’d lived in Hartfell all her life and was well known for her preference of animals over humans.

The farm she’d inherited from her father had been a sanctuary for animals for over fifty years and she wouldn’t refuse anything with four legs or feathers a good home.

At first Erin had found her general disdain for people, booming voice and near six-foot frame alarming, but they got on well, especially since she’d turned out at six a.m. one harsh November morning and surgically reversed a twisted stomach in Dorothy’s favourite cow after an unexpectedly early calving.

Dorothy had been so grateful to Erin for saving its life that she’d invited her into the farmhouse for breakfast, and they’d happily discussed foot rot in sheep and the merits of Swaledale tups versus Rough Fell ones over doorstep bacon sandwiches and coffee so strong that Erin hadn’t been able to face another cup for weeks.

The farm stood half a mile up the dale and was accessed by a rutted track.

A driveway swung left in front of the house, and Erin pulled up beside a muddy quad bike connected to a trailer laden with empty feed bags.

Weathered barns, roof tiles green with moss matching the shade of the windows, were attached to either end of the large square house built of the same stone, a wide front door standing firmly in the centre.

A wild garden edged with a low wall was compact, given over to grazing sheep.

She got out, prepared for the pack of dogs swarming to meet them.

She was wary of the small terrier – the reason why post was left at the end of the drive and delivery drivers honked their horns in the yard.

The silky red setter loved a cuddle and was more polite than a three-legged lurcher already stuffing his nose into Erin’s pockets.

The latest addition to the pack, an elderly working collie whose owner had passed away, hung back, still cautious with strangers.

Oli jumped out and she watched as he crouched down to greet the dogs, laughing as the setter tried to clamber onto his lap.

She wondered if he still missed his own dog, the one that had been put down when he’d been away at school.

Had he ever got another, or was his travelling the reason why not?

His arm was around the setter as he tried to persuade the lurcher to abandon its search of his pockets while apologising for his lack of treats.

The lurcher licked his chin and even the terrier had ceased yapping as the collie edged a little closer.

‘Morning, Erin.’ Dorothy’s roar was apparent before she emerged from a barn along the track, a low mooing accompanying her.

‘I see you’ve brought your latest. Hope he’s up to your standard.

’ Dorothy wouldn’t allow one of their previous locums to set foot on the farm after she discovered he wasn’t a fan of goats and had once suggested she might consider rehoming a couple of kids after a billy had run amok amongst the nannies and the birth rate had shot up.

Erin’s chin rose a fraction and she registered Oli’s surprise at such a welcome. His waterproofs were filthy after the escapade with the donkey, and she hadn’t noticed the splash of mud on his left cheek until now.

‘Get orf,’ Dorothy bellowed as she strode towards them, and he leaped to his feet as though he’d been jabbed with a cattle prod.

The dogs slunk away, and Erin was still grinning as she went to the boot to fetch equipment.

She knew the patient they were booked in to see but it never hurt to be prepared for anything where Dorothy was concerned.

Gil and Pippa had recently hosted a lunch for Dorothy’s eighty-third birthday, and she saw no reason why age should attempt to slow her down.

The prehistoric green waxed coat she wore all year round was fastened with orange baling twine above the usual men’s suit trousers and a pair of fancy green wellies.

The boots had been a gift from Gil and Pippa when he’d discovered that her previous ones were stuffed with carrier bags to keep out the wet.

Grey hair was piled on top of her head, spilling from a messy bun, and sharp blue eyes were narrowed on Oli.

‘Ruddy dogs,’ she muttered in a tone which suggested she meant something else entirely. She stared at him above glasses perched halfway along her nose and held together with tape. He shot Erin a nervous glance and she didn’t dare offer a reassuring smile for fear she’d laugh again.

Dorothy sniffed. ‘Come on then, let’s see what you know about goats. Can’t be any worse than the last chap, I s’pose.’