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"It's my first time away from the UK," I admitted.
"You talk real pretty," Eddie grinned. "We were watching The Crown on Netflix, and you talk like them."
I laughed both at the idea that I sounded like the British royal family and that this rough-and-tumble cowboy watched The Crown.
"What's it like to work and live on a ranch?" I asked.
They were kind to me, and after what had happened the night before, it was a balm to my wounded ego. Soon, I was laughing hard along with them as they shared ranching war stories.
"Remember when Eddie thought he could shortcut through the north pasture in the dead of night without a flashlight?" Clay started a mischievous glint in his eyes. "Ended up waist-deep in a mud hole, claiming he'd found a new hot spring for the ranch."
There were many such stories.
"This feels like a modern operation," I said, "at least from what I've seen."
"Well, you can't get too modern," Eddie claimed. "Remember the time Sarah modernized the cattle count by using a drone. Scared the herd halfway to the next county. Took us two days to bring 'em all back."
Their stories, a mix of mishaps and the peculiar logic that seemed to govern life on the ranch, painted a picture of a community where every day was an adventure, bound by the land and shared experiences.
Clay leaned to pick up my empty beer bottle when I heard him grunt.
"Are you okay?" I asked.
"Blackie kicked him but good when he was breaking her in," Eddie told me.
"I'm assuming Blackie is a horse?"
Clay laughed. "Yeah. Got a rotator cuff injury. It's fine most of the time, but…I don't know. I'm too scared to take them painkillers 'cause I had some trouble with drugs when I was a kid."
I'd heard that before. Some of those who were injured came for physiotherapy after they battled their addiction, some during, and some, the lucky ones, before.
"I can have a look at that for you," I offered, my voice a mix of concern and professional curiosity.
Clay raised an eyebrow. "Say what?"
"I'm studying to be a physiotherapist," I told him, raising both my hands up. "I promise, I won't do any damage."
"Cajun went to one, remember?" Eddie said. "When he had that leg thing? He said it helped."
Some of my patients were skeptical about the benefits of physiotherapy. They expected drugs or surgery to make the difference, not just physical therapy, especially men like Clay, who were used to relying on their strength and resilience to do their jobs. But I knew that pain had a way of humbling even the strongest of us.
"You think you can help me, doc?"
"I'm not a doctor. But I've learned a thing or two about shoulder injuries," I reassured him with a small smile. "Physiotherapy can do wonders without the need for medication. It's all about strengthening the muscles around the injury to support and heal."
Clay nodded, a hint of curiosity breaking through his initial skepticism. "Alright, Isha. Show me what you can do," he challenged.
I rubbed my hands together.
"First things first. Take your shirt off."
Eddie and Huey whistled.
"Pants, too?" Clay asked suggestively but in good humor.
I rolled my eyes.
During that first session, I guided Clay through a series of gentle, targeted exercises designed to increase mobility and reduce pain in his shoulder.
