Page 62 of Where I Should’ve Been

Another contraction hits Mabel. She moans, long and low.

“Is she okay?” Breezy’s face changes on a dime. “What do you need?”

“Your small hands,” I say, and her brows jump. “Clean ones. You’re gonna help me.”

“I…okay.” There’s the briefest flicker of really? in her eyes, and then she’s kneeling beside me as I quickly shove the paper towels at her.

I slide my palm along Mabel’s belly, checking the angle of the leg. “We’ve got a shoulder hung up,” I tell Breezy. “If she pushes and it’s turned wrong, she could tear something. So we gotta stop that from happening.”

“And by we, you mean…?”

“Well, you, because your hands are smaller than mine.” I tug off a glove and guide Breezy’s smaller fingers where mine can’t go. “Just follow my hand. When she pushes, don’t fight. Just ride it. Assist her. Give some counterpressure so the lamb’s leg goes in the direction we need it.”

“O-okay.”

“And don’t forget to breathe.”

“Don’t forget to breathe, Mabel,” she encourages, and a short laugh escapes my lungs.

“You,” I say. “I meant you shouldn’t forget to breathe.”

“Oh.” She swallows, eyes fixed on Mabel, and nods. “Me. Breathe. Right.”

The wind hisses through the barn, and Mabel moans again. Her body bows with the contraction, and Breezy does exactly what I need her to do. She rides the push, giving counterpressure where Mabel needs it. The stuck shoulder turns a hair, then another hair, and I feel the moment it gives in the ewe’s body—a tiny click the world might miss if you weren’t touching it.

“There,” I say, and I don’t realize I’m actually holding my breath until I’m light-headed.

The lamb slides free into my hands, slick and steaming in the cold air, a beautiful little miracle covered in blood and fluid. I clear its nose, rub hard with Breezy’s paper towels until a tremor runs through its body, and then the little thing gasps like it’s offended by the whole concept of oxygen.

“It’s breathing!” Breezy exclaims through a choked sob.

“Welcome to earth, kid,” I tell the lamb, which replies by sneezing on my chin. “Now, we need to get her under Mabel’s nose.”

Breezy and I work fast to position the little girl lamb near its mother. And once she’s under Mabel’s chin, she’s already lifting her head to her mama and licking with single-minded determination.

But when another contraction rolls through Mabel, I know we need to focus again.

“It’s time for the next one,” I say, and Breezy looks at me with teary-eyed confusion.

“The next one?”

“Twins.”

Breezy blinks but quickly jumps back into action with me as I give her clear instructions on how to assist Mabel.

We’re faster the second time. Breezy’s hands don’t shake. She doesn’t flinch at the steam or the blood or the way Mabel releases guttural sounds with each contraction. She just does the work, and she does so with the kind of bravery that makes me feel proud of her.

Ten minutes later, there are two little lambs blinking at the blizzard like it personally inconvenienced them, wobbling to their feet under a mother who looks outright exhausted.

Breezy helps me get them all tucked in straw to keep them insulated, and by the time we’re done, my body aches in a good way.

“You did amazing,” I tell Breezy, wrapping my arm around her shoulders and tucking her into my side as we watch Mabel with her lambs.

Her grin hits me square in the chest. “We did amazing. But also, I did amazing.”

“Yeah.” I grin. “You did.”

“But you were incredible too, Tad,” she says, her voice quiet. “If you hadn’t known what to do, I don’t like to think about what could have happened.”