Free Heat of the Moment by Lori Handeland

brothers—the twins Jamie and Joe—certainly didn’t. At seventeen, they were strong and able and they did what they were told, but they also counted the days until they didn’t have to any more.
    My sister, Melanie, was the best bet for the next generation at Carstairs farm. She attended the University of Wisconsin–River Falls where she was studying dairy science.
    I think my dad developed a permanent twitch in his right cheek after she told him that. He preferred hands-on learning to books, but Mellie had her own ideas. And as our mother said, “At least one of them’s interested.”
    Duchess gave a low, annoyed moo—couldn’t blame her, my mind had been wandering—and swung her head in my direction.
    Get it out.
    â€œArm or calf?”
    Get them both out of my ass before I kick yours.
    Funny how she sounded an awful lot like me. They all did. Because they were me.
    â€œYou okay?” Owen set a steaming bucket of water at my side.
    Had I been talking to her out loud? God, I hoped not.
    I glanced up. He only appeared mildly curious about the process and not concerned over my sanity.
    â€œI’m peachy,” I said as Duchess bore down again.
    I’m sure I had unmentionable gunk everywhere. Wasn’t the first time, wouldn’t be the last. If I had a problem with gunk, I wouldn’t be a vet.
    I fished around a bit more for a hoof, a nose, something, found nothing, and withdrew my arm.
    â€œIt’s going to be a while,” I said.
    Duchess stomped—once, twice, again.
    â€œYou’d almost think she understood you.”
    â€œAlmost.” I made use of the water.
    Owen seemed as tired as I felt. It was after three A.M. Who knew how long he’d been awake. At this point I couldn’t remember how long I had.
    He sat on a hay bale just inside the stall door, leaned his head against the wall, and closed his eyes. “Do you ever get called to a calving in the bright light of day?”
    â€œNot yet.”
    When a minute or more passed and Owen didn’t respond, I turned my head. His eyes were still closed, his breathing had evened out. I waited a while longer to make sure he was truly asleep before I crossed the distance and gently touched his too short hair. Spiky now, sharp where it had once been soft, the ends made my fingers tingle.
    I drew back, then found my own hay bale and just watched him breathe.
    *   *   *
    Owen came awake, and he didn’t know where he was.
    What else was new? Lately, if he knew where he was that was cause for celebration.
    He hadn’t been dreaming. Hadn’t heard loud noises and woken on the floor, or worse, in a corner or under the bed. He was in a barn, but not one he knew. The cow didn’t look familiar either, but most of them looked alike to him.
    â€œReggie,” he said, but the dog didn’t appear, and unease trickled over him. There was something about the dog he should remember.
    Owen stood with a lurch, then nearly fell when his leg shouted with pain and gave out. He caught himself on the stall and sat again with a muted thud, as everything came back.
    The dirt. The kid. The cell phone.
    Click. Boom . Then screams.
    It wasn’t until he’d woken in the hospital in Germany, and asked who else had been hurt, that he’d understood those screams had been his. He rubbed his leg where it throbbed.
    â€œYou’re awake.” Becca set a fresh bucket of warm, soapy water on the floor.
    Had she seen him try to stand and nearly fall? As she didn’t stare at him with pity, disgust, or even curiosity, he thought not.
    â€œHow long was I out?”
    â€œAn hour?” She shrugged. “Little less? Maybe more? Time drags in the dead of night.”
    She should try it walking around Afghanistan without a flashlight.
    He needed more sleep. But these days, he had a hard time falling asleep and an even harder time waking up and remembering where he