Chapter 1 - Naomi

The ringing of the phone cuts through the silence of the clinic"s small office. I glance at the caller ID and see it"s an unfamiliar number from the outskirts of town.

"Willow Creek Veterinary Clinic, this is Naomi speaking."

"Yeah, hi," a gruff male voice responds. "I need a vet to come out to my ranch. One of my horses is in bad shape."

"Certainly, sir. Can you provide me with some details about the situation?"

There"s a pause, and I can almost envision the man"s furrowed brow as he collects his thoughts. "It"s my gelding, Rebel. He"s been off his feed for a couple of days, and today, he"s favoring his left hind leg. Seems to be in a lot of pain."

I jot down the information, nodding to myself, "Okay, I"ll need your name and address, please."

"Walker Jameson. It"s the Triple J Ranch, about fifteen miles northwest of town."

The name rings a bell. Walker Jameson is something of a local legend – a former Army Ranger turned successful cattle rancher. Rumor has it he"s a bit of a loner, still haunted by the demons of his past.

"Got it, Mr. Jameson. I"ll be out there as soon as I can. Probably within the hour."

"Thanks," he grunts, and the line goes dead.

I gather my supplies, mentally preparing for the challenging case ahead. Dealing with a large animal in distress is never easy, and from the sound of it, this Rebel is in rough shape. Add to that the task of navigating Walker Jameson"s famous gruffness, and I have my work cut out for me.

With a deep breath, I head out to my pickup truck, ready to face whatever awaits me.

The drive to the Triple J Ranch is a familiar one – a winding country road lined with fields and livestock fencing. As I approach the property, I can"t help but feel a twinge of nerves.

Turning down the long driveway, I spot a weathered barn and a couple of outbuildings in the distance. A battered truck is parked nearby, and I assume it belongs to the ranch"s elusive owner.

As I pull up and kill the engine, the barn door swings open, and a man emerges – Walker Jameson himself, I presume.

He"s tall and lean, with a no-nonsense stride that speaks volumes about his military background. His face is deeply tanned and creased from years spent working the land, and his blue eyes regard me with a mixture of wariness and impatience.

"Ms...?" he prompts, his voice betraying no hint of warmth.

"Naomi Barret," I reply, extending my hand. His grip is firm, calloused.

Without preamble, he jerks his head toward the barn.

"Rebel"s in here. Been keepin" him in a stall to limit his movement."

I nod, grabbing my medical kit, "Lead the way."

Walker turns on his heel, and I follow, my boots crunching on the gravel. The barn"s interior is dimly lit, but my eyes quickly adjust to the musty dimness. In one of the stalls, a massive chestnut gelding shifts restlessly, nickering softly.

"Easy, boy," Walker murmurs, his tone gentler than I expected.

I approach the stall, taking note of Rebel"s condition. The horse"s left hind leg is clearly causing him discomfort, and he holds it slightly bent.

"When did you first notice the lameness, Mr. Jameson?"

He shakes his head. "Don"t recall exactly. Like I said on the phone, it"s been a couple days since he went off his feed."

Nodding, I begin my examination, running my hands along Rebel"s leg. The gelding tenses but remains relatively calm, seemingly accustomed to human handling.

"I"m gonna need to take him out, get a better look," I tell Walker. "Can you bring him into the aisle?"

He grunts in affirmation, deftly looping a lead rope around Rebel"s halter, and guiding the big horse out of the stall. I step back, giving them space to maneuver into the aisle. Rebel limps heavily, his ears pinned back against the pain.

Once in the open, I resume my examination, running my hands down the affected leg. Rebel flinches when I palpate the fetlock joint.

"I think it"s an abscess," I tell Walker, looking up at him.

His expression is stoic, but I detect a hint of concern in his eyes.

"An abscess? That doesn"t sound good."

"It"s not uncommon, especially if he stepped on something sharp." I straighten up, meeting his gaze levelly. "I"ll need to radiograph it to be certain, but my guess is the abscess is deep in the hoof wall. We"ll have to open it up, drain it."

Walker"s jaw tightens, and he gives a curt nod, "Do what you gotta do, doc."

I retrieve my portable X-ray unit from the pickup truck and spend the next few minutes positioning Rebel and taking the images I need. Sure enough, the radiographs reveal a pocket of infection deep in the hoof.

"Like I suspected," I say, showing Walker the x-rays. "We need to get that drained right away before it gets any worse."

He studies the images with a furrowed brow, then heaves a sigh.

"Alright. What do you need me to do?"

"I"ll get him sedated and blocked, then we"ll need to pull that hoof wall apart enough for me to get in there and flush it out."