3. Two - Keegan

Dr. Keegan Reid hated people.

All right. That wasn’t fair. He didn’t hate people; he just wasn’t generally impressed by them. He had friends he willingly spent time with. Ryan, for example, who’d been his best friend since they met in boarding school when they were fourteen. They didn’t spend as much time together as they used to due to their busy schedules—Keegan with his practice, and Ryan with the ranch and his two partners—but they managed to meet up at least a few times a month at Hunter’s. Hunter, owner of the Lookout, probably counted as the third in their friendship. When they went out, it was usually Keegan, Ryan, and Hunter, even if Hunter was on the other side of the bar. Chris, a transplant who owned an apartment building in town, was a more recent addition to their circle, but Keegan supposed he counted. He enjoyed Chris’s unflappable demeanor. Even Nick, Ryan’s boyfriend, was growing on him. See? Friends. Plural.

But “friends” and “people” weren’t the same, and he’d learned over the years that people never lived up to his expectations. And, despite what Ryan claimed, those expectations were low.

Situations like this reminded him there was still further to fall.

He picked his way across what may have been a living room at some point, before the human who lived there decided to turn it into a landfill. Actually, Keegan had been to landfills that smelled better than this. At least two of the volunteers hadn’t even made it through the front door. Keegan had a mask and was careful to breathe through his mouth, but he was still convinced he could taste the decay.

George was in the next room, crouched beside the matted pile of fur that was Keegan’s target. She stroked the small dog’s head, murmuring to it as Keegan joined her. “If the bastard weren’t already in jail, I’d be sending him somewhere else entirely,” she said, her deep voice soothing. Keegan wasn’t sure if she was talking to him or the dog.

“Agreed,” he said anyway as he set down his kit on top of a cardboard box that wasn’t disintegrating as quickly as the things around it. The dog—he couldn’t tell the breed with how dirty and matted it was—looked up at him through crusty brown eyes. Its weakly thumping tail made Keegan want to join the murder spree. How much of a piece of shit would someone need to be to allow this to happen to a living creature?

After a quick exam, besides having sores from the mats in its fur and some malnutrition, the dog didn’t appear to have any obvious injuries. Keegan would still look it over again after they got it cleaned up back at the clinic. “Any others that need immediate attention?”

George sighed. “All of them? But most can wait until we get them out of here, clean, and fed.”

A neighbor had called the police after realizing she hadn’t seen anyone around the run-down house in days. It turned out the owner had been arrested and hadn’t bothered to mention he had animals at home. The police, in turn, had called George’s rescue. The situation was horrific, but sadly not the worst Keegan had seen in the two years he’d been volunteering his services.

The little dog was half starved and badly dehydrated but stable enough to move. They had already pulled three dogs from the property and would be trapping cats for who knew how long. At least the cats were in better shape than the dogs. They’d been able to get in and out of the house through a broken window and were self-sufficient enough, even in winter, to keep themselves fed. There were illnesses and infections to deal with, but hopefully everyone would recover.

“Georgie!” a panicked voice shouted from the front of the house.

George’s eyes closed, and she drew in a steadying breath. “In here, Ben,” she called back.

“We need Dr. Reid. We— There are three— We found horses.”

George’s lips pinched together, and she met Keegan’s eyes, her own dark and damp with emotion. He nodded to the little dog. “You’ve got this one?”

She waved him off, so he stood and made his way back out of the deathtrap of a house, hoping he hadn’t caught some mold-borne disease while he was in there. He pulled off his mask as soon as he reached fresh air.

Ben, a young man with sandy blond hair and big, sad eyes, was waiting, wringing his gloved hands together and shifting from foot to foot. It was his first rescue, and the impact of the widespread suffering was showing. “They’re this way. No one realized the shed had stalls until we followed one of the cats in there,” he said, his words tripping over each other. “It’s dark and filthy, and they had water, but I don’t think there’s been any food in a long time.” His voice broke, and he lifted an arm to scrub his sleeve across his eyes.

Keegan picked up the pace as Ben led him to a structure that could only loosely be called a shed. It looked like one wrong move would bring the whole thing down. When they reached the doors, the stench of ammonia almost knocked him back a step. This was going to be bad.

He fucking hated people.

He didn’t see the horses right away in the dim light, but as his eyes adjusted, his stomach twisted.

There were four stalls, two on each side of the aisle. He approached the first, steeling himself for what he was about to see. The horse was all the way at the back, its nose in the corner. The ammonia was so strong here that Keegan’s eyes started to water. The state of the stalls told him they hadn’t been cleaned since long before the horse’s owner had been locked up. The mare was grossly underweight, her ribs and hip bones visible beneath her dull coat. He’d class her at a two on the Henneke scale. The scale—which measured a horse’s body condition—went to nine, with anything below four considered underweight.

It took effort to force open the bolt on the stall door. When it finally gave way, he was able to force the broken hinges open. The mare’s ears went back at the sound, and she shifted farther into the dark corner of the stall. “Do you have anything we can tempt her with?” Keegan asked Ben, keeping his voice calm and soothing.

“Uh,” Ben mumbled, patting his pockets. “I think George has some mints in the truck.”

Keegan gave him a nod, and the boy hurried off. While he was gone, Keegan shut the first door again and checked the rest. He found a second horse in one and a pony, who was in slightly better condition than the first horse, in the last.

Ben returned, and Keegan raised an eyebrow at the box of Tic Tacs. Ben’s cheeks went pink in the dim light, and he shrugged. “Georgie says she called for a horse trailer. It should be about an hour.”

Keegan nodded his understanding. “See if you can find halters for them—or even some rope that we can fashion into one. I want them out of this deathtrap and in the light so I can see them better.” He gave the box of Tic Tacs a shake, tipping a few candies into his palm.

The mare’s ears flicked. Then her head came up, and she made her careful way across the filthy stall, nostrils flaring as she scented the air. The tightness in Keegan’s gut relaxed a notch. Interest was a good sign.

The mare stretched out her neck, and Keegan gave her a few mints, wishing he had something more substantial to offer. Not that any of these horses would be able to eat full meals for a while. They would need to be refed carefully to avoid any of the dozen issues reintroducing nutrition too quickly could cause.

He ran his hand down her neck. Poor thing. She was skin and bones, her coat rough and filled with matted clumps. His breath hissed through his teeth when he caught sight of her hooves. There was no telling when any of the horses had last seen a farrier. Her hooves were so overgrown that the toes were curled back on themselves the way a person’s fingernails would if they didn’t trim them. Fuck. He hoped she’d be able to walk out of there under her own power.

“Keegan?” George asked as she stepped into the shed.

“In here,” he told her.

She walked over but kept a respectful distance. “I sent the other animals to Josie’s.” Josie was another vet they worked with often. She would be able to take on the smaller animals while Keegan focused on the horses since they were his specialty. “Four dogs. Thirteen cats, so far. And a fucking African Grey parrot.” She shook her head. “I don’t know what the hell I’m going to do with that one.”

Keegan heaved a quiet sigh. How had this asshole gotten his hands on a parrot? And how was it still alive? African Greys were notoriously difficult to care for. “I have a friend from vet school who specializes in exotic birds. I’ll text you her number.” He scratched the mare’s neck, and she shifted her weight closer. “How far out is the trailer?”

“About forty minutes,” George said as she stepped toward the stall door. The mare’s ears flicked again, and George held out her hand for inspection before stroking the poor girl’s nose as she leaned into the touch. George had an energy animals gravitated toward. It was a big part of what made her so good at what she did.

George looked around the filthy stall, the long day showing on her face and audible in her voice. “Every time, I ask myself how someone could let this happen.” She ran her fingers through the mare’s forelock in a fruitless attempt to fix the tangled hair. “It doesn’t get easier.”

Keegan gave her shoulder a squeeze. There was a delicate balance when you were rescuing abused animals. You had empathy for them, of course, but you couldn’t let yourself get too invested. You’d burn out because the job was never over. George was good at separating herself most of the time, but the bad ones hit everyone hard.

“We’re going to need to find space for the horses. Hopefully with someone who knows something about what they’re going to need.”

Keegan nodded, having already figured that out. “I’ll give the Averys a call. See how Ryan feels about being a foster dad.”

An hour later, and with the help of four other volunteers, they had all three horses loaded up on the trailer—including the pony, who, despite her poor condition, had plenty of fight left in her. Ryan had a farrier meeting them at the ranch to start working on their feet the minute they reached their temporary home.

For the next two weeks, they would be in quarantine stalls to make sure they weren’t carrying any diseases. The isolation would also give Keegan a chance to stabilize them, tend to any injuries, and start getting weight back on them.

The drive back to Split Rock felt longer than the trip out had been. Keegan followed the trailer in his truck and held his breath over every bump, hoping no one would go down along the way. Thankfully, they made it to the ranch with all three horses still on their feet.

When they pulled to a stop in front of the big cream-colored barn, Ryan was waiting outside, seemingly impervious to the icy wind, his husband at his side. Micah’s heart was in his sad brown eyes, and Keegan felt a twinge of regret for bringing the horses here and putting that look on Micah’s face, but he knew this was the best place they could be. Micah proved him right when he gave Keegan a wobbly smile and a tight hug, then got to work helping George and Ben unload.

Keegan stood next to his best friend, relieved when Ryan got straight to business. He didn’t have the energy for pleasantries. “The farrier’s set up, and the quarantine stalls are almost ready. Anything specific they need right now?”

“Which farrier did you call? They don’t seem to have been handled much. The pony, in particular. It’s gonna be a rough one.”

The corner of Ryan’s mouth tipped up. “Mason.”

Keegan let go of some of his tension. Mason was a grumpy old bastard, but there wasn’t a better farrier in a hundred miles. He was about to ask Ryan what supplies they had on hand when he was distracted by the tall young man strolling out of the barn.

Izzy King moved like he owned the place, his long legs eating up the distance to where Keegan and Ryan were standing. He stopped on the far side of Ryan, his hands tucked into his coat pockets as he tossed his blond curls out of his face and gave the activity around them a condescending side-eye.

The mare scrambled as she stepped down off the trailer, her overlong hooves making it difficult for her to find her balance on the gravel. Keegan tensed, but she steadied herself, her head lifting and her nostrils flaring as she took in her new surroundings.

“Are the stalls ready?” Ryan asked, somehow ignoring the scowl on Izzy’s face.

“All good,” Izzy replied, his distaste clear as he took in the state of the horses. “These poor guys look half dead,” he said bluntly. “What are their chances of recovery?”

Keegan had to force his jaw to relax before he broke a molar from how hard he was clenching his teeth. Izzy wasn’t wrong, but the blunt statement made Keegan’s protective instincts flare. “Better than they would be if no one tried,” he snapped.

Izzy’s shoulders went tight. “Right,” he snarked back. “’Cause that’s exactly what I was implying.” He rolled his eyes and turned back to Ryan. “You can’t assign them to Alice. She won’t be able to handle it if they don’t make it.”

Ryan nodded, his eyes not leaving the trailer as Ben unloaded the gelding. “Wasn’t planning to.”

“Micah either,” Izzy continued. “He’ll get way too attached.” Izzy pulled his hands from his pockets and crossed his arms over his chest, shoulders hunched. “Archer’ll probably be fine. He’s practical like that.”

“They’re your responsibility,” Ryan replied, voice mild. “Under Keegan’s supervision.”

Izzy’s head snapped around to stare at Ryan. “What?” he asked, voice jumping up an octave. He shot Keegan a glare, as if this was his fault, then turned that glare on Ryan. “The fuck, boss?”

Keegan’s reaction was similar, though he refrained from voicing it. Izzy was the last person he expected Ryan to assign to the task. Not because Izzy wasn’t capable—he had plenty of experience—but because Ryan knew he and Keegan would be at each other’s throats. Their distaste for each other wasn’t new.

Ryan didn’t so much as twitch at Izzy’s outburst. “Alice will take over some of your usual tasks to make up for it,” he continued, as if Izzy hadn’t spoken.

“Why can’t Archer—”

“Because he’s busy,” Ryan said, losing some of his calm detachment. “We’ve got twenty horses that need exercise this winter, and you’re the only one who doesn’t help with that.”

Izzy’s mouth clicked shut. He looked away, his lips pressed into a tight line. That had to sting. It was an open secret that Izzy had been an Olympic-bound eventer, once upon a time. After a bad fall, he’d sold his horse and walked away from the sport. These days, though he was recovered, Izzy acted like he barely knew a Western saddle from an English one. And for reasons Keegan couldn’t understand, no one at the ranch questioned the blatant lie. The whole thing rubbed Keegan wrong—particularly when Ryan had to scramble or overschedule himself to accommodate the best horseman on his staff refusing to suck it up and get back in the saddle.

“Fine,” Izzy grated, looking like he’d smelled something rancid. “This is gonna be stellar .” He gave Ryan a scathing look that somehow included Keegan. Then he spun on his heel and stomped back into the barn, the back of his neck red—probably with anger—despite the cold.

Keegan turned to Ryan with an eyebrow lifted.

Ryan pulled off his hat, ran a gloved hand through his hair, and sighed. “Don’t say it.”

Keegan didn’t have to. Ryan was well aware of his opinions when it came to Izzy King.

“Look, you need the help, and he needs a project. Just try not to kill each other.” Ryan paused, looking in the direction Izzy had disappeared. “Or cause permanent damage.”

As if Keegan had any control over that. Izzy was the one Ryan should be warning off. “I’m going to check in with Mason,” he replied instead of acknowledging Ryan’s request. “Find out where we’re at.” He would play nice for now. But if Izzy insisted on bringing his bad attitude to work, Keegan was more than capable of giving as good as he got.

After seeing George and Ben off, and promising to keep George updated, Keegan made his way to the section of the barn they used for quarantine. He could hear Mason ranting before he rounded the corner, and he hurried his pace, sure Izzy had already pissed him off. Instead, he found the old man hunched over, working on the chestnut mare. Izzy was at her head, gripping the nose band of her halter and distracting her with a handful of hay. “…like to see whoever did this put through the same,” Mason was saying, his deep voice pitched calm despite the volume of his words.

“How’s she looking?” Keegan asked, slowing as he approached. It was hard to say how much handling the animals had had, and sudden movements could put them all in a dangerous situation.

“They’re a fuckin’ mess. Prolly haven’t been worked on in a year or more. They’ve got thrush—smell’s a dead giveaway—and prolly more I haven’t uncovered yet. Shocking that the pony can still walk. I want a word with the fucker who did this.”

“You aren’t alone in that,” Keegan said, his heart hurting for the poor creatures. “Shame the law got to him first. I have some thoughts to convey as well.” From the corner of his eye, he caught Izzy staring but ignored it. “How much do you think you can do today?”

Mason grumbled to himself. “Not enough.” He flicked a hand at Keegan. “Hand me the Kopertox.”

Keegan did as he was told. He and Mason had an understanding when it came to things like neglected horses. Keegan might be the vet, but Mason had decades of experience on him. Keegan turned to Izzy. “She can’t have too much of that,” he said, gesturing to the hay. “We don’t know how long it’s been since they ate, and I don’t want her to founder on top of everything else.”

Izzy’s shoulders went tight, and he narrowed his eyes at Keegan. “Thanks for the tip,” he snarked. “Because I’ve clearly never heard of refeeding syndrome.” He turned away with a huff.

Keegan rolled his eyes. Typical. He made a statement of fact, and Izzy took it as a personal insult. “Better not to assume,” he said, keeping his tone mild. The last thing he needed to add to the emotional load of the day was an argument with Split Rock’s resident brat.

“Won’t help. You’re already an ass,” Izzy muttered, loud enough that Keegan was meant to hear him. He adjusted his hold on the mare when she tossed her head in an attempt to shake him loose.

Keegan breathed deep and held on to his fraying patience with both hands. This was proving to be a fantastic start to their working relationship.

The mare’s ears went flat against her skull, and her tail swished in agitation. Mason had the hoof tester out and was applying pressure to the sole of one of her back hooves.

“Careful,” Keegan warned automatically.

“I know ,” Izzy snapped back, deftly stepping out of the way as Mason released her foot and the mare danced sideways. “Any commentary that’s not you stating the obvious?”

Keegan should have let him get bitten.

“That’s abscessed,” Mason stated, ignoring their sniping. “I’ll drain it and pack it, but it’s gonna need to be soaked daily.”

That was disappointing, even though he’d expected it. Treatment would mean opening the sole of the hoof to drain, soaking it in Epsom salts once a day to pull the infection out, packing it with a poultice, and wrapping it. With any luck, it wasn’t deep and would heal within a few weeks.

It was getting late, and they had identified two more abscesses—both in the pony. She was the worst off and the hardest to treat, despite her small size. Mason packed up and left, saying he’d done what he could and would be back in a couple of weeks, but to call if any of them got worse before then.

“Dammit,” Izzy hissed, gripping the lead rope as the little gray monster hauled backward, kicking over the bucket her foot was supposed to be soaking in. “Little demon.” She hadn’t given Mason as much trouble while he’d trimmed her hooves, but it was a different story now that she was more mobile.

Keegan held back his laughter at the sight of Izzy struggling to control a pony whose back didn’t reach the top of his thigh. “Need some help?” he called from where he was doing a final check of the gelding. The big guy was underweight but otherwise in the best shape of the three.

“I’ve got it,” Izzy bit out, not looking Keegan’s way as he dodged a flash of teeth.

Sure, he did. Keegan returned the gelding to his new stall and went to assist. As soon as he got close enough, the pony kicked out with both back legs, nearly taking out Keegan’s kneecaps. “ Shit. ”

As soon as her back feet hit the ground, her front ones left it. Keegan met Izzy’s wide eyes over her head. What the hell? Had she just been biding her time up until now?

As Izzy did his best not to get trampled, Keegan went for his supplies. He hated to sedate her without knowing her history, but—as she flung herself backward again and knocked over a stack of buckets—he decided it was the safer choice.

Estimating her weight, he drew up a dose of sedative. It would take a few minutes to kick in, but it would calm her without making her too unsteady on her feet.

Izzy saw what he was doing and angled the pony against the wall, pinning her there with his weight. Keegan got the sedative injected, then helped herd her into a stall to wait for it to take effect. Izzy slumped against the door and bent forward, palms braced on his thighs, his face flushed as he caught his breath. “Damn,” he said, chuckling a little. “She’s gonna be a fun one.”

Keegan huffed, amused despite himself. Fun was one way to put it.

Things went more smoothly the second time around. She was woozy, her eyes half lidded and her head drooping, but she was otherwise agreeable. After a twenty-minute soak, Keegan got her hooves packed and wrapped, while Izzy kept her still. Working on a horse so small was awkward with all the bending and crouching, and his back and knees ached by the time he was done. Welcome to forty.

With all three horses in their stalls and fed the limited amount Keegan felt safe giving them, he collected his gear. He would have to restock a few things before he came back. “They’ll need to be fed again around two a.m.,” he reminded Izzy as he made one last check that he had everything.

He caught the face Izzy made out of the corner of his eye.

“Is that going to be a problem?”

Izzy gave a lazy shrug and stuck his hands in his pockets. “What if I have…” He paused, then drawled, “Plans?”

Plans. As if Keegan didn’t know what Izzy spent his nights doing. Hell, most of the town probably knew. Izzy wasn’t subtle with his fuckboy antics.

It had been a long day, and Keegan’s patience had been tenuous for too long. “Cancel them,” he said, flatly. “I’m sure your…friends will survive without you for a few nights.”

Izzy’s eyes narrowed and his nostrils flared, but he didn’t miss a beat. “And waste a freshly waxed asshole?” he asked, laying on the drama. “But then, I guess you wouldn’t understand since rumor has it the only assholes in your bed have four legs and a tail.”

Izzy was probably looking for a dramatic reaction, but instead, Keegan snorted with amusement. “If that was an offer, I’m going to have to pass. You and your waxed asshole are on your own tonight.”

Izzy’s face did something complicated before he schooled it into a mocking half smile. “Trust me, if an offer were on the table, there wouldn’t be any confusion.”

Keegan rolled his eyes. “I’ll keep that in mind.”

“No need,” Izzy threw back. “I’d pay someone before I let you anywhere near my ass.”

Keegan barked out a laugh. “As if anyone would take your money.”

Izzy sucked in a breath.

It took a moment for Keegan to register how that had sounded. Great. He shut his eyes and scrubbed his face. “I’m too tired for this,” he muttered. “Why do you have to take everything I say in the worst way possible?”

“Is there some other way I was supposed to take it?” Outrage was thick in Izzy’s voice, but Keegan thought he could detect hurt under it.

“How about as a compliment?” Keegan asked. “All I meant was that guys who look like you don’t pay for sex.”

Izzy was eyeing him like he’d grown a second head. “So, what? We’re stereotyping sex workers and their clients now?”

Keegan wanted to bang his head against the wall. “It was a fucking joke, Izzy. Just forget it.” He picked up his bag and headed for his truck. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”

“What?” Izzy yelped, his voice cracking. “Tomorrow? Why?”

Keegan stopped, even though he really wanted to ignore the question, get in his car, and drive home to his dogs—who, to be fair, had probably taken over his bed while he was gone. “Do you want to deal with that little demon without sedatives?”

Izzy swore.

Yeah. That’s what Keegan thought. He could only hope the pony healed fast, because if it went on too long—no matter what Ryan wanted—neither he nor Izzy were going to come out of it unscathed.