What’s she doing?
Oh . . .
My eyes widen in horror.
Hayden has her arm up a cow’s ass to the armpit . . . or is it a vagina . . . or is it . . .
I feel the blood drain out of my face as my knees go woozy.
I don’t feel so . . .
HAYDEN
Thump . . .
“For fuck’s sake,” Dad moans.
I glance up to see Christopher hit the ground hard as he faints.
I get the giggles as I try to turn the calf. “Go help him.”
“No, Hayden,” he replies dryly.
“Dad, I’m kind of busy here.”
“I don’t have time for his pretty boy bullshit,” he mutters as he walks toward Christopher, who is still out cold.
“Whoa, girl,” I whisper as I get the calf in position. “This will help you.”
I watch as Dad bends to Christopher, and I smile as I watch him gently slap his face.
I’m going to hang back and see what happens.
Christopher comes to and sits up. “You okay, babe?” I call.
He nods, embarrassed.
“He’s fine,” Dad calls. He grabs Christopher’s head and looks in his hair and says something that I can’t hear.
Christopher shrugs him off. “Don’t fucking touch me,” he scoffs.
I roll my lips to hide my smile.
“This damn fool needs stitches in his head,” Dad calls.
“Oh no.” I stand.
“You stay there,” Dad calls as he helps Christopher to his feet. “I’ll take him into town.”
I stare at them for a moment as I do an internal risk assessment. Okay . . . I need to let them do this. If they fight it out, they fight it out. I have faith that they will come to appreciate each other.
“Is that all right?” I call. “I can’t leave her.”
Christopher nods, and I jog over to him. He has a trickle of blood dripping down onto his shirt from the back of his head. “Are you hurt?”
“Only my pride.” He shrugs.
My dad throws his head back and laughs out loud, and I try not to laugh, I really do, but I fail miserably.
“I’m glad you two think this is so funny,” Christopher snaps. “I have internal bleeding. Perhaps an aneurysm is coming on.”
“Dad will look after you.” I smile.
“Will he, though?” Christopher widens his eyes.
“Come back in the house, boy. I’ll stitch you up,” Dad teases. “Got a needle and thread in the first aid box.”
I bite my lip to stop myself laughing out loud.
“There is no way in hell you are touching my fucking head, you maniac. I need a specialist plastic surgeon. And don’t call me boy!” Christopher yells.
Dad laughs harder as he holds Christopher up by the arm. He’s still woozy and maybe a little concussed. “You’re a bigger fucking idiot than I thought.”
I go back to the cow and kneel down beside her. Everything should progress with her as planned now that the calf has been turned.
I could take Christopher to the hospital myself . . . but I won’t.
They need this.