Chapter 21

Diana grunted awake at the sudden shrill of her mobile going off beneath her pillow. She slapped her hand around until her fingers wrapped around the vibrating device and lifted it, squinting her eyes at the overly bright screen to see who would possibly be calling her in the middle of the night.

INCOMING CALL

071392287856

01:17

Not a number she recognized. She hit accept and held the phone to her ear, letting her eyes drift back shut as she mumbled, "Hello?"

"Diana, you need to get to the barn, now."

She let out a heavy sigh and rolled over onto her back, forcing her eyelids open as she pulled the mobile away from her face and regarded the lit screen for a moment before saying, "Huh?"

"It's Cellie—I mean, it's Beatrix, she's colicking, just—ugh, just get here!"

Diana didn't even wait to hear the dial tone signaling the call was ended. She was slinging her covers away and leaping up in a flash of anxiety, nearly knocking over her side table to turn her lamp on as she yanked on the first pair of jeans she could find and threw a jumper over the t-shirt she'd been sleeping in. In a matter of moments, she was yanking paddock boots over a pair of mismatched socks and banging her way through the dark house, slamming doors and cabinets as she dug for the tube of banamine that she knew was lying around somewhere, not really caring if she woke Hannah or Barbara. Which, she probably did, but she didn't stay to find out—she grabbed her keys, her wallet, and her phone, and was out the door before even five minutes had passed.

Beatrix had been absolutely fine earlier that day. They'd had their usual workout, nothing strenuous, just Dressage and a little bit of conditioning, and she'd eaten her oats with the same veracity that she always showed. When Diana had finally left the stable, long after most of the other riders, Beatrix had been happily snacking on a fresh pad of hay that she'd placed into her feeder.

Besides, Beatrix never colicked.

Why was she colicking now?

Diana hardly ever drove. She couldn't remember the last time she'd even gotten behind the wheel of her Mazda—likely weeks ago—but it would take two minutes to get to the stable versus the ten or fifteen it would take on foot. She held her breath as she turned the key and thank God, she still had petrol, before stalling out putting it into first and letting out a slew of curses before taking off. The roads were completely empty, void of any other cars and life aside from a couple of people standing outside a pub that was still open, and so she may have made a couple of illegal turns. But in the dead of the night, it was mostly just her and her panic, so she justified it that way.

She racked her brain for any sort of symptom she may have missed during her time with her mare. She had completed her routine inspection as usual, carefully feeling each tendon and ligament for heat and running her hands over every inch of her tall horse's body for any sign of distress. Beatrix had acted completely normal. She had begged for treats, was willingly moving forward, drank a few gulps of water after their workout, passed manure in the cross-ties—

Diana pounded a palm on the steering wheel. "You bloody idiot," she grumbled to herself. She still hadn't pinpointed a moment in time that the mare hinted at being ill, but as her caretaker, Diana let the responsibility fall solely on her shoulders. Beatrix relied on her. She had failed her.

She could already see the dark outline of her mare before she even pulled her car into the modest parking lot next to the main barn. The floodlights over the Games arena glared down, bright and obnoxious against the black sky of near midnight. Even from a distance, she could see Cellie's gaze locked on the ground as she trudged along, one hand shoved into the pocket of her jacket, the other clutching the lead rope as she dutifully led Beatrix around the outside of the arena in monotonous circles.

Diana all but ran up to the two, hissing as sharp wood scraped against the soft skin of her palm as she clambered through the rails of the fence. Cellie glanced up in acknowledgment but didn't stop walking.

"When did you find her?" she asked. There was another question—what are you doing out here at one in the morning?—but Diana didn't raise that topic because if Cellie hadn't been there, the situation could have been much worse than it appeared to be.

"Um... about fifteen minutes ago," Cellie said. "Found her lying in her stall. I got her up as soon as I noticed something was wrong."

"Thank you." Diana's fingers tightened around the tube of banamine in her pocket, a lifeline in the dim glow of the barn's emergency lights.

Cellie's calm demeanor belied the urgency of the situation as she glanced at the medicine and then back at the mare. "Already gave her some. Had a tube handy in my first aid kit."

Diana blinked, taking in the sight of her mare: the glistening coat plastered with sweat, the flared nostrils, the unsettling rumble of gut noises. She placed a palm on Beatrix's barrel, feeling the tension beneath her touch. The mare's tail flicked nervously, and she occasionally attempted to stop and paw at the ground, a sign of discomfort that Cellie expertly managed with gentle encouragement.

"Chariot colicked once," Cellie explained, her smile tight with past worry. "Overfed and overworked her. That's a lesson learned the hard way. I'm kind of an idiot sometimes." She scratched her neck, avoiding Diana's gaze.

Diana's anxiety was palpable. She reached for the lead rope. "You're not an idiot. Thank you, Cellie. I'll take it from here. You can head back to your dormitory."

Cellie shook her head. "I'll stay. We can take turns with her. Besides," she glanced at Diana's disheveled appearance, "you look like you just woke up."

"Of course I just woke up, Cellie, it's one in the morning! What else would I be doing?"

Cellie's focus returned to Beatrix as the mare paused again. With a soothing tone, she urged her forward, "Come on, girl, you're doing great," and offered a comforting pat.

Diana, feeling the chill in the air, shoved her hands into her pockets. Cellie, inexplicably wearing shorts, seemed unfazed by the cold. Diana's gaze lingered on Cellie's bruised thighs, a stark contrast to her own modesty, before she quickly looked away, cheeks flushing.

Cellie yawned, prompting Diana to intervene, taking the lead rope from her cold hand. "You can rest in my car if you want," she suggested, offering her keys. "Or head back to your dorm. I won't mind either way."

"Nah, I'm fine." Cellie's eyes glanced at Diana's car. "Nice car. German engineering?"

"I prefer Japanese models," Diana murmured, mentally kicking herself for the awkward comment. "Better gas mileage and cheaper repairs."

Cellie didn't seem to notice the slip. As they walked, she brought up Diana's upcoming show, now likely in jeopardy due to Beatrix's condition.

"I don't understand how you're not freezing," Diana remarked, noticing Cellie's attire.

"I'm freezing," Cellie admitted with a grin.

Diana couldn't help but smile back. Despite the dire situation, Cellie's presence made it more bearable. They continued their slow circle in the chilly night, Cellie's infectious optimism a bright spot in the darkness.

"It's kind of nice having you here," Diana admitted softly, feeling a warmth in her chest that had nothing to do with the temperature.