Bittersweet. Laura Browning

at Fincastle Farm. But as one of their largest equine clients, she knew that idea wouldn’t fly. Even so, she would still have to speak with him. There was no telling what Chris might say to him, and she couldn’t afford to lose her job.

      She had calmed by the time she reached the big white house. After changing out of her barn clogs, she climbed the steps. Liz was seated in a rocking chair in the sitting room, cradling a sleeping Becca in her arms. Anna nibbled on her lower lip as she walked inside the room. Allowing her daughter to spend time with the older woman might not have been the best idea for most of the same reasons she needed to avoid Chris.

      “Thank you, Mrs. Stevenson, for breakfast and for watching Becca.” Anna refused an invitation to join them for dinner the following weekend, inventing chores as an excuse. As she collected the baby’s paraphernalia, Anna smiled at the older woman. “You’ve been very kind. Thank you.”

      “It was no trouble, dear.” Liz returned her smile. “You’re welcome here anytime.”

      Anna ducked her head. “Thank you.”

      As she drove past the barn area, she saw someone schooling a horse in the ring off to the side. Chris. She would have recognized his riding style anywhere. The wall of her bedroom had been plastered with photos of him and other riders when she was a teenager. Anna turned her face away. That was a lifetime ago. She had other priorities that put a riding superstar like Chris Stevenson way, way out of her orbit. And it needed to stay that way.

      She stopped at the clinic on the way home, glad to get her mind on business as she completed the paperwork on Chris’s stud and the colic case from the previous night. Becca grew fussy, and by the time they reached Anna’s rented house, the baby had launched into an angry, colicky wail. For a moment, Anna allowed herself the luxury of feeling sorry for herself. There were some times when it would have been nice to have someone around to help, even just to tell her everything would be okay.

      Right. Time to suck it up and move on. She’d spent her entire life doing that, so this should be no different.

      She had two appointments scheduled Monday with potential daycare providers, but she wasn’t sure how that was going to work. Becca had yet to accept a bottle. As the baby slept in the swing, Anna pumped milk. If she hadn’t felt like a dairy bar before, she thought, the breast-pumping machine drove the point home with its rhythmic whirring.

      Anna tried the bottle again when Becca awoke, but the baby refused to take it, instead turning her head toward Anna’s covered breasts and making irritated smacking sounds. Anna slumped her shoulders and gave in. Tears of frustration and fatigue trickled down her cheeks as she leaned her head back in the overstuffed chair. She loved Becca so much, but sometimes the baby left her drained.

      The first daycare she visited the following day was out of the question. Toys and books were scattered over the floor, and while some untidiness might be expected with small children around, Anna was not convinced about its cleanliness. The second place she pulled up to was an in-home facility in a quiet area not too far from the clinic. An older woman answered the door and invited her in. Anna liked what she saw. There were only a handful of children and a quiet young woman helped with the toddlers.

      The older woman gave her a tour and explained how she structured things and what she provided. She was licensed by the state and had been for ten years. Her credentials sounded good to Anna, and Becca even seemed content to look around.

      “There is one problem,” Anna admitted toward the end of the interview. “Becca is breastfed, and I have not been able to get her to take a bottle.”

      The older woman smiled at her. “I’ve run into that before. Have you tried getting someone else to feed her?”

      “That’s just it,” Anna admitted “There is no one else to help. Every time I try it, she ignores the bottle and turns toward me.”

      “It’s not uncommon. Do you happen to have a bottle with you?”

      Anna opened the diaper bag and grabbed one. “Yes, I did bring one.”

      “Excuse me a minute and I’ll warm this.”

      Anna looked after her with curiosity. In a moment, the woman was back and gave her a reassuring smile. “Why don’t you step inside the kitchen for a moment, and I’ll call you.”

      Anna did as requested, her curiosity aroused. She peeked around the corner after about five minutes and looked in to find Becca cradled in the older woman’s arms, sucking at the bottle.

      “Stand over there where she can’t see you, Dr. Barlow,” the older woman instructed.

      “What did you do?” Anna whispered.

      The older woman chuckled. “Nothing. Becca just knows the difference between the bottle and the real thing. Why should she take an artificial nipple when you’re right there? Without you present, she can focus on the milk in the bottle rather than the milk in your breasts.”

      Anna had seen enough. The woman was a godsend. She collected the paperwork needed to enroll Becca and said she would be there the next morning.

      Daycare might be a blessing. It would certainly make her life easier, but Anna couldn’t help the lump in her throat as she handed her daughter over the following morning.

      “If you have any problems, just call me. The clinic’s not far away, and I always have my pager on…”

      “We’ll get along just fine, Dr. Barlow.”

      Anna nodded, biting her lower lip a little as she returned to her truck. She took a deep breath and glanced at her watch. She would be late if she didn’t go. Out of habit, she looked back to check the carseat, but Becca wasn’t there.

      Anna headed straight for Jim Douglas’s office. The clinic’s senior veterinarian was seated behind his desk, reading glasses perched on the end of his nose as he studied the charts in front of him.

      “Got a minute?” Anna asked.

      “Sure, Anna. Come on in. What’s on your mind?”

      “It’s about this weekend.”

      “Rough one on call?”

      She prowled around Jim’s office. “Yes and no. I had to go to Fincastle Saturday night to stitch their stallion, Bart.”

      “Nothing serious, I hope. Chris loves that stud.”

      “Not too serious. Caught his hip on a gate, and it tore through the dermis. I think it will heal fine.”

      Jim relaxed in his chair and removed his reading glasses. “What was the problem?”

      Anna stopped her prowling and faced her boss. “I had a run-in with Mr. Stevenson. I’ll admit, I was rude to him. I’m afraid I might have made him angry.”

      Jim rocked forward and rested his elbows on his desk. “Would you like to sit and explain what happened?”

      After taking the seat across from him, Anna went through both visits, from Stevenson’s attitude Saturday night to the altercation on Sunday. She finished by looking at him and offering, “I’ll apologize if you want me to.”

      Jim smiled. “If he complains, we’ll deal with the issue. But I don’t think you’ll need to worry. Let it blow over, Anna. Now, what I will tell you is I won’t cut you any breaks in working with our clients. If a call comes in and you’re the one available, you’ll handle it no matter who the client might be, unless they request otherwise. Understood?”

      “Yes, sir.” She might not be happy with his answer, but his response was what she had expected to hear. And at least now, she’d brought her concerns in the open.

      Her calls that day were routine, and her schedule stayed on time despite one barn where they added in a couple of additional horses for Coggins tests. With the local show season getting underway, there were always owners who decided last minute they wanted to compete.

      As she headed back to the