“Has she been rolling?” Chaerin leaned on the stall gate, observing the bay mare.

“Nope—she looked like she wanted to but I walked her a bit and she calmed down some.” Song Minho, a  fifth-generation farmer, he knew his way around all the common ailments likely to affect his stock, but Chaerin went through the list of questions that needed to be asked so she didn’t overlook anything.

“When did you first notice she wasn’t right?”

“Right before I called you. She was fine last night. Can’t be more than a few hours, whatever’s going on.”

“Teeth okay? No problems with worms?”

He shook his head.

“Change in her feed?”

Again, a negative jerk of the head.

“How old is the foal now?” Chaerin asked. “Two months?”

“Just about that,” Minho said.

Chaerin hadn’t attended the foaling, which was normal for uncomplicated deliveries. A seasoned farmer could handle normal births and even some complicated ones without veterinarian assistance. Sometimes she wasn’t called in until situations had turned desperate, but that was the job. She hadn’t grown up among the independent, self-sufficient people she now counted as her friends and neighbors, but when she’d moved into their midst, she’d instinctively recognized that here, unlike the circles she was used to, wealth, power, and position did not earn respect. Only honesty and competence did, and she worked hard to deserve it. “Nothing unusual with the birth?”

“This one was her second, and easy. Can’t say as I’ve noticed anything out of the ordinary with her.”

“Hold her head so I can get a listen.”

They eased carefully into the stall so as not to startle her, and while Minho held the lead shank, Chaerin listened to her abdomen. “Pretty quiet. Heart rate’s good, though. Let’s get a tube down and empty her stomach.”

Chaerin opened her kit and pulled out a thick coil of rubber tubing to pass through the mare’s nose into her stomach as well as a long plastic sleeve for the rectal exam. 

“Ready?”

Minho nodded, gripping the rope attached to the halter close to the side of the mare’s head.

Chaerin slid the lubricated nasogastric tube into the horse’s nostril and gently advanced it until bilious fluid and air came rushing out. She nudged a bucket over with her foot to catch the drainage. “Not a whole lot.”

Minho grunted. The relatively small volume of accumulated fluid in the stomach indicated that whatever was wrong had not progressed very far, which was an excellent sign. Once the evacuation was complete, Chaerin removed the tube and went to work at the other end of the mare. 

“I don’t feel anything twisted. Might be she’s just impacted,” Chaerin said. “There’s quite a lot up there. I’ll put some water with a little mineral oil down the tube and see if that doesn’t loosen her up. That and some Banamine for the pain may do it.”

“I’ll keep an eye on her the next couple of hours,” Minho said.

“Call me if she gets worse,” Chaerin said after she administered the medications.

“Thanks, Doc.”

Chaerin gathered up her equipment and hauled the tackle boxes back out to her truck. After storing them away, she climbed into the cab, where Beam greeted her as if she’d been gone for a week. She pulled out a billing form from a plastic file box she kept on the floor on the passenger side and quickly filled in the appropriate spaces so her office manager could send the bill. Then she fished around in the glove box for her cell phone and checked the number Gong Minzy had given her.

Time to call Sandara Park.

* * * * * * * * * * *

Dara came to amidst a cacophony of voices that were way too loud, a glaring white light that was way too bright, and a murderous headache that made her want to vomit. With a moan, she draped her forearm over her eyes.

“Dara?” Bom asked. “Sweetheart, are you awake?”

“God, I wish I weren’t. What the hell happened?”

“You…fainted.”

Dara lifted her arm enough to open her eyes and peered up at Bom. “Fainted? I never faint. Are you sure?”

“Believe me, I’m very sure. You scared the living hell out of me.”

“Where am I?”

“At the first aid station at the airport.”

“How long have I been here?”

“Just a few minutes. The ambulance is on its way.”

Dara pushed herself up on her elbows, suddenly much more awake. “Ambulance? What for? I’m fine.” She stared around the barren cubicle. A single molded plastic chair, a two-drawer metal cabinet with a steel tray of wooden tongue depressors and a box of latex gloves on top, and a wall-mounted blood pressure cuff were the only furnishings. She was on a narrow stretcher with a thin sheet covering her to the waist. Thankfully, she still had all her clothes on. “Where’s my briefcase? My computer’s in it. The galleys—”

Bom pointed to the floor. “I have your things right here.”

Dara sighed. “I backed up my latest chapter on a jump drive but I didn’t send it off-site yet. If I lost that—”

“Don’t worry about any of that.” Bom gripped Dara’s hand. “Lie back down. Seriously, Dara. You went down hard and you need to rest.”

“What time is it? We need to get through security.” Dara impatiently threw off the sheet and swung her legs over the side of stretcher. Immediately, her head swirled, her stomach somersaulted, and she scrunched her eyes closed to stop the merry-go-round. “God, I must have a migraine. I’ve neve