A/N: It occurred to me that my reader might not know many horse terms. So allow me to provide some helpful links. Sadly, FF won't let me provide those links. So if you'd like pointed in the right direction, just drop me a line and I'll be happy to help.
Bulma walked toward the barns, determined to do one more check on the horses before she went to sleep. Not that she expected to sleep much, but if she made the effort, she would wear herself out enough to get some rest. At least the nights are warm here, she thought thankfully as she glanced ruefully down at her dress. It was perhaps a bit more clubbish than formal, but the black dress packed well, didn't wrinkle and was comfortable. And, she thought with a grin, the short skirt shows off my legs really well.
As she got close to the barn, she heard a horse whinnying. The sound stood the hairs on her arms on end, and she began to run. Horses didn't make that noise unless something was wrong. As she sprinted closer, running awkwardly in her dress shoes, she heard a banging noise that sounded like a hooves kicking a wall.
She dashed into the barn aisle, keeping her hand up over her eyes to shield her eyes from the bright overhead lights. She followed the noise, only slightly relieved when she realized none her or Chichi's horses were making that sound. In the barn, the screaming whinnies and pounding mixed with thrashing and grunting noises, and with a sinking feeling in her gut, Bulma knew what was wrong – a horse had cast itself.
Casting is when a horse rolls over in a stall and traps itself against the wall, upside down with their feet against the wall so that they can't get up. Horses caught this way will thrash about and try to get up, and can injure themselves in the process. Worse, the horse will eventually die, if it can't get to its feet; the weight of its own body on the heart and lungs can cause suffocation and heart failure.
The sounds led her to a stall, and Bulma pulled open the door and assessed the situation, peering into the dark stall. The black horse was trapped against the back wall on his left side, his legs curled up into the air above him. As Bulma watched, the horse twisted and thrashed again, and she jumped forward, her only thought to help the animal.
To stop the thrashing, she grabbed the horse's head and pulled it up; she was hopeful that if she could get his front body high enough, he could get his forelegs under him. But the horse was at least 16 hands tall, an athlete in the prime of his life, and had more than a thousand pounds weight advantage on her. He tossed his head wildly, throwing her toward the wall and his thrashing feet; his head twisted in her grip, but she kept hold of it, going to one knee to do so.
"Help me!" Bulma yelled as loudly as she could. "Is anyone out there? I have a cast horse and need help!" She got back on her feet and yanked the horse's head back and up; if she could get leverage on him, she might be able to shift enough of him away from the wall. "Where is everyone?" she hissed as her hair fell out of its bun, knocked loose by all the movement.
"Master!" a voice graveled from the door as the horse writhed again.
"Don't stare; help!" Bulma yelped as her feet slid in her shoes, pulling Bulma close to his hooves again. What am I doing?, she thought as the reality hit her. She was in a strange horse's stall, she had no idea of what its personality was like, and she wasn't wearing boots or pants. If the horse stepped on her or kicked her, she could be badly injured.
A man moved next to her, wrapping his arms around the horse's neck and helping Bulma hold it. "We need to get him away from the wall," her assisting stranger said. The material of his coveralls pressed against Bulma's bare shoulder as the horse's thrashing threw the man into her.
"I know that!" Bulma snapped. "Look, if you hold his head, I can get his tail and pull it to move him off the wall."
"Break my horse's tail and you'll be sorry," the man growled.
His voice was familiar; Bulma glanced at him, but his face was back-lit. She sniped, "Maybe you'd rather I not help him?"
"We just need to roll him," the man insisted.
"Are you going to scramble under his hooves to give him the old heave-ho?" Bulma growled.
"No, you're going to hold his head while I get to his rump, and then you're going to twist his head away from the wall while I turn his backside over. Then he'll have plenty of room to gain his feet," the man rejoined.
Bulma shook her head. "That's nuts!" she exclaimed. "You'll be kicked for sure."
"Do you have a better idea?" the man asked.
"Yeah, I do," she said after a second. "Do you think that you could get a hand under his foreleg? If you could, we could both pull on his front half, and get that out into the center of the stall. Plus, then we're fighting together against only one half of the horse."
"Fine," the man growled. "Let's stop arguing and get him up." He released the horse's neck carefully, and Bulma braced against the horse's next heave. It came as the man slid his hand under the horse's leg and slid his other hand under the neck for an additional grip; Bulma noticed with apprehension that the horse's bucking was lessening, which was a very bad sign.
"Ready," the man said, and then barked, "Pull together, now!" Bulma hauled on the horse's head, saying a silent apology to the poor animal; she saw her assistant strain into the pull as well. For one second, nothing happened, but then the horse's shoulder slid an inch, and then another and another until his fore body was out from the wall.
"Roll him up," the man panted breathlessly as he slid his hands under the horse's other shoulder and pushed to get his feet under his body. Bulma released the horse's head and pushed on it and the neck to encourage the horse to come up off his shoulder. It worked, and when the horse realized his hooves were under him, he heaved himself to his feet and staggered away from the wall.
Bulma groaned with pity as she saw the horse's downed side; it was covered with straw and scrapes and bruising. But her consideration of the horse was cut short when her co-savior grabbed her by the arm and spun her out of the stall. As she caught her balance in the aisle, she heard the stall door slide shut. Startled, Bulma spun to meet Vegeta Saiyan's angry stare as he snarled, "What the hell did you think you were doing?"
Bright-hot anger burned away her surprise, and Bulma clenched her fists as she snapped, "Saving your horse, apparently! Of course, why should I expect gratitude from the likes of you?"
"I meant, what is with the outfit? Where are your boots? If Master had stepped on your foot, you would have lost toes!" he nearly howled.
"I decided to save your horse rather than change clothes," she growled back.
"Safety first!" Vegeta growled. "You shouldn't even have been in the barn without boots."
"I was just check up on my horses, when I heard yours was cast," Bulma sniffed. "I could have stopped to play dress up, but I weighed your horse's life as more important. What's his name, Master?"
Vegeta blinked, startled by the sudden change in topic. "Warland Master," he answered automatically. He glanced down at her and added, "You're filthy, and you've probably ruined your shoes."
Bulma shrugged, not bothering to look down as she replied, "They were pretty cheap, so I don't mind ruining them. And I clean up, contrary to popular opinion. I didn't tell you this earlier, but your horse has great confirmation. I assume from his name that Warlander is his sire?"
"Uh, yes, he is," Vegeta replied, suddenly uncertain. Somewhere along the way, she had derailed his rant, and he wasn't sure how to get it back. "Aren't you—"
"He's bleeding. You should check that," Bulma said, moving back to the stall door and eyeing Master with a critical eye. "Do you want me to hold his head?" She added with a roguish grin, "I'll even go get my boots." Vegeta nodded before remembering that he didn't let personnel from outside his stables handle his horses. "Great, I'll right back."
He watched her scamper off as he wondered what had just happened. She had completely side-tracked him, and he had been so sure she would scream and storm off. He shook his head, deciding that he didn't understand women as he pulled the first-aid kit out of the tackroom.
When he got back into the hallway, she had turned on the stall lights, illuminating the horse clearly. Vegeta saw she was peering critically at the lead hanging next to the door, frowning as she rolled the lead in her fingers. He noticed that she did have boots and even coveralls on before she turned to him and said, "You know, your gear will last longer if you keep it clean."
"I do keep my gear clean," he hissed, grateful on some level that she had started hostilities again. Instead of responding, she held the lead rope in the light, pointing silently to the fresh horse manure caking the rope. Vegeta scowled, fighting not to flush as he said, "I don't know how that got there, but no one at Saiyan Stables treats tack so shoddily."
"Ok, if you say so," she said and dropped the lead, "but would you be willing to get me a clean one to use, and a halter too?" Vegeta glared at her but went and got another halter and lead, moving past her to slip the tack over Master's head. Even just a cursory glance told him more than he wanted to know about the stallion's condition; he was favoring his left rear leg and Vegeta thought he could already see it swelling. He felt his chest squeeze tight as the implications of tonight began to sink in.
Without a word, he handed the lead to the woman. "Thanks," she murmured as she slid into the stall, carefully moving up to Master's head. She started talking to the horse, muttering soft nonsense words as Vegeta began to check the extent of the damage; he nearly cursed when Master flinched away his left leg away from Vegeta's gentle touch. "He's not going to compete this weekend," Vegeta said gruffly, standing up and releasing the horse's leg. "The cut looks pretty bad, and I need to get the vet out here to check his vitals."
He moved out of the stall, heading for the truck where the phone was locked up, but paused in the doorway. "You will stay with him," Vegeta said. His words were not a question, but his tone was. Bulma nodded quietly as she rubbed the horse's head, understanding what Vegeta was feeling. Having a competing horse hurt was bad enough, but to have him hurt the night before the event was devastating.
The vet arrived quickly, a small bald man with a quick smile; his nametag said 'Krillian.' First he treated the cut; going to his bag, he pulled out a small syringe which he filled with local anesthetic and numbed the area. Then his deft fingers cleaned and sewed the wound shut, and wound a bandage over that to keep dirt out. "You'll have to change that daily, or more if it gets dirty," he told Bulma, who shook her head.
"Master is his horse," she said, nodding her head at Vegeta.
The vet nodded and said, "Like I just said, change it daily."
"What about the left leg's swelling?" Vegeta asked quietly, his voice stiff.
Dr. Krillian ran his fingers lightly over the horse's leg, mumbling to himself as he worked. Bulma kept a hold of the horse's head, murmuring nonsense words softly to him to keep him calm. She was a little surprised that Vegeta hadn't kicked her out by now, but he seemed to want her to hold the horse for the vet, so she did. Finally, the vet stood up and stretched, working his back, sore from being crouched over for so long. "It should be fine, but I want to do an x-ray on it tomorrow," Dr. Krillian said. "I don't want to send him home with some hidden bone chips or a hairline fracture."
"Alright, I'll bring him over to the vet station tomorrow," Vegeta said. "Should I just tend the other cuts and keep them clean?"
"Yeah, that's right, and he'll be good as new in a few weeks," Krillian said, his voice firm and gentle. "I know it's a loss that he can't compete-"
"That doesn't matter; his long-term health is more important," Vegeta cut him off. "Thanks for your help. I'll bring him by in the morning for the x-ray."
"Sure, see you then," the short vet said. "I'll just make arrangements for payment for the treatment later, alright?" At Vegeta's nod, he gathered his bags and left.
Vegeta stood in the center of Master's stall, his body stiff and his fists clenched. Bulma kept petting and scratching Master, soothing him with gentle fingers. Master's eyes had started to drift shut when Vegeta moved; the stallion jerked to alertness as Vegeta took the halter off his head.
Bulma left the stall as Vegeta slid the door closed. Together, they stood in the aisle for a moment before Vegeta picked up the gear and put it back in the tack room, stacking and hanging each piece with precise intensity. Bulma watched, her unease growing as the tension around Vegeta thickened. When he left the barn, she trailed behind him.
He stomped out to the cross-country course and leaned against a tree, staring out at the jumps he couldn't even see anymore. With a sudden snarl, he stepped back from the tree and punched it.