by Nika Rhone
Nobody drank the coffee Amelia brought. The long minutes dragged on. And still, no foal. Finally, Chaz and his father exchanged a look that had Chaz heading into the tack room and coming back with the foaling kit that had most likely been prepared weeks ago. Stripping off his jacket and rolling back his sleeves, Chaz grabbed a large bottle of lubricant and let himself into the stall, talking softly to the mare as he approached.
“What’s he going to do?” Amelia whispered.
“Give her a little help. Remember when I told you about that foal I had to help deliver when I was a kid?”
Amelia nodded. “Yeah. Oh. Okay.”
“You can wait back at the house until this is over, you know.” He grinned at the dirty look she shot him. He’d been pretty sure she’d be that way about it, but he needed to offer her the out, especially with the way she cringed every time the mare made a sound, her hand squeezing his in time with the contractions.
She did, however, avert her gaze as Chaz pushed his lubed hand into the mare’s birth canal.
“Okay, I’ve got one foot not too far in,” Chaz said. “And that’s the nose.” He was quiet for a few seconds before cursing. “I can’t find the other foot, and this foal’s wedged so damn tight I can’t get my hand in any farther without the risk of hurting the mare.”
“Can you push the foal backward?” Hank asked.
“Not enough to make a difference.”
“What if we stand her up and walk her, help shift the foal?” Daryl asked.
His father shook his head. “I don’t think she’s got the strength. She’s been pushing too long.” He shoved his fists against his hips and stared up at the ceiling, blowing out a frustrated breath. “Dammit to hell.”
Daryl understood his father’s dilemma. There were very few things they could do at this point that wouldn’t be dangerous, but it could be just as dangerous to do nothing. It was a tough decision. If they chose wrong, they could lose the foal or the mare or both. In the innocence of youth, he hadn’t realized what a precarious situation it had been when he’d helped deliver that foal all those years ago.
He stilled. Slowly, he brought his hand, still twined with Amelia’s, up to where he could look at it. He’d been able to help out back then because of his small, child’s hands. They were too big now to do any better than Chaz’s. But Amelia’s…were small, dainty, gentle. They just might be the answer.
“Dad.” When his father looked over, Daryl lifted his and Amelia’s hands higher. He didn’t need to explain.
“It might work.”
“What might work?” Amelia asked.
Gripping both of her hands, he said, “When I helped with that foal when I was eight, it was because I had the smallest hands.”
She looked at him, uncomprehending for a moment before dropping her gaze to their entwined hands. Understanding quickly gave way to panic in her expression. “I’m not…I can’t…” She stammered, her green eyes so wide they looked like they might fall out of her suddenly pale face.
“You can.” Daryl wouldn’t tell her she had to. This had to be her decision.
Biting her lip, Amelia threw another look toward the stall, where Delilah let out another groan. She swallowed. “What do I need to do?”
Daryl kissed her forehead. “That’s my girl.”
By the time she’d washed up and had lubricant smeared from fingers to elbow, Amelia was looking a little less scared and a lot more determined. As much as Daryl wanted to go into the stall with her to be at her back, he let Chaz go instead. The mare was stressed enough without having to deal with a lot of people huddled around her. Daryl’s father stood by with the calving chains in case the foal still wouldn’t deliver once it was in the proper position.
If they could get it into the proper position. Sometimes a malpresentation couldn’t be fixed by anything less than a Caesarean section. With their vet still over an hour away, that wouldn’t be an option. But since Chaz felt the nose, the odds were good they weren’t dealing with one of the more serious—and potentially fatal—situations.
Kneeling behind the horse, Amelia looked at Daryl. He gave her a smile and nod of encouragement. After a brief hesitation, she smiled and nodded back before turning her entire attention to what Chaz was instructing her to do. She took a deep breath, and began.
“Oh, God, this is…so gross.” Despite the complaining, she didn’t stop. “I’m not sure…okay, that’s…that’s a foot.” She sounded a little awed. “Um…and the nose…yes, that’s definitely the nose.”
“Okay, good girl,” Chaz said. “Now go to the opposite side from where you felt the first foot and try to slide your hand past the head to find the second leg.”
Amelia made a small sound of disgust as she complied. Long seconds ticked past.
“Anything, sweetheart?” Chaz prompted. Daryl fought back his instinctive irritation at the endearment.
“I think…” More silence. “It’s not the same. There’s no hoof.”
“That’s okay. That just means the leg is bent at the knee or fetlock. Ankle,” Chaz said, simplifying. “Which is actually what we were hoping for.”
“Okay. So, what do I do next?”
“Try to feel your way down until you come to the bend, then ease the leg up into the right position, pointing straight along the foal’s body same as the other one. Kinda like he’s Michael Phelps getting ready to dive into the water.”
Amelia let out a rough laugh, which Chaz had clearly intended. A look of intense concentration came over her face as she leaned farther into the mare’s rump, following Chaz’s instructions. Daryl curled his hands over the top board of the stall door, fighting the need to go to her, knowing that even if he did, there was nothing he could do to help her. This was all Amelia.
Suddenly, she let out a gasp. “I think I did it.”
“Don’t think,” Chaz said. “Be sure.”
“I’m sure.”
“Okay then, pull your arm out, easy like, before she pushes again.”
Everything happened fast after that.
Almost as soon as Amelia scooted back, the mare let out a massive groan and pushed. A hoof appeared, followed by a nose, then the elusive second hoof. Then the rest of the foal slid out without any trouble at all. Chaz whispered soft words of praise to the mare, stroking her neck as she lay breathing hard after all the effort before checking on the foal to make sure the sac surrounding him had broken properly and he was breathing okay after his prolonged time in the birth canal. He gave a thumbs-up.
His father slapped Daryl on the back with a relieved laugh. “That’s one helluva woman you’ve got there, son. A helluva woman.”
Daryl only had eyes for Amelia, who was sitting in the straw with her back against the stall wall, knees drawn up, staring at the newborn foal with such a sense of delight and wonder, Daryl wished he had a camera to capture it. He’d probably had a similar look on his own eight-year-old face when he’d helped bring a life into the world. It was a heady experience, and not one soon forgotten. It changed a person. It had changed him, for certain. He’d known from the moment he’d watched that helpless, beautiful creature come into the world that he’d found his place, his calling.
His home.
Somewhere along the line, he’d forgotten that. He’d lost his way and his home, and had been struggling to find both again ever since. Maybe, just maybe, he’d been handed a reminder of what it was he’d been searching for all along.
Amelia turned her head and smiled at him, all of the joy of the moment shining from her eyes, and Daryl felt his heart squeeze tight in his chest. His father was right. She was one hell of a woman. It was just too bad that no matter what his future turned out to be, she wasn’t going to be a part of it.
****
She’d helped a horse give birth.
Her.
Timid, easily frightened, perpetually spineless Amelia Ann Westlake.
She’d been asked to do something she never in a million years would have beli
eved she’d be capable of doing, much less doing right. Daryl and Hank and Chaz had put their faith in her, their trust, and she’d come through without disappointing any of them. And in the process had helped bring a fragile new life into the world.
The absolute amazement of that fact still had her smiling almost an hour later. Her cheeks ached from it. It didn’t matter. She would probably smile for days. The memory of that little foal sliding out into the world like an Olympic champion—thanks to Chaz she couldn’t think of it any other way—had been second only to seeing his mother clean and nuzzle him until he found his wobbly balance and started to nurse, proving that neither mother nor son were any the worse for their ordeal.
Of course, the joy of the event only somewhat mitigated the fact she’d had her arm inside a horse. Try as she might to forget that part, there were just too many physical reminders, not the least of which was the mess that had ended up all over the front of her borrowed sweatshirt. Once the euphoria of the blessed event faded, the smell of the gunk, a combination of things she didn’t want to consider too closely, became impossible to ignore.
Trying to wipe it off made it worse. Daryl finally just stripped the sweatshirt off her and tossed it into a corner, replacing it with his own flannel shirt before she had a chance to shiver. He hadn’t said a word, but he’d kissed her, long and soft, before going back to talking with his father about the ranch’s newest resident. She wasn’t sure if it was the shirt or the kiss, but after that, the cold didn’t bother her one little bit.
Hank and Chaz had given her hugs and words of praise, but neither meant as much to her as Daryl’s PDA. He’d kissed her. In front of the others. In front of his father. He wasn’t a man who would do something like that unless it meant something. Unless she meant something.
Would he?
Caffeine and adrenaline could only carry everyone so far. After fighting off the nods for as long as she could, Amelia felt herself being nudged awake. Yawning into her hand, she staggered to her feet from where she’d fallen asleep curled up against one of the stall doors on the nest of horse blankets Chaz had been using while he’d been keeping watch over the mare.
“Go to bed.” Daryl handed her one of the empty thermoses and nudged her toward the door.
“Are you coming, too?” It took a second for her to realize how that sounded. “I meant, are you going to bed, too, not are you coming with me to—mmpf.” His kiss stopped the embarrassing tumble of words. With a sigh, she twined her arms around his neck and fell into the kiss. It wasn’t wild or carnal. It was simply lips with a little hint of tongue to tease the situation from chaste to promise. But it was enough that when they broke apart and she started walking up toward the house, her head was spinning and her thoughts were on what new and wonderful ways Daryl might have to make love to her when he finally joined her in his bed.
Which was the only excuse she had for not seeing the man who stepped in front of her before it was too late. The hazy predawn twilight illuminated his features, sending a thrill of shock and disbelief coursing through her.
“Charles!”
Chapter Twenty-Eight
“You sound surprised to see me.”
Amelia didn’t trust his calm, almost amused tone. Her gaze darted around, looking for whomever he might have brought with him. Charles rarely went anywhere without an entourage. “That’s because I am. What are you doing here?”
“I might ask you the same thing. What are you doing here when you’re supposed to be back in Connecticut? Getting. Married.” The amusement gave way to anger in the course of those two words.
“Charles, I already explained to you before I left that—”
“Do you think I care about your ridiculous excuses?” He took a threatening step toward her. “Do you have any idea what you’ve done?”
She took two steps back, but he still seemed closer than before. “They were reasons, not excuses.” She could shout for help, but that might push him into acting on the rage burning in his eyes.
“We had a bargain.”
“Silly me, I thought it was an engagement.”
“You had one job to do,” he said, ignoring her sarcasm. “Just stand at the altar and say I do. That should have been easy enough to manage, even for you.”
“Even for me?” She felt a bit of her shock at his unexpected appearance burning off as her temper kicked in. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
“Oh, please.” Charles gave a nasty laugh. “It’s no secret my father didn’t choose you for your brains.”
“No, he chose me for my father’s connections.” A sore point, but one she’d already come to terms with. Despite any earlier misconceptions on her part, there had been absolutely no sentiment other than ambition and greed involved in the orchestration of her pairing with Charles. And it had been orchestrated. From their first meeting and the whirlwind courtship, right down to the over-the-top engagement party. Still, it stung that her inclination to appease had been construed as her not being very bright.
Of course, she’d once thought she’d been in love with the jerk-face liar, so maybe they weren’t so wrong.
“And for your bloodlines.”
Amelia’s lip curled. “Oh, yes, let’s not forget that.”
Again, the sarcasm seemed to sail right over his head. “With our good looks and excellent gene pools, our children would have been stunning. Perfect for the camera.”
“Sure, a real Norman Rockwell image.” The thought of having a child with this cold, calculating man made her ill. She pitied whatever woman he ended up marrying.
“Do you even know what today is?”
It took a few seconds for her to remember what day of the week it was, especially since she’d had next to no sleep the night before, making the days seem to bleed together into one. But the senator had come on Friday, and although it felt like longer that was only yesterday, so that meant today had to be…
“Saturday.” Even as she said it, what he was really asking hit her. Today was supposed to be their wedding day. Panic sent her stomach nosediving to her toes.
“I’m not going back with you.” Amelia took a step back, ready to run. She might not be able to get away, but if she screamed, she had no doubt that someone would come to her aid before Charles dragged her off anywhere. “I spoke to your father. We reached an agreement. The wedding is off. He must have told you.”
“Oh, yes,” Charles said silkily, “my father told me all about your agreement. Right after he sent out a press release postponing the ceremony, and after he’d already had all of the guests informed that while there wouldn’t be a wedding due to your ongoing poor health, they were still invited to the reception with the bride and groom’s apologies. Like feeding them cake and champagne will make them all forget the fact I couldn’t get my own fucking bride to the fucking altar.”
Another step back. “It was the best solution.”
“The best solution?” He sounded incredulous. “For whom? Certainly not me. You told my father I was screwing the vice-president’s wife!”
“Which was the truth.”
“It was politics,” he replied, fisting his hands in front of him. “Katrina was my best shot at getting her husband’s support in the primary. With his backing, it would have been a sure thing. And you ruined it.”
“Me? How? I promised to keep your secret.”
“My father ordered me to break things off with her. Ordered me, like I was some kind of child or…or…servant or something. And it’s all your fault.”
Pointing out that he was acting like a child, and a spoiled one at that, wouldn’t be helpful so Amelia said instead, “Your father seemed to think the risk of what would happen if the vice-president found out about your affair far outweighed any potential gain.”
“He wouldn’t have found out.”
It was amazing how very unconcerned he seemed about the possibility, which prompted the ill-advised reply, “Well, I did, so I wouldn’t be so cocky if I were you.”
<
br /> His eyes narrowed. “Yes, how did you find out? Father wouldn’t say, but he seemed certain whatever you told him was the truth.”
Cursing herself for a fool, she shrugged. “It doesn’t matter.”
“Oh, I think it does.” He stepped closer. “How did you find out, Amelia Ann?”
“I saw you. During the party last week.” Had it really only been that long? “I went to your suite looking for you, and I walked in on the two of you doing…well, each other.”
Charles looked surprised before he started to laugh. “You walked in on us screwing? Damn, you must have gotten quite an eyeful.” The laughter turned cruel. “Is that why you ran away, Princess? You couldn’t deal with seeing what a real woman could do for her man? Did it shock your puritanical sensibilities?”
“Puritanical?” She crossed her arms, more annoyed by his use of the nickname she’d come to consider an endearment when Daryl spoke it than by his weak barb at her self-esteem. “You do remember that I tried to seduce you into bed, once upon a time, right?”
“And we both know how well that turned out.”
The twin fingers of insecurity and inadequacy poked at her confidence. At the time, she’d thought he’d been as in the moment as she, but he’d dashed that belief like delicate crystal on a marble floor when he’d left her, trembling with unsatisfied desire and mortification, to take a phone call. But then a different memory superimposed itself on that one, of a wildly aroused Daryl pressing her to his bed and worshipping her naked body until she thought she’d die from the pleasure of it before she turned the tables and did the same to him. Wild mustangs wouldn’t have been able to pull Daryl away from their bed, much less a stupid phone call.
“What the hell are you smiling at?” Charles snapped, shattering the memory.
“Am I?” Amelia realized she was. “I guess I was just thinking about what a close call I had that night.”
He scowled. “What the hell is that supposed to mean?”
