Stranger At The Crossroads. Gena Dalton

groaned and tried again to respond, but she was clearly getting weaker.

      Jackson awkwardly lowered himself to a half-sitting, half-kneeling position beside the veterinarian.

      “Why don’t you let me help?”

      “Because you would keep on saying women aren’t strong enough for this job,” she said, through clenched teeth.

      She gave the foal another pull.

      Sweat stood on her forehead.

      “No, I won’t,” Jackson said. “Because you’ve nearly got him out, and I admit, right now, that you can do the rest. Let me help you.”

      “All right,” she said.

      She moved over, and he took hold of the small hoof that was visible through the blood and gelatin-like straw-colored fluid coming from the mare. He grasped it firmly.

      “Ready?” he said.

      “Just a second.”

      Darcy reached inside to position the other forefoot behind the first one.

      “To reduce the shoulders in diameter,” she said, “Tara will thank us.”

      She took a deep breath.

      “Now. Gently, gently.”

      Together they pulled the baby out.

      “Too little,” Jackson said, as they broke the sac surrounding it so it could breathe. “Not big as a minute.”

      “Pretty head,” Darcy muttered, and reached for her tools. “Let’s clean out your nose, little one.”

      She used a turkey baster from her bag to clear the foal’s nostrils.

      “Towels,” she said. “Let’s get him dry and keep him warm.”

      Jackson reached for the towels and began rubbing the colt. Darcy stepped back as he started trying to get to his feet. He wobbled and wavered, but finally he made it to a tremulous four-legged stance.

      “Little or not, he’s got a lot of try,” Jackson said.

      She craned her neck to look at the baby all over.

      “Little colt,” she said. “How’s he bred?”

      “Some backyard stud that got in with her at the wrong time of year.”

      “That’s for sure,” Darcy said. “I heard on the truck radio the first cold front’s due in here today or tomorrow.”

      She stripped off the plastic sleeve and reached for a towel.

      “Lots of rubbing,” she said. “Keep going. I’ll help you.”

      He handed her a towel.

      “My stars!” Darcy said. “Jackson, these are fine, expensive towels you’ve brought out here! And they’re brand new, to boot!”

      “Only ones I could find,” he said.

      She smiled at him while her small hands moved the thick fabric firmly over the wet colt.

      “Spoken like a true bachelor,” she said. “I’m guessing, but I’m sure.”

      He nodded.

      “Be sure,” he said.

      Then he wondered why he’d said that. It didn’t matter one whit between them whether he was married or not.

      Was she?