One
“I can’t lose her.” Fletcher Grayson crouched beside the bay mare and stroked her sweat-dampened neck as she lay on her side in the foaling stall, her breath labored.
“We’re not going to lose her.” Astrid Lindberg was determined that both mare and foal would survive this night. Fletch had called her emergency line at ten P.M. It was a testimony to her lack of a social life that she’d been home on a Saturday night.
She’d rushed out to the Rocking G, driving through a summer downpour. It was what locals called a trash-mover of a rain, falling in endless sheets of water. Four hours later, the rain continued to pound the roof of the barn, and Janis still hadn’t foaled.
Astrid had monitored the pregnant mare for weeks, ever since the first signs of edema. Because of the swelling, Janis’s abdomen was far more distended than it would be in a normal pregnancy. The condition was worrisome, and recently Fletch had kept her confined to the barn and a small paddock to restrict her movements.
Some vets might have performed a C-section by now. Astrid preferred to see if Janis could deliver naturally, which would mean a better start for both mother and baby. Luckily Fletch agreed with her.
Fletch tended to agree with her on most things, which made her job as his vet much easier. It also made her life as a woman frustrating as hell. From her first glimpse of the broad-shouldered rancher, she’d been in trouble. Fletch Grayson was hot. And single. Fletch appealed to her way more than the commodities trader she’d been dating. But Fletch was a client, which meant he was definitely off-limits.
“I think she wants to get up.” Fletch stood and backed away. Concern shone in his brown eyes. “I wish she’d just have that foal and be done with it.”
“Me, too.” Astrid rose and edged back as Janis lumbered to her feet. “Let’s move out of the stall and give her room to pace if she needs to.”
“Sure.” He followed her out, and they leaned side by side against the front of the stall so they could observe the mare as she walked the perimeter of her enclosure.
Standing close together in this cozy barn watching Janis as the rain came down outside was the most natural thing in the world for them to be doing. Yet stormy nights always made Astrid long to be held, and it drove her crazy to be within touching distance of the yummy Mr. Grayson. She imagined the feel of all those muscles under his blue denim shirt and barely controlled a shiver.
He’d named his ranch the Rocking G because he had a fondness for classic rock ’n’ roll. This horse honored Janis Joplin, and the stable was filled with namesakes of other famous rockers. In Astrid’s opinion, Fletch was the one who rocked.
He’d hung his Stetson on a peg outside the stall. When he was nervous, he had a habit of running his fingers through his chocolate-brown hair, which only made that wavy hair sexier. No one should look this good at two in the morning. Or smell this good. Fletch’s woodsy aftershave was one of the many things about him that made her pulse race.
He possessed a killer combo of square-jawed masculinity and a heart of gold. The same passionate love of animals that had propelled her into the field of veterinary medicine had caused him to sink all his savings into a horse-breeding operation. Although he was finally turning a profit, he did so only by carefully managing his budget.
They’d become so comfortable with each other during the six months she’d tended his horses that he’d shared major decisions with her, such as when he’d postponed the purchase of a new truck so he could install more efficient heating in the horse barn. She treasured those long conversations, even though they stirred up inappropriate thoughts. Would he be even better at pillow talk?
But she also treasured her professional standing in the Dallas area, so she wouldn’t be sharing a pillow with gorgeous Fletch Grayson. It was hard enough for a girl to be taken seriously as a vet in Texas. And it was even harder for someone like Astrid, the daughter of a rich family—at least it would be if anyone knew how wealthy she was. Besides, she didn’t know if he would welcome that idea. Sometimes she thought he was looking at her with interest, but that might be wishful thinking on her part.
“One thing’s for sure,” he said. “I won’t breed her again. She deserves a rest.”
“Yes, she does.” Although he didn’t know it, Astrid could offer to invest in his ranch and eliminate most of his money problems. She constantly battled the urge to do exactly that. But giving him money would change their relationship forever, and she selfishly wanted to keep that relationship as it was, even if friendship was all she’d ever have.
None of her clients realized she came from a wealthy family, and she preferred it that way. She’d learned from sad experience that being worth millions usually affected how people viewed her. She wanted to be seen as a competent professional who took her vocation seriously.
She might not need the money she earned, but she considered it validation that she was good at her job. Her parents wished she’d spend less time at work and more time at social events looking for eligible billionaires to marry. She didn’t care to take the time right now. Eventually she’d want a home and kids, and she’d probably end up with a wealthy man. Her mother thought that was the only way to avoid hooking up with a fortune hunter, and there was some truth in that.
“Good, she’s lying down again.” Fletch went back into the stall. “Maybe this is it.”
“Fingers crossed.” Astrid picked up her bag and followed him.
He walked around behind the horse and glanced over at Astrid. “I hate that you have to be up so late, but I really need—”
“Don’t give it another thought. I want to be here.” Janis, and Fletch’s concern for his favorite brood mare, had been her priority for some time. She’d reluctantly cancelled a trip to Paris with her girlfriends because Janis’s condition had been unstable. Now they were down to the wire, and she couldn’t imagine being anywhere but here in this stall with the mare . . . and Fletch.
He hadn’t owned the ranch long, only about three years, but he’d been a cowhand all his adult life, and the Rocking G was evidence of his ability to work hard toward a goal. She admired his grit more than she could say. Compared to him, she’d encountered no real obstacles in her quest to become a vet, unless she counted the expectations of her parents. They weren’t pleased that she’d chosen a profession that included getting covered in blood, and occasionally horse manure.
Although their snooty attitude bothered her, she loved them deeply and couldn’t deny how much they’d done for her, in spite of their disapproval of her choices. They’d paid for her extensive schooling, and her trust fund had financed her clinic. To completely ignore their wishes and advice on marriage would be ungrateful.
But sometimes she wished that she could be what Fletch assumed her to be—a self-made woman in the same way he was a self-made man. She wondered if he’d respect her as much if he knew her career had been handed to her on a silver platter. Maybe he wouldn’t care. He seemed open-minded about most things. Still, she wasn’t ready to test it.
For now, they had a birth to attend to. And Janis finally appeared ready to get the job done. Astrid knelt behind her and said a little prayer. This was the moment of truth. If the mare couldn’t manage this on her own, Astrid was prepared to intervene, but that would require methods that would stress both mother and baby.
Fletch stroked Janis’s neck as he’d done before and crooned encouraging words.
“That’s good,” Astrid said. “Keep talking to her.” She had a sudden flash of what he’d be like in the delivery room waiting for his own child. He’d be solid as a rock, but empathetic, too.
“I’d sing her “The Rose,” except my singing has been known to stampede cattle.”
Astrid smiled. “I love that song.” She wasn’t surprised that he did, too. They connected on so many levels.
“You wouldn’t after I finished singing it. You’d beg for mercy.”
“Talking works just fine. I’m sure she senses your confidence in her.” So did Astrid. Knowing he trusted her with an animal he loved did wonders for her self-esteem.
“I hope so. But I have to tell you, I’m sweating bullets.”
“Join the club.”
And then Janis groaned and heaved, and just like that, the process started. No matter how many times Astrid witnessed the birth of a foal, she was awed by the first thrust of tiny forelegs, followed by a nose, a neck, and finally, the entire baby horse, all wrapped in a glistening, semi-transparent membrane.
Eleven months of effort culminated in one glorious miracle. She and Fletch had worried about this event for weeks, but the foaling, as with most equine births, took less than twenty minutes.
“Beautiful,” Astrid murmured.
“Are we good down there?”
“We’re good. We’re so good.” Astrid’s chest tightened with gratitude. “Janis has a beautiful baby.”
“Thank God.” Fletch’s voice was thick with emotion.
Astrid glanced up and caught a moment he might not have meant her to see. He buried his face against the mare’s neck and murmured something she couldn’t hear. Not wanting to embarrass him, she returned her focus to the foal, which seemed perfectly formed and healthy.