A Christmas to Believe In (39 page)

frayed emotions. In Keeley's comforting embrace, she found a

little strength and called upon it to tame her tears back into

submission. She stepped back with a sniffle and wiped her

cheeks with the back of her wrists. "They're waiting on us."

Keeley nodded her head toward the mirror. "Check your

mascara."

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With a quick glance in the mirror, Jesse wiped away the

dark streaks under her eyes, and took a deep breath. A few

more hours. Then she'd be safe behind her bedroom door.

She nodded in affirmation and turned to leave. Keeley took

her hand, gave it a tight squeeze. "C'mon, pretty lady. Let's

get this thing over with."

The first real smile Jesse had felt all afternoon crept forth.

She nodded to this strange woman who fit into this family so

perfectly and didn't hesitate to comfort someone she barely

knew. "Thanks, Keeley."

With a touch of the humor Heath had inherited from their

father, Keeley quipped, "Well, I figure if I'm going to win the

King family over, I better romance the real matriarch."

Despite herself, Jesse chuckled. How any of the brothers

had ever believed this woman wasn't half King, she couldn't

believe. She looked like Frank, teased like Heath, could be as

bullheaded as Alex, and had Clint's quiet strength. Tonight,

she'd made a friend, one Jesse knew would be every bit as

loyal as her three surrogate brothers.

They wandered into the family room just as the judge

stepped to the front of the room. She thanked Keeley with

another squeeze to her hand, then let go to take her place at

the edge of the makeshift aisle. Heath waited, elbow offered.

She accepted, expressed her thanks with a smile. As the soft

classical music began, he escorted her down the aisle.

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"With this ring, I take you as my wife, for as long as we

both shall live."

As Jesse watched with a tight throat, Zoe pushed the gold

band on Alex's finger. A movement across the way drew

Jesse's attention away from the bride and groom. For the

third time in as many minutes, Heath shoved his hand in his

jacket and silenced the dull buzz of his cell phone.

From her distance, Jesse took in the tightness at the

corner of the middle King boy's mouth and let her gaze drift

up to his light eyes. He looked her way, but his gaze was

unfocused and far away.

The portion of her that suffered guilt at being only half-

present for Alex's wedding took comfort in knowing she

wasn't the only one whose thoughts were elsewhere. Clint's

absence stood out like a sore thumb, and every time she

looked over Zoe's head to where he should be standing, her

heart keened at the empty hole.

Was he all right? Was his mare okay? She might be

useless when it came to delivering baby horses, but if she

were there, she could keep warm coffee in his hands or run

whatever errands to and from the house he might need. Most

of all, she'd be there. Offering silent support, encouraging him

that though the horse foaled early, everything would turn out

right.

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But she wasn't. She'd made it through almost all of the

ceremony dry-eyed, and she still had several hours of

reception left to go.

Unbidden, a little spark of excitement lit at the thought she

might yet get to see Clint tonight. Maybe he'd come back in

time for cake. She winced. She had no business fantasizing

about Clint. It would be better if he stayed in the barn, away

from this house, so she wouldn't have to co-exist around him,

pretending indifference, while all she ached to do was speed

life forward to when Ethan could accept Clint as part of their

life.

"Michaela, come here, please." Alex bent down on one

knee and motioned to the triplet who tugged at her dress as if

she couldn't stand another moment in the lace and frills.

She trotted forward, put one hand on his shoulder and

whispered too loudly, "Can we be done yet?"

Jesse chuckled along with the small gathering of friends as

Alex smoothed his daughter's hair, then produced a tiny gold

locket from inside his jacket. He draped it around Michaela's

neck and quietly said, "Just about, sweetie."

He called to each other girl in turn, repeated the same

gesture, then looked to Zoe. She reached for his hand.

"Girls," Alex said in a stronger voice. "We're family now. All

of us." He swallowed visibly, and dragged in a breath. "I love

you both so much."

As he embraced them all at once, Heath moved again.

Jesse's brow furrowed as he pulled his cell phone out and

looked at the face. What in the world was going on with Heath

King? This wasn't like him. Family always came first—with all

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three of them. For that matter, she'd have thought he'd leave

the phone upstairs.

Heath's eyes widened. He stuffed the phone back into his

lapel and backed up four steps, effectively moving to the side

of the room. When he'd cleared the four people seated closest

to the ceremony, he spun around and jogged out the door.

Jesse watched him go, her heart lodged in the back of her

throat. Clint had called him earlier—was something wrong at

her house?

"Zoe and Alex, insomuch as the two of you have agreed to

live together in Matrimony, have promised your love for each

other by these vows, and have made your commitment

known to your children, I now declare you to be Husband and

Wife."

The grey-haired judge smiled at Alex. "Congratulations,

you may kiss your bride."

Clapping filled the room as Alex pulled Zoe in close and did

just that.

Jesse looked on wistfully. In her mind, a different picture

took life. The dark head that dipped had curlier hair, features

not quite so boyish. His breath was warm, his lips softened by

love. The fingers that slipped through the short, thick strands

of hair were hers, and he would murmur as she curled her

nails into his scalp.

Alex eased the lingering kiss to a close; Jesse let out a

heavy sigh. She really needed to stop these fantasies. She'd

left Clint. Because
her son
couldn't accept him. Whimsy

solved nothing. And the sooner she got that through he head,

the sooner she could stop hurting.

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Following the gleeful couple, Jesse plastered her false

smile back onto her face, and entered the dining-room-slash-

reception-room. She flattened her back against the far wall,

trying to hide amongst all the lavish decorations.

Her gaze strayed to the front room, locked on the window

that opened up onto the lawn. Just beyond the yellow warmth

of Amelia's porch lights, she caught the distant flicker of light

from her old barn.

Clint...

If only he were here.

As tears pricked the corners of her eyes, she turned away

to give Alex a hug.

Clint wrapped the wool blanket around his shoulders and

mentally walked through everything for the hundredth time.

He'd foaled out so many mares he'd forgotten the count, and

only one constant remained—none were the same. Most came

without complications. When problems presented, he'd

learned enough now that he could handle all but the extreme

without a veterinarian. Others could present normally and go

to critical in seconds.

All he could do was prepare for the worst, and hope for the

best.

After hanging up with Heath, he'd quickly exchanged

Angel's shavings bedding for deep straw that wouldn't collect

where it shouldn't on either mare or foal. Unable to guess

how long she'd streamed milk before his arrival, he'd gone

ahead and milked her out. The colostrum-rich milk sat in a

container to the left of his chair. He'd wrapped Angel's tail to

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keep the hair out of her way. He'd had her caslicks snipped

before he left; there was really little else he could do but wait.

Three times, she'd gone down with a prolonged groan.

Three times, she faked him out by getting up only to eat

some more. Pace her stall again. This could go on for hours. A

mare could stop stage one labor at will.

He shifted his weight to the opposite hip, careful to keep

his movements slow and silent. The more Angel forgot about

his presence, the more apt she would be to deliver this foal.

He closed his eyes, leaned his head back and tried not to

think about what Jesse was doing at Alex's wedding.

She'd looked so pretty tonight. Until he'd seen her walking

toward the house, he hadn't wanted to attend Alex's wedding

at all. Now, he'd give anything to reverse what had happened

and stand there at her side while the family celebrated. When

all was said and done, it would be sheer heaven to take her

up to his room, peel that beautiful dress off her, and—

The heavy, on-going splash of water opened his eyes. As

he sat forward, Angel exhaled a rough grunt and lowered

herself into the straw. Her water had broken, she couldn't halt

labor now. Clint calmly approached the outside of her stall. He

plucked a watch from his foaling kit and noted the time—ten

to eight. Early for most mares, but he certainly wouldn't

complain about not having to sit up until the wee hours of

morning. Then again, Angel had such an easy-going

temperament that nothing fazed her. She'd be comfortable

foaling almost anywhere, as long as she sensed no immediate

threat.

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He folded his arms on the top rail of the stall wall. With a

little prayer of thanks for the fact she'd put her tail where he

could see, Clint watched. Under the force of her contractions,

her hind legs kicked. She elongated her neck, mouthed at a

clump of straw, and bore down again. The white amniotic

sack appeared, along with a solitary hoof.

He smiled to himself. There was something about each

birth that instilled warmth in his heart. The excitement of

discovering whether the foal would be male or female, what

color coat it might have, and if it would come with splashes of

color or not, infiltrated his darkest moods and made all the

months of fussing over momma worthwhile.

Clint checked his watch again. Six minutes in. Angel was

doing well. One foot, then the other, then a nose—easy as

pie. No red bag to mark an early separation of the placenta,

no absence of the amniotic sack to indicate malpositioning.

But as she bore down with another drawn-out groan, nothing

happened. The hoof moved forward, then sucked back in.

A sick feeling settled into his gut. When her next

contraction yielded the same results, he reached into his bag

for a shoulder-length plastic sleeve. Shrugging out of his coat

and heavy sweater, he shoved his arm inside. After applying

a liberal amount of lubricating jelly, he entered the stall to

kneel at Angel's tail.

Fitting a hand inside a mare never sat well with him. He'd

done it a hundred times or more, and the initial shock had

worn off long ago. But with his height, a standing mare

required an uncomfortable angle of his shoulder. One on the

ground, especially one in the throes of labor, made him wish

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he had two elbows. He grimaced as Angel's muscles clamped

around his forearm and waited for the pressure to ease. When

it did, he followed the trajectory of the solitary hoof, behind

the fetlock, up to the knee, and there his fingertips met solid

muscle.

The instinctual foreboding in his stomach shifted up to

constrict his chest. He bent down farther, pushed his arm

deeper. Reading the foal's anatomy in Braille, he managed to

ascertain not only did it have a hoof out of position, but its

head was turned to the side. No way in hell was this foal

exiting the birth canal without help.

He backed up and ripped off his glove. "Son of a bitch!"

With lightning-fast reflexes, he snagged the halter off the

door and rushed to fit it on Angel's head. He snapped the lead

rope under her chin, grabbed the end, then hauled for all his

worth. "Get up!"

She groaned again. A protesting swipe of her near foreleg

almost knocked his feet out from under him, but Clint jumped

back, and her hoof only grazed the toe of his boots. He

moved around at an angle to her head and pulled it toward

her hindquarters. She lifted up, then strained to lay back

down. He stomped on her hind foot and gave her head a

fierce tug.