Page 48 of The Convict Gets His Girl

She moved through the house that night with calculated precision, her movements deliberate and distant the entire time. She spoke only when absolutely necessary, her replies clipped and sharp. "Yes." "No." "Fine."

Jewel watched her daughter, recognizing the defensive posture, the way Destini's shoulders remained slightly hunched, protecting her heart. It was a stance Jewel knew intimately—she had worn it herself countless times.

At breakfast on Sunday, Destini sat with her phone, scrolling silently. The scrape of her fork against the plate became a rhythm of quiet rebellion. Jewel tried small conversational gambits, the normal, "Did you sleep well?" But they fell into the void between them, a hum the only answer.

Jewel left to drive back to Crimson Creek, her heart breaking in Houston as it remained with her daughter. Her focus had to stay on Destini too, instead of whatever was happening between her and Chase. She'd made a promise to herself when Destini had started school and started asking about her dad. She wouldn't date until her daughter graduated, and she would stick to her word. Destini came first, always.

ChapterEighteen

The next weekend, dust billowed behind Jewel's truck as she navigated the rutted ranch road, her fingers drumming an anxious rhythm against the steering wheel. The late afternoon sunlight slanted golden across dry grasslands, casting long shadows that seemed to stretch with her mounting headache. She'd worked herself to the bone this week to forget her fight with Chase.

Her phone vibrated. Gemma's voice burst through before she could even say hello.

"Are you finished at the Robsons? There's a pregnant mare at the Williams' that had a nasty run-in with a bull." The rapid-fire words carried an undercurrent of urgency that made Jewel's stomach clench.

Gemma continued, "I got her stabilized this morning but needed to come back to the clinic, so I told Mrs. Williams I'd send you or Dad to help. Dad's in surgery, and I don't want to pull him out." A quick, frustrated exhale. "Can you help? I know it's your day off, and we already asked you to look at the Robsons, but?—"

Day off. Right. As if veterinarians ever truly had a day off, especially in ranching country.

"I'm on my way," Jewel interrupted, her mind already racing through potential complications. A pregnant mare injured by a bull? Two months from delivery? Her hands tightened on the wheel, knuckles whitening, asking Gemma questions about the situation.

Gemma explained what had happened in the early morning hours. The mare had been lucky, all things considered, and Gemma had felt comfortable leaving. But Ava was nearly hysterical when she'd called, which was so unusual that Gemma called Jewel.

"It's fine, Sis. I'll see what I can do to help," Jewel said.

Gemma sighed in relief. "Thank you. If I haven't told you how grateful I am that you're here, I am."

Jewel chuckled. "You haven't mentioned it today, no."

Gemma chuckled, and they hung up as she approached the Williams' ranch, a patchwork of fenced paddocks and weathered outbuildings. Her stomach twisted, wondering if she'd see Chase. She had avoided him the past few weeks, only spying him from a distance—across the church congregation, across the barn at his parents', at the diner.

Jewel killed the engine and grabbed her go-bag, scanning the landscape for immediate signs of distress. Her veterinary training kicked in—quick assessment, controlled approach. The pasture beside the house had several men gathered around the fence, and she strode over.

When she drew close, Ava glanced at her, her face etched with a mixture of relief and determination. "Thank God you're here," she called, standing inside the fence and wiping her brow.

Two ranch hands flanked her, ropes coiled and ready. Beyond them, in the far pasture, a pregnant mare thrashed wildly, her movements erratic and violent.

"She's been bucking for twenty minutes straight," one ranch hand shouted. "Can't get close enough to assess her."

Jewel's mind raced. A bleeding wrap was visible on the mare's back flank, dark crimson seeping through the makeshift bandage. Immediately, she inventoried her medical kit.

Damn. She wished she'd kept the specialized obstetric ultrasound probe in the truck instead of putting it in the clinic yesterday. A larger dose of equine sedatives would be useful about now too, because this wasn't going to be simple.

"I need more information," she muttered, more to herself than anyone else. The mare looked ready to bolt—or worse, deliver a premature foal in extreme distress.

Her eyes narrowed, calculating her next move as she slipped through the open gate of the fence and into the pasture.

Ava stepped closer, her voice tight with worry. "The bull broke through the back fence this morning. Clio—that's the mare—she fought back hard. Didn't just run. Gemma came right away and took care of everything, so we felt things were getting better. That's why we let her back into the pasture, but within an hour, she started panicking. We can't figure out why."

Before Jewel could respond, hoof beats announced Chase's arrival. He dismounted with practiced grace, handing his horse to a nearby ranch hand. His movements were deliberate, professional.

Ava startled. "Chase, what are you?—"

"Heard you needed help, and Hunter's mending the fence from the bull," he said, striding through the gate and toward the mare.

"Easy," Chase murmured, more to himself than the horse. His boots moved with calculated slowness, reading the mare's body language.

Jewel recognized that technique. Controlled approach, minimal threat. She'd seen countless ranchers do this a thousand times, but today something felt different. More urgent.

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