Page 50 of The Convict Gets His Girl

"Oh, thank God," he choked, his hands fisting in the dirt.

Clio's desperate cries drowned out the operator's questions. The horse's screams were primal, a mix of pain and terror that seemed to shake the very foundations of the barn. Jewel was on autopilot as she checked Ava's heart rate and breathing, relaying it to the operator and answering her questions.

The ambulance's arrival was a blur of white and red. Paramedics moved with practiced efficiency, their hands gentle but firm as they assessed Ava and prepared her for transport. Chase and Jewel stumbled to their feet and out of the way, arms around each other as they sought solace together.

Hunter raced inside and fell beside Ava just as she came more awake. Jewel's instincts screamed. The horse was still in crisis, but she worried about Ava. She took a step toward Clio's stall, muscle memory of countless veterinary emergencies pulling her forward.

Chase's hand caught her arm. His grip was firm, stopping her mid-stride.

"No," he said, his voice flat and final. "You can't. It's too dangerous."

The muscles in Jewel's jaw clenched. Her eyes, still wet with the residual shock of Ava's fall, hardened. Years of training, of handling fractious animals, of understanding their pain and fear, rose inside her.

She jerked her arm out of his hand. The movement was sharp, decisive.

"I have to," Jewel said. Her voice was quiet but steel-edged. "There's no one else who can do this. If we don't calm her down, neither of them will survive."

Her gaze locked with Chase's. In that moment, she saw something familiar, something so like Destini's stubbornness, the same determination to protect his loved ones that had drawn her to him years ago.

"Chase," she said, her tone leaving no room for argument. "This is myjob. Let me save her."

* * *

Chase's frown deepened, a mix of concern and resigned understanding settling in his chest. He knew that look—the one that meant Jewel was going to do exactly what she believed was right, regardless of anyone's opinion.

"We can't risk you getting kicked," he said, desperate to protect her. His hands were sweating from the chaos and fear still licked up his spine at seeing his mother so helpless.

His mind raced to piece together a hierarchy of needs. Clio was still agitated, the stall walls trembling with each violent movement. The paramedics and Hunter had his mom well in hand, and there was nothing he could do there. He glanced around, calculating.

"We'll box her in," Jewel said, pointing to the rectangular hay bales stacked nearby.

Chase sighed a ragged breath. "Like a cattle head gate. It'll restrict her movement without causing more stress, and the hay will cushion her thrashing so she's not slamming against the walls. Hell, maybe she'll eat it and take a nap."

A nearby ranch hand stood frozen, waiting for instruction. Jewel's voice cut through with authority, and Chase marveled at how they worked in sync. "Get me some sweet feed. Or apples. Something to distract her."

Trent nodded, grateful for clear direction.

Chase stepped closer, speaking low. "I'll help set the bales." His hand brushed hers—a quick, reassuring touch that spoke of a deep understanding of each other's rhythms and needs. The naturalness of it gave him hope that maybe they could make up from their fight.

Outside, the ambulance lights continued to pulse, a silent reminder of the emergency that had just unfolded. Chase's heart was still racing, the image of his mother being dragged from the stall burned into his memory.

But right now, Clio needed them, and Jewel was going to save this horse.

The ranch hand returned with a bucket of sweet feed, his boots scuffing against the barn's wooden floor, as the paramedics rolled Ava out the barn. Chase took it, his movements precise and controlled, a remnant of prison life where he couldn't afford to make mistakes.

He hung the bucket on the inside of the stall and held out an apple. "Here, girl. Look what Trent found. Isn't he the best?"

Trent snorted but leaned his head over the door. "That's right, Clio, I'm the best, remember? I'm the one who took you for that nice, long, slow ride down by the creek. Then there was the time we?—"

Chase stepped back and looked around as Clio began to calm, gravitating toward Trent's deep voice. Jewel glanced between them and the door to the barn as the last of the paramedics went outside. Jewel bit her lip then darted toward the door as Clio snorted, then stepped toward the bucket where he'd tossed the apple.

When her head disappeared inside it, he took a deep breath and slowly backed away so as not to startle her. He needed to check on his mom before she left, felt the same need that drove Jewel outside.

He stepped out of the barn just as the ambulance door slammed shut, its engine running but the sirens no longer blaring and scaring the horses. Hunter stood motionless, his face a canvas of shock and worry.

And Jewel was holding his hand and leaning her head against his arm.

Chase's fingers brushed against the rough fabric of his jeans, seeking something—anything—to ground himself. He'd lost Jewel to his brother—again—and his mom might have internal injuries. She might not make it, and he might never confront her about how she'd treated him since he got out… or apologize to her for not talking to her on the phone or writing.

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