Page 99 of The Convict Gets His Girl

"Except that one. I want to keep this one!" Skye said, pointing to the smallest of them.

Jewel frowned and warned, "Don't get too attached yet. With big litters, not all babies make it."

Skye's eyes flew to Jewel's, wide and worried. "What can I do to help?"

"Don't touch them. Keep them warm. Mitzy will get up to eat and use the litter box when she's ready, but if you see any of them stop moving or if she sets any of them out of the hoodie, call me."

Skye nodded as Jewel held out a hand to Ana. The woman groaned as Jewel helped her up, her arm aching just from that exertion.

Ana walked her out, saying, "When are you going to come to girls' night yoga? Your daughter hasn't moved in yet, but you should still come. When will she be joining you?"

Jewel winced and nodded as she stopped at the door. "It's complicated, but she should be moving here in November."

Ana's face brightened as she opened the door. "Great, we look forward to meeting her."

As Jewel drove home, her phone vibrated again. This time, it was her sister Gemma.

"Hey, just checking in. How did the kitten delivery go?"

Jewel chuckled, her fingers tapping the steering wheel. "Smooth as silk. Five healthy kittens. Ana fainted, though."

Gemma's laugh crackled through the speaker. "Sounds about right. Listen, I wanted to talk to you about the Holiday Fundraiser. Dad mentioned you're taking point."

"I am," Jewel said, her voice firm despite the fatigue creeping into her muscles. "I've got some ideas that could really boost community engagement."

"Just… promise me you'll pace yourself," Gemma said, her tone shifting from sisterly to professional. "The Lyme?—"

"I know my limits," Jewel replied softly, grateful to have a sister who loved her. A smile flickered across her face. Her muscles ached, a familiar warning from her Lyme disease that she'd pushed too hard today. But watching those kittens being born, helping Ana and Skye—it felt good. Meaningful.

Gemma sighed. "Fine, but don't come crying to me when?—"

Jewel laughed, refusing to give in to the worry. Destini was finally moving to town, and they were going to be a big, happy family. Her smile froze, then slowly fell as she shook her head. "I'm going to help the Williams' this week with the Halloween party. Consider it a trial run for the fundraiser."

Gemma sighed, then asked if she could swing by the Peterson place on her way back to the office. She briefed Jewel on the situation there and hung up just as Jewel pulled into their long drive.

The Peterson farm loomed ahead, its weathered fences and overgrown fields a testament to years of struggle. Jewel pulled her truck to a stop, her muscles already protesting the additional work. She grabbed the veterinary bag and clipboard, taking a moment to breathe deeply before stepping out.

Old man Peterson stood near the barn, his lined face turned toward her as she approached. His wife, Margaret, hovered in the doorway, wringing her hands.

"Jewel," Peterson called, his voice gravelly. "We've got trouble with the livestock."

She nodded, her professional demeanor sliding into place despite the fatigue. "What seems to be the problem?"

She followed them into the quiet barn. The barn smelled of hay and something sour—infection, Jewel realized immediately. Three newborn calves lay in a makeshift pen, their coats dull and their eyes not even flickering to her as she neared. She looked around for the mamas but saw nothing.

"Can you handle this?" Mr. Peterson drawled. "I'm not sure you're focused with all the personal issues I've heard about town."

Margaret swatted at his shoulder, but Jewel tried to ignore him. The Petersons watched her. She could feel their skeptical gazes, measuring her against her family's legacy.

Jewel kept her hands steady while sorting medical supplies where she kneeled on the barn floor, refusing to let her nerves show. Her Lyme disease made every movement a calculated effort, but she'd be damned if she'd show weakness. Shewouldmake her family proud.

"Clearly they have an infection. I can assess and treat them, or you can wait until my sister or dad are available—and possibly lose them. It's your herd, your call."

When she finished speaking, she paused and looked up at them both. They glanced at each other, and Margaret wrung her hands. "Please, help them if you can."

Jewel nodded. "I'll do all I can."

Jewel kneeled beside the first calf, her trained fingers probing gently. Its breathing was shallow, labored. She pulled out her stethoscope, listening carefully to its lungs and heart. "Pneumonia, most likely the aggressive strain that has been making the rounds since that big rain. Where are the mothers?" she asked, her voice crisp and professional.

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