Page 41 of Sweet Surprise

Carson stood like a living shield between Mason and the wild mare, his posture tense but controlled. Her son—theirson—pinned behind him, wide-eyed, clutching the back of Carson’s shirt with white-knuckled fingers. Even from this distance, she saw the exact moment when Mason’s expression shifted from childlike enchantment to gut-wrenching fear and it cut through her like a knife.

At Carson’s side, Brady stood, hackles raised, a continuous low growl emanating from his throat. The dog’s presence seemed to give Carson an advantage—the mare’s attention now split between the man and the unfamiliar predator, but the dog’s presence did nothing to alleviate the fear in Mason’s eyes.

She needed to do something, anything. But if she made a mistake—if she startled the mare or distracted Carson at the wrong moment—it could be catastrophic. Carson could get trampled. Mason could get hurt. One wrong move and this already dangerous situation could turn deadly in an instant.

Slowly, a single measured step at a time, she inched closer, hugging the canyon’s edge, desperate to help but not having a clue what to do. The distance seemed to stretch forever, each step taking too long. Finally, close enough to hear the mare’s heavy breathing and Carson’s low murmurs, she stopped. Her fingers dug into her palms, nails biting into sweaty flesh.

The animal reared up suddenly, powerful front hooves pawing at the air. Jess’s heart stuttered to a near stop, a silent scream caught in her throat. This was it—the mare was going to strike. She was going to watch Carson get killed while protecting their son.

When Carson stepped forward—intentionally moved toward the danger instead of away—with Mason still clinging to his back, she had to clasp her hands against her mouth to stop herself from screaming out loud. Every instinct in her body screamed that he was doing the wrong thing, that he should be backing away, running, anything but confronting the angry animal. But she had no other choice than to trust him, to trust that Carson knew what he was doing, that he would not only protect their son at any cost, but he would get them both out alive—he had to.

Praying silently, promising God anything and everything she could think of, she watched intently as the mare huffed, nostrils flaring, muscles bunched and ready to react. Carson lifted his hands slowly, palms out, making himself bigger without being threatening. His movements were so controlled, so deliberate, it almost felt like she was watching a dance. With uncanny precision, Brady mirrored his movements, neither advancing nor retreating, but maintaining his protective position. The retired military dog probably understood the delicate balance of this standoff better than most humans would.

He kept his voice low, the same tone she’d heard him use with spooked calves and nervous foals. “Easy now.”

The mare’s ears twitched—still alert but not completely flattened against her head. Jess had no idea if that was a good sign or bad sign. Her knowledge of horses was limited to what little she’d learned from Carson, but wild horses were completely outside her wheelhouse. All she knew was that the animal looked ready to charge again.

“Easy, mama,” Carson murmured, taking another small step, angling slightly to the side. “We’re not here to hurt your baby.”

Frozen with fear, Jess was almost mesmerized watching Carson deal with the angry mare. Everything he did was slow, measured, controlled. Not backing down, but not challenging either. Just a steady, calm presence in the face of danger. In that moment, she saw him in a completely new light—not just as the man she’d began to love all those years ago, who had married—for all intents and purposes—a near stranger to save his mother and their beloved family ranch, but someone with a quiet strength that ran bone-deep.

Jess prayed some more, her fingernails still biting into her palms, her heart barely beating as she watched the continued standoff. The mare huffed and stamped her hooves again, the sound like thunder in the quiet canyon. Jess held her breath, certain this couldn’t be good. The massive animal looked unconvinced—but then she hesitated.

For an eternal moment, horse and man regarded each other, a silent communication that Jess couldn’t interpret. Then—just like that—the mare turned. The massive animal wheeled around, dust kicking up behind her powerful hooves, and she bolted back to her foal and the rest of the herd. Unconvinced all was secure, Brady didn’t relax his stance until the mare was a safe distance away, then the German Shepherd gave a single soft ‘woof’ as if signaling the all-clear. Only then did the dog turn his attention fully to Mason, nuzzling the boy’s hand, sniffing from shoulder to shin, as if checking him for injuries.

Her nerves shattered like glass. Barely registering the rough terrain, Jess ran. Heat filled her lungs, tears streamed down her face. Her legs moved of their own accord, carrying her forward with desperate speed. She reached Mason first—pulling him away from Carson and into her arms, pressing her forehead to his, clutching him like she’d never let go.

His small body trembled against hers, his breath coming in hitching sobs. “Mom,” he choked out, “I’m sorry, I’m so sorry.”

“Shh, it’s okay, you’re safe now,” she murmured into his hair, rocking him slightly, reassuring herself as much as him. Her gaze dropped to Brady dutifully at her son’s side. Somehow she knew the dog would have given his life to protect her son from danger. “Good boy, Brady. Good boy.”

Just a few feet away Carson stood there, breathing hard, one hand gripping the arm where the mare had struck him. Blood seeped between his fingers, staining his shirt sleeve a dark crimson. His face was pale beneath his tan, but his eyes—his eyes were fixed on them, filled with a fierce protectiveness that took her breath away. He’d saved their son.

Still holding Mason tightly against her, Jess met his gaze across the small distance. Something electric passed between them. And that was it. The moment she knew. The moment she understood, down to her bones, that she couldn’t live without him.

Chapter Seventeen

Jess held the passenger door open as Carson climbed out of his truck, wincing as his arm protested the movement. The drive back from Doc Conroy’s office had been uncomfortable, each bump in the road sending a fresh jolt of pain through his shoulder. But he’d been right—no broken bones. Just a few stitches and a nasty bruise that stretched from his shoulder halfway down his bicep, already turning an impressive shade of purple.

The screen door creaked open and his mother appeared, her eyes scanning him from head to toe. “Well?” her voice rang out tight with concern.

“Clean bill of health.” He managed a smile despite the throbbing. “Or at least as clean as you get when a horse tries to use you as a soccer ball.”

She stepped aside to let him in, her hand automatically reaching for his good arm. “Sarah’s father said it wasn’t broken?”

“Not even cracked. Just looks worse than it is.” He wasn’t entirely sure that was true—it felt pretty damn bad—but he wasn’t about to admit that.

Family filled the kitchen, everyone lingering around as if their presence would somehow speed his recovery. Preston leaned against the counter, beer in hand, while Garret sat at the table playing cards with Rachel. On the floor, Mason sat cross-legged, Brady’s head resting in his lap, the boy’s fingers absently stroking the dog’s ears.

“You’re lucky.” Sarah came forward handing him a cool glass of sweet tea. “Another inch higher and that hoof would have done real damage.”

“Your handiwork kept me from bleeding all over the truck,” Carson smiled at his sister-in-law. “Your dad said you did good; if you ever want to give up saving dogs, he’s got room for you.”

Sarah let out a loud burst of laughter. “Well, it won’t be the first time he’s tried to woo me into medicine.”

Jess hadn’t moved from his side, her hand still resting lightly on his good arm. “You should sit down.”

“I’m fine, really,” he protested, but allowed her to guide him to a chair anyway.

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