a grownup,” she chided herself. “You can handle a freeway and following a bunch of signs. Besides, you’ve got the GPS on your phone.” On the far side of Denver, the traffic finally started to ease up, and she gladly accelerated to the posted speed limit as the road climbed into the foothills. “Straight shot for hours,” she reminded herself.
She felt the tense knot between her shoulder blades getting tighter. When she tried to massage her neck and shoulders with one hand, she bumped the steering wheel, started to drift out of her lane, and yanked the wheel back straight. The tires of the impractical sports coupe slipped on the road. Her stomach clenched, and she held her breath. The back of the car slewed to the right for a few seconds. She steered into the skid, and the car straightened out again. That was close, she thought. She made herself start breathing again.
“Okay, Colorado, you’d better be worth it.” It was getting dark. Snow swirled around the rental car. “I can’t see anything,” she muttered and took off her sunglasses.
What she really needed right now was something to take her mind off the long drive. Maybe she could listen to some music or news. She turned on the car radio. Since she didn’t know any of the local stations, she tried the preset buttons. The first station was playing Christmas music. She listened for a few seconds, but then her mind went back to the Christmas special she had just finished shooting, and she thought of the different ways she could have set the table that would have displayed the food to better advantage.
No, she would be better off not listening to Christmas music at the moment. Even though the holidays held good thoughts of her mother, it had only been two years since Jennifer lost her, and Christmas music felt like an unfair reminder that she had lost all of the family that she’d had left in the world. Not all of her friends, of course, but all of her family. She tried another preset button. This station played Christmas hymns. She tried a third button, but only found more Christmas music. In frustration, she shut the radio off. She glanced down at her GPS and saw she was perfectly on course. She gave a sigh. With nothing else to occupy her mind, the memories came.
Her thoughts inadvertently drifted back to when she was in her twenties. While putting herself through the Institute of Culinary Education in New York, she’d frequently helped her friend Meredith with catering jobs. During one of these catering events, Jennifer had met Ashton Randall III at his parents’ elegant Long Island home. He had enigmatic hazel eyes, patrician features, an aquiline nose, short copper hair, and lips curled into a perpetual smirk.
After the party, he’d offered to take her home. The rest, as they say, was history—bad history.
After a couple of months of formal courtship, Ashton had proposed, and Jennifer had accepted. What she had wanted most was a real family: children, a home, and a sense of belonging. Only much later had Jennifer realized that the warning signs with Ashton had been there all along. It had taken years to recognize that he viewed her as little more than an ornament, a pretty tool to use in furthering his position and prestige. In his narcissism, he had tried to control every part of her life.
Looking back now, Jennifer decided that the best thing to come out of those wasted years had been her blog, which had ultimately led to her friendship with Paula and to her career. Maybe she would give Paula a call, after all, as soon as she got to the chalet.
Jennifer pressed down harder on the gas pedal of her sports coupe.
Chapter 7
John used extra caution driving the GMC 4X4 through the snow toward Stan and Holly Barbour’s ranch. One of their horses was having a difficult labor, so they had called John, and John had brought his son. Kyle, who claimed he wanted to be a vet, loved going on house calls with his dad. Normally, John wouldn’t have taken him out after bedtime, but the Christmas holidays had started, and Kyle didn’t have school the next day.
“You tired, buddy?” John asked Kyle.
Kyle rubbed his eyes and yawned. “No.”
John had to smile at that. In most cases, Kyle said exactly what he was thinking, but he wouldn’t admit to being tired. He didn’t want to lose out on spending extra time with his dad. John could understand that, but he wanted to make sure Kyle didn’t feel like he had to be interested in veterinary medicine just to get his attention. “You don’t have to come on these house calls with me if you don’t want to.”
“No, I want to,” Kyle insisted. “I’m your assistant.”
“The best,” John agreed. “Okay. Have you thought about what you might want to be when you grow up—other than a vet? You could be almost anything, you know. You have plenty of time to plan.”
“I know,” Kyle said. “Can’t I be an animal doctor like you?”
“Sure,” John said. But Kyle was only seven, and John wanted to make sure his son was prepared for what he might see tonight. John and Kyle climbed out of the truck, both dressed in layers against the cold. “I need to warn you, buddy. I’ve seen some breech births go wrong, and in those cases, the mare or foal can die. You need to be prepared, okay?”
Kyle nodded. “But we’ll try to save them.” His son’s endless optimism was one of the things that kept John afloat.
Stan met them at the barn door. “Thanks for coming down with the storm coming in,” he said.
“How’s she doing?” John asked.
“Not so good. It’s a breech for sure,” Stan said.
“Your mare is having a foal,” Kyle said, demonstrating his knowledge of the situation.
“That’s right,” Stan said. “It’s a good thing your dad’s here.”
John looked down at Kyle. “Let’s get to it. You ready, buddy?” He opened the stall and spoke in soothing tones to the palomino mare. “Good, she’s standing. That’s what we need during a breech delivery. First things first, though. What’s the first step, Buddy?”
“We wash up,” Kyle said.
“Exactly,” John answered. “We have to be fast but clean.” All of them disinfected their hands and arms at a deep sink in the next stall. They quickly wrapped the mare’s tail to keep it out of the way and then cleaned the hind end of the mare.
As they worked, John recalled the time Julie had helped him deliver a foal. Once when he was on call during veterinary training, they had been interrupted on a movie date by a call for John to assist with a foaling at a nearby farm. Instead of being disappointed, Julie had gone along to help. At the time, he had still been learning about horses, whereas she had grown up riding horses and working in stables, so she’d had far more hands-on experience with them than he had. She had assisted, coached him, and cheered him on through the whole process. Even in the horse stable with her hair messed up and straw sticking to her clothes, she’d looked beautiful to him. When he’d thanked her for being so understanding, she had winked and said, “I wouldn’t have missed it for anything. This is where the magic happens.”
From then on, every time they’d faced an unexpected situation—a burnt roast, a flat tire, a broken water heater, a baby arriving two weeks early—it had been their private joke to say, “This is where the magic happens.” In truth, the magic had been anywhere they were together.
It took John, Kyle,
