Another Chance by Michelle Beattie

was to get a glass of cold water from the well then dump a bucketful over his heated body.  Then bury himself in work so he could stop brooding over his life.
    Outside the barn he swung off Whiskey, whose tail swished as the usual assortment of flies homed in.
    "Let's get you brushed inside where it's cooler."
    He patted Whiskey's neck, his hand leaving a dark imprint on the wet hide.  Whiskey tossed his head, as though agreeing.
    Suddenly Wade caught a whiff of something vile.  The pungent smell burned his nostrils.  He grimaced.  Had the smell been this bad last night or was it the heat of the day that had ripened it?  His frown deepened when he saw chicken feathers scattered in the aisle.  He let go of the reins, knowing Whiskey would stay close.  What the hell were chicken feathers doing there?  The chickens never came into the barn; they stayed in the coop behind the corrals.
    Frustrated, he stomped forward.
    "Now!" Scott yelled.
    Wade's gaze jumped to the right.  There was Scott, on the floor, one boot propped against a post, the end of a rope in his gloved hands.  Wade felt it across his ankle at the same moment he realized just what that meant for him.  His gaze zinged to the left and sure enough, there was James holding the other end.
    With Wade's momentum already going, his balance slipped out of his control.  No matter how he tried to step out or over, they adjusted the rope.  He flailed his arms to try to keep on his feet, now knowing why the barn stunk and what lay beneath the feathers, but it was no use.  Falling forward, all he could do was keep his mouth and eyes closed and use his arms to keep himself from falling face first.
    Shit!

SIX
    The buckboard clattered loudly as Jillian made her way to town.  Though anxious to see Cedar Springs for the first time, Jillian wasn't going in with any expectations.  She'd seen her share of men and women who frowned upon her being a doctor and Shane had warned her that she could expect more of the same here.
    But her father had taught her that if she wanted to follow in his shoes, she'd have to fight for it.  Well, she planned on doing just that.
    Jillian grunted as the buckboard bounced through a large rut.  She tightened her grip on the reins.  She'd handle the town, but first she had to navigate this route.  The road--if the two dirt furrows cut in the field could be called such--was riddled with rocks, bumps and ruts.  Perched on the edge of the seat with both feet braced on the floor, Jillian figured she'd be lucky to arrive in Cedar Springs without having jarred every tooth out of her jaw.
    Small fluffy clouds dotted a sky that seemed to stretch forever.  The sun was warm on her face and Jillian imagined several birds would be out singing jubilantly, not that she could hear them for the constant rattle of the buckboard and the jingle of the harness.
    The sun was at its highest when the buckboard rolled into town.  Seeing the tidy little buildings with their painted false fronts, her stomach fluttered and her surly mood drifted in the breeze.  It was so...pretty.
    She drew back on the reins and, not wanting to miss a single detail of the town, jumped down.  Curling her fingers in Hope's halter, Jillian led her up the street.
    The road was wide enough to turn a team around and it cut between two rows of charming little buildings joined by a long boardwalk.  She passed the tailor's, the barber's, the cobbler's and the doctor's.
    A mother and two children stepped out of the doctor's office.  The woman paused when she saw Jillian.  Before she could respond to Jillian's greeting, her youngest broke free of her grasp and ran up the boardwalk, his little feet slapping the planks.  His mother grabbed her skirts with one hand and her daughter with the other and gave chase while ordering the young man to stop right that instant.  The boy turned the corner and disappeared from sight.
    By the time Jillian reached the corner and looked down a short