Sacrifice of Passion (Deadly Legends) by Melissa Bourbon Ramirez Page B

jumped when Pastor Locke came around the corner of the barn.
    She pressed her palm to her chest. “I didn’t know you’d be here.”
    “With that predator still loose and on a killing spree,” he said, “Jasper was worried. He didn’t want to leave the mare alone and asked me to come. Although I don’t know what use I could be. Whatever happens is God’s will.”
    She smiled, trying to exude confidence. “Sometimes we can help God, Pastor.”
    He leveled a disapproving look at her, tightening his lips as he led her to the stable. There she studied the mare, trying to gauge where she was in the foaling processes. The roan was still scooting hay around, nosing it, and turning. Nesting. It was just a matter of time.
    Delaney crouched down to look underneath the mare. “She’s waxing. Do you see that? Her body’s getting ready.”
    The pastor came up beside her, looking where she pointed. A strangled sound came from him. His Adam’s apple slid up as he swallowed, his face growing pale.
    She put her thumbs in her jeans’ pockets and watched the mare gingerly lie down on her side. The horse shifted and Delaney noticed dark splotches on her coat. Sweat. Once labor started, the foal would come quickly.
    She shifted into gear. “We’ll need some supplies.” After compiling a mental list, she began dictating to the pastor. “We need towels and warm water. Maybe in the tack room? And a bucket for the afterbirth.”
    He paled even more, if that was possible.
    The mare’s abdomen jerked. Pastor Locke took an awkward step toward the horse. “Hey there, girl, it’s okay,” he said, his bass voice pitching upward. “You’ll be okay.” The mare pinned her ears back at the sound.
    “Shh.” Delaney grabbed his arm and pulled him back. “We just have to watch,” she whispered. “No interference unless something’s wrong. We don’t want to spook her.”
    “Towels, a bucket, and warm water,” he said, and turned toward the tack room. “I’ll be right back.”
    The mare’s right leg flung out. “Check the presentation,” Delaney murmured to herself, mentally going over the procedure. She knew the foal’s muzzle should be between its legs.
    But when she knelt and checked the foal, she caught her breath and her heart raced. It was upside down.
    Oh, no. This wasn’t right.
    The mare whinnied. Almost a whimper.
    Delaney battled the thread of doubt rising in her. She waited, hoping she was wrong, but she wasn’t. Oh, God. She knew what she had to do. Turn the foal—a complete 180 degrees. If she could do it in the birth canal, before the foal descended any farther, the baby and the mare would both have the best chance of survival. The question was, would she be able to do it?
    She breathed in through her nose, closing her eyes for several heartbeats to calm herself.
    The horse whinnied again.
    At the sound of distress, Delaney launched into action, racing to the sink at the opposite end of the stable. At the sink she unclasped Vic’s bracelet, tucking it into her pocket, then scrubbed her hands and arms up to her elbows with caustic soap before hurrying back to the mare. She evaluated the situation one more time. Crouching down, she saw the upside-down foal, clear as day.
    She had to turn it.
    Sinking to her knees, she carefully laid her palm on its top leg, sliding her hand up as far as she could. With her other hand on the bottom leg, she braced herself, digging the tips of her boots into the ground for leverage as she attempted to rotate the baby. No movement. The mare let out a groan. Delaney bit back a sob.
    Tires screeched to a stop outside. Doc Clinton! He’d made it, thank God.
    The mare’s stomach lurched. One of her back legs kicked out. Delaney ducked out of the way just in time.
    The thud of boots sounded behind her. “Hurry!” she shouted.
    “Shit. Move over. I’ll take over the bottom leg. You work with the top.”
    Delaney’s heartbeat stalled. Not Doc Clinton.
    Vic Vargas.
    She whipped