Page 115 of Growing Into Love

“Are you ready to get your hands dirty?” I ask.

THIRTY-THREE

CASS

I’m trying really,really hard to stay positive.

But it feels like everything that can go wrong for my sanctuary is going wrong.

I haven’t been down to the property for two days—not since Jaz came to help me with the fence line. The fence line for a fence that doesn’t exist. Autumn has spent the past couple days shuttling me around to different farms to look at horses. Horses for a barn that isn’t complete yet. I’ve been wanting to check on how the construction is coming along since the rains have stopped but she’s told me not to crowd the workers. Okay, maybe I get a little short with them if it seems like they’re taking too many breaks, but I’ve got a deadline coming up fast. Summer has come and gone and every day, Theresa gets closer to her due date. It’s so much responsibility to juggle—and Baby still doesn’t feel real.

Jaz has been away on calls in the Dales, so I haven’t seen him. But he texted me this morning. I pour some coffee into my thermos and check the message again, a smile blossoming on my face despite my exhaustion.

Meet me at the inn at seven pm sharp xx

We haven’t had a proper date night in a while. We’ve both been so busy and then our spare moments are often spent with Craig and Theresa, or looking at cribs online, or reading books about coparenting. Not particularly sexy. I’m thinking about asking Autumn for advice on buying lingerie. I want to surprise Jaz with something that will make his eyes pop.

I’ve got a meeting setup with a potential groom for the sanctuary today, and then it’s off to get more supplies. I reached out to the owner of the mare Jaz told me about and she says I can come round this afternoon.

I pop out to the Oak Hill barn to feed the horses—it’s their temporary home until the barn for Sarah’s Sanctuary is finished. I have one hour before I need to leave to meet the groom. Nate greets me with a whinny and a shake of his mane, like usual. Gal huffs impatiently, her nostrils seeking out the smell of oats.

“Morning,” I say. “Breakfast time, guys. Gal, don’t be greedy, you’ll get your turn.”

I grab the bucket of oats and start pouring them into Nate’s trough when my phone rings. It’s Theresa. I sigh. I really can’t afford to have this day interrupted. But it’s not like I can ignore her.

“Hello?” I say.

“Cass,” she croaks and immediately the hairs on the back of my neck stand up.

“What’s wrong?” I demand.

“I—I fainted,” she says. “I fell and if I try to get up, the room spins. Craig is out of cell service, and I can’t get ahold of Jaz.”

“He’s in the Dales today,” I say. Theresa moans weakly. I don’t think—I act. “I’m coming to take you to hospital,” I say. “Don’t move.”

I drop some oats in Gal’s trough and run back toward the farmhouse. “Cass?” Gran says, bewildered as I shoot past her. I don’t stop to explain. I throw myself into my lorry, turn on the ignition, and fly down the drive, blowing up gravel under my wheels.

It’s only about fifteen minutes to Great Chumley but it feels like hours. I frantically call Jaz but his phone goes right to voicemail so I leave a message. I screech up to Theresa and Craig’s house and pound on the door. It opens beneath my fist, and I tumble into the front parlor.

“Theresa!” I call.

“In here,” she moans. She’s on the kitchen floor, leaning back against the cabinets. Her skin is clammy and pale.

“Everything’s spinning,” she gasps.

“It’s okay,” I say. “Come on. Let’s get you into the car.”

I wrap her arm around my shoulder and help her to her feet. She sways then sags against me. I half carry her out the door and into the lorry.

“You’re really strong,” she mumbles, her eyelashes fluttering.

“Hey, no, Theresa, stay awake now,” I say, punching the address into my phone.

I drive to hospital and help Theresa to the front desk. “We need a doctor,” I cry. The nurse leaps to her feet and calls for another nurse to assist her. They get Theresa into a wheelchair and roll her down the hall to an examination room.

“How many weeks along is she?” one nurse asks.

“Nineteen,” I say.

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