Page 46 of High Velocity

“But you’re not sure…”

“I’m sure I like him, but I feel like I’m stuck in a bit of a bubble. Everything is perfect inside, but when I try to look out, everything is blurry. Everything is shifting, and I’m not sure of anything anymore.”

“I get that. I do. It feels like a seismic shift is taking place in your life and you don’t quite know how to balance yourself and where to find steady ground.”

That’s exactly how I feel, and I’m so relieved to know she understands. “Yes, that’s it.”

She leans forward and pats my knee.

“Right, so then what you do is grab on to something steady and solid until you regain your footing.”

She sits back again and picks up her glass, taking a sip, while I quietly consider her words.

“Jackson is a good man,” she softly repeats. “Not perfect, but genuine, and I know he will do right by you. Don’t be afraid to lean a little while you sort out the rest of your life.”

Inside, the timer for the oven goes off, and Janey gets to her feet.

“Can I help?”

“Sure, you can toss the salad and top up our drinks.”

When we sit down at the outdoor table with the delicious-smelling oven dish with quesadillas and a big bowl of salad between us a few minutes later, I send Janey a smile.

“This looks amazing, and thank you for the pep talk.”

She grins back. “Let’s hope it tastes that way. Eat up. And, um, I may need a pep talk myself.”

“You?”

She dishes out the quesadillas and gestures for me to serve myself salad. I brush off Ash, who smells the food and shoves his head in my lap.

“Yeah. I meant when I said I know what it feels like when the earth shifts.”

I already had a bite heading for my mouth when I promptly put down the fork.

“Why? What do you mean?”

She looks at me and her eyes get glossy as she bites her lip.

“I’m almost forty years old, I’m newly married, my clinic is thriving, my house is the way I want it, and life is good…”

When she pauses, I prompt her, “But?”

“I saw my doctor yesterday.”

My imagination spits out every possible diagnosis that could follow a statement like that while I hold my breath, waiting for her to drop what I’m sure will be a bomb.

But then she says, “I’m pregnant.”

Fifteen

Jackson

I reek to high heaven.

Foaling season has started and we have more pregnant mares than we have birthing stalls in the barn, so we’ve been splitting the field adjacent to the barn into smaller sections—like a staging area—and have moved some of the mares in there. The ones that look to be close to delivering are moved inside the barn.

Doc Richards drops in every so often to monitor how things are going but, unless there are complications, we manage the births ourselves. For the most part that means simply observing as nature takes its course, but occasionally some intervention is required.

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