Page 3 of The Convict Gets His Girl

He nodded and took a drag on his cigarette. "You go on and leave like she said. Call for another doctor. It gives more time for the old horse to recover. And if there are no doctors available, zen it is better for the horse, yes?"

He walked toward her truck, his voice firm and brooking no argument. She knew the foreman had the complete trust of the owner, the woman's new husband.

Her legs threatened to buckle as she opened the truck door, chin high as she eased onto the leather seats with a grunt. Jewel closed her eyes against the light that seemed to pierce straight into her brain. Sweat beaded her brow as she slipped on her sunglasses and backed up.

As she drove away from the sprawling ranch, tears pricked her eyes. It felt like she'd been fired, but the way her whole body ached, she knew something was wrong. Maybe the sixth doctor's appointment tomorrow would provide the answers she needed.

She focused on regulating her breathing, trying to muster the façade of normalcy she would need to maintain once home. She would tell Destini she had a migraine, a simple explanation that wouldn't worry the bright-eyed teenager too much.

Anxiety knotted her stomach at the thought of alarming her teenage daughter. Destini was currently obsessed with her science fair project and the prospect of glory at school. Jewel couldn't bear to puncture that bubble with her own health concerns.

She pulled up to her modest home, far removed from the opulence of the horses she treated. She dragged herself to lean heavily against the front door, the keys in her hand blurring together as she searched for the correct one, her body betraying her once more with a shudder.

"Mom?" Destini's voice called from inside, laced with excitement and anticipation as she threw open the door. "I've got so much to tell you about my project!"

"Can't wait to hear all about it, sweetheart," Jewel replied, her voice steady despite the turmoil roiling within her. "Just give me an hour to lie down, then you can tell me all about it while I make dinner."

"Sure, Mom. Rough day today?" Destini chirped, bouncing on her toes as she shut and locked the door behind her.

"A migraine."

"Another one? Geez, it's like a constant thing now."

Jewel mumbled under her breath, "Tell me about it." Destini didn't hear, going back into the dining room where the project supplies were strewn about, popping her earbuds back in and humming along.

Jewel slipped up the stairs, her heart heavy with secrets as she made her way to her bedroom, desperate for respite from the relentless assault of whatever was fucking up her body. It'd been almost a year, and it was getting worse, not better.

A few weeks later, Jewel clenched the steering wheel, her knuckles white as she navigated out of the bustling greater-Houston traffic. Each movement sent tremors of pain through her joints, but the weight of the diagnosis was heavier still. The doctor's words echoed in her mind: "I'm quite certain it's Lyme disease."

After months of uncertainty and visits to multiple doctors, the validation should have been a relief. It could be something way worse, but as she merged onto the highway leading north to Dallas, it felt like an anchor sinking her. Now she had to see a specialist hours away when she was already on thin ice with her bosses.

The drive was long, the landscape shifting from urban sprawl to open fields that reminded her of the ranch and the horses she cared for—creatures whose livelihoods depended on her expertise. She considered the irony that it was while working outdoors with these majestic animals that she had probably been bitten by the tiny tick responsible for her pain.

She didn't dare tell Destini, who was safely spending the night with her cousins, engrossed in the regional science fair preparations. She'd excitedly won the school's competition and now advanced.

Jewel didn't confide in her family in Crimson Creek, either. This journey was hers alone to navigate; she wasn't ready to reveal her vulnerability to them just yet.

Upon arriving in Dallas, she found herself in yet another sterile office, this one adorned with plaques boasting holistic approaches to healing. Dr. Marcus, the specialist, was a gentle man with a reassuring presence. He spoke of major life changes with a calm certainty that made them seem possible, even hopeful.

"Your body is fighting a persistent invader," he explained. "We need to support it in every way we can. That means dietary changes, activity changes, even product changes in your home. We're going to load you up on anti-inflammatory foods—leafy greens, fatty fish, berries. And probiotics are key after so many rounds of antibiotics."

He handed her pamphlets filled with guidelines and recipes, then continued. "You'll also start a regimen of supplements and herbs known to support immune function and combat Lyme-related inflammation. Perhaps the most important ingredient to healing is stress management. Have you ever tried meditation or yoga?"

Jewel nodded automatically, though in truth, she didn't have time for any of this crap. The holistic side was the antithesis to everything she'd learned in medical school too. The stakes were too high not to embrace every potential solution, though. She noted everything down meticulously, aware that these changes were not mere suggestions but prescriptions for a new way of life.

Dr. Marcus added, "Regular visits here will be necessary so we can monitor your progress closely. I know it's a long drive, but your health must be your priority now. If you don't put in the work now, it could seriously affect your quality of life permanently."

His words echoed in the small room, reminiscent of the doctor in Houston who'd finally given her the diagnosis.

She agreed, knowing the truth in his words, even as a part of her rebelled against the upheaval looming on the horizon. Driving back to Houston later that same day after an extended break at Buc-ees, Jewel felt the gravity of the journey ahead—a path that would test her resolve, redefine her relationship with food, and force her to explore the unfamiliar terrain of holistic healing. But she was ready to fight for her health, for Destini, and for the chance to reclaim the life that Lyme disease threatened to steal away.

Months passed, and here she was again. Jewel's hands tightened around the steering wheel, knuckles whitening as Houston's skyline finally came into view. The sun was dipping low, casting a warm glow over the city—her home for the past decade—but now, it seemed less welcoming, more daunting.

She had returned from yet another trip to Dallas with a new arsenal: bottles of supplements, bags of organic produce, and a new yoga mat strapped to the backseat.

In the past few months, Jewel's life became a cadence of careful routines and self-discipline. She swapped coffee for green tea and CBD mushroom coffee, and her meals were now a colorful canvas of vegetables and lean proteins.

Her phone, once filled with veterinary journal articles, now had apps for meditation and reminders for yoga classes. Her favorite—and not so favorite—ranch clients saw less of her, as she spent more hours in the office, pouring over case files rather than tending to the horses she adored.

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