“Ready for a peek at your baby?”
Her words startled Violet, and she almost refused “Yes. I am.”
“Because your pregnancy is high risk, we’ll be doing a transvaginal ultrasound today.” When the probe was in place, Dr. Medina pointed to the monitor screen at Violet’s right. “There’s your baby.”
She adjusted the volume, and Violet heard a rapid beat matching the small pulsating heart visible in the middle of the fetus. All at once, she started to cry, unable to stop herself. She hadn’t been far enough along during her other pregnancies to hear or see the heartbeat.
Dr. Medina smiled sweetly and handed Violet a tissue, her curly silver hair framing her face like a wreath. “Try not to worry too much. It won’t do you or the baby any good.”
Violet wiped at her tears. “It’s hard not to worry.”
“I’d like to see you in two weeks.”
Immediately, Violet feared the worst. “Is something wrong?”
“Not at all. Just a precaution.” Dr. Medina returned the probe to its holder. Next, she pressed a series of buttons on the ultrasound machine and printed a picture, which she gave to Violet. “Next month, when the baby’s bigger, I’ll send you to the imaging center for a more comprehensive ultrasound. They’ll make you a CD.”
Violet clutched the picture to her chest. She liked the sound of “next month.”
Dr. Medina helped her to a sitting position, her hand remaining on Violet’s shoulder to comfort her. “Call me if you have even the slightest cramping.”
“All right.” Violet had already programed the doctor’s number into her phone’s speed dial.
“Remind me again—you work at a cattle ranch, right?”
“Yes.”
“Outdoors?”
“Almost always.”
“And very physical.”
“Comes with the territory.” There’d been times when the demands of her job had been an escape for Violet. A cure for her various woes. Miscarriages. Failed marriage. Parents always arguing and trying to coerce her into choosing sides.
“I’m recommending you take it easy,” Dr. Medina said. “Rest every day, and by rest I mean lying down, for at least two to three hours. Absolutely no lifting and no strenuous activities. That includes horseback riding.”
Violet instinctively pressed a hand to her belly. She’d do nothing that might harm this baby. “I’ll talk to my boss. Bosses. I have some vacation time coming. Maybe I can work something out.”
“Sitting at a desk is fine, and I encourage you to walk. Exercise is beneficial as long as you don’t go overboard.”
They talked awhile longer about diet and prenatal vitamins and various dos and don’ts, most of which Violet already knew. Dr. Medina didn’t mention the baby’s father, though she was aware of Violet’s divorce.
Violet bit back the urge to inquire whether having a different father would improve her chances. They’d never figured out the cause of her miscarriages. Perhaps it had been genetic.
“See you in two weeks.” Dr. Medina closed the door behind her when she left.
Violet took a moment to say a quiet prayer of thanks before climbing off the table and getting dressed. Her legs wobbled and her knees shook, as much from relief as nerves. In the waiting room, Cole glanced up when she entered, then stood nearby while she scheduled her next appointment with the receptionist.
“Do you need a reminder card?”
“Yes, thank you.”
The woman completed the card and handed it to Violet, her eyes on Cole and filled with questions. She’d worked there for years and probably remembered Denny.
Violet tensed. It wasn’t anyone’s business who came with her to her appointments.
Cole didn’t bring up her exam until they were on the road. “How did it go?”
She proceeded to tell him the basic details, but to her horror, started crying again when she got to the part about the ultrasound.
Cole reached across the console and took her hand. “I bet that was pretty neat to see.”
Damn. Why did he have to be so nice?
“I have a picture. I’ll make you a copy.” She felt another sob coming on and countered it with a change in subject. “I need to set up a meeting with you and your brothers. As soon as possible. It’s about my job.”
Cole pressed on the clutch and manually shifted the tractor into second gear. It was a John Deere, circa 1990, and groaned like a grumpy old man before the wheels finally gained traction. Hooked behind the tractor was a flatbed trailer loaded with hay. Cole turned the steering wheel hard to the right and chugged in the direction of the horse stables.
He was in charge of today’s afternoon feeding. The job normally fell to one of the hands, but they were working with a skeleton crew today, in part because of Vi’s absence. She’d taken off early to rest—something only Cole knew about—and to prepare for their five-thirty meeting.
She’d requested to speak with all three brothers. Again, Cole alone knew her reasons. She planned to tell them about her pregnancy and then request a modified work week that included fewer hours and light duty.
The meeting was scheduled for the only time Josh and Gabe were available—right before dinner. Nowadays, the demands on both men were many, and they were frequently gone from the ranch.
Josh had full custody of his two children while their mother, fresh from a sixty-day stint in drug rehab, proved her ability to remain sober. He and his girlfriend, Cara, were in the market for a new house and went out looking every chance they got. Cole expected the two of them to announce their engagement any minute, which was fine by him. He liked Cara. She made Josh happy and loved his children.
Gabe, too, was working his tail off. He divided his days between Dos Estrellas and their nearest neighbors, the Small Change Ranch. There, he helped his fiancée’s Parkinson’s-stricken father manage their large cattle operation. Gabe would be moving to the Small Change soon and assuming even more responsibilities. His marriage to Reese was scheduled to take place this spring, and they were already steeped in preparations.
Cole did his best to help out, filling in for both brothers when and where he could. Though he was a poor substitute for Raquel, he even babysat his niece and nephew on occasion.
Speak of the devil!
Rounding the corner, Cole caught sight of his three-year-old nephew not thirty feet in front of him, and hit the brakes hard. Dirt rose in a cloud as the tires skidded to a stop, and the heavily loaded flatbed trailer lurched, threatening to jackknife.
“What the...” Cole pushed his hat back and wiped his damp brow.
The boy walked alone, leading a small horse named Hurry Up. Like Hotshot, the mustang was a rehabilitated rescue from Cara’s sanctuary. Tagging after them was a five-month-old Australian shepherd pup, a recent addition to the Dempsey household.
Cole cut the tractor engine, climbed down and jogged over to his nephew. “Hey, cowboy. What are you doing?”
Nathan stopped to gaze up at him. “Hi, Uncle Cole.” He’d recently celebrated a birthday and since then had been talking up a storm, his vocabulary expanding daily. “I walking Hurry Up.”
The horse and pup dutifully waited, the horse sniffing the dry ground, the pup chewing on a bent stick. Cole and Josh had once owned a horse and pup