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under his jaw. “I’ve got ye.” His long strides and the ease with which he carried her displayed his power. Large muscles enveloped her, keeping her protected. He’d barely taken a dozen or so steps when the horse’s distressed whinny reached Paisley’s mind.
    I’m dying!
    No, you’re not. I’m coming to help you
. How many times had she exchanged thoughts like this with animals? Although she often considered her gift a curse, giving aid to living things satisfied her soul. Whenever her capabilities were needed, she was thankful she could provide ease.
    Creighton stopped and balanced her on one knee as he wrenched open the door to the stable. His long fingers snapped on a power switch, shedding enough light to illuminate the center aisle of the stables.
    Familiar smells of animals, their acrid waste and straw filled her nostrils.
    “Put me down, please.” She was eager to reach the horse. She pushed both thermoses against his stomach and, holding onto the plaid, jogged toward the stall where a yellow mare lay on a bed of clean straw. She raised the latch on the gate and entered.
I’m here
. She knelt in front of the wild-eyed animal and rubbed a hand down her muzzle. Her other hand stroked the animal’s neck.
I’ll take care of you
.
    I’m scared. The pain is awful
.
    Paisley leaned her forehead against the horse’s face.
I’m sorry this hurts. I promise to do my best to help
.
    The horse blew through her nose and shuddered. A loud groan escaped as a contraction tensed the mare’s body. Paisley crooned and rubbed her neck until the pain eased.
    Can you stand so I can examine you?
Paisley stood and stepped back to give the animal room. Creighton leaned against the side of the stall, eyes pinned to both her and the horse, as if he were taking her measure.
    “What breed of horse is she?”
    While the mare struggled to stand, Creighton removed the blanket from Paisley’s shoulders. “Heather Mist is a Highland Pony, one of the three breeds native to the Scottish Highlands. She’s Colleen’s favorite. If anything happens to her, me wee sweet bairn will be devastated.”
    Paisley pushed her glasses toward the bridge of her nose with her index finger. “When children connect with an animal, it’s a beautiful thing. The child benefits as much as the pet.” She walked alongside Heather Mist, her hands gradually rubbing over the animal’s shoulders, withers, and stomach in an effort to calm the horse while she examined her. She spoke in a soft voice to soothe the frightened mare. “She’s small.”
    “Standard size for the breed. About thirteen hands.”
    “I see.” She stooped to look at the mare’s udders. “Her udders are waxed. That’s good. She’s a pretty yellow color.”
    “Aye. We call it ‘bay dun.’ ”
    “You said this is her first delivery?” Her hands pressed Heather Mist’s abdomen as another contraction began.
How many foals are you carrying?
    Two
.
    Creighton poured some coffee into the lid of the thermos. “Aye, she’s a maiden mare.”
    “She’s having twins.”
    “How do ye ken?”
    Paisley responded with a smile and a kernel of truth, as she often did when human clients asked that question. “She told me.”
    He gulped his coffee. “Did she now?” After shaking the remaining drops of coffee from the lid, he screwed it back onto the thermos.
    She stepped behind the horse. Heather Mist groaned with the strain of the contraction. “How long has she been laboring?”
    “I came out to check on her shortly after ye went upstairs. An hour, maybe two.”
    She removed her coat and slung it over the gate. “Can you get me scissors, towels, iodine, and gauze pads, if you have them? Lubricant for my arm?”
    “Of course.” His retreating footsteps were muffled by straw.
    Wrapping her arms around Heather Mist’s neck, Paisley stared into terror-filled eyes.
Here’s what’s wrong. Only one leg is coming out. I’m thinking the other is bent. I’m going toease my hand