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inside you and straighten the foal’s other leg. Then things should be easier. I want you to lie down now. You’re being very strong
.
    The horse nodded and snorted before lying down again.
    “As soon as her next contraction ends, I’ll do what I need to do. They’re coming about every two minutes, so that doesn’t give me much time to get in and do my thing before her inner muscles cramp around my arm. I’ll need to work fast.” She glanced into his concerned eyes. “Wish me luck.”
    * * *
    Creighton relaxed, sensing the confidence Paisley exuded. Beneath her fragile-looking exterior, she radiated competence. He admired her obvious innate strength. “Yer being here has already brought us luck. Heather Mist wouldn’t let me near her to help.”
    Paisley glanced over her shoulder at the mare before aiming a shy smile his way. His heart turned over just as it had in his office when she smiled. Vulnerability mingled with strength was such a compelling combination, and this American had it in spades. “She’s afraid of your size.”
    He stepped closer, so their thighs touched, and her lips parted on a sigh. “I would never hurt anything that belongs to me.” With a fingertip, he brushed back a strand of Paisley’s golden hair. “Or anyone who’s entrusted their heart in me care.” Both stilled. Her blue eyes darkened as she stared into his eyes. Her lips parted and he inhaled her sweet breath. The turbulent winds howling outside were a mere breeze compared to the electrical storm of sexual awareness arcing between them.
    Paisley’s face was devoid of makeup, showcasing her porcelain skin. No smoky shadows or dark mascara framed her eyes. In this unadorned state, their true beauty radiated an honesty he felt powerless to resist. His hand slid up her slender neck and sensed the tremor his touch set off within while her eyes darkened and the pulse at the base of her neck quickened. Aye, he enjoyed her response, reveled in it, took pride in it and, God help him, craved more of it.
    A loud groan broke the spell. Paisley kneeled and rubbed her hands in circular movements over the horse’s distended abdomen. A lilting tune hummed from her lips to soothe and the bear within Creighton eased into tranquillity as much as the mare.
    This soft-spoken lass has a mystical power within her, so she does
.
    She crawled behind the animal and shoved her sweater sleeves above her elbows. She took the bottle of gelled lubricant and slathered it onto her right arm. “As soon as the contraction ends, I’ll begin.”
    Creighton wasn’t used to a woman assisting in the delivery of large animals. Colts usually weighed between five and six stone, sometimes more. “Can I help ye?”
    She slid her hand into the mare’s birth canal. “Get behind me. I may need you to help pull me back if the foal is as large as I fear.”
    “I suppose now’s a fine time to be asking ye if ye’ve done this before?” He kneeled behind her and placed his hands at her waist, inhaling her unique scent. While the stench of fear emanated from the mare, none came from Paisley. By now, her arm was completely inside the horse. He winced. “God, I’m happy not to be a mare right about now.”
    She sang her soft song as she worked, her movements efficient, competent.
    The lass fascinated him. He exhaled a sigh of relief when she slid the second small hoof from the mare.
    “Towel, please.” She wiped fluid from her arm.
    Heather Mist groaned again. The mare’s head was turned so she could watch Paisley. The two made eye contact as if they communicated on some level, like two women talking.
    “Scissors? I’m going to cut the sac so the foal can birth easier.” Once she’d made a small incision, she used the towel to grasp the foal’s feet and slowly pulled down toward Heather Mist’s hind hooves. “By pulling the legs down rather than straight out, it’ll help rotate the foal’s head through the birth canal.”
    Paisley’s breathing was