Chapter 41 #2
They round the corner, still grinning, until they see us—and the mood shifts instantly. Crew’s eyes snap between Anna and me, his face falling. Tyler just stops in his tracks like his brain hasn’t caught up yet.
“Crew,” I breathe, standing up straighter. “Crew, go get Sawyer. Now.”
“What the hell’s going on?” His voice pitches up, eyes darting between Anna’s soaked jeans and the way she’s crumpled against the beam.
“What does it look like?” I snap, motioning toward her. “She’s having the damn baby. Go! Now!”
Anna groans again and manages to get out, “I need to lie down—I can’t—I can’t—”
Crew moves toward her like he wants to fix it just by being close. “We need to call an ambulance.”
“I don’t think we have time,” I say, sharper than I mean to, because the words terrify me. “Just go get Sawyer. Please. Run!”
Crew doesn’t waste another second. “Yes, ma’am,” he says, and bolts out the barn doors like his boots are on fire.
I spin toward Tyler, who’s still frozen.
“I need a thick blanket,” I say quickly, firmly. “Clean towels, scissors or shears—whatever you can find. Hot water if you can get it. In case Sawyer doesn’t get here in time. Go.”
He opens his mouth to protest, but I cut him off. “ Now , Tyler!”
He nods so fast his hat nearly falls off, then turns and sprints out after Crew.
Anna screams again—louder this time—and drops to all fours, her whole body trembling. She’s sobbing now, gasping between words, her voice raw and ragged.
“Get it out!” she cries. “Please—just get it out of me.”
I grab the closest clean thing I can find—a folded horse blanket stacked on a tack trunk—and toss it down beside her, trying to keep my voice steady even though my heart is pounding so hard in my chest it feels like it’s trying to crawl out of my throat.
“Okay,” I say gently, crouching beside her. “We’re going to move you to the blanket, where it’s dry. You can do this. I’ll help you.”
“I can’t,” she chokes out, shaking her head violently. “I can’t, Wren .”
“Yes, you can.” I put my hand on her back. “You’re doing so good already. Just one step at a time. Let’s get you lying down, okay?”
She nods, barely, and I shift under her arm, bracing her weight with my shoulder as she stumbles up and then back down again onto the blanket. Her breathing is fast and shallow, her chest rising and falling in short, panicked bursts.
“You’re okay,” I murmur, brushing her hair off her face. “You’re safe. We’ve got you.”
She curls slightly on her side, one hand cradling her belly, and I kneel down beside her. “Anna,” I say carefully. “We’re going to have to check where the baby is, so I’m going to take off your jeans, alright? Is that okay?”
She gives a faint nod, her lips trembling, and I work as gently as I can to slide them down over her hips, damp denim clinging to her skin.
There’s no crowning yet. But her screams are telling me we’re not far off.
She pants through another wave of pain, then slumps back, exhausted. Her eyes flutter open.
“I thought they were Braxton-Hicks,” she whispers. “I’ve been getting them for weeks now. I just—by the time my water broke—” she lets out a sob—“it was too fast.”
I nod, keeping my voice calm. “That happens sometimes. You’re doing so good, Anna. Just keep breathing through it, alright? You’re not alone.”
She takes in a shaky breath, then another, and another contraction hits—but it’s shorter, not as sharp. She clenches her jaw, rides through it, then collapses back again, wiping at her face with the sleeve of her shirt.
“I can’t believe I’m having this baby here ,” she sobs. “In a fucking barn.”
“I know,” I say quietly, brushing hay out from under her head. “But when Sawyer gets here, we’ll use his phone and call the adoptive parents, let them know what’s going on.”
She waves a limp hand in the air like she’s brushing that thought away. “Don’t bother.”
My brow pulls. “What?”
“They’re not the adoptive parents anymore,” she says, staring up at the rafters like she’s trying to detach from her own words.
My mouth opens, but nothing comes out. “Wait…so you’re keeping the baby?”
She shakes her head again, slowly this time. “I can’t. You know that. I have a future ahead of me, Wren.” Another contraction hits and she groans, eyes screwed shut, body curling in against it.
I reach for her hand, and she clutches it like a lifeline.
“Does Sawyer know how to deliver babies?” she gasps through gritted teeth.
I shrug, trying to look way more confident than I feel. “He delivers animals and we’re all mammals. That’s got to count for something.”
Anna lets out a broken dry laugh that quickly morphs into a sob. Her grip on my hand tightens.
“Anna,” I say, squeezing back. “Look at me.”
She does, barely.
“We’ll get through this together, okay? I’m not going anywhere. I’m staying right here with you.”
And I mean it. Even if I’m scared out of my damn mind.
Anna whimpers, her eyes squeezed shut, sweat glistening along her brow. “It hurts so bad,” she gasps, voice cracking. “I’ve never felt pain like this before.”
“I know,” I whisper, kneeling beside her again. I brush her damp hair gently off her face, over and over, just to give my hands something to do. “I know.”
And I do. Not from experience, but from instinct.
From watching animals push through it, from watching mothers survive it.
From watching my own mother birth Ridge and then Sage.
But seeing Anna here—curled on a horse blanket in the middle of a barn, clutching her belly like the pain might split her in half—I realize how young she really is. Barely a young adult.
She looks up at me through damp lashes, blinking against the overhead light. “How are you so calm right now?” she pants. “You haven’t even freaked out.”
I let out a breath that might’ve been a laugh if it wasn’t so ragged. “I’m glad you think I’m calm.”
“No, really,” she says, dragging in another shaky breath. “You’ve got this…thing about you. Like…you’re good in an emergency. That’s why the horses trust you, right?”
My throat tightens, but I nod. “Maybe. Or maybe I’m just too shocked to panic.”
She lets out a strangled sound that could’ve been a laugh if it wasn’t followed by another scream. Her whole body tenses, feet kicking out slightly, hands fisting the blanket.
I move back down, checking again. Still no crowning. I whisper something—encouraging, maybe useless—but she can’t hear me through the pain.
And then, thank God, the barn doors bang open behind us.
Sawyer barrels in, slightly out of breath, his vet bag in hand and a look on his face that’s pure focus and adrenaline. His boots crunch across the floor, and the second he sees Anna, his whole posture softens—but doesn’t slow.
“Heard we’re having a baby today, Miss Anna?” he says, already crouching next to me.
Anna nods weakly, barely managing a sound that might’ve been yes.
He kneels beside me, then reaches over to squeeze my shoulder.
“You’ve been doing a good job keeping her calm,” he says, his voice low and warm. The steadiness in it nearly undoes me.
“I didn’t know what to do,” I murmur, my eyes stinging suddenly, the flood of relief hitting me harder than I expected.
“You did everything right,” he says, already reaching for his bag.
Just then, the barn doors swing open again—Tyler rushing in with towels and a heavy blanket clutched in his arms, his face still pale.
Estelle’s right behind him, her cheeks flushed, eyes wide, arms full of supplies.
Between the two of them, they carry towels, blankets, shears, and a bucket of steaming hot water.
Estelle stops short when she sees Anna on the ground, her face full of sharp, maternal concern. “My God,” she breathes. “Do you need any help?”
Sawyer looks up, calm as ever. “Yeah. Let’s make this space warm and clean as fast as we can.”
Tyler sets the towels down like he’s not sure if he’s allowed to move anymore.
Estelle doesn’t wait for instruction—she’s already unrolling a clean blanket and spreading it out behind Anna, nudging hay out of the way with her boot as she goes.
I grab one of the dry saddle pads from the wall and tuck it beneath Anna’s back for support, while Estelle uses another damp washcloth to gently pat away some of the sweat slicking Anna’s forehead.
Sawyer kneels, sorting through the supplies quickly but without panic. Every move he makes is calm. Intuitive. Like his hands already know what to do, even if this is brand-new territory for him.
He turns to Tyler, who still looks like he might faint. “You’re good to go, Ty. Go check in with Crew, let him know we’re okay in here.”
Tyler doesn’t hesitate—just nods and bolts, grateful for the out.
Sawyer turns to his mom. “You don’t have to stay, Mom. We’ve got it from here.”
Estelle looks personally offended. “Like hell I don’t. I’ve delivered seven babies, need I remind you. I’m not going anywhere unless Anna tells me to.”
We all look at Anna, who nods faintly, her eyes fluttering shut. “She can stay.”
I move up to her head and sit beside her, letting her grab my hand, which she does like it’s the only thing tethering her to the earth. Her fingers are slick with sweat. Her skin’s burning up. I keep brushing the damp strands of blonde hair off her face with my free hand.
Estelle kneels behind Sawyer, just far enough to give him space, but close enough to step in if needed.
Sawyer shifts forward. “Anna, I want to be upfront with you. I’ve never delivered a human baby before,” he says gently.
“But I’ve delivered dozens of foals and calves, and it can’t be much different than that.
I’m confident I can help get this baby here safely.
We’re going to take it one step at a time, okay? We’ll work together.”
Anna nods quickly, her breath hitching. “Okay.”
“I’m going to check the baby’s position and your cervical dilation,” he says in the most clinical voice I’ve ever heard him use. “I want to make sure it’s safe to start pushing. Is that alright with you?”