"Thanks."

"Well, I only have a few minutes, so I'd better let you finish your argument." She tossed Sebastian a quick smile and went out into the shop.

Mel sat on the edge of the table and tilted her head. "Wanna fight?"

He picked up her half-finished beer. "There doesn't seem to be much point in it."

"No, there's not. Because I'm not mad at you. I'm nervous. I've never done anything this big before. Not that I'm afraid I can't handle it."

He sat on the table beside her. "Then what?"

"I guess it's the most important thing I've ever done, and I really… I really care about making it work. Then there's this other thing."

"What other thing?"

"This you-and-me thing. It's important, too."

He took her hand in his. "Yes, it is."

"And I don't want the lines between these two important things to be blurred or mixed up, because I really care about… I really care," she finished.

He brought her fingers to his lips. "So do I."

Sensing that the mood was friendly again, she smiled. "You know what I like about you, Donovan?"

"What?"

"You can do stuff like that—kissing-my-hand stuff. And not look goofy doing it."

"You humble me, Sutherland," he said in a strained voice. "You positively humble me."

Hours later, when the night was quiet and the moonlight dim, she turned to him in sleep. And in sleep her arms slid around him, her body curved to his. He brushed the hair back from her temples as she nestled her head on his shoulder. He rubbed his thumb over the stone on her finger. If he left it there, let his mind drift, he could join her in whatever dream her heart was weaving. It was tempting, almost as tempting as waking her.

Before he could decide which to choose, he had a flash of the stables, the smell of hay and sweat and the distressed whicker of the mare.

Mel blinked awake as she felt him pull away. "What? What?"

"Go back to sleep," he ordered, reaching for a shirt.

"Where are you going?"

"Psyche's ready to foal. I'm going to the stables."

"Oh." Without thinking, she climbed out to search for her clothes. "I'll go with you. Should we call the vet?"

"Ana will come."

"Oh." She fumbled with her buttons in the dark. "Should I call her?"

"Ana will come," he said again, and left her to finish dressing.

Mel hurried after him, pulling on boots on the run. "Should I, like, boil water or something?"

Halfway down the stairs, he stopped and kissed her. "For coffee. Thanks."

"They always boil water," she mumbled, trudging into the kitchen. By the time the coffee was scenting the room, she heard the sound of a car. "Three cups," Mel decided, figuring it was useless to question how Anastasia had known to come.

She found both cousins in the stables. Ana was kneeling beside the mare, murmuring. Beside her were two leather pouches and a rolled cloth.

"She's all right, isn't she?" Mel asked. "I mean, she's healthy?"

"Yes." Ana stroked Psyche's neck. "She's fine. Just fine." Her voice was as soothing as a cool breeze in the desert. The mare responded to it with a quiet whinny. "It won't take long. Relax, Sebastian. It's not the first foal to be born in the world."

"It's her first," he shot back, feeling foolish. He knew it would be all right. He could have told them what sex the foal would be. But that didn't make it any easier to wait while his beloved Psyche suffered through the pangs.

Mel offered him a mug. "Have some coffee, Papa. You could always go pace in the next stall with Eros."

"You might keep him calm, Sebastian," Ana tossed over her shoulder. "It'll help."

"All right."

"Coffee?" Mel eased into the stall to offer Ana a mug.

"Yes, a little." She sat back on her heels to sip.

"Sorry," Mel said when she saw Ana's eyes go wide. "I tend to make it strong."

"It's all right. It'll last me for the next couple of weeks." She opened a pouch and shook some dried leaves and petals into her hand.

"What's that?"

"Just some herbs," Ana said as she fed them to the mare. "To help her with the contractions." She chose three crystals from the other pouch and placed them on the mare's quivering side. She was murmuring now in Gaelic.

The crystals should slide off, Mel thought, staring at them. It was gravity, basic physics. But they remained steady, even as the laboring horse shuddered.

"You have good hands," Ana said. "Stroke her head."

Mel complied. "I really don't know anything about birthing. Well, I had to learn the basics when I was a cop, but I never… Maybe I should…"

"Just stroke her head," Ana repeated gently. "The rest is the most natural thing in the world."

Perhaps it was natural, Mel thought later as she, Sebastian, Ana and the mare labored to bring the foal into the world. But it was also miraculous. She was slick with sweat, her own and the horse's, wired from coffee, and giddy with the idea of helping life into the light.

A dozen times throughout the hours they worked she saw the changes in Ana's eyes. From cool calm gray to smoky concern. From warm amusement to such deep, depthless compassion that Mel's own eyes stung in response.

Once she'd been sure she saw pain in them, a wild, terrified pain that faded only after Sebastian spoke sharply to his cousin.

"Only to give her a moment's relief," she'd said, and Sebastian had shaken his head.

After that it had happened quickly, and Mel had scrambled to help.

"Oh, wow" was the best she could do as she stared at the mare going about the business of cleaning her new son. "I can't believe it. There he is. Just like that."

"It's always a fresh amazement." Ana picked up her pouches and her medical instruments. "Psyche's fine," she continued as she rolled the instruments in the apron she'd put on before the birthing. "The colt, too. I'll come back around this evening for another look, but I'd say mother and son are perfect."

"Thank you, Ana." Sebastian pulled her against him for a hug.