Page 47 of Thunder

"Lungs are clear," she says, straightening with a wince. "Gut's good, she's back on full feed. Turn her out whenever you want, she's earned it."

A ghost of something that's almost the old warmth. "You did right by her, Presley. Start to finish."

"Learned from the best."

She doesn't answer that, but she doesn't ice it either, and that's the dance we've been doing—a step closer, then a careful hold.

It's more than I had a month ago.

I've learned to live on crumbs.

Then her face changes.

It's not subtle.

One second she's leaned on the rail and the next she's gone very still and very white, and her hand comes off her back and grabs the top rail, knuckles going pale.

"Grace?"

"That's—" She breathes through something. "That's not a Braxton-Hicks."

"What do you mean it's not⁠—"

"I mean my water just broke, Presley."

She says it with the calmness of a woman who's done this before and is already somewhere far ahead of me.

She looks down at the dark spreading on the dirt at her boots and back up at me, and for the first time in weeks, she looks me dead in the eye and there's nothing cold in it at all.

"And they're already three minutes apart, which means this one's coming fast, and the men are all on that run, and Shadow's an hour out at least, and I need you to not panic."

"I'm not panicking."

"You're panicking a little."

"I'm panicking a lot, but I'm trying to keep my shit together⁠—"

That surprises a laugh out of her, and then the laugh turns into a grimace as another one hits.

She grips my arm hard enough to leave marks, and I stop being scared all at once, because there's no room for it.

She needs me.

That's the whole world for the next little while—my sister needs me, and there’s no one else here.

I get her to my truck and I get on the phone.

Shadow's number goes straight to voicemail, which means he's somewhere out of signal on that run, wherever the run is, whatever it's about. The men rode out before dawn, tight-jawed and armed, and nobody told the women a word.

I've had a low bad feeling in my gut about it all day that I don't have time for now.

I leave a wrecked voicemail.

I text him.

I text Dakota, who at least is in town.

And then I do what I don't let myself think about too much.