At one point, she whispered, "Is it dying?"
Rachel did not answer. She could not afford to answer. An hour passed. Then another.
Rachel's back burned. Her hands shook from effort. Matthew's shirt was damp at the collar despite the cold. The mare lay exhausted.
Rachel rested one hand against her side. There was movement. Faint. Still there.
Rachel swallowed. "We're close."
Matthew looked at her. "Tell me what to do."
She repositioned herself. "When she pushes, you pull with me."
"How hard?"
"Only as hard as I do."
"All right."
"Not stronger."
His eyes met hers. "I heard you the first time."
There was no irritation in it. Only certainty. The mare strained.
Rachel pulled. Matthew matched her exactly. Not more. Not less.
"Again."
They worked. The foal moved. Lillian made a sound behind them.
Rachel barely heard it. "Again."
The mare pushed one final time. Then suddenly, the weight changed. Rachel almost fell backward.
Matthew caught her shoulder with one hand while keeping the other where Rachel had placed it. The foal slid free into the straw. For one terrible second, nothing happened. No movement.
No sound. Rachel dropped beside it. "Come on."
She cleared its nose and rubbed hard with a towel. Nothing. Lillian began to cry without making noise.
Matthew knelt opposite Rachel. "What?"
"Rub him."
"Where?"
"Chest. Hard."
Matthew obeyed. Rachel worked along the foal's neck. "Come on."
The barn seemed to hold its breath. Then the foal jerked. A wet little cough.
Rachel stopped. Another breath. Thin. Then stronger.
Lillian covered her mouth. Matthew sat back on his heels. The foal breathed again. Rachel began laughing.
She did not mean to. It came out half breath, half disbelief. She sat back against the stall wall, straw stuck to her skirt, one sleeve streaked with birth fluids and mud, hair hanging down around her face. Matthew looked at the foal, then at the mare.
Then he started laughing too. Quietly at first. A low, exhausted sound that seemed too young for the huge man kneeling in the straw. Rachel looked at him.
His hair had fallen over his forehead. There was dirt on one cheek. One sleeve was torn at the cuff. For the first time since she had met him, Matthew Hail looked completely unguarded.
Lillian crouched beside the mare. "He's breathing."
Rachel nodded. "Yes."
"He's really breathing."
"He is."
Lillian touched the foal carefully. Rachel leaned her head back against the wall and closed her eyes. Her whole body trembled now that it was allowed to. When she opened them again, Matthew was looking at her.
Not at Lillian. Not at the valuable mare. Not even at the foal they had just fought two hours to save. At Rachel.
The laughter had disappeared from his face. Something quieter had taken its place. His gaze moved over the loose strands of her hair, the dirt on her cheek, the broad shape of her sitting exhausted against the wall. Rachel became suddenly aware of herself in a way she had not been five seconds earlier.
Her skirt bunched around her boots. Her sleeves rolled high. Her face hot. She had no idea what expression she wore.