With Helen's arrival, dinner went about as smooth as a flossing with barbed wire and near as painful, all hot looks and scathing silence peppered between stilted conversation. Seeing as this would be the last family meal before tomorrow festivities and the arrival of near a hundred guests, it was a shame to have the evening marred by her company.

No one liked Helen, or looked forward to her company. Only Nate appeared to be entirely ambivalent to her presence, an interesting note I filed away for later.

I often wondered how the hell she'd managed to dig her claws into Collin so deep that he'd foolishly married her after only a three month courtship after his second year at Yale.

If my memory served true, my parents hadn't been particularly pleased with the rushed timing, but the match hadn't caused either of them an iota of concern. Helen came from a prominent family; hitching her name to my brothers made both of our families look good. Even the papers had touted them to be a power couple on the rise.

But that was before Collin had graduated and firmly announced he would not be following in the wake of our father's large, well-connected political shoes. And just like that, Helen's soap-bubble dream of the Whitehouse and Oval office popped before her stunned eyes.

My father's disappointment, however, had been significantly more pronounced and had taken a great deal of time to pass.

With age came wisdom, or so I heard, and so it had with my father, along with a drastic shift in priorities after my mother's passing. Suddenly, the rushing thrill of scaling mountains no longer seemed as important to him as actually living. And seeing him here, surrounded with the lush spread of Ronin Estates-the horses and fields and hay, he looked happier then I could ever recall seeing him in years.

Even while my mother was alive, and that's not to say that they didn't have a strong, happy and loving marriage. But the stress of politics invariably got in the way, took a toll. More than once I could recall them fighting, though the arguments were always short lived, and my parents always managed to find common ground again, I now wondered-had it all been worth it?

To climb so high, only to slid back down to the bottom again and be happier for it? Looking across at him seated at the head of the table-hair long and shaggy, skin reddened from hours in the sun, hands worn and calloused, he was a far cry from the man I remembered as a child. And decided, in his case, yes. It was.

Sensing Tristan's gaze, I glanced across the table to see him watching me intently, with a narrowed kind of focus I know to be so innately him. He was stripping away my layers, peering deep into my naked soul and it killed me to know I could never read him quite the same way.

"Tristan, darling," Helen sang out, waving her hand and around us conversation dimmed. "I must say I am thrilled to see you've joined our little family soiree this weekend. Such a treat to have a man of your accomplishments, isn't it?" she looked around for approval and a few cursory nods tossed her way in sympathy.

"I'm pleased to have been extended the gracious courtesy of an invitation," Tristan answered. Polite, diplomatic. And clearly meant to end the subject, but Helen wasn't through with probing him for more.

"I saw Elaina last week, at that Children's Health fund raiser. The Pediatric one."

Delicately working around his quail, Tristan nodded. We'd made it as far as midway through the entrees before she'd caused a scene, a record in Helen's book.

"As one of the evening's more generous benefactor, I was so dismayed to see you weren't there," Helen continued. "Why the absence?"

Setting down his fork, Tristan rose, reaching for the decanter of wine, gallantly topping up the ladies closest to him before seeing to his own. "I trusted that Elaina's attendance was sufficient to stand for both our behalf's."

"Yes, yes you're quite right. And how understanding she must be, with you...here. Alone."

"I don't see why she should care." Tristan sat back down, tucked his legs under the table. "Our pending divorce is no secret."

"So no hope there? Shameful," Helen sighed, "when two upstanding pillars such as yourselves can't manage to pull through. Aren't you worried a divorce might colour investor perspective?" she pressed. "Leading them to question whether or not you can manage a successful company if you can't seem to do so within your own marriage?"

I glared at my brother who, although red in the cheeks, was paying considerable attention to his meal and showing no sign of growing any balls whatsoever.

Thankfully, my father had plenty to spare and spoke up before I could find my own voice through the haze of my scorching temper.

"Shut up, Helen," he said, knife and fork clenched tightly in either hand. "You're spoiling what has otherwise been a fantastic meal."

Galled, Helen's mouth fell open. "Surely I wasn't doing harm by asking a few, innocent questions. And aren't you the least bit concerned about the implications that Laura's little tryst with a married man could bring to the family?"

"Daddy invited Shade," I snapped between my teeth. "As a long standing acquaintance, following the Shade and Iconic merger he felt-"

"Darling," Helen smirked, "You don't expect everyone at this table to believe that drivel, do you?"

My father banged his fist against the table, glass and silverware bounced atop polished wood. "Tristan Shade is here as my guest, as are you, and I will hear no more on the subject."

"Guest, am I?" The words rolled from between Helen's lips with icy disdain. "As your son's wife, how silly to think that would make me family."

My father rose, ominous as a storm cloud rolling in across the flatlands, smothering sun and field in the wake of his wrath. "You're tired, Helen. The trip was a long one. I think it best you head upstairs to your room and sleep it off. Collin," my brother jerked in his chair, "see to your wife."

Following the scraping of chairs, and the muttered argument fading down the corridor, everyone around the table-except for Tristan-breathed a sigh of relief. The rest of dinner rolled without a hitch, but throughout the meal and into dessert I noted that despite Tristan's light and engaging conversation with those around him, he was withdrawing into himself.

And I suspected that behind that poised calm was a roiling storm that I was going to have to face before the night was out.

#

Stepping outside, the moon shone bright overhead and I closed my eyes. Enjoyed the cool kiss of midnight breeze. My head was a little fuzzy from indulging in a couple extra glasses of wine, but given the nights drama, I thought I freaking deserved it and then some for not hammering out Helen's front teeth.

Walking off the booze, I strolled down the curve of the path and stopped short when I saw a shape silhouetted in moonlight by the long lick of pasture fence. His golden hair turned almost silver in the glow. He'd dismissed himself shortly after dinner with apologies, saying something about work and emails requiring his attention. I'd expected it was an excuse to get away, thinking he'd closet himself in our guesthouse.

Deciding it was best to get it over with; I joined him there, draping my arms over the rail of the fence.

"I'm sorry about Helen," I said when the silence carried out between us for far too long. "She's always been a bitch."

"And now you know why I objected to getting drawn into family engagements," he said. "All the speculation and nosing in." He slanted his gaze down to me, lips set in a firm line. "This was a bad idea, Laura."

"Stop," I whispered, wrapping my arms around him. Maybe it was the alcohol softening my spine, but I just couldn't stand the thought of us fighting. Not over Helen. "Please. Just stop. Don't let her spoil it. She'll be gone after tomorrow. Please."

He stayed rigid, impassive for a moment, then his arms came up and folded around me, the weight of his sigh telling me that whatever was left of his anger he was letting it go. Thought that didn't mean I wasn't entirely forgiven, I knew I was getting there.

"She could create trouble for me," he said, cheek resting against my hair. "For us."

"I won't let her," I promised; steel in my voice. "All she has is theories and conjectures. And pretty much anyone who knows Helen doesn't take a word she says for truth."

"That's not the point. She's right about our arrangement creating investor implications." Tristan drew back, just enough, so he could see my face. "You have to appreciate the delicacy of the issue. How do you think this is going to look to the board?"

My brows furrowed. "I said pretty much that verbatim when you first presented your contract to me. And you said-"

His finger slid across my lips, cutting me off. "I don't care if people find out about us, Laura. Just not yet. Timing is crucial. There are elements to my divorce that are...complicated. Delicate."

"So why didn't you wait until things were over before coming to me?"

In the dark, something streaked across his face-the first real crack in the otherwise impenetrable façade, his eyes shifting over mine, his hands gentle as they gathered my face. And held there.

"Because," he confessed, "I wanted you to much to wait."

Kiss him, the urge rose within me. Our bodies drew closer and I swayed. Right there. All I had to do was take it. An inch, maybe two, and I would know, finally know what it would feel like to have his mouth against mine. To taste his tongue.

A shriek pierced the night, soft and carrying across the distance. An animal sound. Tristan's head snapped around in the direction of the cry and my heart kicked in understanding.

"Stargazer," I whispered, fingers curling in his shirt. I was off and moving before I realized my legs were carrying me, Tristan's hand in mine, racing down the path towards the stables. As we drew closer we saw light pouring from a crack in thepartially opened barn door and Sheila, brown curls tangled from being wrenched out of sleep, appeared from behind them.

"Oh, Lord," she gasped, startled by the sight of us. "My heart. Jesus. I was just about to call your father."

"Where is she? Is Stargazer alright?" I asked, alarm in my voice. I'd participated in many birthing, and knew that when a horse made that kind of scream, there was almost always a problem.

"She started showing signs of foaling an hour ago, so I had her taken out to pasture while we mucked out her stall. It's going to go quick, I think."

"Call Daddy," I said, rolling up my sleeves. "I'll see to her."

"Good. Alright. Jimmy's up and in there. Carl, too. I've called Dr. Larson to assist in case there are any complications. He should be by within the hour."

Another scream and Sheila's hand leapt to her throat. "Lord...she's in distress. Go to her Laura. I think having you close will calm her."

I was already heading in her direction, following the sounds of her cries. Down the length of stables, various heads with curious eyes poked out as I loped by, Tristan keeping close at my side. Stargazer was in the paddock, working in sharp, fitful circles. Her belly so swollen and even from here I could see her body straining with effort.

I called out to her as I approached, keeping my voice strong but soft. She whined hugely, eyes large and anxious. Calming her, soothing her, I stroked my hand over the mound of her belly. Felt the ripple of contracts and her labored breaths.

"Its presenting wrong," I said, looking to Jimmy he was holding her by the head.

"Sheila thought so, too," he said, dark skin sheened with sweat. "Hence why she called Dr. Larson. Whoa, eh, easy!"

Stargazer's legs bent and she dropped to the ground, rolled to her side. Nostrils flaring and body heaving with strain. She rolled on to her back, then over to her side.

"She's been doing this for the last little while," Jimmy said. "But she's getting tired from the effort."

That's because instinct was telling her something was wrong, I thought, and Stargazer was frantically trying to reposition the foal.

"Sheila said he's an hour out at least." I looked up to Jimmy and he could see, just as I could, that foal didn't have that long to wait.

"What can we do?" Tristan asked, stooping at my side.

"We need to turn the baby," I said, running my hands along her belly. "I won't know how far until I get my hand in there." Jumping to my feet, I moved quickly, giving Tristan instructions as I scrubbed my arms in the basin sink, I cleaned and dried them thoroughly before slathering on lubricant while Jimmy palpated the mare.

"Her water hasn't broken yet," he said when I returned, right arm greased to the elbow.

"Let's find out why. Keep her head steady," I told Tristan and carefully slid my arm in. I heard voices around me as Sheila and my father arrived with questions and worry, but I was too engrossed in the task at hand to pay them any mind. Even with the lubricant the job was difficult, the strong vaginal walls clamped down hard with the waves of contractions, strong enough to bruise my arm-or break it if I wasn't careful.

After feeling around, I realized the foal's tail was plugging the cervix like a cork, and relayed this to Sheila who had taken over Stargazer's head.

I had a decision to make, one that could cost not only the foal, but the mare's life as well. At this point I couldn't know if the foal was still alive, an hour long wait would surely leave a dead foal on our hands. The only chance to save it would be for me to turn the baby myself.

"I'm going to try and turn it," I said. First I had to tear the sac covering the rump still wedged against the cervix, not surprising very little water eked out.

Biting down on my lip, I slid in a little deeper, thrusting as far as my arm could manage. The process would have been easier if she was standing, but I knew if I pulled my arm out I likely wouldn't be able to handle getting it back in. The muscles were cramping and aching from the tight, vice-like compress of contracts, squeezing from bicep to wrist like those inflating blood pressure machines you see in pharmacies.

Gradually, my hand fished around, and my fingers circled around what I hoped was the foal's foreleg. Doing the best I could visualize the foal's anatomy, trying to make sense of my blind groping. Thankfully with all the water, the walls of her uterus weren't contracting around the body making it easier for me to feel around.

But turning the body was beyond my scope of knowledge so I guided and steered that little body into what I hoped was a more agreeable position, bringing the right hoof up and into the vaginal walls. Sheila weighed herself on Stargazer's forelegs, stroking and reassuring her while Tristan stayed close to my side, awaiting instructions.

Jimmy had managed to get Dr. Larson on the phone and I listened as he explained what to do next. With a nylon loop strapped around the foal's fetlock joint-keeping it from pulling its leg back into the uterus, because my arm was too sore to manage, Tristan stepped in to repeat the process with the second leg.

My next greatest worry was keeping the foal from suffocating or shortening its blood supply-two issues that wouldn't be concern if it were being delivered headfirst. If the umbilical cord got pinched, there would be no way for it to breathe with its head still immersed in fluid and if we didn't deliver quick, then the end result if not death, of both foal and mother, would be brain damage.

Taking a hold of a rear leg, Tristan and I pulled forcefully as Stargazer contracted. Three tugs, and a full minute later, the shoulders cleared and the foal was delivered in a hot, wet gush. Drawing that long, spindly little body across Tristan's lap, I cleaned off its dark little head and nostrils.

I looked at him, the foal's head gathered in his lap, his arms slick with birthing muck, our clothes utterly ruined, and laughed. His face was alight, transformed with all the wistful awe of a young boy.

Between us, the baby stretched out unsteady legs, his coat was a gorgeous silvered black, favouring his father's colour, little face angling for sight of his mother.

"Come," I tugged Tristan to his feet, and we moved to the side as Stargazer nestled in closer to her baby and stroked him with a long, grey tongue. Whickering softly, pale blue eyes full of motherly pride. Doctor Larson arrived in a hurry, toting his veterinary bag and clucking over mother and baby. My father and Sheila, whooping with laughter, Carl and Jimmy set off to prepare Stargazer's stall for the two to settle in after their examination.

Exhilarated and exhausted, as proud as a mother myself, my head sagged to Tristan's shoulder and beneath my hand I could feel the heavy and joyful beating of his heart.

"He's beautiful," he said, his lips pressed to the top of my head. "What are you going to name him?"

Heedless of anything but the bright, exuberant joy filling us both, I tightened my arms around his waist. And sighed. This moment was so full, so warm and sweet in a way that sex could never hope to achieve.

"Starshade," I said, squeezing my eyes shut, careful, to keep my voice light. "His name will be Starshade."