Against the Odds — J. Adams

There was a quiet tenseness in the air, but as the nameless cowboy continued to work, I soon found that my fascination was divided between him and the birth of the foal. I couldn't help noticing the way the muscles of his tanned back rippled and the way his large biceps flexed as he coaxed the new babe out. Never in my life had I ever seen a more sculpted man, not even among the construction workers my friends and I would casually admire as we walked by building sites in downtown Atlanta. When the man turned his head slightly, I could see that his neatly trimmed beard and mustache matched his tousled, thick chestnut brown hair, which was streaked with golden highlights and hung down the back of his neck. He looked to me to be a large man, one that I wouldn't care to encounter in a dark alleyway, but at the same time, I could also picture him on the front of a western novel.

Both David and the cowboy took a deep breath when the foal was finally delivered. I heaved a relieved sigh as well. Watching it all had been pretty amazing, and the experience left me in awe of life and its creations. It truly was something I would never forget.