Chapter One

"Hey, girl," I called softly. I shined the light into Snow's stall. All llamas, and especially grouchy pregnant llamas, dislike a surprise. "Hey." Usually she swung her face over the gate to greet me with a whiffle-a puff of air-and take an alfalfa biscuit from my hand. When she didn't come to the stall door, I peered over the wall.

She lay on her side, panting. I unlatched the door and stepped in. "Snow?" Her brown eyes rolled toward me. Llamas tuck their legs under them when they sleep; they don't lie flat unless they're sick or hurt.

Or having trouble birthing a cria.

I checked under her tail. There was one tiny black hoof.

I ran out of the barn, across the yard, and up the steps, bursting through the mudroom and into the kitchen. "Dad!"

Dad and Grandad looked up from the table.

"Snow's down! And her cria's coming!"

Dad got up, hurrying past me to the mudroom. Grandad followed, putting his cap on and shoving his feet into his boots. "Where's Greg?"

"Changing the starter on the crummy," I said. Our old pickup truck always needed work.

"Then we'll need your help, JT. Wash your hands and get the medicine bag," Grandad said.

I scrubbed my hands, ran to the shop, grabbed the bag, and sprinted through the night air back to Snow's stall.

Dad and Grandad knelt next to her, their backs hunched at the same angle, wearing matching blue Kinnaman Ranch caps. Dad put gloves on and said, "Squirt iodine on my hands, Joey." I dug the bottle out of the bag and squirted the brown liquid on his gloves. Grandad laid tools on a blanket-a sc