Weak as a newborn lamb, Sunny Jamieson struggled into her two-sizes-too-small coat and work gloves and wrapped a red plaid scarf around her head. She’d been in labor for more than twelve hours, and her pains ought to be getting stronger, but they seemed to be staying level at about ten minutes apart. To make matters worse, the boys could barely get out of bed, both sick with the flu. But she had hungry horses and a cow in the barn. If she didn’t feed them, no one would.
Damn all men to hell anyway.