Ooh Baby, Baby Read online

  Her gaze narrowed. “Golly, what a swell idea.”

  He flinched, feeling stupid. Every ambulance in town was tied up on emergency duty, which was why he’d been called out in the first place. “I guess you’ve already tried that.”

  “I guess I have, cowboy.”

  Flustered and completely out of his element, Travis blurted, “Can’t you put this off for a while? I mean, this is a really, really bad time to have a baby….” His voice trailed away as her eyes thinned into mean little slits. Obviously she was well aware of that fact and didn’t appreciate the reminder. He cleared his throat. “Okay, sure, no problem. We’ll, ah, just mosey on over to the hospital and ah—ma’am?”

  As another contraction tightened, she bit her lip, made a peculiar vibrating sound deep in her throat, then started to pant again. She bent like a safety pin. Beads of sweat slicked her face. Her skin was white as death.

  Travis was beside himself. Flustered and completely out of his element, he didn’t have a clue what to do. Instinctively reaching out, he patted her shoulder, then let out a yelp as she snatched up his hand and damned near crushed every bone in it. Since there was no way short of amputation to pry himself out of her spasmed grasp, he gritted his teeth and waited for her pain—and his—to pass.

  Several long seconds later, she released him and fell back exhausted. Her hand dropped limply onto the floor, and she issued a soft, guttural moan that touched Travis to the core.

  He flexed his fingers, grateful that they still moved, then wiped a gentle thumb over her delicate brow that was the copper-gold color of a summer sunset. “Can I get you a glass of water? Maybe a wet cloth to, you know, cool you down some?”

  A flash of pink moistened her lips, then was gone. “Thank you, but I’d really like to leave now. My doctor is waiting.”

  “Oh, sure.” He glanced around the room, suddenly panicked. “We can’t get out. The front door is blocked.”

  This was clearly not news to her. She sighed and wiggled a weak finger toward the kitchen. “That way.”

  Travis considered that. “Even with me giving you a boost, it’ll be a mite tricky getting over that fence, what with your condition and all.”

  She stared at him as if the word stupid had appeared in neon welts across his forehead. “As exciting as that sounds, I’d prefer to use the gate.”

  “The gate,” he repeated, feeling more idiotic by the moment. He hadn’t seen a gate, but then again, he hadn’t spent much time looking for one. “Right. The gate.”

  When she struggled upward, he helped her to her feet, then held on, fearing she might collapse. If it weren’t for his sore ribs, he would have carried her—“My valise,” she whispered.

  “Excuse me?” He followed her gaze to a tapestry bag on a table beside the kitchen door. “Oh.”

  He braced an arm around her. She took a shaky step forward, then suddenly went rigid as another contraction hit her.

  Travis swallowed hard, tightening his grip to hold her upright. “You’re doing fine,” he murmured as she puffed and shuddered. With his free hand, he stroked her upper arm, offering the same quiet encouragement he’d have used to gentle a skittish mare. “Just a few more seconds…that’s right…breathe real short-like…that’s good, ma’am, that’s real good.”

  A rush of air escaped her slack lips. She sagged against him, gasping. She was just a slip of a thing, really, barely big enough to rest her head against his shoulder. Faded freckles were scattered across the bridge of her nose, and the scent of sweet flowers wafted from hair that tangled around her shoulders like a curly mass of poppy red fire.

  A protective surge swelled up in his gut, an odd sensation that made him want to whip out a saber and fight the world to keep her safe. At the moment, that meant getting her to the hospital.

  Travis tugged down his Stetson, grabbed the valise and ushered the exhausted woman to the cab.

  * * *

  “Aa-a-ah!”

  The cry from the back seat sent chills down Travis’s spine. He looked in the rearview mirror, and could have wept. The poor woman was contorted in pain, white as death except for a bright trickle of blood where she’d bitten her lip. “Hold on, ma’am. We’ll be there soon.”

  Her features relaxed slightly. She licked her lips and gave a weak nod.

  Focusing on the road, Travis swerved around a large rock dislodged by the rain, then slowed to forge a muddy puddle. Black sludge splattered the cab’s hood and fenders. Travis’s brother-in-law, who owned the cab company, was a spit-and-polish stickler, but at the moment Travis didn’t much care. He concentrated every ounce of his attention on his mission, which at the moment was traversing a winding gravel pathway that was pitted, potholed and edged with a quivering mass of muddy muck.

  Navigating Virginia Road had always been a challenge; now it was a nightmare, But with paved interstate access still blocked by the overturned big rig, this was the only available route into town.

  Squinting into the dreary late morning light, Travis saw the hairpin curve up ahead and touched the brake with his boot.

  A blood-curdling shriek came from the back seat.

  Travis jerked his eyes from the road to the mirror and back again, but it was too late. The mud slide loomed like a mountain. And they were heading right for it.

  Chapter Two

  Travis yanked the wheel. The woman shrieked. The cab spun doughnuts on wet gravel, then sank to its hubcaps in the mucky shoulder.

  He gunned the engine. The tires spat mud and sank deeper. Logically, Travis understood that the vehicle was irretrievably mired, but panic was not a logical emotion. He jammed the cab into first gear and stomped the gas pedal to the floor. The engine revved madly. Black goo shot from beneath the spinning tires.

  “Aa-a-ah!”

  A quick glance into the rearview mirror confirmed that the situation in the back seat was not going at all well. Sweat trickled into his eyes. He snatched up the microphone. “We’ve got big trouble! Send an ambulance to Virginia Road, about three miles down from the turnoff. For God’s sake, hurry, Sue Anne. We’re fixing to have a baby here!”

  The radio crackled. “Say again?”

  “A baby, a baby!”

  “Ayeee-ee!” The woman gasped, bolted upright. “It’s coming! Oh, God, it’s coming!”

  Travis spun in his seat. “Not yet, ma’am, please. Help is on the way. Just hold on a few more minutes, okay?”

  She went limp and fell back against the door, panting. “I need to push.”

  “Oh, Lordy, don’t do that!”

  “I have to.”

  “No, no, you don’t.” Frantic, Travis dropped the microphone and hoisted his torso over the headrest far enough to grasp her cold hand. “Think of something real calming, you know, like a pasture of grazing horses or maybe a pretty little creek. That always helps me to hold off during, uh, well, you know.”

  She gave him a look that could freeze meat.

  Travis swallowed hard. “I guess maybe you’re not in the mood to think about that sort of thing right now.”

  Her eyes were green slits. “Oh, I’m thinking about it, cowboy. Believe me, I’m thinking about it— Ah! Oh! Oh!”

  As the contraction hit, she clutched his wrist with both hands, hauling half his torso into the back seat. Behind him, a voice cracked over the radio, but Travis couldn’t deal with that because the thrashing woman with a death grip on his arm was shrieking distinctly unladylike epithets along with horribly graphic, gender-specific alterations she planned to perform on a man named Clyde.

  Sue Anne’s voice crackled from the radio. “Travis! Travis, pick up. I’m patching you through to Vanderbilt Memorial’s ER. Travis!”

  The driver’s headrest pressed Travis’s throbbing ribs as he teetered over the seat back, struggling to extricate himself from the woman’s clenched fingers. When he freed himself, he scooped up the microphone.

  Before he could scream into the speaker, a crisp, female voice crackled out. “This is Dr. Jen
nings—”

  Travis plunged his thumb on the mike switch. “Help!” he blurted. “She wants to push!”

  “How close are the contractions?”

  Travis shifted a wary glance toward the thrashing woman. “One right after another. Geez, they just won’t stop.”

  “Can you see the baby’s head?”

  “Huh?” Travis frowned at the microphone. “You’re kidding, right?”

  The doctor gentled her tone. “My name is Amanda. What’s yours?”

  “Travis, ma’am.”

  “Well, Travis, you’re going to deliver this baby—”

  “The hell I am!”

  “And I’m going to help you.”

  “Uh-uh, no way.” Travis shook his head so hard his hat shifted. “This is not going to happen—”

  “It’s coming!” the woman screamed, then curled forward, teeth gritted as her face folded in on itself.

  Travis dove into the back seat, dragging the microphone with him. “She says it’s coming!” he shouted, yanking the mike cord taut. “What do I do?”

  The doctor’s voice was crisp, competent. “Remove her clothing and see if the head is crowning.”

  Defeated, Travis issued a pained sigh, licked his lips and mumbled, “I’m real sorry, ma’am, but we, ah, need to adjust your skirt and such.”

  The woman bared her teeth, allowed him to do what had to be done, then snarled like cornered prey.

  Taken aback, Travis wiped his forehead, blinking at the woman who appeared ready to rip out his Adam’s apple and shove it up his nose. But he saw something else in her eyes. He saw terror.

  Her snarl slipped into a broken sob. “Please,” she whispered. “Help me.”

  Travis’s heart melted. “I will, ma’am. Don’t you fret. I’ll take real good care of you and your baby.”

  Her gaze was skeptical, but tinged with hope. “Have you done this before?”

  “Hmm? Oh, sure. Dozens of times.” Since the reassurance seemed to calm her, Travis chose not to mention that all of his previous patients had hooves.

  A split second later the woman was convulsing again, locked in the throes of the worst contraction yet. Travis grabbed the mike. “The baby’s coming, all right. I can see its head.”

  “Good,” the doctor said. “You’ll need something to grip the child with. Do you have a towel, or any kind of clean cloth?”

  “Well, ah.” Travis plucked at his muddy shirt. “I don’t think so.”

  “Valise,” the woman mumbled when the pain eased.

  “Hmm?” Travis followed her weak gesture to the tapestry bag on the floorboard. “Oh. Wait a minute, Doc.” He snapped the bag open and pulled out a handful of items, including a couple of adult-size nighties, a robe, some baby gowns and two tiny blankets. “Okay, I got some stuff.” A guttural moan caught his attention. He froze for a moment, then stuttered, “Sh-she’s going at it again, Doc. Oh, Lordy, the baby’s coming out!”

  “Reach down and support the child’s head,” Dr. Jennings said brusquely. “During the next contraction, ease the shoulders out of the birth canal.”

  Instantly forgetting the doctor’s instruction about using a cloth, Travis dropped the flowered nightie, lurched forward and made a clumsy grab for the tiny wet skull. “Its eyes are open. It’s looking at me—”

  The woman sucked in a rasping gulp of air, squeezed her eyes shut and pushed for all she was worth. A wriggling infant slipped into Travis’s waiting hands…then squirted right out of them. The baby landed fortuitously on the woman’s stomach, where it emitted a startled gasp, screwed up its purple face and began to howl lustily.

  Travis fell back, horrified by how close he’d come to dropping the slippery little guy. He didn’t know squat about babies—hell, he’d never even touched one before—but it didn’t take a genius to realize that bouncing one off the floorboard was a really bad idea.

  The exhausted woman peeled open an eyelid and smiled. “A boy,” she murmured. “A perfect little boy. Isn’t he beautiful?” She beamed expectantly.

  Travis eyed the ugly, wrinkled creature and decided God would forgive a small lie. “Yes’m, he’s real pretty.”

  The radio crackled. “Travis? What’s going on there?”

  He took a shuddering breath and picked up the microphone that was dangling over the headrest by its cord. “The baby’s here, Doc, and it’s yelling something fierce.”

  Dr. Jennings chuckled. “Good job, Travis, but your work isn’t done yet.”

  After answering several questions about the child’s appearance and the mother’s condition, Travis managed to follow the doctor’s instructions about clearing the infant’s nose and mouth, then used a strip of flowered cloth to tie off the umbilical cord. He’d just draped one of the blankets over the still-howling child when the woman went rigid.

  “Ma’am?” Travis blinked sweat out of his eyes. “Oh, Lordy, ma’am, why are you doing that again?”

  She gritted her teeth, curling forward.

  “Something’s wrong, Doc!” Travis dropped the mike, snatched up the wrapped infant from her stomach and looked frantically around. His gaze fell on the open valise, which conveniently resembled a small bassinet. After hurriedly tucking the wrapped infant inside, he turned his attention to the woman and nearly went into cardiac arrest.

  “Holy smokes,” he hollered into the microphone. “She’s having another one!”

  “Well, Travis,” Dr. Jennings replied calmly. “At least now you know what to do.”

  * * *

  Peggy let her head fall back against the cab door, eyes closed, lips slack. A world of blackness spun around her, sucking her in. Her mind wept.

  From a distance, she heard the familiar voice urging her with a desperation that touched but couldn’t move her. “Push! Please, ma’am, you have to push.”

  “Can’t,” she murmured, overwhelmed by the effort of the monosyllabic utterance.

  Wet hair stuck to her face, clung to her quivering eyelids. She didn’t have the strength to lift her hands, yet felt gentle fingers stroke her skin, smoothing the damp strands away. The touch was so tender, so loving. She forced her eyes open and saw his face. Rugged yet young, not much older than she was. Round eyes, dark with worry, fringed with a stub of golden brown lashes. A mouth that was full, sensitive. Lips that were moving.

  She strained to hear. “Your baby needs help,” he was saying. “I know it’s hard, but you have to try, ma’am, you have to.”

  The contraction struck like an earthquake in her soul. Her back arched without permission, throwing her backward, shaking her, pummeling her, battering her body without mercy. The world darkened as her eyes rolled up into her skull.

  “Push, ma’am! Oh, Lordy. Doc? She can’t, she just can’t. You’ve got to get her some help…please, Doc, she can’t take no more.”

  The voice was coming from somewhere, everywhere. Peggy focused on it, used it as a lifeline to bring herself back from the brink.

  Your baby needs help, ma’am.

  Peggy forced her mind away from the white light of unconsciousness.

  Your baby needs help.

  The young cowboy’s words echoed in her mind, giving her strength.

  Your baby.

  She drilled her fingernails into the upholstered car seat.

  Needs help.

  She thrust her head forward until her chin struck her chest, then coiled forward, using every ounce of strength she could muster. Stars broke through her mind. Lights flashed. Blood roared past her ears like an exploding ocean.

  She fell back, panting. Drained. Empty.

  Empty.

  With immense effort, Peggy opened one eye and saw the limp little body lying on her abdomen. The cowboy was alternately wiping its tiny mouth and talking into the microphone. A dull hiss in her ears kept her from hearing him, but she could tell by his grim expression that something was very wrong.

  Blinking sweat from her eyes, Peggy tried to touch the precious infant, but her hand felt li
ke lead. The cowboy dropped the microphone, snatched up a wad of cloth—one of her nightgowns, she thought—and began to vigorously massage the tiny body.

  Slowly the droning hiss dissipated and Peggy could hear again, although sound was distorted, distant. She tried to speak, couldn’t, coughed, tried again. “What’s…wrong?”

  The bleak-eyed cowboy didn’t look up. “Nothing, ma’am. You’ve got yourself a pretty little girl, and everything’s fine, just fine.”

  But it wasn’t fine at all. Even in her exhausted stupor Peggy could see that the baby was smaller than her brother, and more lethargic. Her color was odd, too, kind of a dusty lavender that made Peggy’s heart flutter in fear. “My baby…?”

  “Don’t you fret.” The flowered fabric came apart in his hands. He used a strip if it to tie off the cord. “I’m not going to let anything happen to your baby.” As he spoke, he continued to massage the limp little limbs, then he bent down and puffed gently into her tiny mouth.

  A lump rose into Peggy’s throat. Hysteria bubbled from her lips. “God…oh, God… Please, please—”

  The infant’s arms twitched, once, then again. A tiny foot kicked the air. There was a squeaky sputter, then the baby’s chest heaved.

  “That’s right, darling,” the cowboy murmured. “Take yourself a big old breath. There you go, sweetheart, there you go.”

  In response, the baby pulled up her knees, flailed her tiny fists, screwed up her face and belted a howl even louder than her brother’s had been.

  Peggy exhaled all at once. Tears sprang to her eyes. “Oooh.” She bit her lip, overcome with joy and relief.

  The cowboy’s shoulders rolled forward. He lifted his hat, wiped his face with his forearm and heaved a shuddering breath. “You go on and holler all you want,” he murmured to the wailing infant. “You got a right to be mad.”

  He tucked his hat back over a disheveled shock of sun-streaked brown hair, then awkwardly wrapped the thrashing infant in a blanket. His hands were huge, clumsy, endearingly gentle. When he brushed a sweet kiss across the baby’s soft little scalp, Peggy’s heart swelled until she thought it would explode. She’d never seen a man, any man, exhibit such tenderness. It touched her to the marrow.