Ooh Baby, Baby

“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. Jennings—”

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 like 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.

Peggy cradled her daughter in the crook of her arm, loosened the blanket to marvel at the perfect little body and, of course, to count each miniature finger and teensy toe. Gratitude surged into her throat, nearly choking her. She swallowed, struggling to speak. “I don’t know how to thank you.”

He shrugged, clearly uncomfortable. “I didn’t do much.”

“You saved her life.”

The second shrug was more like a twitch. “She’s a gutsy little gal,” he murmured, angling an admiring glance. “Just like her mama.”

That’s when Peggy saw it, the telltale moisture clinging bright to his stubbled cheeks. Their eyes met and held. Something special passed between them, something warm and wonderful. Something that changed her life.

* * *

Shortly after the second birth, the ambulance arrived and Travis was shuffled aside in the chaos. While the medics tended to the new mother and her twins, he stuffed his hands in his pockets and ambled through the gray drizzle, stopping occasionally to peer through the wet cab window at the frenzy of activity.

A gurney was pulled from the rear of the ambulance and wheeled to the open cab door. Travis strained to watch, but was pushed aside by a burly EMT as the weak woman was lifted out. A baby fussed. Travis thought it was the boy. He was attuned to each infant’s distinctive sound. They were a part of him now.

He stretched upward, trying to see, but caught only a quick glimpse of matching bundles whisked to the waiting ambulance. The gurney wheeled by. Another glimpse, this time of flaming hair spread on white linen, a pale face, eyes closed, beautiful in its purity, smiling in repose.

Someone slapped his shoulder. Someone shook his hand. Travis paid little attention. He was busy watching the ambulance doors close.

A moment later, the vehicle sped away, lights flashing.

Alone now, Travis pulled down the brim of his hat, folded his arms and propped a hip against the cab fender to wait for the tow truck. But his mind replayed the morning’s events over and over and over again. After twenty-eight years of living, Travis Stockwell had finally figured out what life was about.

He’d never be the same.

* * *

Vanderbilt Memorial’s emergency room was packed with patients, clamoring with chaos. A rash of blackout-induced traffic accidents and storm-related injuries had strained the ER’s resources to the breaking point.

Peggy, who’d been wheeled to a curtained examination area, was distressed when her twins were immediately whisked away. She struggled to sit up, was overcome by a wave of dizziness and managed only to prop herself up on one elbow.

A flurry of activity bustled just beyond her cubicle, uniformed personnel rushing with purpose while civilians wandered aimlessly like shell-shocked soldiers.

One civilian caught Peggy’s eye, a bewildered gentleman with glazed eyes. His handsome face was expressionless, and he shuffled back and forth, eyeing the activity around him as if it were the most perplexing thing on earth.

A nurse appeared and took hold of his arm. “There you are, Mr. Smith. We’ve been looking for you.”

The man focused, then frowned. “Smith?”

“For the moment,” the nurse mumbled, distracted as a gurney encircled by medics whizzed past. “At least until we locate your family and find out who you really are.”

“Family?” The man’s confused expression broke Peggy’s heart. He touched the bandage on his head and flinched. “Smith,” he murmured. “Martin Smith.”

“That’s right.” The nurse sighed and ushered him away before Peggy could get her attention.

When another uniformed woman appeared just beyond the cubicle’s open drape, Peggy waved weakly. “Nurse! Please, can you help me?”

The woman glanced around, issued an empathetic smile and hurried over. Peggy clutched her frantically. “Where have they taken my babies?”

“Up to Pediatrics,” the nurse replied, peeling Peggy’s fingers from her wrist.

“But they’re all right, aren’t they?”

The nurse managed a frazzled nod. “I’m sure they’re perfectly healthy, Mrs. Saxon, but we need to examine them. It’s routine for newborns.”

“Why can’t I go with them?”

“Dr. Dowling wants to see you first. He’s with a patient right now, but he’ll be down shortly.” She patted Peggy’s hand, then rushed off in response to a colleague’s call.

Peggy lay weakly against the pillow. Her body was drained, but her mind was a frantic contradiction of fear and relief. It was over. Her babies were safe and healthy, thanks to a certain cab-driving cowboy with puppy brown eyes. She shuddered to think what might have happened if he hadn’t been there.

She bit her lip, shaking off the frightening image. It didn’t matter what might have been. All that mattered was that he had been there, a stoic stranger who’d saved her babies’ lives, probably her life, as well. And she didn’t even know his name.

“Peggy?”

She turned her head and recognized Marsha Steinberg, a member of the city council’s administrative staff. They didn’t know each other well, but their paths had occasionally crossed at city hall where Peggy held a clerical position before taking maternity leave.

The portly woman hurried over. Her eyes were red, as if she’d been crying. “My stars, child, what are you doing here?” Her bloodshot gaze shifted, then her lips thinned into a weak smile. “Why, you’ve had those babies. And so soon, too.” She clucked her tongue and bit her lip. “Time goes by so fast. In the blink of an eye, things change. Lives begin. Lives end.” Her voice quivered, choked to a sob. “So fast.”

Peggy felt a chill. The woman was clearly distraught, and this was a hospital. “Is something wrong, Marsha? Your family…has there been an accident?”

She shook her head, sniffed and forced a smile. “Gracious, look at me, all teary-eyed when this is the best day of your entire life.” She forcefully patted Peggy’s hand, rattling a jangle of bracelets encircling her thick wrist. “Now, where are those beautiful babes of yours? I just can’t wait to see them.”

“Upstairs,” Peggy murmured, following the woman’s gaze to where a familiar, bleak-eyed man was speaking with an equally grim physician. “Is that Hal Stuart?”

A fresh spurt of tears beaded the older woman’s lashes. She nodded and snatched a tissue from the box beside Peggy’s bed.

Peggy frowned. “I thought he and Randi were leaving for their honeymoon right after the wedding.”

Marsha’s face crumpled like a wet shirt. “There wasn’t any wedding,” she wailed, then burst into tears.

Stunned, Peggy didn’t know what to say. The marriage of Hal Stuart and Randi Howell had been touted as the social event of the season. It had been front-page news for months, and since Hal was the mayor’s son, half of city hall, including Peggy, had been involved in finalizing preparations at Squaw Creek Lodge, which had been braced for the biggest nuptial bash in Grand Springs history.

Marsha blew her nose, snatched up another tissue and frantically dabbed her eyes. “It was horrible, simply horrible. The guests were seated, the organ was preparing to play the Wedding March, and then—poof!”

“Poof?”

“The lights went out.”

“Oh. The blackout.” Peggy relaxed slightly. “Well, they’ll have to reschedule, I suppose….”

“No, no.” Shaking her head until her gray curls bobbed, Marsha clasped a palm over her mouth, struggling for composure. After a long moment, she straightened, wiping her palms on her suit skirt. “The bride is gone.”

“Gone where?”

“No one knows. She just…disappeared.” Marsha clasped her hands and angled a compassionate glance toward Hal Stuart, who was still engrossed in somber conversation. “The poor man,” she murmured. “Poor, poor man.”

Exhaling, Peggy shoved a tangle of hair from her eyes and tried to grasp what she’d learned. Or more important, what it all meant. She’d seen Randi Howell a few times, usually at city hall when she and her fiancé, Hal, had dropped in on the mayor. As Peggy recalled, Randi was stunning in an outdoorsy kind of way, with dark blue eyes and a wild mane of curly black hair that seemed ready to explode from the braids she favored.

Peggy had thought her rather shy, because she rarely spoke unless spoken to, and avoided eye contact. It seemed odd that a meek, apparently pliable young woman would be drawn to a man of such opposing temperament. Certainly no one had ever accused Hal Stuart of being timid. Brash, yes. Perhaps even controlling. But never timid.

As much as Peggy liked Hal’s mother, Olivia, she’d never much cared for the mayor’s ambitious offspring. There was something, well, furtive about him. Shifty.

And, of course, to Peggy’s way of thinking, Hal Stuart had one other fatal flaw. He was male.

Peggy didn’t exactly dislike men; she simply didn’t trust them, and with good reason. Still, there were exceptions. A certain heroic, cab-driving cowboy came to mind—”Poor Hal,” Marsha murmured again. “He’s devastated, positively devastated.”

Pushing away a niggle of guilt at having thought ill of a man who was clearly troubled, Peggy managed an empathetic smile. “It’s a shame the wedding didn’t go as planned, but I’m sure Randi will turn up soon, they’ll talk things out and everything will be just fine.”

Marsha waved that away as irrelevant. “Randi Howell is no loss to a man like Hal Stuart. He was too good for her to begin with. But he and Olivia were so close—” She sobbed into the tissue, perplexing Peggy even more.

“I don’t understand. What has Olivia got to do with the wedding?”

The woman’s shoulders shook with the force of her sobs. “No one knew,” she blubbered, nearly incoherent now. “She seemed so vibrant, so strong. No one knew her heart was weak.”

A chill skittered down Peggy’s spine. “Has something happened to the mayor?”

Marsha shuddered, sniffed, clutched Peggy’s hand. “Oh, my dear, her assistant found her on the kitchen floor shortly after the lights went out.”

“A heart attack?” When the woman nodded miserably, Peggy clutched the bedclothes. Olivia Stuart was a brusque woman, but a kind one. She’d gone out of her way to help Peggy through one of the most traumatic times of her life. Peggy adored her. “Oh, God,” she whispered. “Not Olivia.”

Snatching another tissue, Marsha blew her nose again, then fixed Peggy with red-rimmed eyes. “I’m so sorry, dear. I know you were close.”

“People recover from heart attacks all the time. I know it’s serious, but she’ll be all right, won’t she? She has to be all right.”

Marsha gazed back toward the spot where Hal Stuart had been standing. He was gone. She closed her eyes a moment, then faced Peggy. “No, dear, she won’t be all right. Olivia is dead.”

* * *

It was late afternoon before Peggy was moved up to the maternity ward. As promised, the twins were brought to her, whereupon she promptly unwrapped them again to study every appendage on their pink, healthy little bodies. Satisfied and brimming with maternal love, she dressed them carefully, then cuddled her beloved infants until the floor nurse insisted she needed rest and whisked them back to the nursery.

An hour later Peggy was awake, restless. She couldn’t sleep because her stitches hurt and her mind was awash with conflicting emotions—love for her beautiful new babies, mingled with terror at the responsibility of raising them alone, and profound grief at the death of a woman who’d been her friend.

Life was so fragile, so precious.

An image flashed through her mind, a fleeting memory of glowing brown eyes, a tender kiss brushed across her newborn daughter’s brow. The stranger had saved her baby’s life, and she couldn’t even recall if she’d thanked him.

At that moment, her memory of the man became so crisp, so clear, that she could literally see him standing there, hat in his hands, eyes shifting with shy, western charm that was oddly endearing. She smiled at the apparition.