Lonetree Ranchers: Morgan

The dry wood caught immediately and the fire blazed high, chasing away the approaching shadows of late afternoon. He shrugged out of his duster and tossing it toward the chair where he’d thrown the drop cloth, went in search of some other source of light. Fortunately, he found two kerosene lamps in the pantry with full reservoirs. He returned to the living room, placed them on the mantel and lit the wicks with some stick matches he’d found in the kitchen, then sat on the hearth and picked up the book. Running his finger down the list of preparations, he glanced up. Where the hell was he going to find two pieces of sturdy string to tie off the cord?

He scanned the room, then zeroed in on Samantha’s tennis shoes sitting where she’d placed them by the end of the couch. Her shoe laces would have to do. He checked the book again. It didn’t say anything about sterilizing what he used to tie the cord, but he figured it couldn’t hurt. Just to be on the safe side, he’d toss them in the boiling water along with his pocket knife. Even if the hot water caused them to shrink, they should still be long enough for what he needed.

He laid the book within easy reach, then stood up and unfastened the cuffs of his chambray shirt. Rolling the long sleeves to the middle of his forearms, he waited for Samantha to relax her intense focus.

“The book says we need to start timing your contractions in order to tell how you’re progressing. Let me know when you feel another one coming on.”

She nodded. “They’re coming closer together.”

They were getting stronger, too. That much he could tell from the tiny strain lines bracketing her mouth. On impulse he reached out and took her hand in his. Giving it a gentle squeeze, he tried to reassure her. “You’re going to do just fine, Samantha.”

She squeezed back. “Remind me of that in a few hours.”

“Will do,” he said, nodding. He had no idea why the trust she was placing in him caused his chest to swell, but it did. Deciding that he could analyze what it meant later, he released her hand and started for the door. “I’ll be right back. I’m going to go get the rainwater I’ve been collecting so that I can put it on the fire to boil.”

“Morgan?”

The sound of his name on her soft voice sent a tingle up his spine. He swallowed hard and turned back to face her. “What, Samantha?”

“Thank you for being so calm. It really helps.” The look she gave him clearly stated that she was counting on him to get her through whatever happened.

At a loss for words, he nodded and walked out to the porch to get the pots of water. Samantha had no way of knowing that his insides were churning like a damned cement mixer from thoughts of all the things that could go wrong, as they had with his mother.

Morgan took a deep breath, then slowly released it. And if it was the last thing he ever did, he had no intention of letting her find out.

Two

Four hours later, Morgan sat on the hearth in front of Samantha where she perched on the edge of the couch. For the last hour he’d watched her alternate between sitting forward and leaning back against the pillows in her effort to get comfortable. She had his hand in a death grip as she rode the current wave of pain and it surprised him how strong she was. It felt more like a lumberjack had a hold of his hand than a woman, and her nails digging into his palm felt as if she might draw blood. But if it helped her get through this, he’d gladly let her rip the skin clean off.

As he watched her stare off into space and pant her way through the contraction, his admiration for her grew by leaps and bounds. She was in tremendous pain, but her determination to stay on top of it, to ride it out, was amazing.

He was sure she was in what the book called “active labor” because of the duration of her contractions and the time between them. He glanced at his watch. They still had the “transitional labor” to go through and, if the book was right, they probably had another couple of hours before they got to the actual delivery. He just hoped he could last that long. With every contraction Samantha had, his gut twisted tighter and he felt a little more helpless than he had only moments before.

When she blew out a deep breath, signaling that the contraction had ended, he asked, “Is there anything else I can do? The book says that you might have some back pain? Do you need your back rubbed?”

“Would you mind?” she asked, releasing his hand. She winced. “My back is killing me.”

Removing his Resistol, Morgan sailed it like a Frisbee to land on the chair with his duster, took a deep breath and eased over to sit next to her on the ugly green couch. He slipped his hand beneath her pink T-shirt to lightly kneed the muscles of her lower back, and valiantly tried to ignore the fact that her skin felt like satin beneath his callused palm. Now was not the time for him to remember how much he missed the way a woman’s softness felt.

“Is it helping?” he asked.

“A little.” She suddenly took a deep breath and once again focused on riding out another pain.

Morgan continued to rub her back with his right hand as he glanced at the watch on his left wrist. This contraction had come a lot faster than the last one. He watched the second hand sweep around once, then halfway around again before Samantha blew out a deep breath, signaling it was over.

“Stop touching me,” she said sharply. “You’re making it worse.”

“Okay,” he said, removing his hand from beneath her shirt. He knew for certain that he hadn’t rubbed her back that hard.

Frowning, Morgan moved back to the hearth and picked up the book. Unless he missed his guess, they were moving on to the next step.

Yep. Sure as shootin’, Samantha had all the signs of a woman in “transitional labor.” She’d suddenly become as irritable as a bear with a sore paw, didn’t want to be touched, and the most telling of the symptoms was the duration of the last contraction.

He wiped the sweat from his forehead and watched her struggle to stay focused as the next wave of pain hit her. Her face was flushed, her golden-brown hair hung in damp tendrils from perspiration and the lines of strain around her mouth had deepened.

He’d never felt more useless.

When she blew out a deep breath, he laid the book aside and wiped her face with a cool damp washcloth. Her gaze met his, and it was damned near his undoing when tears filled her pretty amber eyes.

“I don’t think…I can’t do this, Morgan.”

Making sure the book was within easy reach, Morgan took her hands in his. “You’re doing just fine, Samantha.” The instructions had indicated that he should encourage her and help her stay focused. He wasn’t sure how the hell to go about that, but he’d do it or die trying. “You’re in the home stretch, sweetheart. It won’t be much longer.”

He watched her eyes cloud with pain, felt her hands tighten on his in a death grip. She started to say something, but a moan came out instead.

It tore him apart to see her hurting and not be able to do anything to help. “Look at me, Samantha.”

Her breathing ragged, she shook her head. “This is…too hard,” she said, her voice cracking.

“Come on, Samantha, look at me,” he said more firmly.

When she finally did as he commanded, Morgan nodded. “That’s it, sweetheart. Stay focused and squeeze my hands as hard as you can. Concentrate on transferring the pain to me.”

He wasn’t sure if the book supported his way of taking her mind off the contraction, but he didn’t care. All that mattered was that it seemed to be working. Samantha held his gaze and damned near cut off the circulation to his fingers as she tightened her hands on his.

What seemed like an eternity, but couldn’t have been more than a couple of minutes later, she suddenly released his hands to lay back against the couch. “I need to push.”

The hair on the back of Morgan’s neck shot straight up and his stomach did a back-flip. “Are you sure?” he asked, flexing his fingers in an effort to return the circulation.

Nodding, she scrunched her eyes shut, grabbed her knees with her hands and pushed with all her might.

Morgan wanted to run like hell. Instead, he grabbed the book, quickly read what he needed to do, then prayed like he’d never prayed before.

He could do this. Along with his dad and brothers, he’d played baby doctor to the herds of Lonetree cattle for as long as he could remember. Surely he could deliver one little human baby.

Placing the book within easy reach, he washed his hands in one of the pots of water that he’d boiled earlier, then fished his sterilized pocket knife and Samantha’s shoelaces from the other. Fortunately, the water had cooled enough that it wasn’t scalding, but it was still damned hot. His mind on what was about to take place, he barely noticed.

To Morgan, the next thirty minutes seemed to pass in a fast-forward blur. Samantha worked hard to push her baby out into the world as he uttered words he hoped were encouraging. Then, just after midnight, a little baby boy with dark brown hair slid out into his waiting hands, opened his mouth and started yowling at the top of his tiny lungs.

A lump the size of his fist formed in Morgan’s throat as he stared down at the child he’d helped to enter the world. Awed by the miracle he’d participated in, he couldn’t have strung two words together if his life depended on it.

“Is my baby all right?” Samantha asked, sounding stronger than he would have thought possible after what she’d been through.

Relieved that things had turned out the way they should, Morgan tied off the cord in two places, cut it between the ties, then wrapped the baby in fluffy towels. His hands shaking slightly, he placed the infant in her waiting arms.

Clearing his throat, he finally managed, “I’m not a doctor, but he looks normal to me.” He grinned. “If his squalling is any indication, I’d say he’s mad as hell about this whole birthing business though.”

“He’s beautiful.” He watched tears fill Samantha’s eyes as she glanced up at him. “I can’t thank you enough for helping us, Morgan.”

“You did all the work.” Finishing the last of what the instructions indicated should be done, he washed up and rolled his sleeves back down to fasten them at his wrists. “Have you picked out a name for him?”

The smile she gave him made Morgan feel as if the sun had broken through on a gray, cloudy day. “As a matter of fact, I think I have,” she said softly. “How does Timothy Morgan Peterson sound?”

Two days later, Samantha sat on the side of her hospital bed, staring at the discharge papers the nurse had handed her only moments ago. Now what? Where were she and the baby supposed to go? And how were they supposed to get there?

She didn’t have her car. And even if she did, it wouldn’t run. The morning after Timmy had been born, Morgan rode his horse back to his ranch, then drove over to her grandfather’s place in his truck to take her and the baby to the hospital.

She sighed as she looked at her son sleeping peacefully in the bassinet. She could call a cab. But where would she have it take her and Timmy? She certainly couldn’t afford the fare for a sixty mile trip back to her newly inherited ranch. She shook her head. Make that her newly inherited dump.

“Do you need help getting dressed?” the nurse asked, strolling back into the room with a complimentary bag of sample baby products. She picked up Timmy from the tiny bed to wrap him in a soft, baby blue receiving blanket. “By the way, I caught your husband in the hall and told him you two were ready to leave.”

Dumbfounded, Samantha blinked. “My husband?” The woman had to have confused her with another new mother. “I’m not—”

“I sent him to bring his truck around to the front entrance,” the woman said as if Samantha hadn’t spoken. “Once you’re dressed, I’ll get a wheelchair and you and this little darling can be on your way.”

“But I still have to go down to the business office to make arrangements to pay the bill. And I’m not—”

“Don’t worry, Samantha. It’s taken care of,” Morgan said, walking through the doorway as if he owned the place. He handed her a shopping bag. “All you have to do is put these clothes on and we can get out of here.”

“I’ll get the wheelchair,” the nurse said, her shoes making a whispering sound against the tiled floor as she quickly left the room.

Samantha stared at the man who had been her rock throughout the birth of her child. He was without a doubt one of the best-looking men she’d ever seen. And apparently one of the most arrogant.

“What do you mean it’s taken care of?” she demanded. She wasn’t sure what he’d done, but she had a feeling she wasn’t going to like it when she found out.

“We’ll talk about it on the drive home.”

“I think we’d better discuss this right now,” she said flatly. She wasn’t going anywhere until he told her what was going on.

Completely ignoring her protest, he took the shopping bag from her stiff fingers, opened it and pulled out a cream-colored T-shirt and denim jumper. “I wasn’t sure about the size, so I had a clerk pick out everything. She said these were ‘one size fits most’—whatever that means.” He looked a little unsure as he shoved them into her hands and turned to leave. “Go ahead and get dressed so we can get out of here. I’ll be waiting with the truck when the nurse brings you out the front entrance.”

“Morgan, I want to know what—”

“I don’t want to argue with you, Samantha,” he interrupted. “It’s not good for you, and I really don’t have time for it. I’d like to get back to the Lonetree by lunchtime. So get dressed and I’ll meet you out front.”

Before she could demand answers, he grabbed the small overnight case she’d brought with her to the hospital, turned and left the room, leaving her to stare after him. She needed to get back to her grandfather’s ranch—make that hers now—to see about her car. And with very little money, she really didn’t have any other options of getting there.

She sighed heavily, then removing the tags from the jumper and T-shirt, slipped the pieces of lightweight cardboard into her purse. She wasn’t a charity case. As soon as she could, she’d pay Morgan back for the clothes.

Hurriedly changing from the hospital gown, she hardened her resolve to find out what he meant about the hospital bill being taken care of. They had a good sixty mile drive ahead of them, and if he’d done what she suspected, they were going to have a long talk on the way. A really long talk.

Fifteen minutes later, when the nurse guided the wheelchair through the double glass doors of the hospital’s front entrance, Morgan was leaning against the fender of his shiny silver-gray truck, his arms folded across his chest, boots crossed at the ankles. His denim jacket emphasized the width of his shoulders and his well-worn jeans hugged his muscular thighs like a second skin. She gulped. He looked like every woman’s fantasy—rugged, handsome and thoroughly masculine.

When he saw her, he smiled as he straightened to his full height and opened the passenger door of the shiny pickup. A tiny shiver coursed through her when his hand brushed her breast as he reached to take Timmy.

“You three make a nice little family,” the nurse said, watching Morgan cradle the baby with one arm, while he helped Samantha up onto the bench seat with the other. “Have a safe trip home.”

“Thanks. We’ll do that,” he said, handing the baby to Samantha. He closed the door of the truck before she could correct the nurse about them being a family.

“Why didn’t you tell her we aren’t together?” Samantha demanded when he slid into the driver’s seat and turned the key in the ignition.

“It just seemed faster and a whole hell of a lot easier than explaining the situation,” he answered, shrugging one shoulder.

She fastened the seat belt over the car seat she’d had him get from her car the day before when he’d brought her and the baby to the hospital to be checked over. “You don’t approve of my having a child without a husband, do you?”

“I can’t say that I do, or don’t,” he said, putting the truck into gear. He steered it out onto the street, then glancing at her, added, “Samantha, I don’t know the circumstances.” His expression turned grim. “But the baby’s father should have been here to help you through this.”

She watched the easy way Morgan handled the big truck as he navigated the traffic. He was a man in complete control, and one who could be counted on in any situation. Unlike Timmy’s father.

Her chest tightened at the thought of the man who’d fathered a child he cared nothing about. How could she have been so wrong about Chad?

When they first started living together, they’d both worked at achieving the true give and take of a successful relationship. But six months later, Samantha suddenly realized that things had changed between them. She’d been the one doing all of the giving and he’d been the one doing the taking. Then one day she’d come home from work to find that he’d moved to L.A. to pursue his dream of becoming a musician. That’s when she realized how shallow and uncaring Chad really was. He hadn’t even bothered to face her to tell her things were over between them. He’d left a rather impersonal note stuck to the front of the refrigerator, saying that he’d had fun, but that it was time for him to move on.

“There’s really not that much to tell,” she found herself saying. Why Morgan’s opinion mattered, she had no idea. But for some reason she wanted him to know that the choice to handle everything on her own, hadn’t been hers. “We weren’t married, and I didn’t find out I was pregnant until after he and I had parted company.”

She watched Morgan’s hands tighten on the steering wheel, and she knew what he was thinking before he even asked, “He doesn’t know about the baby?”

“Oh, I told him,” she said, trying to keep her voice even. She would not allow herself to dwell on how hurt she’d been by Chad’s decision. “I didn’t ask him for any kind of help when I told him. I just thought he should know he’d fathered a baby, and that he might want to be part of Timmy’s life. But he wasn’t interested in knowing his child now, or in the future. He offered to sign away all legal rights to Timmy, and I accepted. End of story.”

“Why would he do a dumb-ass thing like that?” Morgan asked bluntly. He shot her a scowl that stated quite clearly what he thought of Chad, and she knew beyond a shadow of doubt that it would be the last thing he’d do in the same situation.

Gazing down at her sleeping son, Samantha blinked back the threatening tears. “I suspect he thought it would insure that I’d never ask for any kind of financial help from him.”

Morgan snorted. “I think a man who shirks his responsibilities and denies his child should be shot.”

Samantha swallowed around the lump in her throat. “I think Timmy and I are better off this way.”

“How do you figure that?” Morgan asked, clearly unable to comprehend her reasoning.

“Chad turned out to be very selfish and self-centered,” she answered, gently touching her son’s soft cheek. She took a deep breath to chase away the sadness she always felt when she thought of all that Timmy would miss by not having a father. “Why would I want a man like that helping me raise my son? It’s not the kind of example I want set before Timmy. Besides, he deserves a father who loves him unconditionally, not one who simply views him as a monthly support check.”

Morgan was silent for several long moments before he nodded. “I couldn’t agree more. But when a man gets a woman pregnant, whether he ever sees the child or not, he has an obligation to help her.”

Reaching the outskirts of Laramie, he set the cruise control, then stretched his right arm out along the back of the seat. His fingers brushed her hair and she felt warmed all the way to her toes.

Startled by her reaction, Samantha scooted over to lean against the door. “I have a question,” she said, determined to regain her equilibrium.

He glanced her way and smiled. “And that would be?”

His easy expression caused her pulse to skip a beat. She took a deep breath to chase away her accompanying breathlessness. “When you walked into my room back at the hospital, you said everything had been taken care of at the business office. What did you mean?”

“Just that,” he said, staring at the road ahead. “The bill is paid.”

Samantha felt her stomach start to churn. “Would you like to tell me who paid it?”

“I did.”

Anger swept through her. “Why?”

“Call it a baby gift,” he said, his smile so darned charming that she had to fight the warmth filling her chest.

She shook her head as she tried desperately to hang on to her anger. “A baby gift is a high chair, a blanket, a set of bibs. It’s not paying a hospital bill.”

His smiled faded and a muscle began to work along his lean jaw. “Look, Samantha. I’ve got the money, and I don’t mind helping out.”

“I don’t need your help,” she said stubbornly. “I’m not a charity case.”

He shook his head. “I never said you were.”

“How much was the bill?” Reaching into her purse, she removed a pad of paper and a pen. “I’ll reimburse you as soon as I find a job.”

“No, you won’t.”

“Yes, I will.”

“Dammit, woman.” He looked exasperated. “I said no.”

“You’re used to people doing what you tell them to do, aren’t you?” she asked, already knowing the answer.

He shrugged, but remained silent.

“Well, let me treat you to a reality check, cowboy.” She stuffed the paper and pen back into her handbag. “I’ve been on my own since I was eighteen. I make my own decisions and I pay my own way.”

As she glared at Morgan, the baby suddenly opened his eyes, waved his little fists in protest and wailed at the top of his lungs. Their raised voices had startled him.

“Why don’t we put this argument on hold until we get home?” Morgan asked, steering the truck off the main road.

Samantha quieted the baby, then looking around at the scenery, she frowned. Nothing looked familiar and she knew for certain they hadn’t traveled this road when Morgan had taken her and Timmy to the hospital the day before.

“Where are we going?” she asked, noticing the neatly fenced pastures on either side of the road.

“I’m taking you to the Lonetree,” he said, as if that explained everything.

“Do you need to pick up something before you take me to my place?” she asked cautiously.

“No.”

A knot of suspicion began to form in the pit of her stomach. “Then why are we—”

“I thought you and the baby should stay at my ranch for a few days,” he said, turning onto another road.

She shook her head vehemently. “I most certainly will not be staying at your ranch.”

“Don’t be stubborn about this, Samantha. Your grandfather’s house isn’t in any shape for you and the baby to stay there.” He made it sound so darned reasonable, she wanted to scream.

But as she thought about what he’d just said, some of her anger drained away. She hated to admit it, but Morgan was right. The house only had a fireplace in the living room for heat, there was no running water and no electricity. Besides all that, the roof leaked.

Frustrated beyond words, Samantha had to fight the sudden urge to cry. It just brought home how low her circumstances had become. For all intents and purposes, she was as homeless as the foster child she’d been after her mother passed away.

Slowing the truck to a stop, Morgan turned to face her. “I understand how much you value your independence, sweetheart. And I swear I’m not trying to take that away from you. But you have to be realistic about this.” He reached over the car seat between them to cup her chin in his big palm, sending a wave of goose bumps shimmering over her skin. “Right now, you need help. Please, let me do the neighborly thing and lend a hand.”

She caught her lower lip between her teeth to keep it from trembling. Where else was she going to go? She had a newborn to take care of, no place to live and she’d exhausted her bank account to make the move from Sacramento to Wyoming. If it was just her, she’d politely refuse Morgan’s offer. But she had to think of what was best for Timmy now.