Читать книгу A Baby in the Bunkhouse - Cathy Gillen Thacker - Страница 7

Jacey woke at dawn, her body aching the way it always did when she’d spent too long behind the wheel of a car, her stomach rumbling with hunger.

She opened her eyes, and for a second as she looked around the rustically appointed room, she had trouble recalling where she was.

Then she remembered the rain—which was still pounding torrentially on the roof overhead—the jagged slash of lightning across the dark night sky, thunder so loud it shook the ground beneath her. And a man in a black hat and a long yellow rain slicker coming to her rescue.

Jacey closed her eyes against the image of that ruggedly handsome face and tall, muscular frame.

She didn’t know what it was about Rafferty Evans. She’d seen plenty of men with soft, touchable brown hair and stunning blue eyes. Taken item by item, there’d been nothing all that remarkable about his straight nose and even features. So what if every inch of him had been unerringly masculine and he’d been six foot three inches of strength and confidence? Just because his shoulders and chest had looked broad enough to shelter her from even the fiercest storm was no reason to tingle all over just remembering the sight of him, or the gentle, deferential way he’d helped her out of her car.

But she was. And that, Jacey decided, was not good.

She had a Volvo station wagon that was still stuck in the mud. And a baby inside her needing nourishment.

Padding barefoot to the private bathroom where she’d taken a warm shower the evening before, she slipped inside and began to dress in the long, pine-green maternity skirt and cream-colored sweater. Needing to feel a lot more put together than she had the evening before, she took the time to apply makeup and sweep her hair into a bouncy ponytail high on the back of her head.

She slipped her feet back into a pair of soft brown leather stack-heeled shoes that were going to be woefully inadequate for the conditions and repacked her overnight case. Leaving it on the bed for the moment, she opened the door to the main cabin of the bunkhouse and stared at what she saw.

Five genuine cowpunchers of varying sizes and ages, all staring at her. Waiting, it seemed. “Hi. I’m Jacey Lambert.” Awkwardly, she held out her hand.

The beanpole-thin cowpoke who was nearly seven feet tall was first to clasp her hand. “Stretch.”

Jacey could see why he was named that.

“I’m Curly.” A mid-twentyish man with golden curls and bedroom eyes was second in line.

Obviously, Jacey thought, as they clasped palms a bit too long, he was the self-proclaimed lady-killer of the bunch.

“Everyone calls me Red,” said a third.

The youngest cowhand couldn’t have been more than nineteen, Jacey figured, and had bright red hair and freckles.

“I’m Hoss,” said a big fellow with a round belly and a receding hairline.

So named because of his striking resemblance, Jacey figured, to a character on the old Bonanza television show that still played on cable in Texas.

“And I’m Gabby,” said the last.

Jacey estimated the forty-something man’s scraggly beard to be at least five days old, if not more.

“We are so glad to see you,” Gabby continued, pumping Jacey’s hand enthusiastically.

“Yeah, after what happened with Biscuits, we didn’t think we were going to get anyone else in here, but we’re starving.”

“Actually,” Jacey said, not sure what they were talking about, “so am I.”

“We, uh, know you just got here,” Stretch said, patting his concave belly, “but could you take mercy on us and cook us some breakfast?”

Jacey blinked. “Right now?”

“Yeah.” The group shrugged in consensus. “If you wouldn’t mind.”

Jacey figured she had to repay the ranch’s hospitality somehow. “Sure.” She smiled. “I’d be glad to.”

HOPING AGAINST WHAT he knew the situation likely to be, Rafferty nixed a visit to the bunkhouse—where their unexpected guest was likely still sleeping the morning away—and drove down to the river. Or as close as he could get to the low water crossing; the concrete bridge was now buried under several feet of fast-moving water. With the rain still pouring down there was no way it would recede. Not until the precipitation stopped, and even then, probably not for another twenty-four to thirty-six hours.

Realizing what this meant, Rafferty stomped back to his pickup. En route back to the ranch he passed the red station wagon. It was still half off the berm of the lonely dead-end road that led to the ranch, its right wheels buried up past the hubcaps in the muddy ditch.

Worse, it looked as if it was packed to the gills with everything from clothes to kitchenware to what appeared to be a baby stroller and infant car seat. They’d have an easier time getting the vehicle out of the mud if it weren’t so weighted down with belongings, but the thought of having to unpack all those belongings, only to repack them again made him scowl all the more.

He and the men couldn’t start the fall roundup until the rain stopped.

Knowing however there were some things that could be done—like getting that car out of the mud so their uninvited visitor could be out of their way as soon as possible—Rafferty drove toward the bunkhouse.

He was pleased to see the lights on, the men up.

Pausing only long enough to shake the water off his slicker, he strode on in, then stopped in his tracks. Stretch was setting the table. Curly was pouring coffee. Red, Gabby and Hoss were carrying platters of food. Steaming-hot, delicious-smelling, food. The likes of which they hadn’t been blessed with since he couldn’t remember when.

In the middle of it all was Jacey Lambert.

Impossibly, she looked even prettier than she had the night before, her cheeks all flushed—whether from the heat of the stove or the thoroughly smitten glances of the men all around her—he couldn’t tell.

“Hey, boss,” Stretch said.

“I’ll get you a plate.” Red rushed to comply.

“Man, this stuff smells good.” Hoss moved to hold out a chair for Jacey at the head of the table.

Flushing all the more, she murmured her thanks and slipped into the seat with as much grace as the baby bump on her slender frame would allow.

Rafferty felt a stirring inside him. He pushed it away.

“We didn’t think we were going to get someone to cook for us again until, well, heck, who knows when,” Curly said, helping himself to a generous serving of scrambled eggs laced with tortilla strips, peppers and cheddar cheese.

Curly handed the bowl of migas to Jacey, while the others ladled fried potatoes, biscuits and cooked cinnamon apples onto their plates.

Gabby paused long enough to say grace. Then the eating commenced in earnest.

To Rafferty’s chagrin, the food was every bit as delicious as it looked, and then some. From his position at the opposite end of the table, he gazed curiously at Jacey. “You’re a chef by profession?”

Her vibrant green eyes locked with his and she shook her head. “Property manager. Er…I was.” She lifted a staying hand, correcting, “I’m not now. Although I like to cook…”

“I can see why,” Gabby interjected cheerfully. “You’re dang good at it.”

“Thank you.”

“Which is why we’re so glad you’re here,” Stretch added.

Rafferty could tell by the relaxed smile on her face that Jacey Lambert had no idea what the men were talking about. He, however, did. Which left him to deliver the bad news. “She’s not our cook,” he said.

Uncomprehending expressions all around.

He swore silently and tried again. “I haven’t hired her. She’s not working here.”

“Then what’s she doing sleeping in our bunkhouse?” Hoss demanded, upset.

“My station wagon got stuck in the mud last night,” Jacey said. She leaned back in her chair slightly, rubbing a gentle, protective hand across her belly.

Turning his attention away from her pregnancy and the unwanted memories it evoked, Rafferty looked at the men. “She’ll be on her way to wherever she was headed—”

“Indian Lodge, in the Davis Mountains State Park and then El Paso,” Jacey informed them with a smile.

“—as soon as the river goes down.”

“Then let’s hope it never goes down,” Curly joshed with a seductive wink aimed her way.

Everyone laughed—including Jacey—everyone except Rafferty. Finished with his breakfast, he stood. He was about to start issuing orders, when Jacey let out a soft, anguished cry.

All eyes went to her.

She blew out a quick, jerky breath. The color drained from her face, then flooded right back in.

“You okay?” every man there asked in unison.

Jacey pushed back her chair, got clumsily to her feet. Trembling, she looked down at the puddle on the seat of her chair. Eyes wide, she whispered, “I think my water just broke!”

THIS CAN’T BE HAPPENING! Jacey thought as the door to the bunkhouse opened once again and a silver-haired, older man who bore the same rugged features Rafferty Evans sported walked in. Eyes immediately going to her, he swept off his rain-drenched hat and held it against his chest. “What’s going on?” he asked with the quiet authority of someone who had long owned the place.

Jacey braced herself with a hand to the table. “I think…I’m having my baby,” she said as a hard pain gripped her, causing her to double over in pain.

The ache spreading across her middle was so hard and intense, she couldn’t help but moan.

Her knees began to buckle.

The next thing she knew, Rafferty was at her side. One hand around her spine, the other beneath her knees, her swept her up off her feet and carried her the short distance to the bed where she’d spent the night.

He laid her down gently.

Jacey shut her eyes against the continuing vise across her middle.

“We need to get you to the hospital,” Rafferty said gruffly.

Another pain gripped her, worse than the first. She grabbed Rafferty Evans’s arm and held on tight, increasing her hold as the knifelike intensity built. The combination of panic and pain built; hot tears gathered behind her eyes. Oh, God. “I don’t think I can wait for an ambulance.” Glad she was lying down—she surely would have collapsed had she been on her feet—she blew out another burst of quick, jerky breaths.

This was not something Rafferty wanted to hear. He stared down at her, willing her to stop the labor, as surely as he had rescued her the night before. “Yes. You can.”

Hysterical laughter bubbled up in her throat. She shook her head and tightened her hold on him before he could exit the cook’s quarters. “I can feel the baby coming!”

“It’s still going to take a while.”

Was it? She blew out more air, beginning to feel even more frantic now. This wasn’t supposed to happen for another two weeks!

The group of cowhands pushed their way in. Along with them was the elder rancher. “I just called the hospital,” he reported grimly. “The Medevac chopper can’t take off until the fog lifts, which won’t be for at least another half hour. And with the bridge out…If this baby’s in a hurry, we may have to deliver it ourselves.”

Jacey couldn’t help it—she uttered an anguished cry as another excruciating pain circled her waist, pushing downward.

Vaguely she was aware of Rafferty swearing.

“Don’t look at us!” the group of cowboys said, already backing up, palms raised in surrender. “None of us know anything about birthing babies.”

The elder rancher looked at Rafferty. “Looks like you’re on, son.”

Rafferty did a double take that was no more encouraging. “Why me?” he demanded.

“Because you’re the only one of us who’s had any veterinary training!” Stretch said.

Veterinary training! Jacey thought.

Rafferty looked as unimpressed by his education as Jacey. “One semester,” he stated plainly, glaring at the hired hands who circled the bed. “That hardly qualifies me to work as an obstetrician.”

“Maybe not,” Hoss drawled, “but right now, boss, you’re all we got.”

Besieged with another contraction, Jacey grabbed the blanket she was lying on with both fists. This was going to be some story. First, she got hopelessly lost, something she never did. Then she drove her car into a ditch, spent the night in a bunkhouse, was unwittingly mistaken for the new cook, whipped up breakfast to great acclaim…and then went into hard, fast labor. Next thing she knew…She moaned out loud as the pain increased unbearably. “I can’t believe I’m talking about having my baby delivered by a vet-school dropout!”

“Now, now. He’s got to know something,” Curly soothed with a wink.

“Yeah, he delivers all the horses and cows on the ranch,” Red added helpfully. “The ones that need help birthing anyway.”

“It’s not the same thing,” Rafferty protested grimly.

“Not even close,” Jacey agreed in the same humorless tone.

“Close enough,” the older man countered sagely, stepping in with that cool air of authority once again. “Emergency Medical Services said the docs over at the Summit Hospital E.R. will answer any questions you have and talk you through it until they can get here—just give ’em a call.” He pushed the phone into Rafferty’s hand, then extended his palm to Jacey. “I’m Eli Evans by the way,” he said warmly, reassuring her with a glance that all would be well. “My son and I own this place.”

Eli seemed like a nice guy. Hospitable and ready to lend a hand, unlike his son, who seemed to be offering aid with as much reluctance as Jacey felt receiving it.

Another contraction wrapped around her middle. It was all Jacey could do not to whimper as the pain increased. Recalling her labor coach’s advice to relax and distract herself from the discomfort as much as possible during the early stage of labor, Jacey puffed, “Nice to meet you, sir.”

Her know-it-all sister had been right—Jacey shouldn’t have taken her sweet old time getting to El Paso for the birth.

Jacey forced a determined smile and kept her attention on Eli. “And thanks for the lodging last night.”

“You’re welcome.” Eli squeezed her hand reassuringly, before releasing it. “Although, for the record,” he said mildly, “I would have put you up in the ranch house.”

“My room was fine.” She’d slept well. Which was good, considering what she had ahead of her.

“You ought to taste the breakfast she cooked us,” Stretch remarked.

Eli’s craggy brow lifted in surprise. “You cooked?”

Jacey shrugged as perspiration beaded her entire body. “It seemed a fair trade. Besides, we were all hungry.”

Unable to help herself as the pain increased to defcon levels, she let out a low, keening moan.

Every cowboy in the room—except Rafferty—stepped away from the bed she was lying on. As if it would somehow help to give her space.

And maybe it would, Jacey thought as sweat dampened her hair and heat pushed up her neck into her face. Despite the fact she was now once again diligently doing her Lamaze breathing, she felt as if she would never be able to get enough air.

Father and son exchanged concerned glances she wished she hadn’t seen. “Let us know if you need anything.” Eli directed the cowboys out, and the door shut behind them.

Jacey and Rafferty were alone, and Rafferty looked about as happy with the situation as she was.

He punched in a number, stated he was going to be the one delivering the baby, then listened intently. “This your first baby?” he asked Jacey.

“Yes.”

“Then we’re probably going to have plenty of time.”

Rafferty went back to talking on the phone, absorbed what sounded like a slew of in-case-things-do-get-out-of-hand instructions. Promising to call back if he needed further instructions, he hung up and opened the bedroom door. “Get me a stack of clean towels and something to wrap the baby in!” he called.

The cowboys milling nervously about jumped to attention. Mere seconds later clean linens were shoved into Rafferty’s arms.

“Boil a pair of scissors and some string. I want ’em sterile,” he barked before shutting the door and striding back to the narrow twin bed. Despite his lack of experience, he carried himself with a gunslinger’s confidence, which, oddly enough, made her want to kick him in the shin. Perverse as it might be, she wanted him to feel as panicked and out of control as she did. She wanted them to be on a level playing field.

A glint of humor in his blue eyes, he surveyed her mussed hair and flushed cheeks. “Want a bullet to bite on?”

“Very funny,” she panted.

“Whiskey to kill the pain?”

“You’re a laugh riot.” Tears streamed down her face. “All those wonderful delivery-room drugs would probably help just about now.”

“I’m sure they’ll give you a shot of whatever as soon as the EMS gets here. Meanwhile—” he dragged the ladderback chair over to the end of the bed “—we’re going to have to get you better situated.” He patted the end of the mattress. “So you’re going to have to scoot down to the end.”

With her whole body wrapped in a vise? Suddenly, she was trembling from head to toe. “I don’t th-th-think I c-can.”

“I’ll help you.” Gentle, reassuring now, he put his warm, strong hands beneath her, then shifted her bottom to the end of the mattress. He slipped onto the seat of the chair, positioning her legs so her knees were raised, her feet flat on the mattress. He lifted her again, held her there with one hand and spread two clean towels out beneath her.

Another wave of intense pressure rocked Jacey’s frame. Was it her imagination or could she literally feel the baby bump moving lower…? “I know it doesn’t seem possible…but I r-r-really think I f-f-f-eel the head.”

“Only one way to find out.” He was so calm and matter-of-fact they might have been talking about the weather. “We’ll take a look, see how far your cervix is dilated.”

“Guess those veterinary classes are coming in handy.”

“Now who’s the smart-ass?”

Grinning, she had a feeling he’d be a fun guy to spar with. Under other circumstances…She sucked in a breath as another contraction gripped her.

The look on his face as he checked out the situation confirmed her worst suspicions and the reason for her distress.

“You need to call for help again?”

All business, Rafferty shook his head. “No time.”

No time?

“Hang in there, Jacey.” His voice was as warm as his touch. “We can do this.”

Suddenly, with him by her side…she felt as if they could.

He remained focused on the task ahead. “I’m going to have to touch you.” He applied a very gentle counterpressure to her perineum that made her feel as though things were getting back into control, however slightly. “And you’re going to need to pant or blow through the contractions. Just don’t push. Not yet. I’ll tell you when.”

Marshaling every bit of self-control she had, she fought through the excruciating pain and did as instructed.

“I can see the head. It’s coming out…nice and slow…which is good. We don’t want to rush anything. Wait! I’ve got to unhook this loop of umbilical cord from around the baby’s neck.”

Jacey sucked in a breath and went as still as possible, not even daring to breathe.

“Easy does it,” he murmured as he gently worked the cord over the baby’s head. “Okay, we’re good to go,” he said with a smile. She felt the backs of Rafferty’s hands brush against her spread thighs as he took the baby’s head in both his palms. “Now push! We’ve got a shoulder…an upper arm…! Another shoulder and…a baby!” he declared triumphantly.

Jacey felt a whoosh as the infant slipped completely free of her body. Another rush of fluid. Incredibly happy and at peace, she watched as Rafferty cleared the mouth of mucus and held the squirming, squalling baby aloft so she could see.

A LUMP CLOGGED Rafferty’s throat as the baby let out one lusty cry after another. A cheer went up on the other side of the door that paired nicely with Jacey’s exultant cry as she met her infant daughter for the first time. “Hello, Caitlin, my sweet baby girl,” she whispered, happy tears streaming down her face.

“Congratulations,” he said gruffly, pushing aside memories of another place, another time and life that had been cruelly taken away.

He wrapped the pink, squalling baby in a towel and handed Caitlin to her mother.

Too overwhelmed to do more than nod, tears of joy streaming down her face, Jacey cradled the newborn close to her chest. Forcing himself to rein in the feelings that threatened to overwhelm him, too, Rafferty returned to the end of the bed and concentrated on the task still at hand. Tears pricked the back of his eyes. Determinedly, he willed them away. “Anyone you want to call?” he asked in the most impersonal tone he could manage.

Abruptly, Jacey went very still. “If you’re asking about a…husband…”

He was.

As reluctant as he was to imagine her with any other guy, he didn’t want her to be alone, either.

“I don’t have one.”

Rafferty should have figured that would be the case, given how independent she was. He checked, saw the afterbirth still attached to the umbilical cord, well on its way.

He went to the door. Got the sterilized scissors and string from the cowboys on the other side. Shut it again. “Baby daddy then,” he prompted.

Blissfully entranced with the quieting bundle in her arms, Jacey shook her head, replied softly, “Don’t have one of those either.”

Rafferty checked out her left hand. Sure enough, it bore no wedding ring.

Which meant what? The baby’s father had abandoned her? Died? Was around but chose not to be involved? Her expression gave no clue. And in fact, she seemed defiantly determined not to discuss it with him.

He figured that was her right. He didn’t want to talk about his personal life, either. Still, there had to be somebody who cared, someone to notify.

“Family then,” he insisted matter-of-factly. With the placenta out, Rafferty was free to tie off and then cut the umbilical cord. Finished, he tucked the towel in around the baby once again, keeping the newborn warm.

“I’ve got a sister in El Paso whow as supposed to be my labor-and-delivery coach. I’ll call her after we get to the hospital.”

Without warning, there was a thump thump thump of an approaching chopper.

“Sounds like the Medevac team is here,” Rafferty said.

Given the heart-wrenching memories that this experience had conjured up, it wasn’t a moment too soon.