Читать книгу Her Best Christmas Ever - Judy Duarte, Judy Duarte - Страница 7

Connie stared down at the floor, as though she could blink her eyes and find that she’d only imagined that her water had broken.

But it had; her legs and slacks were wet with the warm fluid.

Of all days and nights for this to happen. She slid a glance at Greg, saw the shock plastered on his face, matching her own.

Fear gripped her throat. This couldn’t be happening. The backache that had been plaguing her all afternoon sharpened to the point of taking her breath way. Then it spread around her waist, slicing deep into her womb.

Greg was at her side in an instant, his arm slipping around her. “Are you okay?”

“I…I don’t know.” She leaned into him, needing his support until the pain subsided.

Was she experiencing her first contraction?

She must be.

Focus, she told herself, as she quickly tried to sort through the instructions her doctor had given her, as well as the information she’d gleaned from the book she’d read on what to expect during pregnancy and childbirth.

Finally, the pain eased completely, and she slowly straightened. “I’ve got to call Dr. Bramblett. She’ll know what to do.”

“Good idea.” Greg handed her his cell phone.

“And I guess I’d better clean up this mess,” she said.

“I’ll take care of that. You just call the doctor and sit down. If that happens again, you might collapse and hurt something.”

“I…” She nodded at the amniotic fluid on the floor. “Maybe you’d better get me something to sit on. I don’t want to ruin any of your mother’s chairs.”

She could have sworn she heard him swear under his breath as he dashed off to get what she’d requested.

When he left the room, she dialed the doctor’s number from memory. But instead of one of the familiar, friendly voices she expected to hear, a woman who worked for the answering service took the call.

“Dr. Bramblett is out of town,” the woman reported. “But Doc Graham is covering for her.”

That meant the older man would deliver her baby, and in a sense she was almost relieved. Doc Graham might be past retirement age, but he’d gained a tremendous amount of experience during his fifty-year practice.

When Doc’s voice finally sounded over the line, she said, “This is Connie Montoya, and my water just broke.”

“Where are you?” he asked. “Are you at the Rocking C?”

“Yes, I am.” Doc was in Brighton Valley, which was about ten minutes away. And the hospital in Wexler was about thirty miles beyond that. He’d probably tell her to grab her bag and come right away.

Instead, he said, “I’m afraid there’s no way you or anyone else can get in or out of there right now because of the flooding.”

Had she imagined a raw edge to his grandfatherly voice? A tinge of fear?

Her heart dropped to the pit of her stomach, and her voice took on high-pitched tone. “What am I going to do?”

“Don’t worry. Usually, once the rain stops for a while, the county road opens up again.”

She wanted to believe him, but it was a real struggle. She placed a hand on her womb as though she could convince the baby to stay inside and wait for a more convenient time to arrive.

“The weather report says that the rains are supposed to start easing by midnight,” Doc added, “and it won’t take long for the road to open up after that. So you should be okay until then.”

Should be? But what if she wasn’t? What if the baby needed medical intervention? Or what if she did?

“Can an ambulance get through?” Connie asked. “Or maybe you can send a helicopter.” Somehow, she had to get to a hospital.

“I’m afraid not. The ambulance can’t make it any sooner than I can. And the chopper can’t take off right now. But in a couple of hours…”

“Hours?” Connie asked.

“Edna’s an old hand at this,” Doc said. “She’s helped me deliver a few babies over the years. So if worse comes to worst, you’ll be in good hands.”

“But Granny isn’t here.” Connie’s voice had risen a couple of decibels and was bordering on sheer panic.

“Who’s with you?” Doc asked. “You’re not alone, are you?”

Connie slid a glance at Greg, watching as he came into the family room and dropped a towel onto the floor to dry up the fluid.

“No,” she told the doctor. “I’m not alone. Greg’s with me.”

“Good. He’s been raised around cattle and horses. He’ll know what to do if it comes to that.”

What did he mean by “if it comes to that”?

Was he suggesting that a country singer be her midwife? And not just any singer, but the one and only Greg Clayton?

She blew out a sigh. Greg had been raised around cattle and horses, Doc had said. Was that supposed to make Connie feel better?

She didn’t care if the guy had a degree in veterinary medicine. She wanted a doctor—her doctor. And she wanted to have her baby in a hospital.

After giving her a few do’s and don’ts, Doc added, “As soon as the rainfall stops and the water recedes, I’ll drive out to the ranch. If the weatherman was right and this storm strikes hard and quick, I should be able to get through that road before dawn.”

Connie glanced out the window, where the rain continued to pound as though it would never end.

“For what it’s worth,” Doc added, “first babies usually take their time being born. You have hours to go. In fact, you probably won’t even deliver until tomorrow night.”

She hoped he was right. If anyone had a handle on this sort of thing it was Doc.

But that didn’t make Connie feel any better about being stuck out on the ranch without a physician—or even a veterinarian.

What was Greg going to do—sing the baby a lullaby?

Greg had never been so scared in his entire life. And that was saying a lot.

Before he’d moved in with Granny, he’d had plenty of reasons to be afraid. Like being left at a Mexican orphanage when he was six years old. And going mano a mano with a furious, unbalanced, thirty-something migrant worker when Greg had been only thirteen.

Now, as he sat in Connie’s bedroom with every candle and flashlight he could find glowing, it seemed as though he was even more out of his element than he’d ever been before.

It was just after midnight, and he’d been planted in a chair beside her bed for three hours, afraid to leave her alone—even to take a bathroom break.

Her pain had grown progressively worse. But at least she hadn’t cried out, which would have really wrung the ice-cold sweat out of him.

After another brutal contraction eased, she seemed to regroup. So he took the wet cloth he’d been using to wipe her brow, dipped it into a bowl of cool water, then dabbed it across her forehead.

He didn’t knowif thatwas helping or not, but he’d seen someone do that in a movie once. And he wanted to do something, even if he felt about as useful as a sow bug on the underside of a rock.

“How are you doing?” he asked.

“Not bad when I’m between contractions,” she said, obviously attempting to make light of all of this.

His best guess was that her pains were lasting nearly two minutes, and her reprieve wasn’t even that long. But he had to give her credit for not screaming. He’d really be in a fix then. His nerves, which he’d once thought were like cords of steel, reminded him of cooked spaghetti noodles now.

“According to Doc Graham,” she said, “first babies take hours to be born. And he should be here by the time we need him.”

“That’s good to know.” Greg wondered who she was trying to make feel better—him or her. It didn’t matter, he supposed. Either way, they were in this mess together.

And what a mess it was. Talk about being at a loss and completely out of his comfort zone.

Greg had watched his share of births on the ranch, but they’d all been animals. He glanced down at Connie, at the grimace on her face, and his fear deepened.

What if something went wrong? What if he didn’t know what to do or how to help her?

He did his best to tamp down the concern and worry, as they continued to ride out the storm—the one raging outside, as well as the one going on in her body.

Finally, just after one o’clock, she turned her head toward him. Pain clouded her eyes.

As she wrapped her gaze around his, threatening to pull him under as he dog-paddled around in a sea of his own anxiety, she reached for him and locked her fingers around his forearm. “Will the road be closed much longer?”

“The rain has really let up, so the water should start receding as soon as the downpour stops completely.”

“This is getting to be unbearable,” she said. “So I hope you’re right.”

Greg hoped so, too.

What if something went wrong—like it had the night he was born?

His biological mother, Maria Vasquez, had been nearly nine months pregnant and living inMexico when she’d decided to return to the United States to have her baby. She’d been born in Houston, but after the death of her parents, she’d moved back to Mexico to live with an older sister.And since Greg’s father had been a drifter who hadn’t been willing to marry her or accept responsibility for the child he’d helped create, she knew she was on her own.

Maria had been a dreamer, while her sister Guadalupe had never been one to take risks. But Maria knew having U.S. citizenship, like she had,would provide her child advantages hewouldn’t have in Mexico. So she managed to finally talk Guadalupe into leaving the small village where they lived and going to Texas with her.

Unfortunately, they’d no more than crossed the border when Maria’s water broke, and she went into labor.

They’d tried to reach Houston, but her labor progressed too quickly. So they’d decided to stop at the very next town they came to. But by that time, it was late at night, and there was nothing open—no gas station, no motel, no diner…

When they spotted a small church, Guadalupe stopped the car and banged on the door until a priest answered. He’d called an ambulance and done his best to make Maria comfortable, but medical help didn’t arrive in time. Maria died from complications of childbirth and was later buried in the church cemetery.

The thought of history repeating itself scared the crap out of Greg. Focusing on the past, on the stories that Tia Guadalupe had told him, only served to increase his anxiety now.

He’d never considered himself a religious person, even if he’d been named Gregorio, after the kindly priest. But he prayed anyway, asking that the rain would let up soon and that the doctor would be able to get to the Rocking C in time.

Doc might have said that first babies took hours to be born, but Greg feared that Connie’s baby might not be aware of that rule.

“Oh, my God.” As the overwhelming urge to push overtook her, Connie looked at Greg, the only person in the world who could help her now.

But as their eyes met, she couldn’t utter another word, couldn’t tell him what was going on. All she could do was instinctively tighten her stomach and curl up, as a half groan/half growl erupted from her lips.

“What’s wrong?” he asked, no longer even trying to mask the concern in his voice.

Poor Greg. He was as frightened as Connie was—maybe more so.

And she was scared to death.

But there wasn’t anything she could do right now, other than obey the primal urging of her body to push the baby out into the world.

Finally, between grunts and groans and other horrid noises that would have been mortifying if she’d made them at any other time, Connie managed to squeak out, “The…baby’s…coming.”

“No!” Greg leaned forward, his eyes growing wide enough to allow the panic inside of him to peer out. “Don’t push yet, Connie. Can’t you try to wait just a little—”

“Are you crazy?” she shrieked. “Get out of here and leave me alone!”

When he stood, she yelled, “Please don’t go!”

“God, Connie, I won’t. I just thought I should boil water or something. Or at least wash my hands.” Greg raked his fingers through his hair as though forgetting that the strands were being held taut by a leather queue.

The poor guy. She almost felt sorry for him, for the distress her labor was putting him through. But only almost. He was all she had right now, and she needed him to step up to the plate.

Of course, this was all her fault. She should have gone home while she’d had the chance. She should have crawled on her hands and knees and begged her mother to forgive her.

But it was too late now.

“Ready or not,” she said, “I’m having this baby. And I’m having it now.”

“Oh, damn,” he uttered.

Thank goodness he made no effort to leave, even though she could see the anxiety brewing in his eyes.

They were stuck—just the three of them, one man, one woman and one baby. Strangers thrown together by Fate on a lonely, stormy night.

“Oh, God,” she whispered. “Don’t let my baby die.”

Greg paled at her words, and his eyes watered. Then he blinked several times and seemed to rally. “Ah, Connie. Don’t worry. I can do this. Hell, so can you. Women have been having babies since the dawn of time. This is no big deal. We’ll handle it together. And we’ll probably laugh about it later.”

No way would she find anything funny about this later. But she appreciated his attempts to calm her, to provide some peace of mind in order to face the challenge ahead. But before she could thank him, her body again took charge, and she heeded another order to push—harder still.

After the urge finally passed, Greg removed the sheet that was covering her legs.

“Take off your panties,” Greg said.

“What?” Her expression, she suspected, had morphed into something sort of stupefied. But his comment had struck her as…odd. Under the circumstances, it just…sounded funny, that’s all.

“I can’t very well deliver the baby if you keep them on,” he said patiently.

As Connie worked to remove her underwear—as luck would have it, an extra-large matronly styled pair that Granny had purchased for her—she began to smile. Then a chuckle erupted. One of those nervous, stress-relieving giggles Connie sometimes made at the most unsuitable times and in the most inappropriate places.

“Lucky me,” she said. “I wonder how many women can say that Greg Clayton asked her to remove her panties.”

“Very funny.”

She suspected there had been quite a few—a legion of them, no doubt. She knew how many groupies had flocked around Ross and the other guys who played in the South Forty Band, and they weren’t anywhere near as handsome and popular as Greg was.

“Of course,” she added, “I suppose this particular experience is unique to the two of us.”

“You’ve got that right.” Greg chuffed.

“For what it’s worth, after what I’ve gone through tonight, I can assure you that I won’t ever agree to take off my panties for another man again. And if one even suggests it, I’ll crack him over the head with the first heavy object I can find.”

Greg tossed her a grin. “I’ll keep that in mind.”

Then he took a deep breath and reached for the cell phone on his belt clip and dialed the number Doc had given him.

“What are you doing?” she asked, feeling the urge to push again.

“Doc is going to have to coach me through this. Like you said, the baby’s coming whether we want her to or not.”

As Connie pushed until she was blue in the face, she had to agree. Apparently, she was one of those rare women destined for a speedy delivery. And the only one available to help her bring her child into the world was Greg.

She hoped the handsome singer was up for the task.

As Greg prepared to deliver Connie’s baby, his movements grew stiff and awkward. The sweat beaded upon his brow, and he used his arm to wipe it away.

Damn. The guys in the band were never going to believe this. Hell, he didn’t believe it. If his hands weren’t busy, he’d pinch himself.

His cell phone was lying beside him, set on speaker, as Doc Graham talked him through the scariest, most nerve-racking night of his life.

He glanced at Connie, her expression set in a grimace, her face red as she did her best to push her baby into the world.

Was this how Father Gregorio felt when Greg’s mother had been giving birth? Scared spitless? Completely out of his league?

The fact that his mom had died in childbirth was enough to spike his spinal fluid with ice water, but he shook off the nervous fear and focused on the task at hand. He had to help Connie have her baby whether he wanted to or not.

“The head is out,” Greg told both Doc and Connie, as he followed the directions of the experienced country doctor.

Moments later, the baby slid into his hands. His own breath held as he waited for it to cry, to breathe. As the tiny little girl let out a wail that pierced the silence and announced her arrival, he blew out a huge sigh of relief.

His movements were almost robotic, but he did everything Doc told him to do, step by scary step. And as the minutes ticked away, as everything proceeded the way Doc said that it would, wonder overcame the fear that had been dogging him since Connie’s labor had started and the birth became imminent.

After he cleaned up the screaming, flailing baby girl, he bundled her in flannel like a little burrito and handed her to her mother.

Connie, with tears streaming down her face, took the baby from him and cooed at her. “Hello, sweetheart.Welcome to the world.”

Asense of awewashed over Greg, and he found himself experiencing an unprecedented high, a mind-boggling sense of wonder.

“Oh, my God.” Connie looked up from the newborn long enough to latch onto Greg’s gaze. “Look at her.”

He had been looking. And while the tiny little newborn was scrawny and wrinkly and gooey and had an uncanny resemblance to E.T., the extra-terrestrial, he couldn’t help thinking she was the cutest little alien he’d ever seen.

“She’s beautiful,” he told Connie. “Are you still going to call her Amanda?”

“I don’t know. Does she look like an Isabella to you?”

She was asking him for an opinion? “It sounds like an awfully big name for a little baby, but I guess she’ll grow into it.”

“I could nickname her Bella. Or Izzy.”

Greg looked at the little flannel-wrapped cherub, at the rosebud mouth, the wispy dark hair.

“Not Izzy,” he said, thinking of a ton of rhyming words that kids might use to tease her, Dizzy or Frizzy or Lizzy Lizard. Kids could be thoughtless, he’d learned. And cruel. “But Belle or Bella suits her. Either one would make a good name for a little princess.”

Then he tore his gaze away from the mother and child, doing whatever he could to make Connie more comfortable.

Yet even when his job appeared to be nearly over, when he finally had an excuse to close the door and leave them to rest, he hadn’t been able to do so. Instead, he kept looking for reasons to stick around.

Had he really been the first human to touch that baby girl? The one to cut and tie the cord?

He sat in silence for the longest time, basking in a slew of emotions he couldn’t quite peg. Feelings he’d never experienced, never expected to.

As he got to his feet, he continued to watch them like some kind of voyeur. Or maybe he’d taken on a protector role. Either way, he couldn’t help feeling a bit envious.

Not that he expected to bond with the new little family of two; he’d done his part and could now go on his way. But as Connie whispered loving words to her new daughter, he found her voice soft and mesmerizing, the sight warm and touching.

When the baby looked at her with eyes that crossed, Greg damn near choked up. Again, he wondered if he really ought to be privy to this special moment, yet he was unable to move.

Awed by what he’d just seen, he was also caught up in admiration for thewoman who’d bravely fought pain and fear to bring her newborn daughter into the world, a woman who now bore a maternal glow and a mesmerizing beauty he couldn’t explain.

Connie, who cuddled her infant daughter in her arms, looked up at him and smiled. “Thank you, Greg. I don’t know what I would have done without you here.”

“It was no big deal,” he said.

But it had been bigger than big. It had been huge.

He didn’t think he’d ever forget this moment. He’d witnessed a miracle, and what had once seemed like the worst night of his life had somehow become one of the best.

The kind of night that made a musician want to grab his guitar and sit up until dawn, trying to re-create a memory in song.