Читать книгу Rough Around the Edges - Marie Ferrarella, Marie Ferrarella - Страница 9

Kitt’s scream echoed in his head, making his ears ring.

“I guess this means it’s showtime, so to speak,” O’Rourke said, bracing himself.

He only hoped he was up to this.

True, he’d helped his mother when it came to be her time, but Sarah O’Rourke gave birth so easily it was almost as if she were a mother hen laying eggs. There was nary a whimper out of her, not even once. Just biting down on what she’d come to call her “birthing stick” and within a half an hour, O’Rourke found himself with a new little brother or sister. He always felt that his mother had simply had him in attendance, off to the side, on the off chance that something went wrong. He’d held her hand, mostly, and mopped her brow.

His father was never around for the momentous occasions. James O’Rourke was too busy trying to earn enough money to support all the hungry little mouths he and Sarah kept bringing into the world.

Standing there, holding his mother’s hand, O’Rourke had thought little of it then. It was just the circle of life continuing, nothing more. The impact of it was never as great as it was at this moment. This was some strange woman he was helping.

What if…?

O’Rourke refused to let his mind go there. He had no time for “what-ifs.” The woman was screaming again like a bloody banshee, arching so that she looked as if she was trying to execute some incredibly convoluted yoga position from the inside out.

O’Rourke tried to think, to remember. His mother had always seemed so calm about it.

“Gravity’ll help you, Kitt.” Suddenly inspired, he grasped Kitt by the shoulders and positioned her so that her shoulders were propped up against the wall of boxes in the van.

Wearing a thin cotton blouse that was soaked clear down to the skin, Kitt felt the rough cardboard digging into her back. For the first time, as the twisting corkscrew of pain abated for a moment, she noticed her surroundings. There were boxes everywhere. Big boxes. Was he some kind of bootlegger?

“What…what is all this?” She tried to crane her neck, her hands resting protectively around her swollen belly. “Are…you…a…smuggler?”

O’Rourke bit back a laugh. “Why? Do I look like a smuggler?”

She looked at him with eyes that were beginning to well up with pain again. “You…look…” She searched for a word. “Dangerous.”

He’d certainly never thought of himself in that light. “Dangerous?”

She hadn’t meant to insult him. He was trying to help her. “The…good…kind of…dangerous.”

Amusement curved his mouth even as she clutched at his hand again, squeezing his fingers hard. “There’s a good kind?”

“Yes…like you.” With his black hair and bright blue eyes, half naked, he made her think of some kind of tortured, poetic hero. “Dangerous…the kind who…lives…on the edge.” She blew out a long, cleansing breath, knowing another contraction was about to smash into her. She talked quickly, wanting to get it all out before she couldn’t. “Makes a woman’s heart flutter. That’s my problem. I’m attracted to the window dressing—only to find out that the sale’s been over…for months.”

The pain was making her delirious, O’Rourke decided. Maybe this wasn’t such a piece of cake as he’d hoped. Stories he’d heard from his mother about two-day-long labors came back to him.

He looked past the woman’s head toward the front of the van. Maybe there was time to drive her to some hospital after all.

Kitt grabbed his attention and his arm, digging in her nails and crying out.

And then again, maybe not, he amended.

“I’m breaking,” she screamed to him. “I’m…breaking…in half…. Someone’s…taking one leg…and pulling it…one way…and…the other’s…snapping…off.”

He’d heard his mother describe it that way. It was when his brother Donovan had made his appearance in the world. Donovan had come in at just under twelve pounds. His father’s chest had stayed puffed up for a week despite his mother’s choice words about the experience.

“Nobody’s pulling either leg, Kitt,” he told her as gently as he could while still keeping his voice raised so that she could hear him. “It’s your body telling you it’s almost time.”

“Almost time?” she echoed incredulously, able to focus on his face for a second. “My body’s…in…overtime! I’ve been…in…agony since before…I…left…the house.”

He didn’t doubt it. She looked like a strong woman, despite her small frame. Good breeding stock, his grandmother would have probably called her. He figured maybe he should put what she was going through in perspective for Kitt. “Women have been known to be in labor for thirty-six hours.”

That’s not what she wanted to hear at a time like this, when she felt like a ceremonial wishbone. “If I’m going to die,” she ground out between tightly clenched teeth, “you’re…going with me.”

He laughed as he wiped an unexpected bead of perspiration on his forehead with the back of his wrist. “Not at your best under pressure, are you, Kitt-with-two-t’s?”

“Yes,” she gasped as the pain began again. “I am…but there’s only…so much…pressure a person should…have to…take.” Her eyes flew open. This was the worst ever. She didn’t know if she could get past this latest wave. “Oh-God-oh-God-oh-God.”

He could tell by the way she was arching her back that this one had to be a doozy. He had to get her to focus her attention on something else.

“Now, you listen to me. Look at me.” When she didn’t, he took her chin in his hand and physically made her look in his direction. “Right here, focus your eyes and look at me.” O’Rourke pointed to his own eyes as he released her face. “We’re going to have this baby and we’re going to be done with it right quick, do you hear me? When I say ‘push’ I want you to bear down and push to the count of ten and then stop. Ready?” He said it with firm authority, belying his own queasy feelings.

She panted several times before she had enough energy to answer. “Ready.”

“Okay.” He braced himself. “Now push. Two-three-four…” He continued counting until he reached ten. “Okay, stop.”

As if all the air had been let out of her, Kitt collapsed, her head rolling to the side. She lay so still O’Rourke thought she’d fainted until he saw her tense again. Another contraction had taken hold, he thought. “Bear down, Kitt, bear down.”

“I am bearing down,” she spat out, her entire face scrunching up.

Agony was imprinted on her every feature. Her hands fisted, leaning down hard on her knuckles, Kitt hunched forward and pushed for all she was worth. Gasping, trying desperately to get in enough air to keep from passing out, she fell back before O’Rourke reached ten.

She’d stopped when he’d reached eight. This wasn’t going to get them anywhere. “Ten, Kitt, you stop at ten, not before.”

The man was a tyrant, a tall, good-looking, pig-headed tyrant. She didn’t even have enough strength to level a dirty look at him. “You stop at ten, I ran out of steam. As a matter of fact,” she said, her energy returning to some degree, “you have the baby. You’re better at this than I am.”

O’Rourke’s eyes narrowed as he looked at her. The uncanny instinct that had brought him to these shores and steered his career in the right direction told him what to do. “You didn’t tell me you were a slacker, Kitt-with-two-t’s.”

If she had the energy, she would have hit him. “You…didn’t…ask.”

“Kitt—”

The words of encouragement he was about to resort to never had the chance to be spoken. Kitt groaned and then whimpered. The desperate sound wrenched his heart. Another contraction was coming and it was obvious she had no strength for it.

She was going to pass out on him, he realized suddenly, his mind scrambling frantically for a course of action. She had to be up to this, there was no other way. O’Rourke took her hand, wrapping it in both of his.

“Come on, Kitt-with-two-t’s,” he coached earnestly, “you can do this. Mothers have been doing it since the beginning of time.”

“Fine…get one of…them…to do…it.”

He focused his eyes on hers, willing her to remain looking at him. “You know better than that, Kitt. It’s your baby, you have to do it.”

There were tears in her eyes as she dug her fists in on either side of her. “Okay, okay, okay…here comes…another one. E-e-e-e!” She shrieked for all she was worth, her body jolting from the force that slammed into her.

“Push,” he ordered. “Push like a life depended on it. Harder, harder—” He saw it then, the crown of the head. His heart began to beat as rapidly as he thought hers undoubtedly was. “He’s coming! He’s coming, Kitt. Your baby’s coming!”

“He?” she questioned breathlessly. “That…part’s coming out…first?”

Slightly giddy himself, perspiration falling into his eyes, O’Rourke laughed at the image that created. “No. The head, Kitt-with-two-t’s, the head’s coming out first. Now push! One…two…three…”

She could hardly hear him counting. Kitt bore down, her head swirling again as she fought for consciousness and against the pain that was shredding her into tiny pieces. “Then…how…do you…know it’s a…boy?”

“Just a pronoun, nothing more, Kitt.”

Wasn’t the baby out yet? It felt as if she’d been pushing since the beginning of time. “How big…is this…head?”

He should have been keeping her up to speed on progress. But he was so awed by the miracle of life, he’d forgotten.

“Shoulders, we have shoulders.” He looked up and saw that she was close to completely collapsing. “Come on, Kitt, we’re almost done, just a little more, push a little more—”

Her eyes squeezed shut, Kitt bore down and pushed as hard as was humanly possible for her.

And then she heard it. The lusty howl of a life entering the world.

Her baby. He was here.

Finally.

Exhausted beyond belief, she fell back against the stack of cardboard boxes like a used, limp cleaning rag. “Is he…is he all right?”

O’Rourke’s heart was pounding with exhilaration as he looked down at the tiny life-form howling in his hands. He’d held larger computer manuals.

They’d done it. They’d really done it. O’Rourke felt himself grinning like a fool and not caring.

“Your son’s a girl, Kitt-with-two-t’s. A beautiful, fairylike little girl with soft downy hair and eyes the color of sapphires kissed by the sun.”

“A girl?” The wonder of it sliced through the pain that still bracketed her body, allowing her a touch of freedom. “I have a daughter?”

“That you do.” Grinning, he looked up at Kitt. “She’s a mite messy, but anyone with eyes can see she’s a beauty like her mother.” Very carefully, O’Rourke handed the tiny being to her mother. “Say hello to your mama, love,” he coaxed.

Drenched in perspiration, relief and joy, Kitt accepted the precious bundle into her arms. The instant she held her daughter, she felt her heart swelling.

“So this is what all the fuss was about,” she murmured quietly, looking down into the face of her newborn child.

Was it possible to fall in love so fast? In the blink of an eye? She supposed it had to be, because she’d just fallen in love with her daughter.

You’re a fool, Jeffrey, to be walking away from this. You have no idea what you’re missing.

Now that the excitement was over, O’Rourke became aware of the temperature within the van. It was downright chilly outside and that was seeping its way into the vehicle.

Leaning over both of them, he moved the sweater he’d tried to cover Kitt with. It had fallen in a heap on the side during the birthing.

“Maybe you’d better wrap my sweater around your little girl,” he suggested. “It’s big enough to cover her completely and it’s a wee bit cool for her.”

With the sweater wrapped around the small body, Kitt curved her arm around the baby. She looked up at O’Rourke. “What about you?” For the second time, her eyes slid over his body. And for the first time she realized how really close he was. “We’ve only left you your pants.”

He glanced down at himself, as if he’d forgotten that he wasn’t wearing anything from the waist up. The grin grew broader. “Good thing you weren’t having twins.”

The next moment, someone was opening the rear of the van and shining a flashlight inside, nearly blinding O’Rourke.

“Everything all right in here?”

The question and the beam of blinding light were both coming from the heavyset policeman in his late forties who was peering into the van.

The man’s curious expression transformed to one of surprise as the sight of O’Rourke’s semiunclad body and Kitt’s compromising position registered. “Hey, just what the heck’s going on here?”

Thinking quickly, O’Rourke pulled Kitt’s skirt back down, covering her, then placed his body in between the man and Kitt, summoning his most genial expression. Years of practice from living on the shadier side of the straight and narrow made all this second nature to him.

O’Rourke rocked back on his heels. “You’re just in time, Officer. Do you have any matches on you?” He pulled out an Exacto knife from his pants pocket as he asked. The policeman raised one thick eyebrow in silent question, his other hand moving over to his gun and holster. “I’ve yet to cut the cord between mother and daughter and I need something to sterilize the blade.” He held the Exacto knife up for the man’s inspection.

The policeman’s face paled a little, the full impact of what he was looking at registering. “You mean she’s just…?”

O’Rourke nodded as solemnly as an altar boy. “Just this minute, yes. Had you been here a couple of minutes sooner, you could have lent a hand in bringing about life’s biggest miracle, Officer.” He put out his hand to the man, holding the Exacto knife in the other. “Do you have those matches, sir?”

The policeman shook his head. “The wife made me give up smoking. Called it an anniversary present. It was cheaper than buying her that gold bracelet she fancied—but twice as hard.”

O’Rourke nodded knowingly. “That it would be,” he said sympathetically. “Never mind, then,” he consoled the policeman. “I’ve got a cigarette lighter I can use. Provided it works,” he added almost under his breath. “Never had any use for it myself.”

Looking embarrassed now for his intrusion, the policeman withdrew from the van, the flashlight dangling by his side. “Um, I’ll go call for an ambulance,” he said, jabbing a thumb in the air behind him toward his squad car.

“You do that, Officer,” O’Rourke encouraged him from the front of the van.

“O’Rourke?” Kitt called to him weakly.

“In a minute, love.” Waiting a moment after pushing the lighter in, he pulled it out again and passed the glowing red circle over the shaft of the Exacto knife blade. He blew on it to cool it. “There, that should do it.”

He popped the cigarette lighter back into place, then snaked his way back to Kitt and the baby. Sitting on his heels again, he blew out a breath. He didn’t exactly relish this part, but it had to be done.

“This won’t hurt a bit,” he promised Kitt. Or so his mother had said. His eyes went from her to the baby she held against her breast. Nothing prettier than that, he thought. “Either of you.”

Kitt pressed her lips together apprehensively. It wasn’t herself she was thinking of, but the baby. The way O’Rourke phrased his assurance told her he’d read her thoughts. “How did you know?”

“You’ve got that new-mother, protective look about you. I’ve seen it often enough to be familiar with it.” Taking the umbilical cord, he made a quick cut, severing the connection. Then, with a bit of thread, he tied it around the tiny part left above the baby’s navel.

“Where did you get the thread?”

The grin flashed again. “I’m a handy man to have around. Never know what’s up my sleeve—so to speak,” he added with a wink.

Probably a lot of tricks, she thought. She knew his type. As handsome as the day was long and as honest as a leprechaun’s promises.

The policeman returned, popping his head in. “Ambulance is on its way,” he told them. This time he made his way into the interior to keep the rain from coming in. “Here, I think you could use this.” Stripping off his raincoat, he handed it to O’Rourke. “You don’t want a bed right next to your wife’s in the hospital, do you?” He followed the question up with a hearty chuckle that turned into a belly laugh.

O’Rourke put on the rain slicker. “She’s not my wife,” he corrected the policeman.

Although he’d been in love with someone once, he thought as he glanced at Kitt, who looked a great deal like her. Susan O’Hara. Susan got tired of waiting for him to propose and married the banker’s son as soon as she was out of high school, he recalled with a touch of nostalgia. Last he’d heard, they had four children and were expecting a fifth. He hoped she was happy.

“We’re not married,” Kitt chimed in.

The policeman, his attention almost completely captivated by the smallest person in the van, shook his head at the information. Looking from one to the other, he seemed genuinely disappointed.

“I know it’s not supposed to be necessary in this day and age, having a marriage license and all, but believe me, inside—” he thumped his barrel chest “—you’ll both feel a whole lot better if you give this little guy a stable home and a full-time mother and father he can have around him every night.”

“She,” O’Rourke corrected him before Kitt had a chance to do the same.

“She,” the policeman repeated with a nod of his head. “Even more important, then. Girls need good examples to help keep them on the straight and narrow.” He eyed O’Rourke. “You wouldn’t want her having babies of her own without a wedding ring and a loving husband somewhere in the picture, now, would you?”

No, he supposed he wouldn’t, O’Rourke thought. If the little doll in Kitt’s arms was his. “But you don’t understand,” he began.

The policeman laughed dismissively. “Hey, just because I’ve got a few years on you doesn’t mean I don’t know what it’s like to be young. I do. I remember it real well.” Shifting toward O’Rourke, he slung one arm around his shoulders in camaraderie. “But marriage is better, trust me. There’s something great about having one person to come home to. One person to turn to no matter what.” He smiled at Kitt. “Now, you might say that you can do all that without a silly piece of paper, but if it’s so silly, I say, what’s the harm in having it? Right? And believe me, in the end, it’ll come to mean a lot to you. It’s the thing that makes you try one more time when you think you’ve had it and it’s time to go your own way.” He sighed deeply, as if remembering. “I know what I’m talking about. Why, if it wasn’t for my marriage license—”

This had the earmarks of going on even longer than the storm outside, O’Rourke thought. “Officer—” he began, trying to explain.

“Gary,” the policeman interjected. “Officer Gary Brinkley.”

“Gary,” O’Rourke allowed. “You don’t understand. We’re two strangers.”

The smile on the round face turned knowing. “Everyone feels like that sometime or other. Hell…” He stopped abruptly, slanting a look at Kitt. “Excuse me, heck, my wife and I feel that way, too, sometimes. But it’s the long haul that counts.” He fixed O’Rourke with a look, then swept it toward Kitt. “Promise me you two’ll think about it.”

O’Rourke and Kitt exchanged glances and both smiled as if on cue.

“Okay,” O’Rourke allowed, knowing there was no other way to call a halt to the kindly lecture. “We promise we’ll think about it. Won’t we, love?”

She was aching and exhausted. Why being addressed by a generic term should have caused a small thrill to dance through her made absolutely no sense to Kitt. So she didn’t even try to figure it out.