High Country Baby

by Joanna Sims

  She had been worried about seeing Clint in person again. Yes, they had spent hours talking on the phone and video chatting since he went back on the road, but the distance between them had always been a safety wall, a barrier that had kept them just far enough away from each other that they never said anything too serious. Their relationship, whatever it was, was unlike anything she had ever known. They were friends, yes. They had deeper feelings, yes. They had conceived twins together, yes. But they weren’t a couple.

  * * *

  “Is it too early for a visitor?”

  Two days later, Clint showed up at her hospital door with a small bundle of daisies, her favorite flower.

  “Howdy, cowboy.”

  “Howdy, sunshine.” Clint loitered in the doorway.

  “You didn’t come all the way from Wyoming to stand in the door, did you?” she teased him lightly. “They haven’t changed out the water yet—I think there’s a whole pitcher over there just waiting for daisies.”

  She could tell that Clint had cleaned himself up to come see her. His clothes were new and clean. His hair was freshly washed and slicked back into a ponytail, and the beard was clipped close to the skin.

  “I’m glad you came, Clint.”

  Clint put the flowers in the pitcher and brought it over to her crowded nightstand.

  “Is that the truth?” He stood next to her bed.

  “It is.” She reached out to take his hand. “I just didn’t want you to feel like you had to change your plans.”

  “Plans change.” Clint liked the feel of her hand in his. But he didn’t like to see her looking so flushed in the face with dark circles beneath her eyes. “I’d much rather be hangin’ out with you then getting my butt bucked off a bull.”

  “You could sit down and stay for a while, you know.”

  Clint looked behind him, saw the chair and brought it closer to the bed.

  “What happened to your wrist?” Taylor asked about the bandage on Clint’s left wrist. He looked at it as if he had forgotten all about it being injured.

  “Sprained it back in Washington.”

  “I don’t mean to tell you how to do your job. But, you might want to try to get hurt less.”

  Clint smiled for the first time since he arrived. “I’m the one who’s supposed to be cheering you up—not the other way around.”

  “You cheered me up when you walked through the door.” What was the sense in hiding her feelings? “Thank you for the flowers. Daisies are happy flowers.”

  “So you’ve said.” Clint’s eyes shifted to her belly. The last time he had seen her, she didn’t look pregnant at all. Now...she looked very pregnant. And, no matter how many ways he tried to parse it out—she was pregnant with his children.

  “I feel like we’re talkin’ about everything but what we should be talkin’ about.” He leaned forward, his eyes on her face. “I want to know that you’re going to be okay.”

  “I’m going to be okay,” she said in as strong a voice as she could manage. “My babies are going to be okay. The doctors are making sure my blood pressure stays as low as they can keep it, and they’re making sure that the babies are growing like they should and that they aren’t in distress.” Her hands immediately went to her stomach. “I can’t think about any other outcome than my babies being born healthy and ready to face the world. And neither should you.”

  Clint stayed by her side until she was too tired to talk anymore. He walked out of her room and down the hallway in a bit of a daze. Taylor didn’t look so good. She tried real hard to put lipstick on a pig, but he could see right through her act.

  “Clint!”

  Clint looked up and saw Sophia Brand walking toward him.

  “Taylor told me you were heading back to Montana.” Sophia held out her hand for Clint to shake. “Good to see you again.”

  Clint tipped his hat to her. “Ma’am.”

  “How’s she doing today?”

  “She got tired out real quick.” Clint looked over his shoulder to Taylor’s room.

  Sophia looked up at him thoughtfully.

  “Do you want to grab a cup of coffee with me?”

  Sophia was a woman with inside information. He also got the sense that Sophia was on his side.

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  Sophia wrinkled her nose distastefully. “Look—I know it’s your upbringing to call me ma’am, but please don’t. It makes me feel like I’m ninety-two. Sophia is fine.”

  They found their way to a small family waiting room with vending machines. Clint got them both a cup of coffee, with cream and sugar for Sophia.

  The coffee burned the roof of his mouth, his tongue and his throat, but he felt numb to it. His gut had been twisted since the minute he saw Taylor lying in that bed, hooked up to every machine the hospital could cram into her room.

  “Taylor was workin’ mighty hard to convince me that everything’s under control in there.” Clint looked down at the black liquid in his foam cup. “What’s the real story?”

  “You don’t mind if I’m blunt with you, do you, Clint?” Sophia asked the cowboy she only knew in passing. “I mean—you seem like the type who appreciates hearing things straight without a chaser.”

  “Blunt’s better.” Clint looked up at his companion. “What’s worse-case scenario?”

  “Worst-case scenario?” Sophia looked away with a little shake of her head. “Taylor loses the babies.”

  Sophia looked back at Clint and held his gaze. “Worst, worst case scenario? We could lose Taylor.”

  Chapter Thirteen

  After his conversation with Sophia, Clint found himself sitting in the front pew of the hospital chapel. It had been a long time since he felt lost. Not since he was a kid. Not since his mom left for the third, and last, time when he was eleven.

  That summer, the summer he turned eleven, his father gave him a secondhand Swiss Army pocketknife. No card, no cake—the knife wasn’t wrapped. That was the first time he’d gone up to the Continental Divide by himself. He took some camping gear and that pocketknife and he left.

  Somewhere along the way he’d eventually lost that knife, but he’d never lost the skills he learned on that first solitary trip up to the Divide. He’d always been with his father or with his older brother, Brock, or with one of the Brands—never alone. Not only did he survive—he thrived. He had watched and learned since he was a boy, and he was better than all of the men he’d ever followed. That’s why Brock and Hank had picked him to watch out for Taylor on the CDT.

  They hadn’t picked him because he was a good man. He hadn’t always been a good man. He drank too much. He smoked too much. He gambled. He slept with too many women and forgot their names. They’d picked him because when it came to the CDT he was the best. And a woman like Taylor—she was the kind of woman who deserved the best.

  Did he deserve a woman like Taylor? Smart, sweet, funny, educated—such a pretty smile. When she looked at him, she looked at him as though she could really see him. As if she could see all of his warts and she liked him anyway.

  Did he really deserve a woman like Taylor? Did he?

  “No.” Clint opened his eyes.

  No. He didn’t.

  But, dear Lord, he wanted to deserve a woman like her.

  He hadn’t set foot in a church in over two decades, but when he left the hospital chapel after an hour of sitting in the silence, watching the flames of the candles that loved ones had lit for their family members, Clint had gained some clarity. It made him wonder if he shouldn’t stop by a church more than once every couple of decades.

  “Hi, sunshine...” Later that afternoon, Clint was back to see Taylor.

  “Hey there, cowboy.” Taylor attempted one of her chipper smiles but fell short. “I’m glad I didn’t scare you away.”r />
  Clint hooked his hat on the back of the door. “You should know by now—I don’t scare so much.”

  She looked at him in that way she did—as if she saw him for who he was and accepted him. When had he ever had that?

  “Did you see my aunt Barb? She just left...”

  “I did—but we didn’t talk for long. I wanted to get to you and she had to get back to the ranch.”

  “I’m glad to see you.” Her smile reached her eyes that time. “Keep me company. Tell me about your day...”

  “Nothin’ exciting to tell—I got some work done on the fifth wheel—got some rest.” Clint leaned back in the chair, crossed his leg and rested his ankle on his knee.

  “I like your new boots there, cowboy.” Taylor said. “Better than the ones with duct tape.”

  “I don’t know—I kind of miss the old ones. They were all broke in...”

  Taylor laughed. That was what she loved about spending time with Clint—in person, on the phone or video chat—he always made her laugh.

  “I was thinking about our days on the CDT.” Clint told her. “We had some good times up there, didn’t we?”

  “It was the most amazing trip I’ve ever taken.”

  * * *

  After visiting hours, he went back to the campground where he’d parked his fifth wheel and gotten some sleep so he could be rested for Taylor the next day. She needed him—she did. She needed him more than she knew, and certainly more than she was willing to admit to herself or to him. And, for once in his life, he was going to be there for her.

  He arrived back at the hospital soon after the staff was clearing away the breakfast trays. Right away he noticed that there was something off about the look in her blue eyes. There was dullness to the blue, when normally they were bright. Her skin was still flushed; she seemed so tired. As though she hadn’t gotten any sleep at all.

  “Come here... I want you to feel the babies move.” When she waved him over, her fingers were slack and her hand limp, as if it was almost too much energy to hold it up.

  He let her guide his palm to her round belly. There was a band around her abdomen, used to monitor the twins.

  “They’re busy right now.” Taylor smiled so sweetly at him. When she talked about the twins he caught a fleeting glimpse of the fire and gumption he was used to seeing in her eyes. “I couldn’t feel them move yesterday. I couldn’t... I was so worried.”

  Her skin was warm to the touch—maybe too warm. But her skin was still so soft. Softer than any woman he had ever known before. Like silk. He loved her skin—the way it smelled and the way it felt against his own scarred-up, rough hide. He wanted to hold her again. If she wasn’t hooked up to so many damn wires he would crawl into bed with her and hold her right now.

  “Did you feel them?” she asked him urgently.

  He slid his hand away. He had—something moved under his hand—to him it felt alien. But he didn’t say that to Taylor. To her, everything about the pregnancy and the babies was beautiful and magical. Who was he to disagree with her, even if he couldn’t agree?

  He didn’t think this preeclampsia—the gestational high blood pressure—was so magical. He’d listened to Sophia and read one of the pamphlets he found in the family waiting room, and he’d grilled one of the nurses on duty at the nurse’s station. If this thing got out of control, Taylor could have a stroke—she could have a seizure—she could die. And the only way to fix it was for her to deliver the babies. Right now, the babies were hurting Taylor and he was a part of it, too. He was the one who agreed to her pregnancy plan in the first place.

  Clint sat down next to the bed. He didn’t feel a connection to the babies. Even though he knew they were his, he just didn’t feel connected to them in his heart. But he did feel very connected to Taylor.

  “They can’t seem to get my blood pressure under control.” Taylor looked at him, her eyes locking and holding his gaze.

  “If things don’t turn around soon, I’ll have to deliver.”

  “When?”

  “I don’t know—but it will be by C section.” Taylor turned her head away from him. “She doesn’t want to risk trying to induce me—she’s worried that will put too much stress on my babies. They’ve already started giving me steroids to help their lungs develop, so I know they’re prepping me to deliver. The longer we can wait, the better it will be for these angels.”

  “But it’s not necessarily better for you.” The second he blurted out those words, he wished he could have taken them back.

  “What’s good for them is good for me.” Taylor had a noticeable catch in her voice.

  It took Clint a minute to realize that the glistening he saw on Taylor’s cheeks wasn’t from the reflection of light coming in through the window—it was tears—a steady, stream of tears slipping down her cheeks into her hair and onto the pillow.

  Clint looked everywhere in the room for some tissue and finally settled on toilet paper from the bathroom. He tried to dab, as gently as he could, the tears from her face and where they had rolled down her neck.

  “I don’t know if you’re girls or boys or maybe one of each...” Taylor spoke to her belly. “But I love you both so much.”

  She looked at him with blue eyes bright with tears. “I wanted it to be a surprise. The gender.”

  “That’s okay.” He kissed the hand he was holding. “Surprises can be good.”

  She reached up and put her hand on his face. “You were a surprise.”

  It was a moment that couldn’t be planned—it was a stripped-down, honest, bare your soul to someone you trust kind of moment. He leaned down and kissed her hand.

  “You were a surprise for me, too, Taylor.”

  “Clint...?”

  He raised his eyebrows and waited for her to continue.

  “Tell me that everything’s going to be okay.”

  “Everything’s going to be okay, Taylor.”

  Her eyelids lowered a little, her head moved back and forth and she licked her dry lips. “No. Say it like you mean it.”

  “I do mean it,” Clint repeated with more conviction. “Everything is going to be okay.”

  * * *

  The next morning, Clint stopped by the florist to pick up a fresh arrangement of daisies and then headed to the hospital. He was expecting to find Taylor alone in her room eating breakfast. When he got there, flowers in hand, he walked into an empty room. Taylor’s bed was gone.

  “Clint! Oh thank goodness you came early.” Sophia arrived. “I didn’t have your number, Hank didn’t have your number...”

  “Where is she?”

  Sophia had a look on her face that could only be described as “stricken.” Her eyelids were puffy from crying and her shoulders slumped forward.

  “They had to perform an emergency C section late last night.” Sophia wiped fresh tears from her lower lids. “Her blood pressure shot up...she started to get blurred vision. The nurse told me that her brain was starting to swell....”

  Clint looked everywhere in the room, other than at Sophia. He couldn’t take her tears right now. He had his own tears to fight. He walked over to where Taylor’s bed had been; he walked in a small circle, thinking, thinking, thinking...

  “Clint...”

  He laid the flowers on the rolling table before he turned to face Taylor’s friend.

  “Last night—right before the doctor made the call to deliver—they couldn’t detect the heartbeat of one of the babies.”

  The room started to spin for a split second—Clint reached out and put his hand on the wall to get his equilibrium back.

  “The little girl...” Sophia said quietly. “She’s in the NICU...”

  He had been staring at the speckled pattern on the polished linoleum, but for her next words, he looked up into her eyes.


  “But the little boy. The little boy...he didn’t make it, Clint.”

  * * *

  How many hours did he sit in that chapel praying for Taylor? He’d rarely prayed for anything that wasn’t selfish—like an eight-second ride so he could win cash and rank higher. Clint wasn’t in the business of praying to God for someone else’s good. But, for Taylor, he prayed harder and longer and more selflessly than he’d ever prayed at any other time in his life. Down on his knees, hands clasped, head bowed, his mind begged God over and over to make Taylor well...to make Taylor whole.

  Sophia had told him more than he knew how to handle. Taylor had lost one baby, her daughter was fighting to breathe in the NICU, and Taylor was in ICU while the doctors and nurses struggled to get her blood pressure under control. Taylor had named him as the father of the children and if he wanted to see the little girl, as the father, he could.

  Do you want to see your daughter? Sophia had asked him that question.

  He hadn’t answered her, because he knew she would think the worse of him for it. But, no—no—he didn’t want to see the baby. What he wanted was for Taylor, the woman he loved, to recover. That was what he wanted.

  After he lit a candle for Taylor in the chapel, Clint went to the visitor’s waiting room. It was a small room and that small room was crowded with Taylor’s family. He hadn’t seen Hank or Barb since he’d left Bent Tree months ago—under the circumstances, he wouldn’t disagree with them if they laid a lion’s share of the blame for their niece’s critical condition at his doorstep.

  Barbara Brand saw him standing in the door. She looked at her husband, who was sitting in the chair next to her. Barbara put her hand on Hank’s leg and gave it a little pat before she stood up and walked over to him.

  With any woman other than a class act like Barbara Brand, he could imagine a slap as easily as he could imagine a hug. Without needing to say a word, Barbara hugged him. Over Barbara’s head, Clint caught Hank’s eye. The man who had once trusted him to watch out for Taylor had lost faith in him. They wouldn’t have words—Hank didn’t need to say anything. Everything the rancher felt was right there to be read in his eyes.