“Yeah, they’re real strong,” he said quietly into the phone, his eyes locked with hers, silently coaching her through the contraction. “And she’s got that look on her face…. No, not yet, but I wouldn’t wait, if I were you. Membranes ruptured, maybe ten minutes ago? I doubt she’s gonna have a long second phase. Yep, door’s unlocked.”
He disconnected the phone, set it on the nightstand. When the pain subsided, she noticed the severely dipped brows, the firm mouth turned down at the corners.
“Okay, let’s back up here a second—you think you’re three weeks early?”
She didn’t miss the edge to the question. “Yes.”
“Labor came on quick then, I take it?”
“An hour ago, maybe…ooooh!”
Without thinking, she grabbed his hand with the next contraction, squeezing shut her eyes, swallowing down the howl threatening to strangle her. She felt Dr. Logan’s free hand cradle her hard belly, the other warm and steady under the pressure of her fingers. Floating over the pain, his voice eased her through the contraction.
“Minute and a half. Good.” She looked up, grateful to see his expression had softened some. He was younger than she’d at first thought, she realized with a bit of a start. A lot younger. Mid-thirties, maybe. Weren’t country doctors all supposed to have white hair and potbellies?
The bed creaked a little when he eased himself onto the edge. Not looking at her face, he pushed back her nightgown sleeve, strapped the blood pressure cuff to her arm. “By the way, I’m not in the habit of removing a woman’s underpants without knowing her name, either.” A pair of wire-rimmed glasses appeared from his pocket; he snapped them open before settling them into place. “So,” he said, pumping up the cuff. “You are?”
“Miserable.”
He smiled a little, squeezing the bulb until she thought she’d lose the circulation in her fingers, frowning slightly as the needle hitched, dropped. “Pressure’s a bit high, Miserable.”
“Might have something to do with my bein’ a little stressed at the moment.”
He grunted. Strong, smooth fingers slipped around her wrist. He focused on his watch. “New in town?”
“You could say that. And my name’s Maddie. Maddie Kincaid.”
“And…is there a Mr. Kincaid?”
The wedding ring had been one of the first things hocked, not that it had brought much. Still, Maddie found it interesting he wasn’t making assumptions one way or the other. “Not anymore—oh, Lordy!”
“You ready to push?” she thought she heard the doctor say, but since she already was, the question seemed moot.
Ryan grabbed a set of disposable latex gloves from his bag and snapped them on. So much for waiting for Ivy to do the internal. Yes, he was the doctor, but he was also a stranger. And this gal didn’t need any more on her plate right now, that was for damn sure. But she shouldn’t be pushing before he knew if she was fully dilated or not.
“Sorry,” he said, slipping down the sheet. “I really need to—”
“It’s okay.” Marbled knuckles gripped the sheet as she panted out, “But it’s not every man I’d let do this on the first date.”
Biting back a smile, Ryan quickly examined her, relieved to find all systems go. And her blood pressure wasn’t dangerously high, just enough to bear watching. Not that deliveries made him nervous—he’d done his fair share over the past ten years—but he wasn’t real excited about doing an out-of-hospital birth with an underweight woman, three weeks early—she thought—whose case he didn’t know.
“You can go ahead and push now,” he said, leaving the sheet up and peeling off the gloves.
“Like you’ve got any say in it,” she got out, just before her face contorted again. But not with pain this time. With determination.
Ryan wriggled into a fresh pair of gloves, deciding against asking her if she wanted to get the kids up. They were zonked, nobody needed the distraction right now, and if she’d wanted them up, he had no doubt she would have made her wishes known.
Three pushes later, the baby’s head crowned. No surprise there.
“Pant, Maddie, pant! Don’t push, you hear me? Pant the baby out…yeah, like that, good. Baby’s real small…the idea is to birth it, not launch it into orbit.”
For a split second, her startled gaze met his and she looked as though she might laugh…only another surge diverted her attention.
“Pant, honey! That’s right, that’s a girl… Good, good…okay…here we go…!”
He steeled himself for her screams…but they never came. One of his patients had likened giving birth to squeezing a cannonball through the eye of a needle, an image which had pretty much burned itself into his mind. Maddie Kincaid, however, either had the highest pain threshold known to womankind or was possessed of a will Ryan decided he did not ever want to tangle with.
Two blinks later, a tiny, perfectly shaped head slid out, the cord loosely wrapped around the baby’s neck. Ryan easily untwisted it, helping the little thing to rotate before easing first one shoulder, then the other, out from underneath the pubic bone, then presented Maddie Kincaid with her new daughter—five and half pounds, tops, of flailing determination, red and wrinkled and bald, but with a set of lungs capable of waking the dead in three counties.
With a sound that was equal parts laugh and sob, Maddie thrust out her arms. “Give her to me! Is she okay? She must be okay if she’s cryin’ like that, right?”
“She’s fine,” Ryan said, trying to ignore the strange, burning tightness in the back of his throat that assailed him every time he delivered a baby. He quickly suctioned the perfect little nose and mouth, wrapped little missy in a clean towel and laid her on Maddie’s stomach. He should probably get to the Apgar scoring, but God knows millions of healthy babies had been born over the years without being graded like eggs the minute they were born.
“You’re a peanut, but you’re a real perky little peanut,” he said softly, rubbing the tiny thing’s back through the towel. Then he looked at the skinny, scrappy woman who’d just produced the now-quieter infant squirming in her arms, and something inside just melted, like when your muscles get all tense but you don’t even realize it until someone tells you to relax. “You done good, Mama. Shoot, you didn’t even work up a good sweat.”
Silver eyes, full of delight and mischief, briefly tangled with his. “Widest pelvis in the lower forty-eight,” she said, her grin eclipsing the entire lower half of her face.
And the thought came, This is no ordinary woman.
A moment later, in a flutter of skirts and long salt-and-pepper hair, Ivy Gardner burst into the room, took one look at the situation and said, “Figured you’d get the fun part, leave the cleanin’ up to me!” Except then the two-hundred-pound woman, her hair barely caught up in a couple of silver clips, swept over to the bed. “I’m Ivy, honey,” she said to Maddie, her expression softening at the sight of the baby. “Oh…wouldja look at this cutie-pie?” She let out a loud cackle. “Boy or girl?”
“A girl. Amy Rose.”
Ivy grinned. “Amy. Beloved.”
“That’s right.”
But Ivy had already turned her attention to other matters, massaging Maddie’s abdomen to facilitate the expulsion of the placenta, all the while cooing to the new baby and praising her mama.
Ryan left them to it. Ivy Gardner had delivered more than five hundred babies in the last twenty-five years, had never lost a one. Or a mother, either. And right now, he figured his patient could use some mothering herself.
His heart did a slow, painful turn in his chest as he peeled off his gloves, staring out the window. The rain had stopped, he realized, the sky pinking up some in the east.
And Ryan found himself beset with the strangest feeling that his life had just changed somehow.
He glanced over at the two children, stirring from sleep on the chair. It plumb tore him up, seeing those three—now four—in the condition they were in. What had brought Maddie here, with two small children and
as pregnant as she was? She didn’t look like she was much more than a kid herself, although he supposed she was at least twenty or so. Except for the mud on the bottoms of their jeans, the kids’ clothes had been clean enough, but they were worn, probably secondhand, the little girl wearing her brother’s hand-me-downs, he guessed.
His gaze drifted back to Maddie. Scraps of light brown hair, the color unremarkable, grazed her cheeks and neck, the shoulders of her faded nightgown. Paper-thin, freckled skin stretched across prominent cheekbones, a high forehead, a straight nose. When she spoke or laughed, her voice was rusty. When she gave a person one of her direct looks, it was like staring into a bank of storm clouds.
And those storm-cloud eyes clearly said, “I’m more than life has ever given me a chance to be.”
Right now, those eyes were fastened on her newborn child, the harsh angles of her too-thin face aglow with the rush of new-mother love. Born too soon, the infant wasn’t quite “done” yet, but he was sure Maddie didn’t see the wrinkled, ruddy skin, the bit of hair plastered to the head with vernix, the little face all smushed up like a dried apple. The infant yawned, and Maddie giggled.
“You’re a funny-looking little thing,” she whispered, and Ryan almost laughed out loud.
“Mama?”
Ryan turned in time to catch another sleepy yawn. Noah’s hair had pretty much dried by now, sticking up all over his head in a mass of little horns. Ryan could relate.
“Hey, grasshopper,” he said, scooping the child off the chair, blanket and all. “Come meet your new sister.”
For an instant, the child cuddled against his chest. Too sleepy to protest, probably. He smelled sweet. Clean. Whatever was going on in Maddie Kincaid’s life, she’d given her children baths last night. An effort which had probably brought on the premature labor.
Ryan set the child, still huddled under his blanket, on the bed at Maddie’s knees. The boy rubbed his eyes, yawned again. Then frowned. “Another girl?”
“Oh, now, hush up,” Maddie said over a weary, but relieved, laugh, as Ryan deposited an owl-eyed, silent Katie next to her brother. “There’s nothing wrong with girls, silly billy—”
“Good Lord!” Ivy peeled the back of the blanket from the boy’s shoulder. “What on earth do you have on?”
“Their clothes were all wet,” Ryan said, “so I stuck ’em in the dryer. Figured they’d be okay in my shirts for a little bit.” Ivy lifted eyebrows at him. Ryan shook his head—don’t ask.
But Noah was busy angling his head at his sister, his brow beetled. “You positive she’s a girl? ’Cause she sure don’t look like one.”
Maddie reached up and ruffled his hair. “Yes, baby, I’m sure. If you don’t believe me, you just go on ahead and ask the doctor.”
“You think maybe Daddy might’ve liked her better’n Katie Grace an’ me?”
The room went so silent, you could hear the muted thumping of the dryer, clear out in the pantry. Standing at the foot of the bed, his arms crossed, Ryan didn’t move, not reacting when Ivy’s gaze shot to his. But he saw the flush leap into Maddie’s translucent, speckled cheeks, and anger suddenly knifed through him as he remembered the scars he’d seen on the child’s back. They’d been old, healed up for some months, but they hadn’t been the result of any accident.
Maddie blinked several times, then swallowed, obviously trying to figure out what to say. With her free hand, she reached up, drew her firstborn down onto her chest to place a fierce kiss in all those spikes. “Doesn’t matter now, baby. Only thing you have to remember now is how much I like you and Katie. And I love all three of you with all my heart, forever and ever and ever. You hear me?”
Ryan’s eyes burned. How many times had his own mother, gone now nearly twenty years, said the same thing to one or the other of her three sons? Except then Noah, as kids will, switched the conversation to more practical matters by announcing he was hungry.
Ivy beamed. Feedin’ and birthin’—the woman was in her element now. “Well, I just bet you are, sweetie. And Mama, too.” She turned questioning brown eyes on Ryan. “I didn’t figure you’d have anything decent in that kitchen of yours to make breakfast, so I brought my own fixin’s, if that’s all right.”
He feigned a hurt expression. “I’m not a barbarian, Ivy. There’s eggs. I think. And coffee.”
“Oh, well, then,” Ivy said on a huff. “As if you could give a nursing mother coffee, for goodness’ sake. Not to mention children.” Elbows pumping, full skirt flapping around her calves—this one had mirrors and embroidery all over the bottom tier—Ivy sailed toward the bedroom door, turning back when she hit the doorframe.
“Noah and…Katie, right?” The kids turned to her with synchronized nods. Ivy held out her hand. “Let’s go see if your clothes are dry yet before you trip in those T-shirts. Then you can help me make pancakes.”
Two pairs of questioning eyes turned to their mother. Katie’s thumb popped into her mouth.
“It’s okay,” Maddie said with a smile. “You go on, now.”
They went. Maddie at once sank back into the pillows, letting out a sigh as her eyes drifted shut. Worn out from the strain of pretending, would be his guess. As if reading his mind, she said quietly, “It’s been a long time since they’ve had pancakes.” She opened her eyes, but didn’t move. “I’m very grateful to you. And Ivy. But we best be on our way as soon as I can move, before they get spoiled.”
Ryan grabbed the footboard, a scowl digging into his forehead. “Giving the kids a good breakfast is hardly spoiling them. And unless you can assure me you’ve got someone to help you out for the next few days, you’re not going anywhere until I say it’s okay.”
A pointed little chin, only marginally bigger than her son’s, reared up. “It was an easy birth. And I was up after the other two in a few hours.”
“By choice?”
He was actually startled to see tears well up in those gray eyes. She looked away, busying herself with unbuttoning her gown to put the baby to breast. A flush of self-consciousness stung Ryan’s cheeks as he watched Maddie help her new daughter find the nipple. Why he should be reacting at all made no sense. He’d watched dozens of mothers nurse their babies. Hell, how long had it been since nakedness had meant anything more to him than anatomy?
The alert, hungry infant hit pay dirt almost at once; Maddie’s soft laughter glittered with love and momentary surcease from her worries, and something inside Ryan warmed a little more…and made him feel as if he needed to justify his presence in the room.
“Tired?” he asked.
Maddie shook her head. The fingers of her left hand—graceful, short-nailed—stroked her baby’s cheek. “No.”
“It’s not a sign of weakness to admit you’re tired after having just given birth, Maddie.”
Her mouth stretched thin. “I’m fine.”
“Okay, you’re fine. Feel like talking, then?”
After a moment, she said, “Answering questions, you mean?”
“A stranger gives birth in my house, you might say I’m curious. And concerned.”
Pride flashed in those silvery eyes. “I’ll pay you for delivering the baby.”
“I’d bet my life on it. But that’s not what I want to know.”
Again, he saw the tears, figured she’d do just about anything to keep them from falling. “I could say it’s none of your business.”
Ryan tried real hard to squelch the exasperation this woman seemed determined to stir to life inside him. “You made it my business when you showed up here in labor. You’re at least twenty pounds underweight. So forgive me for taking my job seriously, but I want to know why. You’re blamed lucky the baby’s as fit as she is, but it won’t do you or her any good to neglect yourself any more than you already have. Did you even have any prenatal care?”
Maddie stared hard at the baby, her mouth set. With her free hand, she swept a hank of straggly hair off her face; it fell right back. “This is my third child. I know how to take care of my
self.” She looked up at Ryan. “I don’t smoke or drink, if that’s what you’re thinking, and I ate as well as I could. I never have weighed more than a hundred ten pounds, even when—”
She stopped, cleared her throat, fingering the baby’s cheek.
Ryan let out a ragged sigh, deciding a cup of coffee sounded real good, right about now. “I’m not judging you, Maddie,” he said, and she snorted her disbelief. “I’m not. I just wonder how you’re going to take care of yourself. And your children.”
After a moment, she said, “I’ll get by.”
He folded his arms. “You know, why didn’t you just go ahead and have the baby in the car?”
Her mouth twisted. “There wasn’t room.” A beat or two passed before she added, “I don’t like being beholden to people.”
“I gathered that much,” he said, then waited until she looked at him. “But it looks to me like you haven’t got a whole lotta choice in the matter right now. All I want you to worry about for the next few days is feeding that new daughter of yours and getting your strength back.”
The eyes sparked, like the flash of sword-steel. “I don’t need—”
He stared her down. She got quiet, but her embarrassment pricked his heart when she palmed away a tear. “We’re strangers to you. Why should you feel obligated to take care of us?”
Ryan suddenly felt hard pressed not to strangle the woman. Moving as cautiously as his brother Cal might with an unbroken colt, he eased around the bed and sat on its edge, leaning over so she had no choice but to meet his gaze. “Let’s get one thing clear, right now. Obligation doesn’t have a blamed thing to do with this. Like it or not, you and your daughter are now my patients, because I took an oath a long time ago that won’t allow me to see the situation any other way. Got that?” She hitched one shoulder, her mouth quirked. “Good. At least we got that settled.” He leaned over, grabbed a clipboard and blank chart off the nightstand. “So let’s make it official. Full name?”
Saving Dr. Ryan Page 2