“Already?” Luke checked her again. The baby hadn’t proceeded any farther.
“Something’s wrong,” Faith said. Fear, stark and vivid, glittered in her eyes.
“No, you’re doing fine. He’s just taking his own sweet time.”
She was limp. Like a rag doll. If she didn’t deliver this baby soon, she’d surely run out of steam. And blood. It looked as if she’d lost a bucketful. With barely any force, she pushed again. Nothing. Was the baby turned? He’d seen it in livestock.
A shallow contraction. Then another. Faith was growing weaker by the second; her face was whiter than the first snowfall of winter. Now would be a good time to pray. Luke searched his recollection for any of the prayers his ma had insisted he learn as a boy. Frustrated, he realized he’d have to improvise.
Lord, I know you’re not used to hearing from me very often, but this girl needs your help, and she needs it now. I don’t really know what to do. Any assistance you could send our way would be appreciated. He thought for a moment to see if there was anything he’d left out. Amen.
Almost before he could see what was happening, and with no sound at all, Faith gave a weak push and the baby was delivered. Caught off guard, Luke barely had time to catch the infant. Its skin was slick and slippery, its eyes opened wide as if surprised at the new surroundings. Luke grinned up at Faith, unable to hide his excitement.
“A filly,” he said. “As pretty as, as…as anything I’ve ever seen. She’s beautiful.”
“A girl?” Creases lined Faith’s tired brow. She looked at the tiny baby he held in his hands. “I never dreamed…”
The baby began to shiver and cry as Luke tied off the umbilical cord with some twine he’d found in a box, and then, before he could think about what he was about to do, he made a fast cut. He gently handed the baby to her mother.
“Do you have something to wrap her in? Won’t take but a moment for her to catch a chill.”
Faith glanced around the wagon. “Yes, but it’s all packed away. I wasn’t expecting this so soon.” Her eyes drifted down. “It all came on so quickly.”
Without thought, Luke swiftly unbuttoned his shirt and pulled it off. He yanked his thick undershirt over his head and handed it to Faith. “Here. Wrap her in this.” He threaded his arms back into his shirt as she swaddled the baby and snuggled her close. The infant whimpered softly and began rooting around, looking for her first meal.
The next contraction delivered the afterbirth, and Luke set it aside in a towel to be buried later. When he was sure he’d done all that he could for the pair, he donned his coat and went out to check on his horse, giving Faith some privacy. Chiquita stood tied to the wagon, tail tucked, head low. She looked his way when he ran his hand along her sodden neck, and then scratched her withers. Her head tipped in pleasure, bringing a smile to his lips.
What should he do now for Faith? He didn’t have any supplies with him. After that expenditure of energy, she must be famished. Somehow the boy had slept through the whole thing, but surely he’d be up now that the sun was peeking over the treetops. Luke leaned his weight onto Chiquita and rubbed his hand down his face. This had been the most gut-twisting experience he’d ever been through. Thank God it was over.
The rain had stopped sometime around dawn. Luke rounded up some wood, and after several tries he had a fire burning. First he’d warm some water for her to wash with; then he’d see what she had in the way of food fixin’s he could whip up. Right now a cup of strong black coffee would be better than his ma’s warm apple pie with a double dollop of sweet ice cream.
“Still here?” The kid who’d hit him with the frying pan climbed from the back of the wagon.
Irritated from lack of sleep and the boy’s highfalutin tone, Luke bristled. “Yeah, I’m still here.”
“We can manage now.”
The cocky little…Luke reined in his temper. A boy barely out of short pants shouldn’t be able to get his goat. “Sure you can. Still, I’m going to fix something to eat for your ma and then talk to her. I’ll be out of your hair soon.”
“Good.” The boy trotted around the far side of the wagon, his messy brown hair bouncing up and down as he went. Luke heard him relieving himself against a rock. When he returned, he eyed Luke suspiciously.
“You aren’t too trusting, are you?” Luke said.
“Got no reason to be.”
“I stayed all night, helped your ma deliver, never gave you any reason to mistrust me. Did I? Not even when you bashed me on the head.”
“That don’t mean you ain’t waiting for the right chance.”
Luke slowly shook his head. The boy was serious. He was also protecting his mother, a heavy burden for such small shoulders. “I’m not waiting for the right chance. I won’t hurt you or your ma.” Colton’s intense stare never wavered, so Luke changed the subject. “What do you think of the baby?”
“They were asleep, so I didn’t get a good look at him yet. But I can’t hardly wait to take him froggin’.”
“You mean her. Take her froggin’.”
“Her? You mean he’s a girl?” Colton screwed up his face in disgust, and it reddened with annoyance. “Ma said it’d be a boy for sure. No, sir, you must be wrong.”
“Sorry, Colton.” It was hard to hide his delight at having disappointed the kid. “One thing I’m sure about, that’s one itsy-bitsy female in that wagon with your ma.”
Colton cursed. He kicked the ground so hard a wet clump of mud flew in Luke’s direction. It missed him by inches.
Although surprised that someone so young would use such language and display such anger, Luke hid his astonishment. If he’d talked or acted like that when he was a boy, his skin would have been tanned off his backside right quick. “Your pa let you talk like that?”
“Sure, why not?”
“Because it’s not polite. Decent folk don’t take kindly to it. I can’t believe your ma doesn’t care if you sound like a donkey.”
“Well, maybe she does, but she can’t hear me now.”
“I hear you, Colton John,” Faith called from within. “If I had any strength, I’d jump up and wash your mouth out with soap. Now, say you’re sorry.” The baby started crying, and Luke heard Faith trying to comfort her.
The boy glared at Luke, not intimidated at all by his size or age.
Luke grinned anyway. “Say you’re sorry.”
The boy’s face turned bright red. “Sorry,” he spat out.
“Apology accepted.”
Faith’s voice interrupted the scene. “Come in and meet your sister,” she called to Colton.
“I don’t want to meet no sissy girl.” His expression still obstinate, the boy fiddled nervously with a slingshot he’d pulled from his pocket.
It was Luke’s turn to glare. He was almost overcome by an all-powerful urge to throttle the mouthy child. Pointing, he silently mouthed the word, “Go.”
Colton held his ground.
Stretching to his full height, Luke took one step toward the boy. Colton hurried to the wagon and climbed inside.
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About The Author
Caroline Fyffe was born in Waco, Texas, the first of many towns she would call home during her father’s career with the US Air Force. A horse aficionado from an early age, she earned a Bachelor of Arts in communications from California State University-Chico before launching what would become a twenty-year career as an equine photographer. She began writing fiction to pass the time during long days in the show arena, channeling her love of horses and the Old West into a series of Western historicals. Her debut novel, Where the Wind Blows, won the Romance Writers of America’s prestigious Golden Heart Award as well as the Wisconsin RWA’s Write Touch Readers’ Award. She and her husband have two grown sons and live in the Pacific Northwest.
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