Pregnant Midwife On His Doorstep

by Marion Lennox

  He had his arm around her, and her bulky midriff helped, making their combined bodies a barrier against the water’s force.

  ‘Pull,’ he yelled, and she tugged. The door swung wide and the surging water held it open.

  But with both doors open, the car was starting to move.

  ‘She’s on the seat,’ the woman screamed, but Josh’s priorities had suddenly changed. As he’d held her he’d realised her midriff wasn’t the squishy waist of plumpness. It was the firm mound of pregnancy.

  She was caught between two doors.

  Triage kicked in. He hauled her away from the car, to shore and then up the bank, ignoring fierce, fiery protests. ‘Get yourself safe,’ he yelled. ‘Are you nuts? Your baby... Get into my truck!’

  ‘The dog...’

  ‘Now!’ he yelled, and she relented, allowing herself to be shoved to safety. But on the bank, instead of heading to the truck, she turned back to him with anguish.

  ‘The dog...’ she screamed. ‘Maisie... Please...’

  He looked back, torn. The car’s bonnet was starting to swerve downstream. He had milliseconds.

  He lunged back into the water, reaching the car again, groping into the back seat, knowing his chances were tiny.

  His hands met a great lump of wet fur. Limp. Injured?

  The car shuddered and moved.

  Somehow he had her, by collar, by scruff. She came free with a rush, and he staggered and almost fell.

  Another wave crashed into his legs. He went down to his waist in the water, but held position, held dog.

  The car shifted more, slewing sideways. His arms were full of dog. He was struggling to find his feet.

  And then the woman was back, staggering into the wash, grabbing his arm. ‘Let me help.’

  ‘Get back.’

  ‘No. Move!’

  She didn’t release his arm. She was hauling him toward the bank and her extra force helped. Somehow he was on his feet. She was holding him, tugging.

  And then they were staggering out of the water, surging upwards, not stopping until they were up the bank, not stopping until they collapsed in a sodden heap against his truck, safe from the wind.

  As if on cue, there was a crash of timbers. In the beam of his headlights they watched another plank smash against the car.

  The car rolled and tumbled and disappeared in the wash of white water.

  And was gone.

  For a moment neither of them spoke. Josh was having trouble breathing. Maybe he’d forgotten how. He sat slumped against the truck, his arms full of dog, feeling...gutted.

  Unbidden, the thought came back of another accident, three years back. Of sitting just like this, waiting for the ambulance. Of hopelessness. Of despair.

  ‘Thank you.’

  The woman’s voice cut across his thoughts, dragging him out of his nightmare. He thought of her trapped in the car as the water rose. Of her terror. He could feel the blackness...

  Get over yourself, he told himself fiercely. This is a happy ending. Nothing like last time.

  It was almost still in the lee provided by the truck, though maybe that was just comparative. It was quiet compared to the blast of wind in the open. Just standing was hard. How had they managed to do what they’d done?

  ‘What the hell were you doing, trying to cross the bridge?’ he snapped. Emotions were coalescing into a wave of anger. He saw her flinch, and hauled back himself.

  ‘Sorry. We’re safe. Explain later. Where’s Moira?’ She’d come from Moira’s house. He’d expected Moira to be in the car. Why else would she be here but to take Moira to safety? But if Moira had already left... Had Moira sent her to fetch her dog?

  ‘Moira’s dead.’ Her voice was flat, no inflection, leaving no doubts. Shocking.

  ‘What the...?’

  But if he was shocked, soaked, bruised, how much more so was this woman? The headlights weren’t much use this far around the car but there was enough light for an impression. The woman was...youngish? She had coppery red hair, curls dripping to her shoulders. Not tall. Not plump either, as he’d first thought. She was wearing pants and a loose top, which was now clinging wetly. She looked very pregnant.

  He needed to bundle her back to the house and get her warm. There was also the issue of a limp dog. Injured?

  But triage... Moira. Dead?

  ‘Explain,’ he said, curtly. If Moira really was dead there was nothing he could do, but he’d heard enough anguished screaming from relatives during his medical career... ‘He’s dead, Doctor...’ to know the diagnosis wasn’t always right.

  But she must have heard his doubt because it was addressed straight away.

  ‘I’m a nurse,’ the woman managed, and he heard the strong lilt of an Irish accent. ‘I’m a midwife but I know death when I see it. Moira’s my great-aunt. She’s a loner, and she hates me coming, but she has a heart condition so I visit when I can, like it or not. When I heard the forecast I rang to ask her to evacuate. She told me where to go. Then this afternoon she rang me back, in a state. She sounded terrified, gaspy. She wasn’t feeling well and asked if I could come. I suggested an ambulance but she snapped my head off. So I came. She...she was sitting by the kitchen fire, the dog at her feet. Almost peaceful. It took me two hours to get here but by the look of things I suspect she’d been dead for almost that long.’

  ‘I’m so sorry.’ It seemed appallingly inadequate.

  ‘I hardly knew her.’ Her voice was almost a whisper. ‘But she was all the family I had.’

  He thought suddenly of his dog, of fear and of the need for the contact of another living thing. There was so much bleakness in this woman’s voice.

  Triage. Sympathy would have to come later.

  He rose and heaved the dog into the back seat. For the life of him he couldn’t see what was wrong with her. She was a golden Labrador, fat, heavy, limp. She raised her head a little as he moved her, her huge brown eyes meeting his. Had she been struck by timbers? It didn’t make sense, but what did make sense was getting them all out of this weather.

  With the dog in the back seat he half lifted the woman to her feet and helped her into the passenger seat. Then he headed for the driver’s side, which was no mean feat when that was the weather side.

  The wind was still rising. If it got any stronger... He blocked the thought as he headed home. Home, with its remote-control garage doors, with its heat, with its safety.

  ‘Where are we going?’ the woman managed.

  ‘To my place. The house you can see from Moira’s.’

  ‘But it’s empty!’ She said it almost as an accusation. ‘Moira has your phone number on the fridge. I told her to ring you, but she said she couldn’t. When I got here I looked across and there wasn’t a light on. You think I would have tried to cross the bridge if I’d known I could get help there?’ Her teeth were chattering so hard she could hardly get the words out, but indignation came through, loud and strong.

  ‘I’m very sorry,’ he said and he meant it. ‘I shuttered the place down at lunchtime. I also tried to check on Moira but no one answered my knock. That’s Moira through and through, though. I should have left a light on.’

  ‘It might have been helpful.’

  ‘It might.’ He hesitated. ‘You didn’t think to stay at Moira’s until the morning?’

  ‘She’s dead.’

  ‘I get that, but—’

  ‘But I didn’t want to stay with my dead great-aunt.’ Her indignation was still there. ‘It felt like I had to let someone know, and I didn’t know the bridge was going to crash. And the forecast says it’ll get worse before it gets better. And then there’s Maisie...’

  ‘Maisie?’

  ‘The dog. She’s in trouble.’ She glanced into the darkness of the back seat and indignation faded. ‘I... Moira says...said...you’re a doctor. Do you know
anything about delivering puppies?’

  ‘Delivering puppies...’

  ‘Obstructed labour,’ she said briefly, and her voice faltered, shock and stress flooding back. ‘I’m sorry,’ she said after a moment. ‘I’m not...at my best. And I’m a midwife but I know nothing about labour in dogs. I could feel contractions half an hour ago, but they were getting weaker and so was she. The phone connection seems to be dead so I couldn’t phone a vet. I couldn’t get onto the internet to find out what I might be able to do and she’s going to die and she’s a lovely dog. And Moira’s dead, which makes me feel sick to my stomach. And I’m freezing and I’m eight months pregnant and I’m scared. I was terrified. Thanks to you, I’m not any more but I’m still scared.’ She took a deep breath, fighting against hysteria, and decided on indignation instead. ‘And you should have put your outside light on.’

  ‘I’m very sorry,’ he said again.

  ‘Thank you.’ She took another breath and he could almost hear her gritting her teeth. ‘If I were a heroine in a romance novel I’d have disintegrated into hysterics by now and left this whole mess to a knight on a white charger. But I needed him two hours ago. Now I’m over it. I don’t know you from Adam but you’ve done all right so far, and I’m grateful. You’re all I have in the knight on a white charger department, so please keep right on rescuing. Maisie’s depending on you. I’m depending on you. You’re all we have.’

  And she put her face in her hands, gave one fierce sob and subsided.

  CHAPTER TWO

  SHE DIDN’T DISSOLVE into hysterics. She allowed herself that one, single sob and then she hauled herself together.

  Somehow.

  At least she hadn’t been swept out to sea. How many times had she struggled for silver linings over the last few months? She was fighting for one now. Not being swept out to sea had to be close.

  Oh, but she was cold.

  But she was safe. This truck was built for toughness rather than style, but its engine sounded reassuringly powerful and it beavered its way along the track as if the storm wasn’t trying its best to shove it backwards.

  And the man beside her...

  He looked as tough as his truck, she thought.

  He was tall and broad and the hands on the steering wheel looked weathered, large, capable. His mouth was set in a grim line and his deep eyes were focused fiercely on the track ahead.

  There seemed to be a scar running across his forehead, around his left eye to the base of his ear. It added to the aura of toughness. The impression she had was of strength, competence and certainty.

  His ancient sweater was soaked and streaming water. His deep black hair was plastered across his forehead but the soaking just seemed to add to his aura of strength.

  A knight on a white charger? Maybe not, but give her a hero with a serviceable truck any day. The thought made her hiccup on something between a laugh and a sob and he glanced at her sharply before returning his attention to the track.

  ‘Don’t you dare.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘Swoon or have hysterics.’

  She almost managed a smile. ‘Sorry. I didn’t mean it.’ Her teeth were chattering so hard it was almost impossible to speak but she forced herself to go on. ‘If the books I’ve read are any indication of the remedies for either, isn’t it a bucket of cold water? I’ve just copped an ocean.’

  She saw his grim mouth relax a little. Half a smile?

  She could see a light ahead—he must have finally put an outside light on. The sight was infinitely reassuring.

  She needed this man’s help. She needed to make herself sound sensible.

  ‘I’m Hannah Byrne,’ she told him. ‘I’m a midwife, working at North Queensland Regional Hospital, and if the sticky note on Moira’s fridge is to believed, you’re Josh O’Connor. A doctor. Doctor of medicine?’

  ‘Yes,’ he said curtly. ‘I insisted Moira keep my details. It would have been a sight more useful if she’d phoned me rather than a niece two hours’ drive away. Two hours ago the lines were open. I could have been there in five minutes.’

  ‘It would have nearly killed her to phone even me,’ she said, and faltered. ‘I guess...it did kill her.’

  ‘Her stubbornness killed her,’ he said bluntly. ‘She knew I was home. If she managed to ring you she could have rung me.’

  ‘Maybe dying at home’s what she wanted anyway,’ Hannah said softly. ‘She would have hated hospital. All those people... She can’t...couldn’t stand people. I think she only rang me because she was frightened about Maisie. She was old and she was ill. I can’t... I can’t grieve.’

  ‘You are grieving,’ he said matter-of-factly, and she closed her eyes.

  ‘I guess...for what could have been.’ She hauled herself together again. ‘But today... She obviously didn’t feel well enough to drive Maisie to the vet, but I suspect it would have killed her to contact you. A stranger. A man...’

  Her voice trailed off as she thought of the old woman as she’d last seen her, slumped by the fireside in death, her hand trailing down to touch her dog by her side.

  But then they were at the house. Josh flicked the remote and the garage door slipped up seamlessly. The inside light went on automatically and Hannah blinked in the shock of unexpected light.

  ‘You have power.’

  ‘Solar power augmented by batteries and a generator.’

  ‘Oh, my.’ She took a deep breath. ‘And phone?

  ‘Normal coverage seems to have been cut but I have a satellite.’

  ‘A satellite phone? You can call for help?’

  ‘I doubt help would be forthcoming,’ he said, driving into the garage. ‘Not in this storm. The latest forecast is for the cyclone’s eye to pass within a hundred kilometres. This is going to get worse before it gets better.’

  But as the garage door slid quietly down behind them the noise from the wind cut off. Just like that.

  She was sitting in a silent, well-lit garage. With no storm.

  Safe.

  Maisie. She turned to look into the back seat. The big dog was still with them. She was looking at her with those huge eyes. Dependent.

  Josh was right, though. There was no way they could call for evacuation for a dog.

  Or for a great-aunt who’d died from natural causes.

  She’d been shaking before but suddenly, weirdly, the shakes grew worse. Shock, fear, worry, and reaction from everything that had gone before was suddenly overwhelming. Her body seemed a trembling mess. She put her hands on either side of the seat and held on, trying to ground herself, trying to haul herself together.

  But then Josh was around her side of the truck, and before she knew what he was about he’d lifted her out bodily.

  ‘What...?’ Her voice came out as an unidentifiable squeak. ‘Put me down. I’m okay.’

  ‘You’re not okay,’ he said, striding with her across the garage. Somehow he edged the door open, carrying into the house, lowering her a little to brush light switches on as he went.

  She had a first impression of solidity, of stone floors, massive beams, of comfort. They entered the living room and she saw a fire in the hearth blazing with heat. She saw two great settees, club style, squishy, and a massive crimson rug.

  A lanky, brown and black kelpie-like dog had been lying by the fire. He launched himself toward them, his skinny tail spinning like a gyrocopter. ‘Back,’ Josh ordered, and the spinning tail was instantly tucked between his legs. The dog cast Josh a look of deep reproach and retired back to the fire.

  But Josh didn’t pause. He was through the living room and out the other side, down the passage.

  She felt warmth as they went. Central heating? Gorgeous.

  Josh was pushing another door open. A bathroom. A wide, open shower. A bath.

  A bath!

  ‘A bath will be safer t
han a shower,’ Josh suggested. Before she could respond he lowered her onto a stool and hit the taps. A gush of water streamed out, creating glorious steam. ‘Otherwise I’ll have to hold you up in the shower.’ But then the impetus stopped. He knelt beside her and gripped her hands, his dark eyes meeting hers in concern. Professional concern? ‘Hannah, tell me. Are you hurt in any way? Did you get hit when the car was swept down?’

  Suddenly he’d turned into a doctor. Up until now he’d been a rescuer, a stranger with strength when she’d needed it. Now there was professional incisiveness.

  ‘I... No.’

  ‘Did you have your seat belt on?’

  ‘Yes, but...’

  ‘Can you feel your baby? Any movements?’

  ‘I think so.’ She faltered. Her hand went to her swollen abdomen. ‘In the truck... I felt her kick. I’m sure...’

  ‘Would you let me check? If it’s okay with you I need to listen to make sure she’s okay. I have a stethoscope.’

  ‘You really are a doctor?’

  ‘I am,’ he told her. ‘A neurosurgeon—not that that’s any help now. But my med training included Babies for Beginners. Will you let me examine you?’

  ‘I... Yes. Of course.’

  ‘Can you pull that sweater off while I fetch my gear? Or can I help?’

  ‘I can... I can do it.’

  ‘Back in ten seconds,’ he told her, and slipped out of the room.

  She tugged off her soaked sweater. The relief as its soaked, heavy weight disappeared was indescribable. Then her bra... There was a qualm, but she made it short. Sod it, he’s a doctor, she told herself. He’d have seen worse things come out of cheese. She looked at the bath, which was already a quarter full. Gently steaming.

  Irresistible.

  He was a doctor. She could play the patient.

  She kicked off her sneakers and tugged away her saturated pants. She left on her knickers—he might be a doctor but a girl had some standards—and she couldn’t wait a moment longer. She lowered herself into the heavenly, heavenly water.

  He walked back in and she was in the bath.

  Almost naked.