How To Catch A Cowboy: A Small Town Montana Romance

by Joanna Bell

  "Because, uh – because I don't want you to lose it if we have to go to the hospital right away."

  I ran my fingers through his shaggy hair and pulled him close to me. "I don't think we need to go to the hospital right away, babe. Remember what they said in the birth class, about –"

  "I don't remember a damned thing they said in those classes! All those weird plastic vaginas freaked me out too much to concentrate!" Jack replied, standing up and looking around impatiently. "Now where the hell is DeeDee?!"

  "You just spoke to her, Jack. Like, literally less than two minutes ago. I assume it's going to take longer than two minutes?"

  But Jack wasn't listening to me. He began to pace back and forth. "Damnit I should have checked the road. I drove up here a couple of weeks ago but we had that big rainstorm last week, I should have checked it again! What if it's washed out? What if DeeDee can't get up here? It's just an old logging road, Blaze, it's not –"

  "Jack!"

  Jack stopped at the sound of me yelling his name and turned to look at me, with the expression of a man standing in the middle of a hurricane. "What, Blaze? What?!"

  "You need to chill. If the road is washed out DeeDee will call you, right? And if –"

  "Yeah but what if you get more? Contractions, I mean? What if you can't ride the horse –"

  "Jack," I said, reaching up for his hand because I could no longer get to my feet by myself without struggling like a beetle on its back, "if I suddenly go into full blown labor, we will call 911, alright? With the phone. But I really don't think that's going to happen. I don't think it's time to freak out yet."

  "But if the road is washed out, how are they going to get an ambulance up here?"

  "I don't know," I replied, smiling and shaking my head. "This is pretty funny, though – I always thought I was the catastrophizer."

  "You are," Jack responded, finally cracking a grin of his own and visibly forcing himself to relax a little. "You are. I just – sometimes I have a moment. But you're the one who freaked out and insisted on driving Lulu all the way to damn Billings when she got stung by a bee!"

  "It was her first sting!" I replied. "What if she had been allergic? I don't trust the vet in Little Falls, she doesn't pay close enough attention when I –"

  "Blaze, if Lulu had been allergic to bee stings, she definitely wouldn't have made it THREE HOURS in a car to Billings."

  "OK," I conceded, laughing harder now. "OK, maybe neither of us gets to tell the other one to calm down. But it was the first time she got stung."

  "And it is the first time you're having a baby!" Jack shot back good-humoredly.

  About half an hour later, after Jack and I had tuckered ourselves out laughing at how crazy we were both acting, a pick-up truck appeared out of the trees on the eastern slope of the meadow, a different direction from where Jack and I had hiked in from, and bouncing around on the uneven ground.

  "Thank God," Jack said, grabbing the backpack, leashing Lulu and helping me back to my feet all within the space of about half a second.

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  Jack

  I want to say I'm not sure who enjoyed that pick-up truck ride into Little Falls less, me or Blaze, but I'm pretty sure it was Blaze, despite my being so tense I nearly jumped out of my skin every time we hit a bump.

  Something about that jolting motion just brought on her contractions – and by that point we were all sure they were real contractions, not some kind of Braxton-Hicks or false labor situation. DeeDee slowed right down every time we approached a pothole or an area of very uneven ground, but Blaze's anguished cries were getting worse, and everyone was conscious of the fact that we needed to get to the medical center as soon as possible. I called ahead as we drove, and as my wife-to-be (how glad it made me to think of her that way) alternated between anguished writhing and periods of calm beside me.

  "Ah, OK, Blaze Wilson? I'm going to need to call Dr. Sunderland in – it's her day off today. Are you sure your wife is in labor? Let me get a midwife, one minute."

  I didn't even have time to respond. A minute later another voice came on and asked to speak to Blaze. When I said that probably wasn't going to be possible she told me to just hold the phone near Blaze's mouth, that she just needed to listen to her breathing. I followed the midwife's instructions just as another contraction hit and Blaze began to pant, staring up at me with a wild, frightened look in her eyes. I pressed the phone back to my own ear. "Well?"

  "Uh, yeah. You need to bring her in right now, Mr. Wilson."

  I ignored her calling me by the wrong name and suppressed the urge to yell "NO SHIT!" down the phone – it wasn't the midwife's fault I was losing my mind. "We're on our way already," I said. "We should be there in ten minutes."

  "OK, the nurse is calling Dr. Sunderland now and we'll be ready when you arrive. See you soon!"

  The midwife sounded far too casual for my liking, but Blaze was clutching my hand so tightly by that point I expected to lose a few fingers to blood loss, so there was no time to complain about the medical staff's apparent calm in the face of what, to me, seemed to be an earth-shattering crisis.

  Once we hit paved roads again DeeDee gunned it, gripping the steering wheel until her own knuckles turned as white as mine, and only slowing down once to roll down the window and scream at Sheriff Randall, who was parked off the main road nabbing speeding tourists coming into town, that Blaze was in labor. Within seconds, the Sheriff had overtaken us, lights on and siren blaring as he led us through Little Falls to the medical clinic. We came to a screeching halt outside the front door and the Sheriff was already out of his cruiser, yelling at a couple of bemused looking orderlies in scrubs to "Get a doctor, damnit, RIGHT NOW!"

  I felt a moment of uncertainty standing outside as chaos seemed to bloom around me, centered on Blaze – who was panicking and clinging to my arm, unable to stand up during her contractions. Sheriff Randall was yelling. DeeDee was yelling. Blaze was yelling. And soon, a nurse was yelling at all of us to calm down. She helped Blaze into a wheelchair and we rushed in through the sliding glass doors. It was at that moment, just inside the front door, that I looked down at the exact same moment Blaze looked up at me. Our eyes met and something clicked inside my head. I couldn't lose it. Not then. It simply wasn't an option. Blaze needed me. I've never seen that kind of helplessness in the eyes of another human being until that day – not even when I pulled her out of Parson's Creek. I squeezed her shoulder.

  "We're here now, babe. We're here. You're safe."

  Although my reassurances of safety didn't seem to cut down on the pain of her contractions, I saw the gratefulness in her expression. She told me later that that was the moment she allowed herself to really let go, to surrender her body the mysterious process that had taken over.

  Dorothy Blaze McMurtry was born at ten minutes past nine in the evening. She weighed eight pounds exactly and even I had to admit, along with the gushing nurses and friends who arrived to congratulate us and meet the new arrival, that she looked just like her daddy.

  About an hour after she was born, as Blaze and I sat alone with her, running our fingers gently over her impossibly soft skin and her gorgeous little button nose, I looked at my wife to be and announced I was done for.

  She smiled, her eyes half closed with fatigue and the drunken kind of love we were both practically drowning in. "What do you mean?"

  "I mean I'm done. That's it. Jack McMurtry is done. Can't you feel it? Nothing is ever going to matter as much as this – as much as you and," I looked down at our sleeping baby, "her. Everything is different now, Blaze."

  I worried at first that I wouldn't know how to relate to a newborn baby, that I wouldn't know what to do. In the end, I could barely let go of her long enough to let her mother feed her. She was a delight, endlessly fascinating, and we found ourselves lying for hours on the big bed in the master bedroom with Dorothy between us, watching as the ghosts of McMurtrys and Wilsons past flitted across her tiny features, arguing o
ver who she was going to look like when she got older.

  There was a rightness to her satisfying weight in my arms, even in the middle of the night when she would wake at three in morning and cry until dawn broke and I had to hand her off to her mother so I could go take care of the livestock.

  It wasn't easy. It was the least-easy thing I have ever done. But it was always worth it. There was never a moment when it even came close to not being worth it, and I knew I would have gone through ten times the sleepless nights – a hundred times, a thousand times – if it meant my girls kept smiling.

  Within about six weeks we slipped into an approximation of a routine. In the evenings, just after feeding the Moileds and the horses, I would walk back up to the house. The leaves on the tree were bright yellow by then, trembling on the branches and then falling in the lightest breeze, until the ground underfoot was crunchy with them. Sometimes, Blaze would be standing out on the front porch, exactly the way I had once imagined her doing, with my chubby-cheeked daughter on her hip. I don't believe any man has ever been happier than I was to look up and see those two, my precious girls, waiting for me.

  Epilogue

  Blaze

  The first year of Dorothy's life was a joyful blur. I'd never know busy-ness like that before. Sure, I'd been busy. As a student, as a new agent at the IRS – I knew what hard work was. But it had never been so immediate as it was with Dorothy and Jack and Sweetgrass Ranch itself. It was personal, then. Direct, in a way it never had been in the past. I didn't do hours of paperwork or reading in order to secure an outcome weeks in the future – an exam result, say, or a paycheck. No, I did laundry, I picked vegetables from the little garden Jack had made behind the house, I took Lulu and Dorothy out so they could burn off their energy under the big tree with the brand new tire swing and I took care of the myriad little things that a man, a toddler, a dog, a house and a large property throw up to be taken care of.

  And in return, they all took care of me. Jack let me know every day that he loved me, and that his only priority was me and Dorothy and the home we were making together. He worked hard – harder than he needed to, given our financial situation – because that's just the kind of man he is, wealthy or not. Dorothy took care of me, too, making up for the lack of sleep with the way she would tremble with anticipation when she saw me walking towards her, or throw her head back and laugh like a 50 year old sailor telling a dirty joke when I made silly faces at her. Lulu, my little freeway pup, was a constant presence, spending her days at the house with me and the baby, watching over us, barking to let me know if Dorothy was about to get into something she shouldn't, or if someone pulled up in front of the house. Sweetgrass Ranch itself took care of me, producing fat, brightly colored vegetables for our meals and providing us all with a sense of home. The house, which was finally finished when Dorothy was 6 months old, kept me warm and dry, surrounding me with the feelings and good wishes of the people who had lived there before me. I felt them sometimes as I stirred a red sauce on the enormous gas range Jack had insisted on, or folded laundry or swept the mud room where Jack would take his boots off in the evenings. I felt them almost as if they were right there, as real as I was. Like I could turn around at any moment and see them, standing back a little, wistful and proud of what Jack and I were building together.

  I married Jack McMurtry on a crisp autumnal day, surrounded by our friends and family. My parents, who hadn't sent more than a brief, painfully formal congratulations card when Dorothy was born, flew out to Montana two days before the wedding took place, and insisted on staying in a luxury lodge outside of town rather than at Sweetgrass Ranch. They visited, though, pulling up in their rental car and looking around, inspecting things as I watched them walk up the driveway from my spot in the living room.

  "Mrs. Wilson," Jack said, shaking my mother's hand when we met on the porch. "Mr. Wilson."

  Yeah, it was awkward. Jack handled it well, though, managing to expertly walk the line between courteousness and a certain coolness towards the couple he felt had rejected their own daughter in a time of need. I roasted a chicken for dinner that night. I was, under the instruction of my husband and the internet, becoming a much better cook – and I could feel my parents watching us – and their granddaughter – as we functioned as a unit. Jack and I shared cooking duties, taking little breaks every now and again to attend to Dorothy as she toddled around trying to discover new ways to put herself in danger. My parents didn't say anything right away, not that first night, but they didn't have to. I knew what they were seeing, and I was proud. Proud of myself, and proud of my little family. It didn't matter if Bryan and Jill Wilson couldn't get their heads out of their butts long enough to acknowledge it.

  The next day, Jack took them out to see the rest of the property while I stayed at the house with Jess, DeeDee Schneider and Kayla Landers to work on last minute preparations for the wedding supper and the party the next night.

  "Your parents seem OK," Jess said, after they'd left with Jack. "I mean, it's civil enough."

  I nodded. "Yeah, it's civil enough. I'm not over the way they handled anything, but I know it's not the time to deal with it – and I also know I'd rather Dorothy knew her grandparents than just let this fester for the rest of our lives."

  Kayla Landers, 4 months pregnant with Jimmy Lewison's baby and, according to Jack, much calmer than she had been in the past, clasped my shoulders from behind. "Oh my God, Blaze! I can't believe how nice this all is! Everything is just so – perfect! I want it to be just like this when Jimmy and I get married. Except we're getting married in the spring, so I guess it'll be a little different. And I want cool table favors at my wedding. Those little glass jars with different colored sand in them? To match the colors of the wedding? Won't that be awesome!"

  DeeDee smiled at Jess and I over Kayla's shoulder. She was a sweet girl – over-excitable, but constantly bubbling over with enthusiasm since she started dating Jimmy Lewison, who Jack said had loved her since they were all in high school together.

  "No!" Jess screeched, rolling her eyes as Lulu snatched a carrot off the counter and ran off to devour it away from the humans who would try to take it back. "What is wrong with that dog, Blaze? Carrots, really?"

  We laughed and chopped vegetables and kept an eye on the dog and the toddler and generally had a lovely afternoon. But they had all had gone home by the time my parents and Jack returned from their tour of the ranch. It had been longer than I expected, and I was slightly worried about the reason why. Nothing on any of their faces betrayed any dramatic happenings, though.

  "So how was it?" I asked blandly. "Are you hungry?"

  "It was lovely," my mother answered, giving nothing away. "And yes, we are rather hungry."

  They sat down at the kitchen table and I got to making them some chicken sandwiches with the leftovers of the previous night's roast. At first I thought the strange muffled sound from behind me was Dorothy, that she was choking or having a fit or something equally horrible. But when I whipped around in a panic it wasn't my daughter I saw in distress. It was my father.

  My dad doesn't cry. I saw his eyes water once, maybe, and that was when his own father died when I was 15. Never before or since – not until that day at Sweetgrass Ranch – had I witnessed my sometimes stupidly stoic father show anything that anyone could have mistaken for weeping. And there he was at the kitchen table, his head in his hands and his shoulders shaking with emotion. As soon as I saw it the floodgates opening in my own heart.

  "Dad!" I cried, my voice breaking as I went to him. "Daddy!"

  My mom promptly joined us, dabbing at her eyes and sniffling.

  "Blaze," my father croaked, his voice thick with the effort it was taking not to break down. "I'm so sorry sweetheart. I'm so sorry my love. We've let you down. Not we – I. I've let you down. Your mother wanted to come and see you when the baby was born but I wouldn't let her. I was too –" He began to sob again.

  I met my mother's eyes as Dorothy sat on the floor bes
ide us, gazing up at the adults like we were the strangest things she had ever seen. Which we probably were. "Is that true?" I whispered. "You wanted to come see me?"

  My mother, who didn't generally disagree with my father in front of other people unless she felt it absolutely necessary, nodded. "Yes, Blaze."

  I was surprised, given the history of my mom being the 'hard' parent and my dad the 'soft' one. And I was torn, too, between wanting to scream at my father, to demand to know why he had done something so hurtful, and wanting to forgive him instantly.

  "It's my fault," he choked out, taking a deep breath and trying to get a hold on himself. "It's my fault, Blaze, not your mother's. I thought I was doing the right thing. I thought I was doing the fatherly thing, refusing to reward you for your mistakes. But now I'm here, and I see you and Jack together. I see this life you've built and this," he paused as his voice wobbled again when he looked at Dorothy, "this beautiful little girl, and I realize it was just my stupid pride. I didn't want to lose you, Blaze, that's what it was. Selfishness and stupidity. I'm sorry. I know sorry isn't enough, I know it. But I'm so sorry."

  My father began to cry again – even as I remember the scene I still have trouble believing it ever happened – and I threw my arms around him. Maybe anger would come later, Lord knows there had already been a lot of it, but in that moment I just loved my dad and my heart broke to think of him alone and sad, thinking he was losing me and unwilling to share his fears with anyone. "Dad," I said, resting my head on his shoulder. "I forgive you. I missed you guys so much, and all I want is for you to be in my life – in our lives. That's all I want."

  That's the scene Jack walked in on. The Wilson family collectively bawling its eyes out. I moved to get up, to explain what was going on, but my father put his hand on my arm and stood up himself, going to Jack and not bothering to hide the tears in his eyes.