by Cassie Miles
With his arm slung around her waist, he helped her climb through the forest. Her heavy breathing worried him. “Are you okay?”
“Not okay.” She gasped and leaned against the rough trunk of a pine tree. “In labor.” Another gasp. “Exhausted. Scared.”
He scooped her off the ground. Pregnant Olivia wasn’t a featherweight, but carrying her was easier than half dragging her up the hill. In the dark of the forest, he didn’t see the house she’d said was in this direction. If he went past it, they could be wandering for hours.
Then he caught a glimpse of a trail and followed it along a ridge to the back door to the cabin. Though he would have preferred kicking down the door, Troy had to be careful not to make unnecessary noise that would alert Jarvis and his men to their escape route. He set her down, picked the lock and led her inside.
Filthy was a nice description for what they found in the old cabin. Dust an inch thick covered every horizontal surface, animal droppings scattered about the floor and cobwebs draped from the corners. Near the bathroom, he found a closed closet. Inside were sheets and towels that probably hadn’t been used in years but were relatively clean.
He spread a sheet over the mattress in the bedroom for Olivia. “Lie down.”
With a groan, she sank onto the bed, lying on her side. “How much longer?”
“Not much.”
Using his cell phone, he sent a text to Alex. We’re safe.
It was close to dawn. Oddly, his idea of staging the attack at that time had been accurate. The return message came in just a few minutes. Assault in twenty minutes.
Troy sat beside her on the bed and held up the phone so she could see. “Twenty minutes.”
The thinning light of dawn filtered through the dirty window and shone full on her face. Slowly, she shook her head. “We don’t have that long. This baby is coming now.”
Chapter Twenty-One
The fear Troy had experienced in battle was nothing compared to Olivia’s declaration. Now. The baby is coming now. And there was nobody but him to help. “What should I do?”
“This place is supposed to have a well. See if you can get the water running. And bring me all the sheets.”
He dashed to the closet in the hall and grabbed every scrap of material, which he then deposited on the bed. She was standing, sorting through sheets and assembling a kind of nest.
“Should you be lying down?” he asked.
In answer, she flung out her arm and grasped his hand. The squeeze of her fingers was tighter than a hungry python. Her lips pressed together, and he knew she was holding back the urge to cry out. If there had been any way for him to take on her pain, he wouldn’t have hesitated.
Gradually, she released. “Get the water.”
In the kitchen, he found a couple of bowls in the cabinets and stuck them under the cistern faucet on the sink. Each crank of the pump elicited a squawk. When the water finally started running, it was muddy brown. He kept cranking. Eventually, the liquid turned clear.
He carried a bowl of water back to the bedroom where she was sprawled on the bed, half-covered by an array of sheets and towels. In spite of the chill in the room, a film of sweat coated her forehead. Her blond hair was plastered to her cheeks, and she was gasping like a fish out of water. His heart went out to her. Olivia hadn’t wanted her labor to be like this. A dozen times, she’d talked about how she wanted a mood of serenity and peace for the moment when their son came into the world.
“I wish it could be different,” he whispered. “After all the babies you’ve delivered, you deserve a beautiful experience.”
“This is perfect.” She grabbed the front of his shirt and yanked him down onto the bed beside her. “Life is a struggle, and our son is going to be tough enough to handle anything the world throws at him.”
“Okay.” He tried to be encouraging. “That’s one way of looking at it.”
“Don’t have a choice,” she snapped.
“And that’s another way.”
“From now on, you’re my coach. Take one of these washcloths, get it damp and wipe off my forehead. You need to hold my hand and remind me of how to breathe.”
How many ways were there to breathe? In his experience, gritting his teeth was the way to handle pain. “Inhale and exhale? Faster? Slower?”
“There’s a pattern,” she said. “I’ll explain.”
He listened to her instructions and did exactly what she said. For the next contractions, he held her hand and helped her breathe through them. They were setting up a rhythm, and she seemed to be calmer, definitely more in control. The process was working. We’re having this baby now.
Daylight was growing stronger by the minute. In the light, his son would be born. He heard the first shots from the assault on the other house. Jarvis was under attack.
“Good news,” he said. “Starting now, you can scream as loud as you want.”
“You have no idea what that means to me.”
On her next contraction, she opened her mouth and let out a yell. The sound crashed against his ears. Still, he encouraged her. “That’s good.”
“Damn right it is.”
The yell seemed to relieve her pressure. “Next time, you can get even louder.”
“And I need to keep to the pattern of breathing,” she reminded him.
As he worked with her through the contractions, his admiration grew. She struggled. She fought with all her strength. And she was handling the labor, probably better than he would, and he’d been awarded a Purple Heart for battle injury. His suffering had been nothing compared to what she was going through. Every woman who had a baby should be awarded a medal for bravery and fortitude.
After a particularly fierce contraction, she lay back against the pillows, gasping. He wiped the damp cloth over her forehead. “How much longer?”
“Not much.” She exhaled with repeated puffs. “It’s time to push. Check the baby’s progress.”
“How do I do that?”
“I think you know where babies come out.”
This was the next phase, the inevitable phase. Panic rushed through him. He wasn’t sure he could handle this. But there wasn’t a choice. At the foot of the bed, he pulled apart the sheets and separated her legs. “I see him. I see the head.”
She bore down and pushed. The shout that came from her was a battle cry, and she was winning. They were winning. He didn’t have time to think or to worry. The baby’s head was freed. Acting on instinct, Troy helped the shoulders to slide through.
“Again,” he said. “Another push.”
Heroically, she put in the effort. The baby, his son, was born. The tiny face was wet and covered in goop, but the kid was beautiful. His nose wrinkled and he made a weird snuffling noise—a cross between a cat’s meow and a sneeze.
Troy had never been so proud or so amazed. This is my son. His life was forever connected to this small, helpless infant. His son. Nothing in the world had ever been so important.
Olivia held out her arms, and he nestled the baby against her breasts. After her exertions, she was a mess. Sweat dampened her tangled hair. Her complexion was red, even her eyes were bloodshot. She had never looked more beautiful.
Sitting on the bed beside his new family, he wrapped them both in a firm embrace. “You did good.”
“We did good,” she said.
He lightly kissed her lips. “He’s perfect.”
“Did you expect anything less?” Her eyelids drooped. “We’re not really done. There’s still the afterbirth. That’s pretty messy.”
“What can I do?”
“You’re on cleanup duty. Remember that water you brought in here? This little guy needs to get wiped down.”
Following her instructions, he took care of everything. He wiped and swabbed and changed the sheets. When it was over, Olivia sat up in the bed, holding the baby in her arms and cooing softly. His son had a full head of dark brown hair but his eyes were blue like his mother’s. He stared at the window.
“Can
he tell what he’s looking at?”
“I think so,” she said. “I think babies are born with all the wisdom of the world, pure wisdom without language. They know every truth.”
She smiled up at him. This was the serenity she’d been seeking. Down the hill, the gun battle continued. But in this cabin, the dawn light welcomed a new life.
He picked up his cell phone and put through a call to Nelson. “What’s up?”
“We got them,” Nelson said. “The Hatari cell is all rounded up, and it didn’t take a single gunshot.”
“Good job,” Troy said. “Now it’s your turn to congratulate me. I’m a daddy.”
Nelson let out a whoop as he announced the good news to the rest of the men on his team. When they shouted their congratulations through the phone, he held it so Olivia could hear.
He said his goodbye and set down the phone on the dusty bedside table beside his gun.
“There’s one more thing you need to do,” she said. “Find a rubber band or a piece of string to clamp off the umbilical cord. Then you need to cut it. Do you have a sharp knife?”
He took a spring-loaded blade, standard equipment for a marine, from his pocket. “Will this do?”
“It’s weirdly appropriate.”
He cut a scrap from one of the sheets and used it to tie off the cord. “We still don’t have a name for this little guy.”
“I like Sam,” she said. “Not Samuel, but Sam. Doesn’t he look like a Sam?”
If she’d wanted to name him Aloysius, he would have agreed. His love for Olivia and their son was overflowing. As far as he was concerned, she could do no wrong. “Sam sounds good to me.”
The shooting from down the hill seemed to be slowing down. Soon, Troy could call her father and tell him where they were, but he wasn’t in a rush to share these special moments. And there was one more important bit of business he needed to take care of.
From the same pocket where he’d carried his knife, he took out his wallet. Tucked in the fold was her diamond engagement ring. He held it toward her. “You told me to ask you again.”
“Yes.” Her eyes sparkled. “I will marry you and spend the rest of my life with you.”
After all her refusals, that was so damn easy. It would have been as good if she’d said yes on the first try. “You can’t back out. Sam’s my witness.”
“I love you, Troy.”
He kissed her mouth and slipped the ring on her finger. “And I love you, too.”
Sam made his weird little noise as though he was blessing the union of his mother and father. For a moment, they nestled together.
Then Troy picked up his knife. “When I cut this thing, it doesn’t hurt him, does it?”
“Not a bit.”
His sharp blade flicked through the cord.
A crash came from the front of the cabin. Troy leaped away from the bed. In an instant, he was in the bedroom doorway. A man with a gun lurched toward him. Jarvis Rainer was making his last attempt at revenge.
But it wasn’t going to happen. Not this time.
With a feral yell, Jarvis charged toward him. Troy flung his blade. It buried up to the hilt in the other man’s chest. He fell backwards—and didn’t move.
The same knife that had cut the umbilical cord had killed their enemy. Troy retrieved his knife, picked up the dead man’s gun and returned to the bedroom.
Olivia’s eyes were wide. “What was that?”
“Nothing for you to worry about.”
His family would always be safe and secure. Troy would make sure of it.
Epilogue
Six months later, on Valentine’s Day, Olivia paced back and forth in a small anteroom at the rear of a stone chapel in Denver. Though the temperature was cold and there was snow on the ground, the sun had banished the clouds from the sky. It was the perfect day for a wedding.
Sam wiggled in her arms. He was an active six-month-old, no surprise there. He could already scoot himself across the floor, and everything he touched went into his mouth. His pudgy, little fingers plucked at the lace on the front of her gown. Though she had started the weaning process, he much preferred milk from the source. When he was this close to her, he made his demands abundantly clear.
“I know you’re hungry,” she said as she found a bottle in the giant diaper bag that had become an essential part of her life. “Let’s try some of this.”
When she poked the nipple of the bottle against Sam’s lips, he squeezed his mouth shut, turned his head and made a determined grab for the real milk. The baby was as stubborn as his father.
Carol Rainer entered the room and came toward her. “Can I hold him?”
“Be my guest.” She detached Sam from her arms before he tore the lace covering her breasts. “I’m guessing that he’s hungry, but I can’t get him to eat. Maybe he’ll take some milk from you.”
As soon as Carol sat in the padded Queen Anne–style chair by the window and held the bottle toward Sam, he cooed happily and latched on to the nipple. The little traitor seemed to enjoy making his mommy look unreasonable. Olivia would have been annoyed if her blue-eyed, brown-haired son hadn’t been the most adorable child on earth.
Carol smiled up at her. “You look beautiful.”
“This old thing?” Olivia spun in a circle, and the skirt flared. She wasn’t crazy about the pastel blue color, but it was what the bride wanted for her matron of honor. “It’s almost time to start. How many people are here?”
“More than you expected. This ceremony is going to be standing room only.”
“And what about Alex? Is he here yet?”
“Just showed up.” Carol’s smile deepened. She and Alex had been dating ever since the night when Sam was born. “And he’s not wearing scrubs.”
“Can’t really blame him for the scrubs,” Olivia said. “That’s a doctor’s uniform.”
“Speaking of uniforms, those four marines in their dress blues are pretty spectacular.”
Olivia agreed. The marines—including Gunnery Sergeant Blaine Nelson—were from Troy’s former team. They had all been reassigned to help Troy set up a mountain training base not far from where she lived in Dillon. This new facility was designed to teach survival skills to elite troops, as well as provide some very sophisticated training in computerized technology.
Establishment of the new training base meant Troy could stay here rather than relocate to Camp Lejeune, and Olivia was grateful for the arrangement. If Troy’s service meant that someday she and Sam needed to move to be with him, she’d do it, of course. But she loved her mountains. With her son and a love for her husband that grew more intense with each passing day, her life was pretty wonderful.
Her sister swept into the room, closed the door and fluffed the pastel blue skirt that matched Olivia’s. Bianca exhaled a sigh. “I think I’m in love.”
Olivia had heard this story before. “Did your Arab prince show up?”
“Forget him,” Bianca said with a wave of her hand. “I’m talking about Blaine.”
“Gunny Nelson?”
“Blond hair. Great tan. An amazing butt. Why didn’t you tell me that he was so beautiful?”
“Would you believe that I didn’t notice?”
“Actually,” Bianca said, “I would. You and Troy and Sam are such a tight little unit that you barely pay attention to anything else.”
“Not true. I’ve gone back to work.”
“And I’m thinking you might need some help taking care of this little guy.” Bianca crossed the room to where Carol was sitting with Sam. “I should come and stay with you on the weekends. I’d love to spend more time with my handsome little nephew.”
“And Gunny Blaine Nelson?”
“Maybe.”
Again, the door opened. Troy stepped inside. Instead of his dress blues, he’d opted for a simple gray suit that had been tailored to accommodate the breadth of his shoulders. When he took off his glasses and smiled at her, his dark eyes glistened. He seemed to be more attractive ev
ery time she saw him.
“The bride and groom have arrived,” he said. “They’re ready to get started.”
Olivia cast a worried glance toward Carol. “Do you think Sam will be okay during the ceremony?”
“Not to worry. I’ll look after him.” She stood, holding the baby. “It’s not every day that a kid gets to see his grandparents get married.”
“Renewing their vows,” Bianca said in her lawyer voice. “They’re already married.”
“This ceremony is for the happily ever after,” Olivia said.
Renewing their commitment was an excellent way to mark a pivotal change in the lives of Richard and Sharon Laughton. They were retired from the CIA. No longer spies, they had no secrets from each other or anyone else.
Instead of walking down the aisle by herself, Olivia would be escorted by her husband. When she linked her arm with his and looked up at him, he leaned down for a kiss. Not a gentle peck on the cheek, but a serious mouth-to-mouth kiss that sent shivers through her body.
She melted against him. “You smeared my lipstick.”
“That’s not all I want to mess up.”
“You behave,” she whispered.
“Not likely.”
He wasn’t the sort of man who could be tamed. It was one of his best traits.
* * * * *
Be sure to pick up a copy of
MONTANA MIDWIFE by USA TODAY bestselling author Cassie Miles in November 2012.
Look for it wherever
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* * * * *
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