He helped her stretch out on the couch, though she wasn’t as helpful as she might have been, since she kept trying to get back up. “We should call someone,” she said. “An ambulance. A doctor. The police. Anyone.”
He pushed her back down against the cushions again, ignoring the damp stain that spread beneath her. He would replace the couch—that was the least of his worries at the moment.
“Jenny, we can’t call anyone,” he reminded her patiently. “The phone lines are out, remember? We don’t even have cellular service.”
She pushed futilely at his hands as he groped for the waistband of her soggy slacks. “What are you doing?”
“I’m getting you out of these wet clothes.” Despite her resistance, he swiftly stripped her lower garments away, then draped a blanket over her.
“Lie still,” he said, when she started to rise again. “I’m going to light the lantern so I can see what I’m doing.”
“What are we going to do? Adam, we have to do something! I can’t do this now, like this. I just can’t!”
Adam set the lantern close to the couch, half his mind busy listing the items he would need at hand during the next few hours, the other half worrying about Jenny’s emotional state. He didn’t like the frantic look in her eyes, or the raw edge to her voice. This ordeal was going to be difficult enough without her succumbing to hysteria.
“Jenny, calm down,” he said again, trying to speak firmly and soothingly. “Everything is going to be okay.”
Tears streamed down her face as she clenched with another contraction. “Oh, God, that hurts.”
He knelt beside her and gently brushed a wayward curl from her damp forehead, hoping she wouldn’t feel the faint trembling in his fingers. “I know, sweetheart.”
She caught his hand in hers, her grip almost painfully tight. “I’m in labor, aren’t I?”
“Yes. I think it’s safe to assume that you’re in labor.”
Her eyes seemed to grow, dominating her pale face. “What are we going to do? We’re stranded here. There’s no one to help us.”
“We’ll handle it,” he repeated, trying to sound utterly confident. “Everything will be fine. I’ll take care of you.”
A fresh wave of tears escaped her, trickling weakly down the sides of her face. “If only we had a doctor...” she whispered.
He raised her hand to his lips, smiling against her fingers. “Jenny, I am a doctor.”
She frowned, searching his unshaven face with open skepticism.
He supposed he couldn’t blame her for doubting him. “I am a doctor,” he repeated. “A surgeon, to be precise.”
He figured he didn’t need to mention at the moment that his specialty was reconstructive plastic surgery. “I know what I’m doing,” he added.
He wasn’t lying to her. Not exactly, anyway. He had delivered a baby before. Once. A very long time ago, back when he was still a young intern. Of course, he’d been in a hospital, supported by an efficient and knowledgeable medical staff. All the modern medicines and machinery had been available to him, had they been needed. Help had been only a simple request away.
What he wouldn’t give for that to be the case now.
Jenny had gone very still, her eyes locked with his. “A surgeon,” she murmured, as though that explained a great deal to her.
“Yeah. Surprise.”
Her fingers relaxed their death grip on his, though she didn’t let go entirely. “You’ve been surprising me in one way or another since I landed on your doorstep, Adam Stone,” she said.
Gratified by the new note of calm in her voice, Adam chuckled and gently squeezed her hand. “I try to avoid being predictable. Now, can you lie here quietly for a moment while I gather a few things we’re going to need?”
“Yes.” Her cheeks suddenly darkened. “I’ve been acting like an idiot, haven’t I? I’m sorry.”
“Forget it.” He pushed himself upright, confident now that Jenny’s near loss of control had passed. “I’ll be right back.”
* * *
Not wanting to leave Jenny alone for longer than necessary, he rushed through his preparations, snatching the first-aid kit out of the bathroom along with an armload of towels, putting water on to boil in the kitchen for sterilizing his instruments, searching his mind for anything else he might need.
He couldn’t believe this was happening. He’d come to this cabin in search of peace and quiet—time to get away and take care of no one but himself. Now he found himself about to deliver a premature baby by lantern light, miles from the nearest hospital, cut off from all communication with civilization.
God help him. And God help that poor helpless baby.
Jenny was panting through another contraction when he rejoined her. He slipped a folded blanket beneath her, then covered the blanket with a clean towel.
He’d scrubbed up as best he could, but he’d found no sterile surgical gloves in the utilitarian first-aid kit. Why the hell didn’t he carry a medical bag in his Jag? he asked himself angrily.
When had he gotten out of the habit of being prepared to practice on-the-spot emergency medicine, rather than becoming spoiled by arriving at a hospital to find everything ready for him to step in and do his thing?
He leaned over Jenny, holding her gaze with his. “I’m going to check now to see how far you’ve dilated, all right? From this point on, you’re going to have to help me. No false modesty, no embarrassment, no questioning my methods. That’s the only way we’re going to get through this.”
Jenny moistened her colorless lips with her tongue. “All right,” she said weakly. “I’ll help you. But Adam?”
“Yes, Jenny?”
“I’m still scared,” she whispered.
“So am I,” he said, and then held his breath, wondering if he’d made a monumental mistake with the admission.
Her eyes widened a moment, searching his face. And then she managed a very shaky smile. “We’re quite a pair, aren’t we?”
“Yeah,” he murmured on a long exhale, unable to smile in return. “We certainly are.”
She held out her hand to him. “Adam?” she said again.
He took her cold fingers in his. “Yes?”
Her smile was gone now, her expression stark. “Don’t let my baby die.”
The words hit him like a sledgehammer. More than anything he’d ever wanted in his life, he longed to promise her that nothing would happen to her or her baby. That he would take care of them both. Every possible disaster flashed through his mind, from stillbirth to congenital deformities. Heart or lung abnormalities in the baby, both common in premature deliveries. Or something happening to Jenny. Hemorrhaging. Stroke.
For the first time in his memory, Adam was afraid that he wasn’t in complete control. That this time, there just might not be anything he could do to prevent the worst from happening. And it terrified him.
It galled him to admit his vulnerability, even to himself. He’d be damned if he’d let Jenny see it. She needed him to be strong now, needed to believe in him. And he was going to do everything within his power to justify her faith.
“Trust me, Jenny” was all he could think of to say.
She let out a small, trembling breath. “I trust you.”
Adam squeezed her hand and then turned away. Funny. His eyes were burning, and his vision had momentarily blurred. He dashed an impatient hand across his face and went to work.
Adam Stone was in charge again.
* * *
Jenny was in labor for hours.
It wasn’t so bad at first, once the early panic subsided. With Adam’s calm, practical coaching, she began to breathe deeply through the contractions, which held steady for a while at one every ten minutes or so.
The pains weren’t comfortable, by any means, but they were certainly manageable. Now she understood why so many women opted for natural childbirth. Anyone with any fortitude at all could handle a little discomfort.
And then the contractions picked up pace, c
oming now at approximately every five minutes, and lasting a bit longer than before. A little harder.
Jenny caught her breath with an effort after one particularly sharp contraction. “Wow,” she said, when she could speak again. “That was a big one.”
Adam gave her a look of sympathy. “Mmm-hmm.”
“Um—how are things going down there?”
“You’ve dilated to about eight centimeters. You still have a way to go, Jenny.”
“Oh.” She took a deep breath. “Okay. No problem.”
Adam only shook his head.
* * *
“Damn!” Jenny’s voice was gritty as she cursed—not for the first time in the past hour.
Adam carefully disentangled his fingers from Jenny’s and shook his hand to restore the circulation. “That one was a bit rough, wasn’t it?” he asked carefully.
Still trying to regain her breath, she gave him a look of disgust. “A bit rough?” she repeated. “A bit rough?”
“Well, uh—”
“How would you like it if someone reached inside you and tried to turn you inside out? How would you like it if someone took a sharp knife and jabbed it right into your...oh, hell, here comes another one.”
“Stop talking and focus on your breathing,” Adam ordered her, taking her hand again.
“Why don’t you—” But Jenny’s words were cut off in a quick intake of breath before she could finish the suggestion, to Adam’s relief.
* * *
“Tell me—tell me about your practice,” Jenny forced out brokenly a while later.
Adam dabbed at her damp face with a cool cloth. “What do you want to know?”
“Anything. Everything. Just—just talk to me,” she whispered, frowning determinedly at his face as she clung to his hand and tried to cope with the pain.
“I graduated high school a couple of years early, accelerated my college education and finished medical school at twenty-three,” he said without embellishment. “I’ve been practicing ever since.”
“Im-impressive,” she managed to say. “Are you a general practitioner?”
“No. I’ve specialized.”
“In obstetrics?” she asked hopefully.
Adam cleared his throat. “Not exactly. Are you warm enough? Would you like another blanket?”
“Are you kidding? I’m melting.” She struggled through another contraction, then asked, “What—what is your specialty, Dr. Stone?”
Damn. He wouldn’t lie to her, of course. “Reconstructive surgery.”
Jenny choked. “Oh, my God. You’re a plastic surgeon?”
Adam nodded stiffly.
“I suppose that will come in handy if the baby needs a nose job,” Jenny murmured. “But, uh—”
“I know what I’m doing, Jenny. Now, be still. I’m going to see if you’re fully dilated yet.”
“A plastic surgeon,” Jenny muttered as Adam lifted the blanket draped over her raised knees. “I should have known.”
He ignored her.
* * *
“Come on, Jenny. Push.”
“I am pushing, you—aagh!”
“That’s it. Hold it, now. Two, three, four, five. All right, breathe. Breathe, Jenny.”
“Stop telling me what to do!” she shouted.
Both of them were sweating, frazzled and exhausted. Jenny’s face was streaked with tears, utterly without color, her mouth drawn into a thin line of misery and fear. Adam felt almost as though he’d suffered every pain with her, though he knew better to say so.
It was killing him to see her hurting. Every time she cried out in her agony, it was as though a knife plunged into him. He cursed endlessly, silently, raging against the twisted fates that had brought her here like this, so vulnerable, so helpless, so totally dependent on him—and he so pathetically unprepared to help her.
All his training, all his knowledge of medications for easing pain were useless to him here. What good did any of it do him if he had no means available to ease her suffering?
He didn’t blame her for yelling at him. Couldn’t protest her apparent lack of faith in him. He was a plastic surgeon, for God’s sake, not an obstetrician. Not a pediatrician. Not a miracle worker.
He wasn’t ready for this!
Even as the uncharacteristic self-doubts assailed him, he kept going, urging her on, patiently repeating instructions, vigilantly on guard for anything that could possibly go wrong. So far, so good. No tearing. No excessive bleeding. The baby seemed to be positioned normally, its tiny dark head already crowning.
“Okay, honey, you’re doing fine,” he said, talking automatically now, hardly aware of what he was saying, all his attention focused on the infant. “Take a deep breath and push. That’s it, hold it. You’re doing great, Jenny. Really great. I’m proud of you.”
She cursed at him. She screamed at the pain. But she listened to him. And she pushed.
And only moments later, Adam held her tiny daughter in his big, trembling hands.
“It’s a girl, Jenny. A beautiful little girl.”
Jenny sobbed. “Oh, my God. Is she—?”
“Just a minute. Come on, sweetheart, breathe for me,” Adam crooned.
Her vision blurred by tears, sweat and exhaustion, Jenny squinted to see, holding her breath. It was sometime after noon on Saturday, and the room was brightened now by watery light from outside. She could clearly see Adam bent over the tiny body in his hands. She could tell he was busily doing something, though she couldn’t see what it was.
Her baby hadn’t cried.
Jenny bit her lower lip until it bled, oblivious to this new, nearly insignificant pain.
And then she let out her breath in a gasp of relief when the first tiny mew quavered through the silence of the rustic room, followed by a more lusty cry.
“Adam?” she asked in a whisper, almost afraid to speak aloud.
He looked up at her with a weary smile and glittering dark eyes. “She’s fine,” he said. “Small but perfect, as far as I can tell.”
Jenny closed her flooding eyes. “Thank God.”
“You did it, Jenny.”
Jenny opened her eyes and searched out Adam’s gaze. Her own smile quivered. “We did it,” she said, correcting him.
He laid her still-crying baby tenderly on her stomach. “We’re not quite through yet,” he murmured. “You get to know your daughter while I finish down here, okay?”
Blissfully counting tiny toes and fingers, Jenny smiled, content to leave everything up to Adam for now.
He had proven himself more than deserving of her trust in him, she thought with a soul-deep wave of gratitude.
Chapter Six
Utterly exhausted, Jenny slept most of the afternoon, dressed in a warm flannel nightgown Adam had pulled from her suitcase and insisted on helping her into. Adam kept close watch over her as she rested. He was concerned by her pallor, but relieved that her sleep seemed natural enough. She wasn’t running a fever; the bleeding was still normal; she wasn’t in greater pain than was to be expected after childbirth.
The storm was over. A glittering frozen landscape lay outside the cozy cabin. The sun seemed to be trying to push through the thinning gray layer of clouds. Adam could see his car in the driveway, almost covered in a layer of ice and snow. Maybe, he thought optimistically, he’d be able to drive out within the next twenty-four hours.
Please, God, nothing else would go wrong before he could get them out of here.
He’d dragged a huge wooden rocker in from the bedroom. He sat in it now, close to the fire, a tiny swaddled bundle in his arms. He rocked slowly, gently, keeping silent watch over mother and child.
The baby was sleeping. Adam had cleaned her up as best as he could under the circumstances, and wrapped her in a blanket.
He thought she was beautiful.
Her tiny, wrinkled face was pink and healthy looking, her head covered in downy black curls that made her look very much like her mother. She stirred and made a funny face, and Ad
am tucked her more snugly into the blanket. She settled contentedly into the crook of his arm, her impossibly soft cheek pressed close to his heart.
The kid was going to be spoiled rotten before she was a day old, Adam thought with a wry smile. But he couldn’t bring himself to put her down.
“Adam?”
He lifted his head and smiled at Jenny. “Hi.”
She was looking at the baby. “Is she all right?”
“She’s fine. She’s been napping, like her mom. How are you feeling?”
Jenny made a face. “Sore.”
Adam rose carefully from the rocker. “Want to hold your daughter?”
Jenny reached out eagerly. “Of course.”
Adam tucked the infant carefully into Jenny’s arms, then plumped an extra pillow behind Jenny’s back. “Comfortable now?”
“Mmm-hmm.” Jenny’s full concentration was on her child. “She’s so tiny,” she marveled.
“I’m guessing around six pounds. Small, but not so much that we have to worry. When was your due date?”
“Three more weeks.”
“She needs to be examined as soon as we can get to a pediatrician, of course, but from what I can tell, she’s going to be just fine. Her breathing’s clear, her pulse is steady, her color’s good, she’s quite active when she’s awake. And she isn’t in need of a nose job,” he added.
Jenny giggled at the reminder of her sarcastic remark when she’d been in labor. “Is that your professional opinion, Dr. Stone?”
“Yes. My professional opinion is that you have yourself a fine baby here, Ms. Newcomb.”
“Thanks to you,” Jenny murmured, looking up at him with a shy smile.
He brushed off the praise. “I’m going to warm some broth for you. We need to keep your strength up. I want you to get up and move around a little before long.”
Jenny winced. “I don’t know if that’s possible.”
He nodded sympathetically. “It won’t be comfortable,” he admitted. “But trust me, the longer you lie there, the worse it will be when you do get up. And since we need to get out of here as soon as the roads clear somewhat, you need to be prepared to travel.”
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