by Cate Beauman
“You certainly will. In fact, I believe you can cross off your first official week in The Gap.” She leaned her butt against the desk. “So do you want to eat?”
He was hungry, but Reagan couldn’t cook for shit. He sucked in a hesitant breath through his teeth. “What’s for dinner?”
“Pasta, garlic bread, and a salad.”
He closed his laptop and stood. That was a pretty foolproof meal; there wasn’t much to mess up. “Sounds good.”
“I think I did all right tonight, but I’m not making any promises either.”
“It’s spaghetti. It can’t be that bad.”
They walked down the hall to the table. The salad looked fresh and colorful, and the bread perfect and buttery brown. Then he stared at the pasta swimming in a gallon of sauce in the serving dish.
“Not too bad, right?” She snagged her bottom lip between her teeth, looking at him with hope.
“No. Not too bad.” He took his chair across from hers and served watery pasta and sauce on her plate, then his own. He rolled thin strands of pasta on his fork and bit into mush.
She sampled her own and winced. “Soggy. Sorry.”
“No problem.” He ate some more, despite the terrible texture and lack of flavor.
“It’s not exactly al dente.”
He shook his head. “It’s not half-bad soup though.”
She grinned.
“I’ll grill something tomorrow night.” He’d thought of offering to take over the cooking entirely. He was no master chef, but the three meals she’d prepared in the week they’d been living here had been an experience all their own. The fresh eggs she’d attempted to whip into omelets turned into a disaster of flaming cheese and charred vegetables; the sloppy Joe’s and fries hadn’t turned out much better.
“Sounds good, but you have to admit this is a marginal improvement over the pork chops I made the other night.”
He chuckled. “Burnt on the outside, raw in the middle. It takes a special talent to make something quite that bad.”
She laughed. “I’m trying.”
“I know.” He tore a piece of garlic bread and set it on her plate, then placed a huge hunk on his own. “What did you eat before you came to Kentucky?”
“Salads, cafeteria food, takeout. Manhattan makes it easy to survive when you’re challenged in the cooking department.”
He perked up, surprised she was actually sharing something about herself. “You were in Manhattan?”
She nodded. “I worked in the Bronx but lived on the Upper West side.”
“No kidding,” he said over the food in his mouth. “Where?”
“Seventy-Eighth Street.”
“Huh. Me and my buddies lived on Seventy-Seventh.” Had they passed each other on occasion? He immediately dismissed the idea. They couldn’t have. Doc’s stunning face would’ve been impossible to forget.
She frowned. “I thought you were in Los Angeles.”
“I am. I moved a few months ago. Career change.”
“What did you do in Manhattan?
“US Marshall. Fugitive Task Force.”
She hummed in her throat. “Sounds exciting.”
“I loved it.”
“Why’d you give it up?”
He shrugged, thinking of one of his best friend’s betrayal. “One of my roommates turned out to be an asshole. I lost my taste for the job and joined Jerrod, Abby’s husband, out in LA. It was a good change.” He dutifully twirled another bite of pasta. “What about you? Why’d you give up the city?”
Her eyes dulled as she jerked her shoulders and stared down at her plate. “I thought I’d give rural living a try.”
He studied her tense movements as she pushed the spaghetti around. There was a story here, but she wasn’t sharing. Time for a subject change before she clicked back into clinical mode. “I’ve gotta ask, Doc. How old are you? You don’t look like you’re old enough to be out of medical school.”
“Maybe I’ve discovered the fountain of youth.” She smirked, chewing a healthy bite of her salad.
He tilted his head, as if considering. “It’s possible but doubtful. News like that would’ve spread.”
She smiled. “It’s rude to ask a woman her age.”
“I’ve heard that, but I’ll risk a faux pas for curiosity’s sake.”
“Twenty-six.”
“You’re twenty-six?”
She nodded.
“How the hell are you a doctor?”
She smiled mysteriously. “I got an early start.”
“What does that mean?”
“Mmm, I went to college fairly young.” She wiped her mouth and set down her napkin.
Frowning, he counted backwards, doing the math. “You had to have been like twelve.”
“Pretty much.”
His eyes popped wide. “Twelve? You went to college when you should’ve been in middle school?”
“Basically.”
“So you were one of those kid geniuses? Like Doogie?”
“If you want to put a label on it,” she answered primly, lifting her water glass.
“What would you call it?”
“I learned quickly.”
There was a story here too, yet she didn’t seem to want to spill. He narrowed his eyes. “How many languages do you speak?”
“Five.”
“Play any musical instruments?”
“Violin and piano. I tried the flute but it wasn’t for me.”
He huffed out an exasperated laugh. “So you’re telling me you went to college at twelve, speak five languages, play two musical instruments, but you can’t cook spaghetti?”
She sent him one of her excellent grins. “We all have our talents.”
“I’ll have to call Sophie and have her send us some recipes. Maybe I can teach you the basics of cooking, since you’re teaching me about medicine.”
“Sure. I’m willing to give it a try.”
“I’m—” There was a knock at the door. He stood, glancing out the windows into the fading dark. So far they’d avoided the backlash other Project members had endured at the hands of disgruntled residents, but there was always a first. “I’ll get it.”
Reagan got up as he did.
He walked to the front door, keeping her behind him as he opened the door and stared at the teenage girl in jean shorts and a plain white tank top.
“I need—I need the doctor,” she said, wiping at her sweaty brow.
Reagan pushed ahead of him. “I’m Doctor Rosner.”
“My sister—she’s havin’ her baby, but somethin’s wrong. It’s been a long time. She’s gettin’ awful tired.”
“Let me go to the clinic and get what I’ll need.” Reagan ran down the stairs toward the building.
“What can I do?” Shane called.
“Get ready to give me a hand.”
He swallowed as he looked at the young girl in front of him. Temperatures and blood pressures were one thing; childbirth was a whole different ballgame. “I’ll get the keys.”
~~~~
“When did Jenny’s labor start?” Reagan asked Shirley, turning around from the passenger’s seat while Shane maneuvered the SUV up the steep mountain road.
“Her back was hurtin’ all day yesterday, then last night when we went to bed, she was cryin’ and grabbin’ for my hand. Now she’s just screamin’ a whole lot, but the baby ain’t comin’.”
“Who’s with her now? Your mother?”
“No, ma’am. No one. Jenny gone and got herself knocked up by Terry Staddler from over on the other side of the mountain. We’s had a feud with them for years. Mommy said this baby and Jenny ain’t welcome to her support. Mommy left for Nan’s further up the pass this mornin’. She ain’t been back since.”
Reagan glanced at Shane as he tossed her a quick look and drove faster, taking the sharp turn in a slight skid. “How old is Jenny?”
“She’s fixin’ to turn seventeen in October.”
Sixteen and comple
tely alone. And they still had a good half-mile to hike once they made it to the pass. Hopefully the poor girl would be ready to deliver when they got there. “Has she been eating and drinking?”
Shirley shook her head. “I tried givin’ her some chips, but she said she didn’t want none.”
“What about fluids? Has she had water?”
“No.”
“Juice, tea, anything?”
“No ma’am. She’s been refusin’ what I’ve been tryin’ to give her.”
Reagan nodded, already certain she and Shane were about to have their hands full. “She has to be dehydrated, which will slow labor. I’ll carry my bag. Shane, I want you to bring the oxygen. Shirley, I want you to lead the way—the fastest way.”
She nodded. “Yes’m.”
Eventually they made it to the pass. Minutes passed like hours as Reagan hurried over rocks and tree roots, the journey all the more difficult in the fading light. The shamble of a house came into view, and long, loud wails carried through the open windows. “Shirley, I’ll need fresh water—a cup for Jenny right away and a bowl with a cloth.”
“Okay.” She ran up the crumbling concrete steps through to the kitchen.
Reagan followed, hurrying into the bedroom off the small living area where the pretty teenager lay on the bed, crying, her heart-shaped face and blond hair soaked in sweat, her oversized t-shirt sagging off one shoulder.
“Good Christ,” Shane murmured, stepping up behind Reagan. “Is she all right?”
“She’s in pain and scared.” She moved to the bed, sitting on the edge. “Jenny.”
Jenny made no attempt to acknowledge her; instead, she clutched at a pillow, screaming with her eyes closed.
“Jenny,” Reagan said sternly.
Gasping, moaning, the blue-eyed girl made eye contact.
“Jenny, I’m Reagan. I’m a doctor and I’m here to help you.” She settled her hand on the thin girl’s stomach, stroking the rock-hard ball. “Your contraction’s starting to ebb. I want you to try to breathe in deep and blow out.”
Jenny’s panicked eyes held Reagan’s as she copied Reagan’s demonstrated deep, steady breaths.
“Just like that.” She nodded, sending Jenny an encouraging smile. “Good job, Jenny. In again and out. Perfect.” She brushed a hand through the girl’s hair, doing her best to soothe her with a gentle touch for the remainder of the contraction. “Good.”
Shirley brought in a cup of water and a small bowl, sloshing liquid over the edges with every step, setting it on the old filing-cabinet-turned-bedside-table. “Here you go.”
“Thanks, Shirley.” Reagan smiled, ignoring the thundering pound of her heart, knowing all eyes were on her. If she didn’t stay calm despite the waves of doubt racing through her mind she would lose the small grip of control she’d gained over the chaotic situation. “Shane, can you ring out the cloth, and we’ll cool Jenny off.”
“Sure.” He set down the bag containing the portable oxygen unit, his knee brushing her leg as he skirted around her in the cramped space. Crouching by the bedside, he rang out the cloth, handing it over.
“Thanks.” She fought to keep her hands steady and wiped the cool rag along Jenny’s forehead. “How’s that?”
She smiled. “Real nice.”
“Good.” She gave the cloth back to Shane, gesturing for the cup. “Thanks,” she murmured when he handed it over. “I want you to drink some of this.” She held the plastic up to Jenny’s lips.
Jenny shook her head. “I don’t want to.”
“You need to. Your lips are dry.”
Jenny took a sip.
“Good. A little more. Staying hydrated will help us get the baby out faster.”
Jenny’s eyes grew wide, and she tensed. “Another one. Another one’s comin’.”
Reagan took the teen’s hand, stroking her belly with the other. “I want you to breathe just like we did before.” She inhaled deeply and exhaled in example as she had only moments ago. “Yes. Just like that. Just like that, Jenny,” she said again. “Keep your hand loose in mine.”
Jenny started to whimper. “It hurts so bad.”
“I know, honey. I know. Breathe. Breathe.”
The contraction ceased, and Jenny sniffled. “I can’t do this. I just ain’t strong enough.”
“Yes, you can. You’re doing an excellent job. I’m going to check your progress while Shane gives you more to drink.” She stood on not-quite-steady legs, toe to toe with Shane, who got to his feet, trying to move out of her way. “She needs to drink, and we need to keep her calm. She’s close. I need for her to be able to listen to my directions.”
He nodded. “Got it.”
And she knew he did. They’d gotten off to a rocky start, but she trusted wholeheartedly that she and Shane would help Jenny deliver this baby together. “Jenny, I’m going to see how you’re doing, and I want to check on the baby too.”
Jenny nodded, sipping once, twice, three times, then collapsed back against the pillow as Shane gently wiped her temples with the cloth.
Reagan grabbed gloves and the Doppler, eager to get a heartbeat and an idea of Jenny’s progress before the next contraction came. “Jenny, I’m going to examine you. You’ll probably feel some cramping.” She stuck her fingers inside.
Jenny tensed, squeezing her eyes shut. “It hurts.”
“I know that’s uncomfortable. Breathe in and out. You’re fully dilated.” She pulled off her gloves, replacing them with a fresh pair. “Let’s hear how baby’s doing.” She turned on the Doppler, smiling at the strong steady sound of a life waiting to be born. “Wonderful. When you feel the urge to push, I want you to go for it.”
“I can’t.” Jenny shook her head, her parched lips trembling. “I’m scared.”
“I think that’s pretty normal, but Shane and I are here to help you through this. Do you know what you’re having?”
She shook her head, groaning. “Again. Here comes another. I need to push.”
“Go ahead. Chin to your chest and push into your bottom.”
Jenny followed Reagan’s instructions, bearing down.
“Good. Yes, Jenny. That’s great. Go ahead and rest.”
Shane wiped at the young mother’s brow as she lay back.
“I need to push again.”
“Good. Go with it. Yes, down in your bottom. Just like that.”
“It hurts,” Jenny grunted, her body now in control.
“You’re doing so well.” She rubbed her hand up and down Jenny’s leg. “The baby’s head is right here.”
“It’s burnin’,” Jenny cried out.
“I want you to breathe,” she said firmly, sensing Jenny starting to lose control again. “Hold Shane’s hand and breathe until you’re ready to go again. We’ll let baby sit here while you rest.” Jenny was tiny. The last thing they needed were large tears and a big blood loss.
“You’re doing great,” Shane encouraged, brushing the hair back from Jenny’s forehead.
“I’m going to check on Baby again.” Reagan put the Doppler to Jenny’s stomach, searching for the fetal heart tones, noting the slight deceleration.
“I need to push.”
“Okay. Push. Chin to your chest.” The head advanced. “Good girl, Jenny. I can see hair.”
“It’s burnin’. It’s burnin’. Get it out. Get it out.” Tears streamed down her face.
“You’re getting your baby out. Your hard work is paying off, honey.”
“I can’t do it. I can’t.” Jenny rested her head on the pillow, sobbing quietly.
“Yes you can.”
“I’m tired,” she said, breathing hard.
“I know you are. You’ve been at this a long time. I promise you can take a nice long nap very soon.” She put the Doppler to Jenny’s stomach as Jenny rested, waiting for the next dip in the baby’s heart rate to recover. She made eye contact with Shane. “Let’s give Jenny some oxygen. Jenny, I want you to get on your left side for a few minutes.”
&
nbsp; Shane fiddled with the pump and line exactly as they’d practiced while Shirley helped her sister roll to her side. Shane settled the mask in place, and Jenny pushed.
Reagan listened to the heart tones again, noting that the baby’s heart rate wasn’t recovering, despite the new measures. “We need this baby out. Jenny, I want you to really focus and push through the whole contraction.”
“I can’t,” she said, her voice muffled through the mask, her energy fading.
“Yes you can. You need to.” She met Shane’s gaze, knowing he understood they were quickly moving toward an emergency situation.
“I’m too tired,” she panted.
“Jenny, the baby’s tired too. We need to get him or her out as soon as we can.”
“Come on, Jenny. Let’s go. Finish this up,” Shane said sternly, giving her shoulder a squeeze of encouragement.
“Listen to the doctor, Jenny,” Shirley added.
Jenny nodded, pushing, and the head began to emerge.
“Good. Good,” Reagan reassured.
Jenny screamed, groping for Shane’s fingers, squeezing his fingertips until they turned red.
“Breathe, Jenny,” Reagan said. “The head is out. Go again and we’ll have a baby.”
Jenny pushed, but baby didn’t move.
“Go again. Give it everything you’ve got.”
Jenny bore down, her face red. “I’m tryin’.”
Reagan swallowed panic as she stared at the small purple head, knowing the baby should’ve been born with that push. “Shane, pull the pillows out from under Jenny. Roll her to her back and push her leg to her chest. Shirley, take your sister’s other leg and do the same. The baby’s shoulder is stuck in the pelvis.”
Shane and Shirley moved into action.
“Jenny, keep giving it all you’ve got.”
The girl pushed, and Reagan pulled gently, attempting to guide the new infant the rest of the way into the world as precious seconds slipped away. The maneuver she’d practiced on her rotation on the delivery ward wasn’t working.
