Rough Around the Edges

by Marie Ferrarella

  Agony was imprinted on her every feature. Her hands fisted, leaning down hard on her knuckles, Kitt hunched forward and pushed for all she was worth. Gasping, trying desperately to get in enough air to keep from passing out, she fell back before O’Rourke reached ten.

  She’d stopped when he’d reached eight. This wasn’t going to get them anywhere. “Ten, Kitt, you stop at ten, not before.”

  The man was a tyrant, a tall, good-looking, pig-headed tyrant. She didn’t even have enough strength to level a dirty look at him. “You stop at ten, I ran out of steam. As a matter of fact,” she said, her energy returning to some degree, “you have the baby. You’re better at this than I am.”

  O’Rourke’s eyes narrowed as he looked at her. The uncanny instinct that had brought him to these shores and steered his career in the right direction told him what to do. “You didn’t tell me you were a slacker, Kitt-with-two-t’s.”

  If she had the energy, she would have hit him. “You…didn’t…ask.”

  “Kitt—”

  The words of encouragement he was about to resort to never had the chance to be spoken. Kitt groaned and then whimpered. The desperate sound wrenched his heart. Another contraction was coming and it was obvious she had no strength for it.

  She was going to pass out on him, he realized suddenly, his mind scrambling frantically for a course of action. She had to be up to this, there was no other way. O’Rourke took her hand, wrapping it in both of his.

  “Come on, Kitt-with-two-t’s,” he coached earnestly, “you can do this. Mothers have been doing it since the beginning of time.”

  “Fine…get one of…them…to do…it.”

  He focused his eyes on hers, willing her to remain looking at him. “You know better than that, Kitt. It’s your baby, you have to do it.”

  There were tears in her eyes as she dug her fists in on either side of her. “Okay, okay, okay…here comes…another one. E-e-e-e!” She shrieked for all she was worth, her body jolting from the force that slammed into her.

  “Push,” he ordered. “Push like a life depended on it. Harder, harder—” He saw it then, the crown of the head. His heart began to beat as rapidly as he thought hers undoubtedly was. “He’s coming! He’s coming, Kitt. Your baby’s coming!”

  “He?” she questioned breathlessly. “That…part’s coming out…first?”

  Slightly giddy himself, perspiration falling into his eyes, O’Rourke laughed at the image that created. “No. The head, Kitt-with-two-t’s, the head’s coming out first. Now push! One…two…three…”

  She could hardly hear him counting. Kitt bore down, her head swirling again as she fought for consciousness and against the pain that was shredding her into tiny pieces. “Then…how…do you…know it’s a…boy?”

  “Just a pronoun, nothing more, Kitt.”

  Wasn’t the baby out yet? It felt as if she’d been pushing since the beginning of time. “How big…is this…head?”

  He should have been keeping her up to speed on progress. But he was so awed by the miracle of life, he’d forgotten.

  “Shoulders, we have shoulders.” He looked up and saw that she was close to completely collapsing. “Come on, Kitt, we’re almost done, just a little more, push a little more—”

  Her eyes squeezed shut, Kitt bore down and pushed as hard as was humanly possible for her.

  And then she heard it. The lusty howl of a life entering the world.

  Her baby. He was here.

  Finally.

  Exhausted beyond belief, she fell back against the stack of cardboard boxes like a used, limp cleaning rag. “Is he…is he all right?”

  O’Rourke’s heart was pounding with exhilaration as he looked down at the tiny life-form howling in his hands. He’d held larger computer manuals.

  They’d done it. They’d really done it. O’Rourke felt himself grinning like a fool and not caring.

  “Your son’s a girl, Kitt-with-two-t’s. A beautiful, fairylike little girl with soft downy hair and eyes the color of sapphires kissed by the sun.”

  “A girl?” The wonder of it sliced through the pain that still bracketed her body, allowing her a touch of freedom. “I have a daughter?”

  “That you do.” Grinning, he looked up at Kitt. “She’s a mite messy, but anyone with eyes can see she’s a beauty like her mother.” Very carefully, O’Rourke handed the tiny being to her mother. “Say hello to your mama, love,” he coaxed.

  Drenched in perspiration, relief and joy, Kitt accepted the precious bundle into her arms. The instant she held her daughter, she felt her heart swelling.

  “So this is what all the fuss was about,” she murmured quietly, looking down into the face of her newborn child.

  Was it possible to fall in love so fast? In the blink of an eye? She supposed it had to be, because she’d just fallen in love with her daughter.

  You’re a fool, Jeffrey, to be walking away from this. You have no idea what you’re missing.

  Now that the excitement was over, O’Rourke became aware of the temperature within the van. It was downright chilly outside and that was seeping its way into the vehicle.

  Leaning over both of them, he moved the sweater he’d tried to cover Kitt with. It had fallen in a heap on the side during the birthing.

  “Maybe you’d better wrap my sweater around your little girl,” he suggested. “It’s big enough to cover her completely and it’s a wee bit cool for her.”

  With the sweater wrapped around the small body, Kitt curved her arm around the baby. She looked up at O’Rourke. “What about you?” For the second time, her eyes slid over his body. And for the first time she realized how really close he was. “We’ve only left you your pants.”

  He glanced down at himself, as if he’d forgotten that he wasn’t wearing anything from the waist up. The grin grew broader. “Good thing you weren’t having twins.”

  The next moment, someone was opening the rear of the van and shining a flashlight inside, nearly blinding O’Rourke.

  “Everything all right in here?”

  The question and the beam of blinding light were both coming from the heavyset policeman in his late forties who was peering into the van.

  The man’s curious expression transformed to one of surprise as the sight of O’Rourke’s semiunclad body and Kitt’s compromising position registered. “Hey, just what the heck’s going on here?”

  Thinking quickly, O’Rourke pulled Kitt’s skirt back down, covering her, then placed his body in between the man and Kitt, summoning his most genial expression. Years of practice from living on the shadier side of the straight and narrow made all this second nature to him.

  O’Rourke rocked back on his heels. “You’re just in time, Officer. Do you have any matches on you?” He pulled out an Exacto knife from his pants pocket as he asked. The policeman raised one thick eyebrow in silent question, his other hand moving over to his gun and holster. “I’ve yet to cut the cord between mother and daughter and I need something to sterilize the blade.” He held the Exacto knife up for the man’s inspection.

  The policeman’s face paled a little, the full impact of what he was looking at registering. “You mean she’s just…?”

  O’Rourke nodded as solemnly as an altar boy. “Just this minute, yes. Had you been here a couple of minutes sooner, you could have lent a hand in bringing about life’s biggest miracle, Officer.” He put out his hand to the man, holding the Exacto knife in the other. “Do you have those matches, sir?”

  The policeman shook his head. “The wife made me give up smoking. Called it an anniversary present. It was cheaper than buying her that gold bracelet she fancied—but twice as hard.”

  O’Rourke nodded knowingly. “That it would be,” he said sympathetically. “Never mind, then,” he consoled the policeman. “I’ve got a cigarette lighter I can use. Provided it works,” he added almost under his breath. “Never had any use for it myself.”

  Looking embarrassed now for his intrusion, the policeman withdrew from the
van, the flashlight dangling by his side. “Um, I’ll go call for an ambulance,” he said, jabbing a thumb in the air behind him toward his squad car.

  “You do that, Officer,” O’Rourke encouraged him from the front of the van.

  “O’Rourke?” Kitt called to him weakly.

  “In a minute, love.” Waiting a moment after pushing the lighter in, he pulled it out again and passed the glowing red circle over the shaft of the Exacto knife blade. He blew on it to cool it. “There, that should do it.”

  He popped the cigarette lighter back into place, then snaked his way back to Kitt and the baby. Sitting on his heels again, he blew out a breath. He didn’t exactly relish this part, but it had to be done.

  “This won’t hurt a bit,” he promised Kitt. Or so his mother had said. His eyes went from her to the baby she held against her breast. Nothing prettier than that, he thought. “Either of you.”

  Kitt pressed her lips together apprehensively. It wasn’t herself she was thinking of, but the baby. The way O’Rourke phrased his assurance told her he’d read her thoughts. “How did you know?”

  “You’ve got that new-mother, protective look about you. I’ve seen it often enough to be familiar with it.” Taking the umbilical cord, he made a quick cut, severing the connection. Then, with a bit of thread, he tied it around the tiny part left above the baby’s navel.

  “Where did you get the thread?”

  The grin flashed again. “I’m a handy man to have around. Never know what’s up my sleeve—so to speak,” he added with a wink.

  Probably a lot of tricks, she thought. She knew his type. As handsome as the day was long and as honest as a leprechaun’s promises.

  The policeman returned, popping his head in. “Ambulance is on its way,” he told them. This time he made his way into the interior to keep the rain from coming in. “Here, I think you could use this.” Stripping off his raincoat, he handed it to O’Rourke. “You don’t want a bed right next to your wife’s in the hospital, do you?” He followed the question up with a hearty chuckle that turned into a belly laugh.

  O’Rourke put on the rain slicker. “She’s not my wife,” he corrected the policeman.

  Although he’d been in love with someone once, he thought as he glanced at Kitt, who looked a great deal like her. Susan O’Hara. Susan got tired of waiting for him to propose and married the banker’s son as soon as she was out of high school, he recalled with a touch of nostalgia. Last he’d heard, they had four children and were expecting a fifth. He hoped she was happy.

  “We’re not married,” Kitt chimed in.

  The policeman, his attention almost completely captivated by the smallest person in the van, shook his head at the information. Looking from one to the other, he seemed genuinely disappointed.

  “I know it’s not supposed to be necessary in this day and age, having a marriage license and all, but believe me, inside—” he thumped his barrel chest “—you’ll both feel a whole lot better if you give this little guy a stable home and a full-time mother and father he can have around him every night.”

  “She,” O’Rourke corrected him before Kitt had a chance to do the same.

  “She,” the policeman repeated with a nod of his head. “Even more important, then. Girls need good examples to help keep them on the straight and narrow.” He eyed O’Rourke. “You wouldn’t want her having babies of her own without a wedding ring and a loving husband somewhere in the picture, now, would you?”

  No, he supposed he wouldn’t, O’Rourke thought. If the little doll in Kitt’s arms was his. “But you don’t understand,” he began.

  The policeman laughed dismissively. “Hey, just because I’ve got a few years on you doesn’t mean I don’t know what it’s like to be young. I do. I remember it real well.” Shifting toward O’Rourke, he slung one arm around his shoulders in camaraderie. “But marriage is better, trust me. There’s something great about having one person to come home to. One person to turn to no matter what.” He smiled at Kitt. “Now, you might say that you can do all that without a silly piece of paper, but if it’s so silly, I say, what’s the harm in having it? Right? And believe me, in the end, it’ll come to mean a lot to you. It’s the thing that makes you try one more time when you think you’ve had it and it’s time to go your own way.” He sighed deeply, as if remembering. “I know what I’m talking about. Why, if it wasn’t for my marriage license—”

  This had the earmarks of going on even longer than the storm outside, O’Rourke thought. “Officer—” he began, trying to explain.

  “Gary,” the policeman interjected. “Officer Gary Brinkley.”

  “Gary,” O’Rourke allowed. “You don’t understand. We’re two strangers.”

  The smile on the round face turned knowing. “Everyone feels like that sometime or other. Hell…” He stopped abruptly, slanting a look at Kitt. “Excuse me, heck, my wife and I feel that way, too, sometimes. But it’s the long haul that counts.” He fixed O’Rourke with a look, then swept it toward Kitt. “Promise me you two’ll think about it.”

  O’Rourke and Kitt exchanged glances and both smiled as if on cue.

  “Okay,” O’Rourke allowed, knowing there was no other way to call a halt to the kindly lecture. “We promise we’ll think about it. Won’t we, love?”

  She was aching and exhausted. Why being addressed by a generic term should have caused a small thrill to dance through her made absolutely no sense to Kitt. So she didn’t even try to figure it out.

  Chapter Three

  O’Rourke stood outside his van in the rain as the two ambulance attendants, a maternal-looking woman named Martha and a thin-faced man of about thirty, quickly placed Kitt and her baby onto a stretcher.

  Because no one seemed to be doing anything to try to keep the rain away from them, O’Rourke took off the rain slicker and held it above Kitt and the baby. He succeeded in keeping their faces dry.

  The smile she flashed him made up for the fact that he was now soaked clear down to the bone.

  “Can’t seem to keep you dressed, can we?” the policeman commented. But as O’Rourke glanced back at him, he could see that Gary approved of the gallant gesture.

  O’Rourke slipped the rain slicker onto his now-drenched arms. He might still be a wee bit rough around the edges, he thought, remembering something his mother had once said about him, but at least chivalry wasn’t entirely dead within his heart.

  “You coming?” the female attendant asked as her partner stabilized the stretcher inside the rear of the ambulance.

  O’Rourke shook his head. Chivalry notwithstanding, his part in all this was technically over now that there were more competent people on the scene. Time for the Good Samaritan to be finding his own way home. He began to back away.

  “No, I—”

  “Sure, he’s coming,” Gary told the woman, putting out one hand to stop her from closing the ambulance doors. “He’s the daddy.”

  Time to set this man straight. “Actually—” But O’Rourke got no further.

  Like a conspirator, unmindful of the rain, Gary lowered his head in close to O’Rourke. His voice was nothing if not sympathetic. He spoke like a man with years of domesticity behind him.

  “Now, you don’t want to go planting seeds of doubt and discord with the little mother at a time like this, do you? She’s been through a great deal.” Gary arched a knowing, shaggy brow. “Whatever went down between you from your first time together to now’s all in the past. She needs you, boy.” The policeman all but pushed him toward the ambulance. “Go hold her hand and tell her she’s beautiful.”

  With rain plastering his hair to his head and pouring down his face, O’Rourke stared at the other man incredulously. In his experience, policemen didn’t stand around, doling out advice like some kind of psychologist. “What?”

  “Beautiful. Tell her she’s beautiful,” Gary repeated, raising his voice as the wind began to pick up. “A woman needs to hear stuff like that, especially when she looks as if she could s
care the paint right off the walls.” He looked toward the interior of the ambulance. The female attendant was scowling at him, waiting to close the door he wasn’t releasing. “She’s just had your kid, and it looks like she’s done a great job, if you ask me. Give her the support she needs. Believe me, you’ll come out a winner in the end.”

  Before O’Rourke had a chance to say anything to protest the blatant assumptions the policeman had made, Gary propelled him into the ambulance.

  “Got one more for you, Martha,” Gary announced triumphantly.

  Suddenly, O’Rourke found himself inside the ambulance. The doors behind him were being closed and Kitt was looking up at him in dazed confusion. He had no choice but to take a seat beside the strapped-in gurney.

  “I’ll follow you in.” The policeman’s voice wedged itself into the ambulance just before the rear doors were shut. “It’s a slow night.”

  Not for everybody, O’Rourke thought.

  The next second he heard the siren wailing as the ambulance driver picked up speed. They were on their way to the hospital. This evening was definitely one he was going to tell the others about when he phoned home.

  Or arrived home, he amended, thinking of the deportation notice on his desk at the apartment.

  Was she imagining it, or was the stranger with the washboard stomach at her side again? Kitt blinked twice, trying to clear her vision. The man remained sitting where he was.

  “What are you doing in here?”

  O’Rourke laughed shortly, trying to stay out of the attendant’s way as Martha monitored Kitt’s vital signs. “I’m asking myself the same question.” He glanced toward the closed doors, wondering if the policeman was making good his claim and was following the ambulance. “The good constable seems to think you need moral support.”

  His attention drawn back to the woman who was the reason for all the mayhem he’d found himself in in the last half hour, O’Rourke looked at her. There was no doubt that she was exhausted, but there was also no need for him to serve up empty platitudes about her appearance the way Gary had suggested. Despite what she had just been through, wet hair notwithstanding, Kitt Dawson looked radiant. Above and beyond the call of new motherhood. There was something in her face that transcended her ordeal.