The Surgeon's Christmas Baby

by Marin Thomas

  “Doc switched my blood pressure medicine last week and said I had to come in today and have it checked.”

  “C’mon back.”

  She scooped the chicken off the floor.

  “Leave your pet out here.”

  “Suit yourself.” She followed him into an exam room and sat in the chair next to the door.

  “Roll up your sweater sleeve, please.”

  After a minute she huffed. “How many times are you gonna take my blood pressure? Don’t you know how to work that thing?”

  Feisty old lady. “Your blood pressure is a little high, but not bad.” He pressed two fingers against the dark blue vein on the inside of her wrist. “Pulse is fine.” Then he felt her thyroid and lymph nodes. “I want to listen to your heart.” When he was finished, he asked, “How old are you, Gertie?”

  “Too old for you, young man.”

  He grinned.

  “Eighty-one.”

  “Your eighty-one-year-old heartbeat is strong.”

  Her eyes twinkled. “Bob always told me I was too ornery to die.”

  “How old is Bob?”

  “He’s dead.”

  Jeez, his bedside manner needed work. He wasn’t used to engaging patients in conversation—most of the time they were in shock or sedated. “I’m sorry to hear your husband passed away.”

  “Bob was my boyfriend.”

  He gaped at the old woman.

  “My husband died thirty years ago of a heart attack. Fell off the tractor in the middle of the field. That man never missed a meal in his entire life, and when he was late for supper I knew he was gone.”

  Alonso was a surgeon, not a shrink. Hoping to avoid a therapy session with Gertie, he said, “Stay on your medication.” He walked her back to the waiting room.

  “Do I need to come in next week and have it checked again?”

  “Sure.” He noticed the droppings on the floor. “But leave your chicken at home.”

  “That’s your chicken now.” She opened the door.

  “Hey, you can’t leave the bird here.”

  “Doc and I have an agreement. He takes care of me and I pay him in chickens.” She pointed to the clucker. “That there is a prize laying hen.”

  “Doc’s having hip surgery and he won’t be back for a few weeks.”

  “Then, keep the hen for yourself.”

  Alonso sipped his coffee and stared at his supper. Where the heck was Doc? The clinic phone rang. “Hello?”

  “Alonso, I can’t make it in today,” Doc Snyder said. “I’m just getting home from a house call I went on after midnight. I’m in no shape to drive. Look behind the counter and you’ll see a stack of files. Those patients are coming in today. I’ll bring Bertha by later.”

  “But—”

  The dial tone sounded in his ear. The chicken forgotten, he perused the files. There were ten people scheduled for the day. He was used to seeing three times that many. This job was going to be a breeze. He walked to the back of the clinic to make a second cup of coffee when the front door banged open and a voice called out. “Doc! Come quick!”

  Alonso did an about-face and rushed back down the hallway. A middle-aged man stood in the doorway, holding a young boy with a bleeding head wound.

  “He fell off his horse.” The man’s face was stark white and Alonso worried he’d faint if he didn’t set the boy down soon.

  “I’m Dr. Marquez. I’m filling in for Doc.” He took the boy from the man’s arms. “Follow me.”

  Alonso laid the boy on the table in the exam room, then checked his pupils. “Has he come to at all?”

  “No.”

  The answer sent a cold chill down Alonso’s back. “How long has he been unconscious?”

  “About thirty minutes. I got here as fast as I could.”

  Alonso felt the boy’s skull and neck, then checked his reflexes before probing the cut on his forehead. “How old is he?”

  “Seven.”

  “Was he wearing a riding helmet?”

  “No.” The father’s voice shook.

  Alonso wanted to ask what the hell a seven-year-old was doing riding a horse without wearing the proper head gear, but the father’s tormented expression told him the man was already blaming himself for his son’s accident. “What’s his name?”

  “Billy. Billy Johnson. I’m his father, Earl.”

  Alonso’s gut insisted the boy had a severe concussion or a possible brain bleed, but he needed a CT scan to confirm it. The clinic was limited to a single X-ray machine. He grasped Billy’s hand. “If you can hear me, Billy, squeeze my hand.” Nothing.

  “Open your eyes, Billy.”

  The boy’s eyes moved beneath his closed lids. The pressure in Alonso’s chest intensified until it suffocated him. “Billy!”

  The boy opened his eyes and stared unseeingly at Alonso.

  “Looks as if he’s going to be okay,” the father said.

  It was a good sign that Billy opened his eyes, but Alonso couldn’t shake the feeling that the kid’s injury was severe. “He needs a CT scan. If there’s bleeding in the brain, he’ll have to have surgery.”

  “Albuquerque and Gallup are about the same distance from here. Which hospital should I take him to?”

  Billy might not have two hours. “He needs to be airlifted.” Alonso left the room and made an emergency call to 911, requesting a life-flight helicopter. When he returned to the room, he said, “We’re meeting the helicopter outside of town. We’ll take your truck.”

  “I can’t afford to pay for a helicopter.” The man shoved his hands through his hair. “Billy woke up once.” He glanced at his son, who lay motionless.

  Alonso second-guessed himself. Was he panicking or had he made a rational, reasonable decision based on his exam and his experience treating trauma patients? “I’m not taking a chance with your son’s life. This is more serious than a concussion.” He started an IV in Billy’s arm, then lifted him off the table. “Are you coming with me, or am I going alone with your son?”

  The father led the way outside and Alonso laid Billy down in the backseat of Earl’s truck. Earl started the engine and Alonso told him the location where the helicopter intended to set down. Fifteen minutes later Earl parked on the shoulder of the road next to the open field and they waited.

  Alonso took Billy’s pulse—the boy’s breathing was shallow. He’d made the right decision to call 911. Billy’s fall had been an accident and he might have hit his head even if he’d worn a riding helmet. He just hoped the kid would make it. His thoughts turned to Hannah and the child she carried. She’d insist that their son or daughter wear a helmet if they rode horses, but she might not be able to prevent an accident from happening. He imagined himself standing in Earl’s shoes—it was bound to happen sooner or later because you couldn’t protect those you cared about from all harm.

  “Billy’s been riding since he could sit a horse,” Earl said. “Avalanche is almost twenty years old. You won’t find a better-behaved horse. Billy was trotting him in the corral when Avalanche stumbled. It happened so fast.”

  Alonso felt bad for the father, but there was no time to reassure him as the helicopter came into sight.

  “I’ve never been on a helicopter,” Earl said.

  “I was in the military. It’s a breeze.” Once the chopper landed, the crew carried a stretcher to the truck and Alonso helped them put Billy on it. While one of the medics strapped him down, Alonso informed them of the boy’s condition and the need for a CT scan and possibly surgery to stop any hemorrhaging in the brain.

  “Is the father coming?” the medic asked.

  “I am.” Earl handed his truck keys to Alonso. “Leave the truck at the clinic. I’ll pick it up...whenever.”

  “Good luck.” Alonso
watched until the helicopter disappeared from sight, then drove back to the clinic, hoping his gut was wrong and the boy didn’t have a brain bleed. As he approached town, a silver Civic heading in the opposite direction sped past him on the highway. Luke. Sooner or later, Hannah would find out he’d stayed in Paradise. He should tell her that he was taking over for Doc, but then she’d ask why, and to be honest he didn’t know yet what his hanging around meant for their relationship.

  When he arrived at the clinic, there were several vehicles parked out front, including Bertha. It was about time Doc showed up to help him out. The waiting room looked more like a flea market than a medical office. One woman held a handmade quilt on her lap. Another lady had a plastic cake container. The only man in the room sat with a burlap bag marked “popcorn seed.” And Gertrude’s damned chicken was waddling all over the place clucking its head off.

  “Is Doc Snyder here?” Alonso asked the group.

  “He left a few minutes ago.”

  Great. “Sorry about the wait. There was an emergency this morning.”

  “Who?” the woman with the cake asked.

  “Billy Johnson fell off a horse and hit his head.”

  “Is he going to be okay?” the older man asked.

  If Alonso said he didn’t know, then his patients wouldn’t have much confidence in his doctoring ability. But if he said yes and Billy took a turn for the worse, they wouldn’t trust him. Either way he couldn’t win. “Billy needed a CT scan and Doc doesn’t have a machine at the clinic, so a life-flight helicopter is flying him to Albuquerque.”

  The group grew quiet—they knew without being told that Billy’s condition was serious. “I’m Dr. Marquez.”

  “We know. Doc said you were taking over until he recovered from his surgery.” The lady with the quilt on her lap spoke. She wore a pinched look on her face and appeared to be in pain.

  “What’s your name?” Alonso asked.

  “Maryellen Trumpet.”

  He searched through the files but didn’t see a Maryellen. “I can’t find your paperwork,” he said.

  “I wasn’t supposed to visit Doc until late next week, but...” She set the quilt on the chair next to her, revealing her big belly. “I think the baby’s coming now.”

  Alonso stared in shock. “When’s your due date?”

  “Three days ago.”

  “Why haven’t you gone to the hospital in Cañon City?”

  “I’m using a midwife, but she came down with the flu this week and she told me to go ahead and let Doc handle the delivery.”

  Alonso felt a moment of panic. He’d never delivered a baby before. “Is there a backup midwife you can call?”

  “It’s too late,” she said.

  “What do you mean, too late?”

  “My water broke earlier this morning. The pains are two minutes apart now.” As if on cue, Maryellen groaned when a contraction hit her.

  “You gonna just stand there, Doc, or help this poor woman?” the man next to her spoke.

  “I’m going to help her,” Alonso said. As if he had a choice.

  * * *

  “HEY, HANNAH, I THOUGHT Alonso was going back to Albuquerque?”

  As soon as Rambo heard Luke’s voice he bolted past Hannah in Buster’s stall and raced toward his best friend. She set aside the rake she’d been using to muck the stall. “He did go back. Why?”

  “I passed a pickup on the road and it looked like Alonso behind the wheel.”

  Hannah’s heart pounded inside her chest. “You must be mistaken.”

  “Maybe, but it sure looked like him.”

  Hannah shoved the pitchfork at him. “You and Rambo finish up.” She left the barn and jogged to the house. Once inside she pulled her cell phone from her pocket and dialed Doc’s home phone. His wife, Marlene, answered.

  “Marlene, this is Hannah Buck.”

  “Hello, dear. How are you?”

  “I’m fine. Is Doc at the clinic right now?”

  “Didn’t you hear?”

  “Hear what?”

  “He’s taking time off to have that hip replacement done. We’re driving to Albuquerque tomorrow.”

  “Who’s running the clinic?”

  “Alonso Marquez agreed to see Ed’s patients.”

  Her brother hadn’t seen a ghost.

  “By the way, how’s Luke doing?”

  “He’s doing much better, thanks for asking.”

  “I’m glad. Ed’s sleeping, but I can wake him up if you need to speak with him right away.”

  “It’s not important. Tell him that I’m thinking of him and wishing him a speedy recovery.”

  “You and me both. That man gets cranky when he has to sit still for more than a half hour.”

  “Take care, Marlene.” Hannah ended the call and stared into space. What did this mean?

  The back door crashed open and Luke walked inside, dragging Rambo behind him. The dog had sunk his teeth into the bottom of Luke’s pant leg and wouldn’t let go.

  “You need to train Rambo to stop doing that. I can’t have an ankle biter around when the baby starts crawling.” As soon as the words left her mouth, Hannah sucked in a quick breath.

  Luke stared at her bug-eyed. “What baby?”

  This wasn’t how she’d planned to break the news to her brother. “You’re going to be an uncle.” She forced a smile.

  “Whose baby is it? Alonso or Seth?”

  She scowled. “I broke up with Seth two years ago.”

  “Girls sleep with their old boyfriends all the time.”

  How would he know that? “Alonso is the father.”

  “I know you get pissed off at me because you say I’m immature and I need to grow up, but I’d never desert a girl if I got her pregnant.”

  “Alonso didn’t desert me.”

  “Then, why did he say he was going back to Albuquerque?”

  “Things are complicated.” At her brother’s scowl, she added, “But Alonso is taking full responsibility for this baby.”

  “He doesn’t want to be a father.”

  “It’s not that simple, Luke.”

  Her brother pulled out a chair and sat down at the table. “I’m almost seventeen. I can handle the truth.”

  “If I knew the truth then I’d share it with you. I don’t exactly know why Alonso wants nothing to do with raising our baby.”

  “Why don’t you ask him?”

  “What good would it do? We raise bison and Alonso is a trauma surgeon. Our lives are going in different directions.”

  “Did you ask him to stay?”

  She dropped her gaze.

  “Are you afraid he’ll say no?”

  “Maybe. I think I’d rather raise this baby on my own than wake up each morning knowing I guilted Alonso into staying here when he doesn’t love me.”

  “Did he say he didn’t love you?”

  “He never said he did or didn’t.”

  “Do you love him?”

  She felt like a punching bag—each of her brother’s questions knocking the air out of her. “Yes, I love him.” She sighed. “And you weren’t wrong about thinking you saw Alonso earlier. He’s filling in at the clinic while Doc has surgery.”

  “Then, you have time to convince him to stay.” When Hannah remained silent, Luke asked, “You gotta tell him that you love him.”

  “What if it doesn’t make a difference?”

  “You had your heart broken before. What’s the big deal?”

  That was the problem—she hadn’t been in love with Seth—not the way she’d fallen for Alonso.

  * * *

  ALONSO DIDN’T THINK his day could get any crazier as he helped Maryellen onto the exam table. He offered a smile,
hoping to reassure the expectant mother. And maybe himself, too.

  “I called the midwife again and told her Doc Snyder wasn’t around. She’ll get here as soon as she can,” Maryellen said.

  “Good.” Maybe he wouldn’t have to deliver the baby.

  “Is anyone else coming to be with you?”

  “My husband’s on his way from North Dakota. He works in the oil fields up there.” Maryellen sucked in a breath when another contraction hit her.

  He held her hand, all the while thinking of Hannah. Was this how she’d end up giving birth to their child—alone in Doc’s clinic? When the contraction passed, he took her blood pressure. “Do you know what you’re having?”

  “A girl. We’re naming her Caroline after my mother.”

  Alonso’s memory raced through the pages of his medical textbooks, trying to recall the chapters on childbirth as he washed his hands and put on a paper gown.

  Maryellen groaned loudly and he said, “Practice your breathing.” He had no idea what the hell he was talking about and was glad Maryellen wasn’t panicking. He opened a cupboard and found several clean towels. A knock on the door caught him by surprise. “Maybe that’s the midwife.” He opened the door and found Hannah standing in the hallway, looking more beautiful than she had a right to be.

  “You didn’t leave. Why?” she asked.

  For a million and one reasons. Did she want to know them all? Right now?

  He glanced at Maryellen, who appeared more interested in his and Hannah’s conversation than her labor pains.

  “Is it because of the baby?” Hannah asked.

  “That, but...mostly it was you,” he said.

  Hannah smiled.

  “Doc,” Maryellen said. “I need to push.”

  “Oh, my God.” Hannah stepped into the room. “You’re having a baby.”

  “I’m trying,” Maryellen said.

  “Have you ever delivered a baby, Alonso?” Hannah asked.

  “No.”

  Maryellen’s eyes rounded.

  “It’s okay,” Hannah said, taking the woman’s hand in hers. “I’ve delivered calves before. I can help.”

  Alonso’s patient didn’t look reassured. “I’m having a baby, not a calf.”

  “I’m Hannah.”