by Kate Morris
Robert says, “And their numbers are great, and the people not expecting them will fall victim like the poor people on the freeways.”
“Exactly,” Derek says.
“We may need help defeating them,” Doc hits him with directly.
There is a long pause before his son answers, “I see.”
Derek inserts, “We have numbers, too, but not like them. Plus, if our last intel mission proves right, then we’ve got a more difficult situation to deal with because they have small camps all over the place. They’re very well-hidden. And they have weapons and supplies.”
“Interesting,” Robert says.
“Plus, we’re pretty sure they attacked one of our closest allies, Dave’s compound. People were hurt,” Derek continues.
“That’s unfortunate.”
Parker, who insists on constantly shadowing the general, says, “And you want our help taking on these people?”
“Possibly,” Derek answers. “We’ll be gathering more information on them soon.”
“We’ll do whatever is asked,” Robert says quickly. “Of course, we will.”
This surprises Paige. She hadn’t expected him to be so agreeable. It instantly makes her suspicious.
Then he continues, “We need to keep the area secure down there. You all are also our allies. We mustn’t allow people like that to ruin what we’ve all worked for.”
Derek says, “If we don’t deal with them soon, they could come this way.”
“And they are leaving a path of destruction everywhere they go,” Doc says. “They are murdering innocent people.”
“I understand completely, and I agree,” Robert says as his wife enters the room. “Let us speak more of it in the morning.
Paige and the rest of the family are shown to a small home where they dump their gear and hit the hay. She is exhausted, but she knows that Cory and Derek are still awake on the first floor because she can hear them talking. They are probably just as nervous about this alliance with Robert against the highwaymen as she is. From what little she has come to know about Robert McClane, he will not be helping them out of the goodness of his heart. He’s going to want something in return.
Chapter Seventeen
Simon
“This just feels weird,” Sue says at the dinner table that evening.
“Yes, I agree,” Sam remarks beside him.
“What do you mean?” Simon asks.
“Without Grandpa at the table,” she says and looks at him as if he is an idiot, which he usually is where Sam is concerned.
“Oh, yes. I suppose it is strange,” Simon agrees and turns back to his meal.
“And Derek’s gone. That’s also a bummer,” Sue adds.
John says to lighten the mood, “That’s kind of a relief actually. He gets on my nerves.”
Everyone laughs at his joking about his own brother. It’s especially funny since they all know it’s not true.
“Too bad you aren’t gone, too,” Kelly tells him.
“No, too bad you aren’t gone,” John quips. “There’d be more food.”
This makes everyone laugh again. Leave it to John. Simon isn’t witty like him. He wishes he was, but he’s never had the cool factor like that. There is certainly enough food; there always is. Tonight, they are having stewed chicken with peppers and onions, mashed potatoes, and sweet corn on the cob. It’s a heavenly feast, as most meals the girls make usually are. He’s glad for summer, too. The fresh produce is always even better than the canned or frozen. Sue also made Gram’s famous baked beans, which are sweet and a little bit tangy, as well. They are so much better tasting than the kind his mom used to make that came from a can. He also knows how much work goes into making any dish with beans since they have to soak overnight before being cooked, something he’s learned since coming to the farm. It’s worth all the work they require when everyone heads to the garden during harvest times to pick the produce.
“Well, we’re thankful Sam is here,” Hannah says, changing the subject. “She’s an addition to our dinner table that is more than welcome, even if our loved ones are absent.”
“Thanks, Hannie,” Sam tells her. “I’m glad I’m here, too.”
“If you’re so glad, then why don’t you move back?” Simon asks, his voice a touch angry-sounding. Everyone grows quiet.
“Good one, bro,” John chides. “Way to ruin the moment.”
Simon looks at his plate, embarrassed as usual for saying something stupid.
“Sorry,” he apologizes.
Hannah says, “Oh, it’s fine, John. He just misses her. We all do. Isn’t that right, Simon?”
He freezes. Is Hannah putting him on the spot on purpose? No, she wouldn’t do that. She’s Hannah. Sweet, unassuming, kind and caring. Simon’s eyes flit to her, and he watches as she demurely takes a bite of her potatoes. She’s too innocent to have done something so nefarious and calculated. Or is she?
“Um… sure. Yes, of course. We all miss Samantha,” he answers, his words lame even to his own ears.
“Wow, praise, indeed,” John scolds.
Simon looks at his friend, who seems terribly critical lately and, if he’s being honest with himself, kind of mean sometimes, too.
“He’s just being shy,” Hannah says. “We all know that Simon has missed her just as much as the rest of us.”
“Probably more,” Sue adds.
He feels as if they are ganging up on him, and he can’t shake the feeling that Hannah is involved, too. He squirms.
“Not as much as me,” Huntley says rather firmly from the other side of Sam.
Samantha chuckles and replies, “Ditto, bud.”
Simon sees Huntley smile at her, then when she turns her attention to her meal, he sends Simon a dirty glare. What gives? Everyone is acting like he is a piece of dirt on their shoes. Of course, he misses Sam, but he’s not about to spout off love poetry to her at the damn dinner table in front of everyone. He’s kept a tight lid on his feelings for her, even to her. It’s nobody’s business how he feels about Samantha.
“Mmm,” Reagan murmurs beside John.
“Babe? What is it?” John asks quickly.
“Nothing, just a little…twinge,” she replies and rubs her hand over her stomach.
Simon noticed earlier that she wasn’t eating much. Actually, it doesn’t look as if she’s even touched her food. They are eating a bit later than usual since it took longer to perform chores without Cory, Luke, and Paige home. Derek doesn’t help as much as he used to, but he’s starting to pitch in where he can. However, Simon still sees a lot of signs of depression in his friend. He does not know how to treat it, though, and has taken to having conversations with Reagan and Doc regarding the topic of Derek’s physical, as well as, mental condition. They both agree to give it time, and Simon is not one to argue with them, especially when he is out of his league. He suspects that John let his brother go to Fort Knox to take his mind off of his afflictions and give him something productive and useful to work on for a while.
Simon regards her with concern. “Anything of regularity?”
She hits him with a hard look, one that clearly states that there is regularity and that she is, in fact, irritated about it.
“How close?” Simon asks.
“About twelve minutes.”
John literally jumps out of his chair, knocking it over to the floor. “Are you serious? Are you in labor? You didn’t say anything! What’s going on?”
“I’m fine,” she retorts nastily. “This kid isn’t coming out yet.”
This perplexes Simon as he watches Reagan try to calmly reach for her water glass. She doesn’t drink any and places it back down again. Her behavior seems erratic and strange, even more bizarre than most women’s on a good day.
“How do you know?” John asks. “You said you’re having contractions that are twelve minutes apart for God’s sake!”
“John!” Hannah scolds. “Don’t take the Lord’s name that way.”
&nb
sp; “Sorry, Hannie,” he apologizes. “But what in the heck’s going on here? Did you guys know?”
Both sisters shake their heads, and Sue says, “If we’d known, you would’ve known before us. She hasn’t said anything to us since she got home. She went upstairs to “rest.””
“Stop with the air quotes and talking like I’m not right freaking here!” Reagan complains.
“But twelve minutes. That’s close, right?” John asks.
“They aren’t contractions. I never said they were contractions,” she corrects them. “They’re just…twinges.”
“Twinges that hit every twelve minutes,” Sue says with sarcasm.
“Remember when I had Mary?” Hannah asks. “She was awfully fast once it got going. If you’re twelve minutes apart, you might go in the next few hours.”
“Going to be a night owl like you if you have the baby in the middle of the night,” Sue says.
Simon looks at her and frowns. He’s never heard of this or read about this theory in his textbooks. He’ll have to confirm it with Herb when he comes home. There is a possibility with so much medical cramming that he just missed it. Sometimes the women on the farm say odd things like this, though, and Simon is never sure if they are serious, passing around old wives’ tales, or have factual information that could help his studies. Again, they are so confusing.
“Whoa!” G bellows in her typical, unladylike fashion. “You aren’t gonna have it right here, are you? Gross!”
“I’m not having this baby tonight!” Reagan practically yells. “Everyone, shut the hell up and leave me be.”
She rises, brushes past John- belly and all- and leaves the dining room in a waddling shuffle. This is the same way every woman he knows who has given birth has walked at the end. They get a kind of duck waddle. He understands that it is because of the shifting of bones and musculature in their hips and joints. He does not envy the miracle of childbirth that women must endure, nor does Simon wish he could do it himself. Women, as he understands and has been instructed by Herb, are much tougher and more resilient than men. This is a fact, a written law of nature, not something he needed to study in a book because he’s seen it in real life. Herb sometimes says if men were in charge of repopulating the earth, there would’ve only been Cain. Simon would have to agree.
“I’ll speak with her,” he says and rises quickly. He folds his linen napkin and places it on the table before leaving, though. He doesn’t like it when people have to pick up after him.
“Thanks, Simon,” Sue says as he leaves.
He looks in the kitchen but doesn’t find Reagan. The music room is next, but again she is not there, either.
“I think she went outside,” Sam says, surprising him.
The kids have begun clearing the table, and the clanking of dishes in the kitchen sink and the energetic noise of the house has risen to its typical, nerve-rattling roar.
“Thanks,” he says to her. Sam looks so pretty tonight in her pale blue tank top and white, cotton shorts. Her hair is pulled back into a ponytail. Her cheeks are pink from sun exposure today. He has missed her. The girls were right about that, but he isn’t going to go shouting it from the rooftops. She’s better off away from him since he can’t seem to keep his hands off of her. “Want to come with me? Might help to have you with me.”
“Sure,” Sam says with a nod.
She follows him out the back door, and he asks, “Do you have any idea where she went?”
“Med shed?”
“Yes, that sounds likely,” he concurs as they walk toward it. There is a faint, yellow glow coming from under the door. “Looks like you were right.”
“When am I ever wrong?” she taunts, jutting out her small chin.
Simon chuckles and shakes his head. “Probably never, Samantha. Most women usually aren’t.”
“You are getting smarter,” Sam says with delight and a bit of smugness.
“Thank you. I try,” he replies with a smirk.
This makes her laugh gaily as they enter the shed. Reagan is sitting at the side counter reading a medical book.
“Watcha’ reading?” Sam asks lightly as if they aren’t there to ascertain the status of her labor.
“What To Expect When You’re Expecting,” she retorts with unconcealed sarcasm.
“I think you should’ve started that one about nine months ago,” Simon remarks, earning a sneer from his mentor. “Your grandfather says that it’s mostly drivel and that I should in no way ever refer to it for anything.”
She flips the book over and shows him the title, which is not what she’d said. It is a book on functional histology, and Simon knows that she has read it many times. So has he. This is clearly a distraction technique.
“Can I at least take some vitals, Little Doc?” he asks.
“No!” she hisses and turns away from them.
Sam looks at him with confusion before saying, “What’s going on, Reagan? Do you really think you’re in labor or is this just false labor or Braxton Hicks?”
“Neither,” Reagan states. Then she inhales sharply and says nothing.
“Another one?” Simon asks.
She doesn’t answer but nods. Simon steps forward and boldly places his hands on her stomach. It’s a noticeable contraction. He can feel the muscles of her abdomen tightening under his hand. Before she can shove him away because she is very distracted, Simon presses two fingers against her neck to get a pulse, timing it to his watch. Her pulse is elevated, which is an indicator that she is in pain and duress. He nods over his shoulder to Sam who rushes to a cupboard and pulls out a blood-pressure cuff. By the time she gets back, Reagan has pushed his hand away.
“I’m fine. Stop,” she asserts.
“Just a quick check,” he says.
“No!” Reagan counters. “I’m not in labor, damn it!”
“Au contraire, my liege,” he teases and slips the cuff on her arm before she can argue further. Simon speedily pumps air pressure into the cuff and allows the air to release slowly. “It’s up a little.”
“What is it?” Reagan asks, ever the doctor.
“Note it,” he says to Sam. “138 over 83.”
“That’s a little high.”
Sam writes on the paper she started for Reagan’s case and says, “Not for a woman in labor. It’s perfectly normal since your body is under stress.”
“I’m not in labor,” she argues again.
“Less than ten minutes apart, I’d say,” Sam states. “You haven’t been out here long.”
“Shit,” Reagan murmurs.
Simon touches her slim shoulder and says as gently as he possibly can, “Reagan, I do believe this is labor. Your contractions are regular, timed, and intensifying.”
“Shut up, Simon,” she blurts and swipes a few curls away from her forehead. “I’m the doctor, and I say it’s not labor. Everyone’s just overreacting.”
“I could perform a cervix…” he starts.
“Hell no! Are you crazy? That’s not happening. Christ, why isn’t Grandpa here?”
Sam steps forward and says, “Reagan, I understand that you want him here, but he’s not. All you’ve got is Simon and I. Let us just give you a quick once-over; it really is for your own safety. If this is labor- even though you are pretty sure it’s not- Simon would be doing the right thing. We don’t want you in danger.”
This stops her from saying something mean. Then she rolls her neck as if it is sore and rubs the back of it.
“Grandpa was supposed to be here,” she whimpers finally.
Simon gets it now. She’s afraid. Her grandfather, the most renowned doctor in the state of Tennessee, the man who wrote papers published in medical journals, the same person who used to be one of the best OBGYN’s in Boston, is absent. This has upset her birth plan. All women have one, he’s learned. Changing their plan is not something they like. He should’ve known that Reagan being Reagan she’d have this all planned down to the last push.
“We’re going t
o be all right,” he says softly and takes her hand in his. When she looks up at him from her seat, there are tears of genuine fear in her bright green eyes. He doesn’t feel that same fear. He’s only worried about his mentor and friend. “I’ll help you through it. Sam will assist. If you want John and your sisters….”
“No! No, none of them. Fuck!” she swears with renewed anger, the fear momentarily displaced. “Fine. Just you and Samantha. If you run into problems, I’ll have to help you.”
“There won’t be any problems. Don’t worry,” he insists.
“Simon, I’m early. This baby is almost four weeks early,” she informs him.
“I know,” he admits. He and Herb have been very carefully monitoring her progress and tracking her numbers on her chart. “But you’re healthy. You’ve kept up with your exercise and eating healthy. The baby will be just fine, too. He’ll be big enough. You could have your dates a little off, ya’ know?” he points out to alleviate her fears just slightly. “It happens all the time. And you were irregular with your menstrual cycles anyway. You could be full-term. We don’t know for sure.”
He’s pretty sure she’s early. Herb showed him her tummy band measurement the other day. She’s not where she’d be if she were full-term. He only wants her to be safe.
“Why don’t you shower and try to relax. The hot water will help. Do some slow walking. Let John help you. Sam and I will go to Herb’s old bedroom and get the room set up.”
He nods to Sam, who disappears, having read his mind that she should fetch John.
“No, I want to do it in here,” she counters. “I don’t want to have the baby in the house.”
This, he finds strange but won’t argue. He’d lose anyway.
“Ok, great. The med shed will be perfect. Our equipment’s in here. You’re used to it, and it’s sterile already. We’ll get it set up.”
“Ok,” she finally murmurs and slides off of her stool.
John storms into the room a second later with Sam on his heels.
“Well?” he asks.
“I think she’ll go tonight sometime,” Simon tells him, watching John’s face turn from worried to truly terrified. “She’ll be fine. We’ve got this all under control. I just need her to get a shower, do a little light walking, relax if she can while Samantha and I set up the shed.”
