My Mistake (Stories of Serendipity #7)

by Conley, Anne

  Another drop leaked into her panty liner, and the mare next to her nickered. Suddenly, a flood of warm liquid ran down her leg, and Casey turned to Brent as the mare backed away, taking the colt with her.

  “Um, Brent?” She looked at her husband, stroking the stallion’s withers with long, sure strokes.

  “Yeah, little girl?”

  “My water just broke.” Suddenly, a piercing cramp sent her to her knees. “And a contraction. It’s time, Cowboy. Let’s go.” Before she had finished talking, Brent’s strong arms were wrapped around her and he was carrying her to the truck, where their bag had been packed and loaded for a month.

  “I got you…Hang on.” He murmured to her under his breath.

  “I can walk.”

  “I know, but after today, every time I carry you, there’ll be this little thing running around begging me to carry him too.”

  “Or her.”

  “And a mini you will be too hard to resist, so you’d better enjoy this while it lasts.”

  Another contraction ripped through her torso, and she scrunched up with blinding pain. “Oh shit. This hurts.” She really wanted to change clothes, but the pain told her to get to the hospital on the double.

  “Breathe through it sugar, it’ll be over soon.” The anxiety on his face mingled with elation, and Casey knew how he felt. She was anxious and excited too, the two emotions warring with each other inside.

  Anxiety won. “This was a mistake, Brent. I can’t do this.”

  They’d gotten to the truck, and he set her inside, buckling the seatbelt over her, as another contraction ripped through her. She screamed with this one.

  “They’re coming too fast, I can’t do this, oh my god!!” Clutching her belly and bring her knees up as far as she could, she forced air into her lungs, trying to breathe through the pain.

  Brent broke into a run around the truck as he clambered in beside her and started the engine. “It’s okay. It’s not a mistake. You can do this. You’re the strongest woman I’ve ever met, Case. You CAN do this.” Plumes of dust lifted behind his truck as he stepped on the gas, and oblivious to bumps, tore down his drive way.

  “Remember what coach said. Breathe through the contractions and rest in between. Watch the clock, focus on something besides the pain.”

  Casey focused on keeping her breaths even, trying to heed Brent’s advice by watching the digital clock on his console. “You’re doing great Baby, we’ll be there in twenty minutes. I’m so proud of you.” He reached over and clasped her hand in his, squeezing gently.

  Before the clock changed time, she was in the grips of another powerful contraction, squeezing Brent’s hand for all she was worth. “They’re too close. We won’t make twenty minutes,” she gritted out between her teeth. Then pain took her away, and she screamed a deep guttural shriek. The contraction wasn’t ending, and she tried to squeeze and massage her torso, willing it to subside. Then she started chanting, “Wait for me, Baby. I need you to wait a few minutes, let us get to the hospital.” The baby wasn’t listening, insisting on its descent down the birth canal whether she was ready or not. “Oh God, Brent. I’m not ready. We’re not ready.” Blinding pain accompanied by searing heat coiled in her body like a spring, taut and ready to snap.

  She watched with wild eyes as he pulled his phone out. “You’re calling someone? Now!?” Another contraction wrenched her concentration from him. “I’m never fucking you again.” He spoke frantically into the phone, but his words were lost on her, as she succumbed to the gripping pain. She squeezed his thigh, as it was the only thing she could reach, and let out another fierce scream. She heard him shushing her and murmuring for her to breathe.

  “I AM FUCKING BREATHING!”

  He returned to his phone call, unperturbed. She was suddenly so angry at him, she could barely breathe, and this contraction wasn’t stopping. Casey felt she was no longer in control of her body, and wetness spilled out between her legs. Her contraction finally stopped, and she was wracked with another.

  Brent pulled over his truck.

  “What are you doing?”

  He got out of the truck and ran around to her side, throwing open the door and pulling her legs around so they were out of the truck. His phone was still in his hand.

  “Let’s get these shorts off and see what we have, shall we?” She could hear fear in his voice, but it was over-shadowed by his ever-present self-control. She went limp, breathing raggedly, as he pulled her shorts down and lifted her legs, spreading her to his view.

  “I don’t see anything,” he mumbled into the phone, sounding slightly bewildered. “Uh-huh. Yeah…Oh here comes another…”

  Casey had been about to open her mouth to ask him who the hell he was talking to when she was gripped with an overwhelming desire to push. Her eyes widened in fear. “We have to go now. Get back in the truck. I gotta push, Brent.” She knew she’d feel this, but it was so overwhelming, she had no idea she wouldn’t be able to control it.

  “Hang on little girl, help’s coming.” He looked back down between her legs and then pulled the phone back up to his ear. “I see the head. Where the hell are you?”

  Screeching tires answered him, and a white pickup truck squealed in behind them. Lindsey grabbed a bag and ran towards them.

  “Okay, let’s see what we’ve got here.”

  “You called your fucking vet?”

  “I had her on speed-dial, and she’s delivered lots of babies.” Brent was right behind her, peering over Lindsey’s shoulder.

  “Casey, you’re doing an amazing job, just hang in there. I just called an ambulance, so they should be here soon. Are you ready? I want you to bear down on the next one, okay?” The woman’s voice was incredibly soothing, and Casey calmed down in spite of herself. Lindsey positioned herself next to Brent, each of them pulling up a leg. Another contraction came, along with the overwhelming need to push.

  Casey could feel her neck muscles expand as she pushed with all her might as the contraction ripped up her spine and down her legs. She pushed against Brent and Lindsey as she tried valiantly to expel the baby from her body.

  Brent’s face was pale, but his eyes were wide open with wonder. “Oh my God, Case. This is amazing.” His gaze travelled back up to hers. “I love you so much, you are incredible.”

  “Shut. Up.” Nothing about this felt amazing. She was pushing a watermelon out of a hole the size of a lemon. It hurt worse than anything she’d ever experienced, and all the bullshit the coach had spewed about the beauty of the experience was totally lost on her. She was delivering her miracle in a pickup truck by the side of the highway. She wanted this to be over. Now.

  Another contraction gripped her, and Casey pushed again, another guttural noise emanating from her throat. It was a long one and she pushed the entire time, collapsing against the console of the truck when it was over, panting, out of control.

  “You’re doing really well, Casey. Just a couple more, and I think we’ll have this little one out of there.”

  “I can’t believe I’m having my baby by the side of the highway.” She breathed.

  “Just rest, Case. I can’t believe it either. You’re amazing.”

  “Shut. Up. Brent. I don’t want to hear you.” A soft chuckle was her only response, and his fingers stroked the foot he was holding.

  With the next contraction she had, Casey grabbed the handle above the door and nearly stood on the hands holding her legs while she pushed, suddenly feeling a relief from it all.

  “Whoops!” Lindsey let go and did something to the baby between her legs, while Brent looked on, mouth agape.

  “Is it okay?”

  “Look at those eyes and tell me it’s not.” She murmured softly.

  “What happened? Is it okay?”

  “The umbilical cord was wrapped around it a little, but I got it loose. Everything’s okay.”

  “It’s got your eyes, Case.” Brent’s voice was reverent, almost a whisper.

  “One more push,
Casey and you’ll be done.” Lindsey’s voice held purpose and she didn’t argue. The next contraction, Casey pushed for all she was worth and was rewarded by watching Brent pull a baby out of her and put it into a blanket Lindsey had gotten out of their overnight hospital bag. Lindsey gave it a good jostle, and it started screaming before she wiped its face and handed it to Casey.

  “Wow. That was awesome.” Lindsey was using another blanket to clean up Casey, examining her. Casey didn’t care what she did. She was done. Looking down at the bundle in her arms, a strange peace took over, and a swelling that was almost painful filled her chest. As soon as Casey held it, it stopped crying, but started snuffling around, looking for a place to nurse, instinctually. A moment of awe stole Casey’s mind as she watched the tiny bundle do what it needed to do to survive. She held out a nipple and turned the baby, letting out a gasp of surprise at the powerful suction when it latched on.

  Brent ran around to the driver’s side of the truck and climbed in next to Casey, leaning her against his body. “I’ve never seen anything like that. You are one astounding woman. I love you so much.” He encased her in a hug so overwhelming, Casey could have died right then and had everything she’d ever wanted.

  “What is it? The baby? What do we have?”

  He kissed her temple and whispered in her ear, as he tightened his arms around her. “It’s a little girl. I’m doomed.”

  An excerpt from the next release in the Stories of Serendipity,

  Wrecked

  Coming later in 2014:

  Renae’s heart was broken. Kelly was officially installed in her dorm room, groceries purchased (yogurt cups, lunch meat and juice boxes) for her mini-fridge, and neon purple decorations abounded. Her buddy was gone. Two hours away. Renae drove back to Serendipity, feeling indescribably lonely. She tried to focus on the road and increasingly familiar landmarks as she got closer to home, but her mind was wandering back to memories of her daughter: her mess, her noise, her complaints.

  It had been Kelly and Renae for sixteen years, and now, Kelly had gone off to college, as it should be. Renae had raised her daughter to be independent, make her own choices, and survive on her own. Now that it had happened, Renae felt lost. It seemed like only yesterday, she’d given birth to the tiny baby, and two years later, she’d promised that baby they would conquer the world together.

  That was why she didn’t immediately see the motorcycle. She was waiting to turn after the railroad tracks, and had been trying to see over the truck with enormous mudding wheels on her left, blinker on, when some reptilian part of her brain decided it was clear and her foot lifted off the brake pedal.

  As she gently pushed on the gas, focusing on turning into the correct lane, a sickening crunch sounded and she saw a man crash over the hood of her mini-van, to land in the ditch on the side of her car.

  “Oh no…” Heart thudding in her chest, the sense of dread in her limbs paralyzed her as she forced her hand to unlatch her door and walk around to where the man lay on his back. He was long and lanky, but still muscular. The frighteningly still body held a silent strength, and she said a quick prayer she hadn’t killed the man. On her knees next to him, Renae was afraid to touch him. She looked around, to see the giant truck had gone, leaving her there alone to fix this man.

  “Sir?” Her hand stroked his chest, hoping the touch would revive him. She prayed he would sit up and declare himself fit, hop back on his motorcycle and drive off. A-OK. “Sir?” She said it again.

  His motorcycle helmet was black. And shiny. She hated to put fingerprints on it, trying to see his face, and she didn’t dare try to remove it. He might have a spinal injury or something. So she tried to raise the visor on it, leaving fingerprint smudges on the reflective fiber-glass.

  His eyes were closed, framed by long, light brown eye-lashes.

  “Sir?” She reached in and stroked his cheek. Smooth skin, with a coating of rough stubble, and a slack-jaw. His skin was warm though, and sent a small tremor up her arm as her fingers lightly trailed down his face. But he didn’t respond. “Oh no…” She’d killed him. Leaning back on her heels, Renae touched his shoulder, shaking him gently. Nothing.

  Renae leaned over the man, resting her ear on his chest, noticing how firm the muscles were there, as she tried to look up at his face under the helmet. She couldn’t hear anything over the sound of her own heartbeat, so she crawled closer, straddling his slim hips, hands on his biceps, keeping her head on his chest. His body was hot, pressed against hers, and a shiver of awareness coursed through Renae. She tried to concentrate on listening for his heartbeat, but her own blood rushed so loudly in her ears.

  Finally, she did notice a rise and fall of his chest, so she knew he was breathing, and if he was breathing, his heart had to be pumping, right? She could see his long neck reaching into the helmet, his Adam’s apple bobbing with a swallow. His hips rose suggestively, and Renae was shocked to feel a riotous heat in her crotch. She sat up and looked at the man, whose eyes were open wide, dark mocha orbs staring at her with disbelief.

  Suddenly, Renae was being shoved off the man, by hands she didn’t see. The man sat up, ripping off his helmet, dropping it to the ground.

  “What the fuck!?”

  Speechless, she could only stare as dark eyes mesmerized her, settling on Renae. “Did you hit me?”

  She nodded, gulping down embarrassment. “I’m sorry…I—” Renae wasn’t sure what she was sorry about, her intimacy with an unconscious stranger, or making him unconscious in the first place.

  “You weren’t texting were you?” His anger was palpable, and Renae couldn’t blame him. He could have been killed. Strong, thick hands fisted at his sides.

  She shook her head slowly, seeing him for the first time. He was gorgeous, and suddenly all words in her defense completely left her. If she had killed this guy, women the world over would hate her forever.

  His short dark hair stuck up wildly with sweat, helmet head, she supposed, but it was sexy. There were slight streaks of silver at his temples, that shone in the sunlight. His face was rugged, in a weathered, sun-kissed way, a nose that had been broken, with a scar running down his left temple. But it was an undeniably handsome face with chiseled features and impossibly blue eyes. His jeans had been ripped in the wreck, and Renae tried not to stare at the top of his thigh that peaked through the mangled denim.

  “Are you okay?” She managed to squeak out, feeling terrible about everything.

  “Where’s my bike?”

  Renae looked around, not having a clue. She’d never even thought about the bike, as concerned as she had been about the man. Eventually, she went back to the other side of her minivan and found it laying on its side. She bent down, grabbing the handle bars, and heaved, unable to budge the metal.

  “I got it,” he growled behind her. He reached down and righted the machine, straddling it. His helmet dangled from his hand before he crammed it back on his head.

  “Wait…” She turned to the minivan and rummaged around in her purse, spilling the contents into the floorboard until she found what she was looking for. Holding out her insurance card, she said, “Here. If you need anything done, I should be covered. All the information is here….I’ve got another copy at home.” She felt completely inadequate in this situation. He seemed angry at her, and she couldn’t blame him. His body language radiated irritation, from the squared set of his shoulders to the grip on the handlebars, to his tense thigh muscle peeking out through his torn jeans. And his face…She swallowed disappointment that the stern set of his mouth and the crinkled brow was annoyance with her stupidity. Renae felt undeniably guilty for not paying enough attention, for hitting him. If he was hurt, she’d die. And she didn’t even know him.

  Without a word, his hand slowly reached for the card, clasping it in his fingers. He didn’t look at it, as he slipped inside his coat pocket before turning back to his bike.

  Renae stifled the overwhelming surge of hormones that rushed through her body. Every ce
ll inside her wanted to straddle the motorcycle behind him, and hang on to his rippling torso. She exhaled sharply, as he jumped twice before starting the roaring motorcycle.

  “Are you okay?” She had to yell to be heard over the engine.

  The man didn’t respond, just looked at her with those blue eyes, snapped down his visor, and with a roar, continued down the road she’d been turning onto an eon ago.

  Renae heaved a sigh, relieved she hadn’t killed him, yet disappointed somehow, and got into her van to continue home. Alone.

  About The Author

  Anne Conley is a former high school teacher, who took some time off to raise goats and children. Living in a rural Texas town has taught her that life won't come to her, she's got to grab what she can get. So, she started writing for public consumption. She lives in a rural East Texas town with her husband, two children, and currently 44 goats. She is writing two series: the Stories of Serendipity, about life and love in a small town, and the Four Winds, about God's archangels "falling" in love. Check out her blog, www.anneconley.com for updates, book blurbs, and more.

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