THE M.D. SHE HAD TO MARRY

by Christine Rimmer

  The light went on in the main room.

  Lacey hardly noticed. The contraction lasted forever, a vise of pressure, gripping, holding, not letting go. She went on groaning and tried to breathe, to relax, to go with the pain.

  "Lace?"

  A strong hand pushed back the curtain to the main room. Lacey found herself staring into Logan's midnight eyes.

  He didn't speak. She was grateful for that. She closed her eyes and moaned some more until the contraction finally loosed its grip on her.

  Then she realized that the bed was wet. She pushed back the covers. The sweet smell of amniotic fluid drifted up to her nostrils.

  She met Logan's eyes again. "The baby's coming," she said. "The baby's coming right now."

  * * *

  Chapter 5

  « ^ »

  Logan was so calm.

  He led her out to the bathroom and gently took away her sodden sleep shirt. She had another contraction right then, standing there naked on the bathroom rug. She sank to her knees.

  Logan knelt beside her and gave her his hand. She gripped it as hard as she could while he whispered to her, "Relax, now. Breathe … and relax…"

  She let out another of those animal groans. "I have to push, Logan. I have to—"

  "No. Don't push. We need to see what's really going on first. Don't push yet. Pant. Come on, short, fast breaths."

  She panted. "It was only…" Another groan escaped. "Only two or three minutes, since the last one…"

  "It's all right. Everything's fine. Everything's all right."

  She panted. She groaned. Great, deep, rumbling, animal groans. When finally the huge invisible hands on her belly relaxed a little, Logan said very gently, "Come on. Let's rinse you off. You'll feel better…"

  There were two sets of taps in the old claw-footed tub, one to the tub itself and another for the shower. He turned on the lower ones and helped her climb in over the tub's high, curved sides. She shot him a look of alarm as she noted the red streaks on the inside of her thighs. "There's some blood…"

  "It's only bloody show. Perfectly normal. I saw it in the bed, too. But no meconium staining that I can see." He tested the water. "Damn. Still cold. Wait just a minute, sweetheart."

  Sweetheart. Even now, naked and huge in front of the man she loved, sweating and confused and expecting the next unbearable contraction to descend any second now, sweetheart sounded so good.

  "Meconium?" Her befuddled mind tried to place the word.

  "Greenish-brown fluid. From the baby's digestive tract. It can sometimes indicate fetal distress."

  "But there isn't any, right?"

  "No. No meconium. And that's good." He tested the water again. "Okay. The water's running warm enough. Come on." They cupped water in their hands and splashed it over her, together rinsing the sticky fluid from her belly and her thighs.

  Then Logan said, "I think we should use soap, just in case…"

  She stared at him and it hit her all over again. Her baby was coming and it was coming fast.

  She picked up the soap and washed herself thoroughly. Logan soaped his hands as well. Then together, they splashed on more water, rinsing her clean—and it happened again. Another contraction. She squatted right there in the tub, threw back her head and howled.

  It lasted a lifetime, but when it finally eased a little and she came back to herself, Logan had found the rubbing alcohol and was dousing his hands with it. He rinsed again and gave her a reassuring smile. "Lie back. Let's have a look…"

  He examined her, right there in the tub. And when he was done, he asked, "How far is the hospital?"

  "Uh … I don't know. Twenty miles or so."

  He swore, but very gently.

  "What?"

  "I'm not sure you can make it."

  "Oh, Logan…" She wanted to be braver, but it was a cry of distress.

  "Listen." His voice was a soothing caress. "Everything is normal. The baby's in the right position. You are completely effaced. And you are fully dilated. Do you know what that means?"

  "Ready to push, right? But how is that possible?"

  "When it comes to having babies, almost anything is possible. And I don't think it's a good idea to ask you to try and hold back for the time it will take to get you to the hospital." He picked up the soap again and began scrubbing his hands for the second time. "You might succeed, but you could slow things down and only make it more difficult in the end. Or you might not succeed. And you'd end up having the baby on the side of the road. It's better, I think, if we stay here—at least till help arrives."

  She'd been sweating a moment ago, now she was shivering all of a sudden, shaking all over.

  Logan grabbed a towel, dried his hands and turned on the space heater in the corner by the door. Then he came back and began pulling towels off the shelf. He knelt, wrapped them around her, and rubbed at her shoulders to get the circulation going. "Better?"

  "A little."

  "Where's the phone number for your doctor—and the one for the main house?"

  She told him.

  He turned for the door.

  Absolute terror gripped her. "Oh, God, Logan. Don't go…"

  "I'll be right back. It won't be three minutes, I swear to you. And maybe I'll get lucky and get through on the cell phone."

  She bit her lip and tasted blood—but she kept her mouth shut when he left her.

  A minute passed. She knew because she counted the seconds. And then she didn't count anymore because the next contraction claimed her. She rose onto her haunches, grabbed the sides of the tub again and rode it as it crested and finally waned.

  Then Logan was kneeling beside her, wrapping a blanket around her. "I got through. They're sending an ambulance. Forty-five minutes tops, they said. And Tess will be here in ten with the things we're going to need." He bent over her. "Do you want to get out of the tub?"

  She stared at his lips, wondering why he was asking her that. "I don't…"

  He smiled at her reassuringly and stroked the side of her face. His hand felt so good, so solid, warm and real. "This is a pretty big tub. You could just stay here, if you want, until Tess arrives with the things to get the bed ready."

  She shivered some more, but not as badly as before. The little room was getting warmer. "I'd like … to walk for a bit."

  "Sounds good." He helped her from the tub. Lacey clutched the blanket around her and they trudged back and forth in the short space between the tub and the door—until another contraction doubled her over.

  Logan went down to the floor with her again. He whispered to her to breathe, not to push yet, just to wait a little while. She groaned and tried to do what he said, to hold back. At the same time, she wanted to shove him away, to shout at him that she was the one doing this and she'd push if she wanted to.

  By the time the contraction passed, she was sweating again. She threw off the blanket and asked for a clean sleep shirt.

  "Where?"

  "Top bureau drawer."

  He left her for the second time. She didn't mind as much as before. Some change had come over her. Some strange, calm feeling. She would do this. She would get through this. She—and her baby—would be fine.

  "Tess is here," Logan said when he came back. Lacey was kneeling on the rug again then, her forehead against the rim of the sink basin. The only response she could give him right then was a groan.

  He waited for the contraction to ease, then helped her up. "Here." He settled the shirt over her head and she put her arms through the sleeves. "Tess is getting the bed ready and making the fire."

  "Don't need … the fire. I'm sweating. Can't you see?"

  He smiled and got a washcloth and wet it with cool water.

  She sighed when he wiped her face with it. "Heaven…"

  Or it was, for a few too-brief moments. Then another contraction struck. She got through it, and then two more after that, relaxing into them as if they were waves—waves that rolled in, rolled through her, then rolled away. They
didn't seem to hurt so much as before, though in a way they felt stronger, more focused, more purposeful, somehow.

  Finally, Tess stuck her head in the bathroom door. "All ready."

  "Then let's go," Logan said.

  They went into the cabin, where Tess had removed the curtain that separated the sleeping nook from the rest of the room. The bed had only a white sheet on it, and a number of pillows. There was a stack of towels and one of the receiving blankets on the edge of the bed and a basin of water on a chair.

  When Lacey crawled onto the bed, the sheet crackled. Tess had thought to put plastic—a tablecloth or a shower curtain, probably—between the mattress and the sheet. She helped Lacey to arrange the pillows against the headboard, so she could lie in a semi-sitting position, as Logan went to wash his hands again.

  "Thirsty?" Tess smiled at her.

  Lacey nodded. Tess had a full pitcher of water right by the bed. She filled a glass and Lacey sipped. Then Logan came back and examined her again.

  She looked at his dark head between her spread thighs and couldn't help remarking, "I feel so utterly demure."

  He glanced up and winked at her. "Always have been."

  She thought, I have never loved you so much as I do at this moment.

  "Ready to push," he said.

  Lacey grunted. "This is news?"

  He and Tess both chuckled, but Lacey hardly noticed. She felt the contraction coming. And she wrapped her hands around her thighs and bore down.

  "Do what you feel," Logan said softly. "Bear down until you can't hold your breath any longer. Then take in another one … and bear down again. Let it go, let it happen."

  She let out a loud moan. "Logan, I can do this. Just let me…"

  He said something gentle in reply. But she didn't really hear it. She had a job to do and, miraculously, she knew how to do it. She sucked in a giant breath and bore down, groaning without shame. When she ran out of breath, she sucked in more and bore down again.

  She felt strong, and sure. It wasn't that bad. It wasn't bad at all. And between contractions, she actually rested, with Logan and Tess attending her, letting her wet her lips with cool water, rubbing her back and neck when she would allow that, pressing damp cloths to her sweating brow and the back of her neck.

  When the contractions came, she heard them talking, heard it when Tess cried, "There it is. The baby's head. I can see it."

  But Tess—and Logan, too—seemed far away to her. The world to her was the hard fist of her contractions, the rising of her uterus and then the bearing down.

  "Scoot down now," Logan said, during one of the blessed moments when her body allowed her to rest.

  They had put a pair of chairs at the end of the bed. Lacey moved down to them. Logan instructed her to brace her feet, one on each chair. Tess set a basin between the chairs and tucked pillows at Lacey's back and shoulders to help her stay in the most effective position to push the baby out.

  When the next contraction hit, Logan said, "This is it. Easy. Pant. Blow. Don't push too hard…"

  Lacey made a deep, growling sound. The pressure became almost unbearably intense as her body gave to let the head emerge. Tess said, "Oh!" in a voice full of wonder.

  Logan had his hands down there, applying a gentle counter-pressure. "Slow," he said, "careful, not too fast…"

  Seconds later, the intense pressure eased.

  "The head is out," Logan said.

  Lacey looked down at the red, smashed-looking thing between her legs. "Oh, dear Lord. Is it all right?"

  "It's fine," Logan said. "The baby's fine. And you are fine. We have no tearing. No tearing at all." His hands worked at the sides of the squashed nose and downward, gently stroking, over the tiny, ugly chin, and the wrinkled throat. Fluid dribbled from the baby's mouth and nose.

  "There," Logan said.

  "There what?" Lacey demanded.

  "That should clear out any mucus that might be obstructing the airways. Now we're ready to let those shoulders out. Are you ready to push again?"

  Lacey panted and nodded.

  He cradled the baby's head, oh so gently, in his two strong hands. "Okay, push now, push…" She pushed and he lifted the head. "There," he said, "Yes. The lower shoulder is free…"

  After that, it was over in less than a minute. Baby and fluids gushed out in a rush. She heard a cry—her baby's cry.

  "It's a girl," Logan said. "A beautiful, little girl."

  * * *

  Logan didn't cut the umbilical cord. He said he would leave that for the EMTs, who would have the proper equipment. He wiped most of the blood and fluids from the body of the squirming baby, examining her as he did it, and then pronounced her "a perfect ten."

  Tess helped Lacey to scoot back up onto the bed, where she could rest, at last, fully on her back. Lacey pulled up her sleep shirt and Logan gave her the ugly, wonderful baby to lay on her bare breast.

  Lacey looked down at the tiny, whining creature with the slightly pointy head, still connected to her body by the pulsing cord, and knew that her life was unutterably changed.

  Logan was bending over them both.

  And Tess had made herself scarce, somewhere over by the sink.

  Lacey spent a moment touching her baby, whispering to her, stroking her warm, mottled skin. Then from the little one, she reached up and touched the side of Logan's face.

  At her breast, her baby rooted fitfully. Lacey tried to help her find the nipple, but she didn't quite manage to latch on and stay there.

  "She'll learn," Logan said.

  "I want to call her Margaret," Lacey told him. "For my mother." She laughed, and then groaned a little, as a mild contraction squeezed her tired abdomen. "My mother was a wonderful woman. And I know that for a few years there, I made her life a living hell. Maybe she'll look down from heaven and see this little angel and be glad she had me, after all."

  "I think she's glad," Logan said. "In fact, I know it. Then he murmured, "Margaret," in a musing tone. He nodded. "I like it."

  "And your mother…?" she asked. "What was her name?" Logan's mother had died when he was six months old. His father, lost to a first heart attack about five years ago, had raised him alone.

  "Rose," Logan said. "Her name was Rose."

  Lacey stroked her baby's slightly sticky head. "Margaret Rose, then. What do you think?"

  She had never seen his eyes look so soft—or so very dark. "Yes," he said. "All right. Margaret Rose."

  "Rosie, for short."

  "Rosie it is." He put down his index finger. It brushed Lacey's bare breast and then Rosie's wrinkled red fist. Tiny perfect fingers opened—and closed, holding on.

  "She's strong," Logan said in a voice low with emotion. "Strong and healthy. Lace, you did a hell of a job."

  "Praise? From you—directed at me? Are you feeling all right?"

  "I don't think I've ever felt better in my life."

  The words were there, in her heart, rising up, undeniable.

  She didn't know why she'd ever cared to deny them. Why she'd ever thought it wise to hide the truth from him.

  All her old fears and hesitations, her need to guard her independence and protect her woman's pride, seemed foolish now. She didn't need to deny her love anymore, not after what she'd just been through—what all three of them had been through: she and Logan and this tiny miracle who lay rooting at her breast, clutching Logan's index finger, making soft, mewling sounds.

  "I love you, Logan," she whispered.

  His eyes grew softer still. He started to speak. She put her hand to his lips. "Shh. It's okay. It's just… I wanted you to know. I've known for nine months. It's been my big secret. But it seems kind of silly now, after this, to go on keeping it. It seems like the best thing just to let you know."

  He nodded, and pressed his lips to her temple. They sighed together and their daughter gave a small, impatient cry.

  A few minutes later, the ambulance pulled up in the yard.

  * * *

  Chapter 6


  « ^ »

  Dr. Pruitt arrived with the ambulance. He clamped and cut the umbilical cord. Then he supervised as Lacey pushed out the afterbirth. He performed a formal post-natal exam and weighed the baby: seven pounds, two ounces. He also examined Lacey.

  When he was done, he confirmed what everyone already knew: mother and daughter were doing just fine. He said he saw no need for a hospital visit, especially when he learned that the baby's father was a doctor and would be in close attendance over the next twenty-four hours.

  The ambulance drove away less than an hour after it had arrived, at a little after three in the morning. Tess suggested a move to the main house, but Lacey vetoed that. She had Logan to look after her and Rosie. And the little cabin somehow seemed like home now. She wanted to stay there, for the next few days at least, just the three of them.

  And then … well, she'd worry about that when the time came.

  Tess called Zach on the cell phone and instructed him to pile all the baby equipment into the pickup and bring it on over.

  "We're keeping everyone awake tonight," Lacey said ruefully, after Tess had hung up.

  Tess waved a hand. "We are ranchers," she said. "We're used to being up all hours of the night."

  Lacey and Logan took Rosie to the bathroom. Logan held the baby while Lacey showered and changed into a nightgown that buttoned down the front. Then Lacey rested, sitting on the rug with the commode to lean against, as Logan gave Rosie her first bath—which amounted to a few gentle strokes with a warm washcloth.

  When they got back to the main room, Tess had changed the sheets again and put up the curtain that made the sleeping nook into its own private space. Lacey climbed gratefully onto the bed and drank two glasses of cool water as Logan, over at the daybed, put on Rosie's first diaper. Tess helped Lacey to get comfortable. Then Logan laid their daughter beside her. The baby rooted at her breast. This time, the little darling actually managed to latch on.

  "Let her nurse for five minutes or so on that side," Tess said. "They we'll try the other one."