He wasn’t listening. Because partway through her description, he’d backed out of the tailgate and dropped it closed behind him.
How hard was it to recognize a cape? Didn’t take a fashion expert for heaven’s sake, so—
Her door opened abruptly.
“What were you doing with my cape?” she demanded. No sense wasting time confirming it was her cape when she couldn’t think of anything else she had that was that color.
“Put your arms around my neck.”
“What?”
“Put your arms around my neck.”
“I heard you,” she said a little testily, but she figured she was entitled. “Let’s try why?”
“So I can carry you to the back.”
“Carry me? Carry me? Do you have any idea how heavy I am?”
“Less than a bale of hay.”
That stopped her, because she had no idea how much a bale of hay weighed. And while she was stopped, he scooped her up.
Out of self-preservation she put her arms around his neck. She figured if he started to drop her she could hold onto his neck long enough to soften her landing.
“And you’re having to carry me through snow,” she added.
“Been in snow before.”
His breath puffed warm across the slice of her chin exposed between her pulled-down knit cap and the scarf wrapped up around her chin and mouth.
“Why are you doing this? I was fine where I was.” Sort of.
“More room.”
The wind had strengthened. If his mouth hadn’t been practically in her ear she might not have heard his low voice through all the layers of cloth.
“Doesn’t take that much room to wait. You said somebody’s coming from this ranch of yours so—”
“Not mine. I’m foreman. Not owner.”
“Ownership is not real important to me at the moment.”
He grunted. Might have been part of a chuckle. Might have been in pain from trying to support her elephant-like body.
He turned the corner to the back of the car, and the going got a bit easier, apparently because he’d tamped down the snow during his box-rearranging. He set her on her feet, and lifted the tailgate.
He’d created a sort of elliptical nest in the middle, cushioning the deck with blankets and—
“My cape!” She snatched the nearest section of fabric and reeled it in, bundling the fabric in her arms.
He moved as if he intended to lift her again. She evaded it by swinging her arm away, and nearly lost her balance on the snowpack underfoot. She saved herself by sitting — hard — on the edge of the tailgate.
“Can you get in by yourself?” he asked doubtfully.
“Yes.”
And she did. By inching herself backward like a panting, heaving cross between a crab and a rhinoceros. Each time she moved backward she scrunched up the blankets a bit, and he pulled them down.
As soon as she got far enough in that — with her knees bent — the tailgate could be closed without performing a double footectomy on her she flopped back, trying to replenish her oxygen. The wadded up fabric of the cape sat on her chest. She watched it rise and fall with each breath.
She supposed she should be grateful she hadn’t had another contraction during these maneuvers.
“Okay?”
Her eyes flicked to him. He’d come up beside her without her even noticing his movement. In other words, he climbed in like it was the easiest thing in the world. Damn him. “You’re kidding, right?”
He made that sound again, and since he was no longer carrying her, she had to conclude it had more to do with amusement than pain.
“I’m gonna radio again.”
In the time she took two breaths, he was out and had dropped the tailgate down, cutting off the wind.
She started trying to fold the cape, so she could put it somewhere safe. But the voluminous flow of fabric made it more than a little tricky while she was lying down and with barely enough room to stretch her arms up to their full length.
She could just make out his voice over the wind, which probably meant he was shouting into the radio. She listened harder, trying to assess his tone.
Neutral. Matter-of-fact. That was the best she could do.
Then she felt the serious pain edging back in. Sliding in inexorably, like an oilslick being brought to shore by the tide.
She fisted her hands in the cape’s material, the concept of folding jettisoned.
Each swell, rising a little higher, carrying the black, foul-smelling blob of pain a little closer until—
“How’re you doing?” he said from someplace close by. He had to be, right? She couldn’t hear him that clearly if he were outside, but she hadn’t heard him get in— Oh, hell, who cared?
“The contractions are coming— Oh … Oh, God!” Pain swallowed the universe and her along with it. There was nothing but pain. There would never be anything but pain.
It receded, but she knew that was just a ploy so it could hurt more the next time. Higher and closer with every swell. She knew the ocean’s ways. This was an ocean of pain.
But at least, for now, it let her see what was around her. She looked up into the cowboy’s face.
He was partially kneeling beside her, his hat was gone. He had light brown hair with a weird dent in it. And eyes somewhere between blue and gray.
“My cousin has gray eyes,” she said between pants. Why was she panting like she’d just run ten miles?
He frowned. “That so?”
“That’s so. Eleanor Thatcher — McRae. Can’t forget the McRae becau—”
She screamed. Not like at a scary part in a movie scream, where you follow up with a nervous laugh. But a scream like when the pain that swallowed you had all its knives out slicing every little bit of you.
When she reached the border between the ocean of pain where she would never leave and the world that other people inhabited, she realized the cowboy had his hand on her forehead, stroking back her hair.
“You’re going to have that baby soon.”
“Can’t. Water hasn’t—” She panted the words out. She didn’t have her breath back from the pain or the scream or both. “—broken.”
“Doesn’t always happen until after. We’re going to deliver it here.”
“Here? Don’t be silly. We can’t—”
“We can.”
He said it so simply, she began to believe. “Have you delivered a baby before?”
“Yes.”
She looked up into his eyes. They were very calm. Yet, sad. So sad. Why would he be so sad? Because she was going to die? But he’d just said he’d delivered babies before, so … “Oh, shit, you mean cows!”
“Cows and horses and sheep and dogs.”
She gestured to herself. “Human!” Then at her abdomen, “Human baby!”
“It’s all nature.”
“I don’t think so. I’m not—”
“You’re going to have this baby. Here. And soon. And nobody else is going to get here before you do. It’s you and me.”
She locked eyes with him and opened her mouth to point out again what a stupid, horrible, bad, bad, bad idea this was. His calm, sad eyes stared back at her.
She said, “You and me.”
“Right. I’m going to need some room. So—” He hooked her under her arms and slid her more toward the front of the car. She was sitting up more than she had been, which was slightly more comfortable. Like being on a bed of pins instead of needles.
He spread the cape over her, then started backing up.
“Where are you going?” She didn’t sound panicked, because she didn’t panic. She was up for anything. Ready for any adventure. Yes, sir. That was her.
“We gotta get you out of these pants. Fast.” He opened the tailgate and stepped out, having to remain bent over so he didn’t hit his head. He started on her shoes, but left her socks on.
“Won’t be hard. I haven’t worn anything but elastic for months. Never thought I
’d miss zippers, but — Wait. Wait!” He’d started to tug on the bottom of the pant legs, which were cooperating like they thought they were going to get some action.
“Contraction?”
“No.” The pants were gone. He draped the side of the cape over her, moving more things around. Making room for where he’d have to be when she— “This is going to happen. This is really going to happen. Here. Now.”
“Yes.”
“And you’re going to use my cape.”
“Yes.”
She loved that cape. This kid better be worth it. And if anyone else ever said anything like that about her precious baby she would scoop their heart out with her fingernails. “Oh, God, at least tell me your name.”
“Jack, Ma’am. Jack Ralston.”
“I’m Valerie. Valerie Trimarco. Or Val. Lots of people call me Val.”
“Ma’am.” He crawled back in beside her, tugging the tailgate closed after him. The wind howled at having its fun thwarted.
“If you call me Ma’am one more time, I swear I will not try to muffle my screams one little bit.”
His mouth quirked. “Okay, Valerie.”
“Okay. As long as we understand each other.” For no reason other than the reasons that had been staring her in the face for hours, some of them for months, her eyes welled with tears. And then the well ran over. “Oh, God, Jack Ralston, what are we going to do?”
He leaned over her, looking her straight in the eyes. “We’re going to have this baby, Ma— Val. You and me.”
“You and me,” she repeated.
“And everything’s going to be okay.”
Wyoming Wildflowers: The Beginning Page 15
