All That Remains

He pried his hand from hers. “I think it’s time I take a look, Wren. I want to make sure you’re completely dilated.”

She didn’t ask how he’d know, because she preferred to believe completely in his ability to deliver her baby.

An hour ago she would have been self-conscious when he lifted the blankets, pushed up the flannel shirt and gently spread her knees. Now, with another wave lifting her, cresting, she couldn’t afford any emotion so petty.

“Breathe.”

She tried. Oh, God, she tried, but she’d never felt anything like this, a compulsion so powerful it gripped every cell of her body. Strange, guttural sounds came from her and her hips rose.

The contraction eased and she sagged back down, although already she felt the next gathering force. “Please,” she whispered.

Alec’s hands squeezed her thighs and he said, “Okay. I think we’re ready.”

He moved away from her briefly, and she felt him lifting her, putting some of the clothes she’d dragged up under her hips. Because this would be messy, Wren realized, in a corner of her brain not quite overridden by pain.

Then he knelt again between her thighs. “This time push.”

She couldn’t have done anything but. Her mind blanked of everything but this huge, overwhelming need—and the sight of Alec’s face, his rumbles of encouragement.

“I see Cupcake’s head. That’s it. I know you’re tired, but…you’re amazing.” He flashed her a huge grin. “I’ve got her head, honey. A little more.”

There was a brief pause, just enough for Wren to gather strength, and then she heard herself screaming as she pushed with everything she had. She felt her baby slip from her. Satisfaction roared in her ears, but already she was levering herself to her elbows.

“Is she all right? Why isn’t she crying?”

He was utterly preoccupied, there between her knees. “Give her a second. I’m wiping her face.”

Then it came, a thin wail, and he laughed, exultation in those blue, blue eyes as they met hers.

“Let me wrap her up.” And finally he lifted a flannel bundle and laid it on Wren’s stomach. She could see his delight. “Meet Cupcake.”

Wren looked disbelievingly at the small, scrunched face of her daughter. She didn’t look anything like television-commercial babies. She was beet-red, and her eyes were squeezed shut as if she was absolutely refusing to see this cold, scary world. She was smeared with blood and slimy stuff, but all the same Wren had never seen anything so beautiful.

“Oh, sweetheart,” she whispered, and smoothed a hand over a head damply fuzzed with a shade of brown the same as her own hair. And she was filled with joy, because at first glance there was nothing whatsoever of James in her baby.

“I need to cut the cord,” Alec said.

Wren lifted her gaze from Cupcake. “I didn’t even think of that. What can you… Oh! I brought a knife up from the kitchen.”

He laughed. “I have scissors from the first-aid kit, thankfully sterile.” He brandished them as he ripped off the packaging. “And I found some twine I think will work.”

That hadn’t come from the first-aid kit, which made Wren realize it must have been one of the things he’d been looking for earlier, when he’d been opening boxes. She remembered once hearing a grunt of satisfaction.

She watched anxiously as he tied the still pulsing umbilical cord. Then the scissors flashed, and without hesitation he cut the cord.

“She’s her own person now,” he murmured, and Wren realized her face was wet with tears.

She looked and touched and marveled, hardly aware that she had more contractions and that Alec was still occupied. Eventually he said, “I’m going to clean you up as well as I can without water, and then we’d better figure out something for a pad.”

A pad? Oh.

“Um…” She turned her head. “There are some pajama bottoms here somewhere. I couldn’t have gotten them on before, but maybe now…”

“All right. Why don’t you try putting her to your breast? Even if you weren’t planning to breast-feed, you have to for now.”

“I was.” She undid a couple of buttons and lifted Cupcake—who needed a real name now. As she did, her daughter opened her eyes and, in the gray light through the window, Wren saw that they were a murky blue, which likely meant they were going to turn brown like hers. She felt another moment of fierce delight. Her own mother might have been disappointed when she’d first seen Wren, tiny and wizened and not very pretty at all as babies went, but Wren was glad Cupcake had gotten nothing from her father.

It took some doing to figure out what angle worked best, and to coax the baby to begin nuzzling for her breast. But finally she latched on and began to suckle as though she knew exactly what to do.

“Like a pro,” Alec murmured, and their eyes met over Wren’s knees.

“Isn’t she amazing?”

“So are you.” He was stuffing her into those pajamas as he spoke, although he laughed and paused to roll the hems up. And up. Then, sounding awkward for the first time, he said, “I’ve, er, folded a T-shirt in there to be a menstrual pad. It’s not ideal, but as long as you’re not moving around a lot, it ought to do.”

His momentary discomfiture made her feel embarrassed for the first time, too. She couldn’t believe she hadn’t given a second thought to letting a man who was a virtual stranger do such intimate things for her.

“Thank you,” she said stiffly.

He nodded. “Is the baby asleep?”

Filled with tenderness, Wren glanced down to see that Cupcake’s mouth had slipped from her tingling breast. “Yes.”

“You need to have something to eat and drink now.”

She thought about it, and realized she was hungry. And her mouth felt…gritty. “Do we have anything?”

“Bottled water and energy bars. Not very exciting.”

“You’re apologizing?” She stared incredulously at him. “What, because you didn’t bring big juicy hamburgers and fries with you?”

There was that grin she already loved. “No, I’m apologizing because we’re going to have to ration what we do have. We could be stuck here for another day or more, you know.”

That momentarily dimmed her delight. “Is it going to get cold once night falls?”

“Afraid so.” He set a big plastic water bottle beside her, watching as she eased the soundly sleeping baby onto the pallet. Then he slid an arm around behind Wren and helped her to a sitting position.

She winced. Her stomach muscles seemed to be shot, and she was definitely sore. Instead of sitting cross-legged as she would normally have done, she tucked both feet to one side of her and reached for the water.

“Is this all we have?”

“Yes, but we can catch some rainwater. Drink what you need.”

She guzzled enthusiastically. It was probably plain tap water, but it tasted like ambrosia. So did the peanut butter-flavored bar he peeled open for her.

“Want another one?”

“How many do we have?”