Lonetree Ranchers: Morgan

He was sure she was in what the book called “active labor” because of the duration of her contractions and the time between them. He glanced at his watch. They still had the “transitional labor” to go through and, if the book was right, they probably had another couple of hours before they got to the actual delivery. He just hoped he could last that long. With every contraction Samantha had, his gut twisted tighter and he felt a little more helpless than he had only moments before.

When she blew out a deep breath, signaling that the contraction had ended, he asked, “Is there anything else I can do? The book says that you might have some back pain? Do you need your back rubbed?”

“Would you mind?” she asked, releasing his hand. She winced. “My back is killing me.”

Removing his Resistol, Morgan sailed it like a Frisbee to land on the chair with his duster, took a deep breath and eased over to sit next to her on the ugly green couch. He slipped his hand beneath her pink T-shirt to lightly kneed the muscles of her lower back, and valiantly tried to ignore the fact that her skin felt like satin beneath his callused palm. Now was not the time for him to remember how much he missed the way a woman’s softness felt.

“Is it helping?” he asked.

“A little.” She suddenly took a deep breath and once again focused on riding out another pain.

Morgan continued to rub her back with his right hand as he glanced at the watch on his left wrist. This contraction had come a lot faster than the last one. He watched the second hand sweep around once, then halfway around again before Samantha blew out a deep breath, signaling it was over.

“Stop touching me,” she said sharply. “You’re making it worse.”

“Okay,” he said, removing his hand from beneath her shirt. He knew for certain that he hadn’t rubbed her back that hard.

Frowning, Morgan moved back to the hearth and picked up the book. Unless he missed his guess, they were moving on to the next step.

Yep. Sure as shootin’, Samantha had all the signs of a woman in “transitional labor.” She’d suddenly become as irritable as a bear with a sore paw, didn’t want to be touched, and the most telling of the symptoms was the duration of the last contraction.

He wiped the sweat from his forehead and watched her struggle to stay focused as the next wave of pain hit her. Her face was flushed, her golden-brown hair hung in damp tendrils from perspiration and the lines of strain around her mouth had deepened.

He’d never felt more useless.

When she blew out a deep breath, he laid the book aside and wiped her face with a cool damp washcloth. Her gaze met his, and it was damned near his undoing when tears filled her pretty amber eyes.

“I don’t think…I can’t do this, Morgan.”

Making sure the book was within easy reach, Morgan took her hands in his. “You’re doing just fine, Samantha.” The instructions had indicated that he should encourage her and help her stay focused. He wasn’t sure how the hell to go about that, but he’d do it or die trying. “You’re in the home stretch, sweetheart. It won’t be much longer.”

He watched her eyes cloud with pain, felt her hands tighten on his in a death grip. She started to say something, but a moan came out instead.

It tore him apart to see her hurting and not be able to do anything to help. “Look at me, Samantha.”

Her breathing ragged, she shook her head. “This is…too hard,” she said, her voice cracking.

“Come on, Samantha, look at me,” he said more firmly.

When she finally did as he commanded, Morgan nodded. “That’s it, sweetheart. Stay focused and squeeze my hands as hard as you can. Concentrate on transferring the pain to me.”

He wasn’t sure if the book supported his way of taking her mind off the contraction, but he didn’t care. All that mattered was that it seemed to be working. Samantha held his gaze and damned near cut off the circulation to his fingers as she tightened her hands on his.

What seemed like an eternity, but couldn’t have been more than a couple of minutes later, she suddenly released his hands to lay back against the couch. “I need to push.”

The hair on the back of Morgan’s neck shot straight up and his stomach did a back-flip. “Are you sure?” he asked, flexing his fingers in an effort to return the circulation.

Nodding, she scrunched her eyes shut, grabbed her knees with her hands and pushed with all her might.

Morgan wanted to run like hell. Instead, he grabbed the book, quickly read what he needed to do, then prayed like he’d never prayed before.

He could do this. Along with his dad and brothers, he’d played baby doctor to the herds of Lonetree cattle for as long as he could remember. Surely he could deliver one little human baby.

Placing the book within easy reach, he washed his hands in one of the pots of water that he’d boiled earlier, then fished his sterilized pocket knife and Samantha’s shoelaces from the other. Fortunately, the water had cooled enough that it wasn’t scalding, but it was still damned hot. His mind on what was about to take place, he barely noticed.

To Morgan, the next thirty minutes seemed to pass in a fast-forward blur. Samantha worked hard to push her baby out into the world as he uttered words he hoped were encouraging. Then, just after midnight, a little baby boy with dark brown hair slid out into his waiting hands, opened his mouth and started yowling at the top of his tiny lungs.

A lump the size of his fist formed in Morgan’s throat as he stared down at the child he’d helped to enter the world. Awed by the miracle he’d participated in, he couldn’t have strung two words together if his life depended on it.

“Is my baby all right?” Samantha asked, sounding stronger than he would have thought possible after what she’d been through.

Relieved that things had turned out the way they should, Morgan tied off the cord in two places, cut it between the ties, then wrapped the baby in fluffy towels. His hands shaking slightly, he placed the infant in her waiting arms.

Clearing his throat, he finally managed, “I’m not a doctor, but he looks normal to me.” He grinned. “If his squalling is any indication, I’d say he’s mad as hell about this whole birthing business though.”

“He’s beautiful.” He watched tears fill Samantha’s eyes as she glanced up at him. “I can’t thank you enough for helping us, Morgan.”

“You did all the work.” Finishing the last of what the instructions indicated should be done, he washed up and rolled his sleeves back down to fasten them at his wrists. “Have you picked out a name for him?”

The smile she gave him made Morgan feel as if the sun had broken through on a gray, cloudy day. “As a matter of fact, I think I have,” she said softly. “How does Timothy Morgan Peterson sound?”

Two days later, Samantha sat on the side of her hospital bed, staring at the discharge papers the nurse had handed her only moments ago. Now what? Where were she and the baby supposed to go? And how were they supposed to get there?

She didn’t have her car. And even if she did, it wouldn’t run. The morning after Timmy had been born, Morgan rode his horse back to his ranch, then drove over to her grandfather’s place in his truck to take her and the baby to the hospital.

She sighed as she looked at her son sleeping peacefully in the bassinet. She could call a cab. But where would she have it take her and Timmy? She certainly couldn’t afford the fare for a sixty mile trip back to her newly inherited ranch. She shook her head. Make that her newly inherited dump.

“Do you need help getting dressed?” the nurse asked, strolling back into the room with a complimentary bag of sample baby products. She picked up Timmy from the tiny bed to wrap him in a soft, baby blue receiving blanket. “By the way, I caught your husband in the hall and told him you two were ready to leave.”

Dumbfounded, Samantha blinked. “My husband?” The woman had to have confused her with another new mother. “I’m not—”

“I sent him to bring his truck around to the front entrance,” the woman said as if Samantha hadn’t spoken. “Once you’re dressed, I’ll get a wheelchair and you and this little darling can be on your way.”

“But I still have to go down to the business office to make arrangements to pay the bill. And I’m not—”

“Don’t worry, Samantha. It’s taken care of,” Morgan said, walking through the doorway as if he owned the place. He handed her a shopping bag. “All you have to do is put these clothes on and we can get out of here.”

“I’ll get the wheelchair,” the nurse said, her shoes making a whispering sound against the tiled floor as she quickly left the room.

Samantha stared at the man who had been her rock throughout the birth of her child. He was without a doubt one of the best-looking men she’d ever seen. And apparently one of the most arrogant.

“What do you mean it’s taken care of?” she demanded. She wasn’t sure what he’d done, but she had a feeling she wasn’t going to like it when she found out.

“We’ll talk about it on the drive home.”

“I think we’d better discuss this right now,” she said flatly. She wasn’t going anywhere until he told her what was going on.

Completely ignoring her protest, he took the shopping bag from her stiff fingers, opened it and pulled out a cream-colored T-shirt and denim jumper. “I wasn’t sure about the size, so I had a clerk pick out everything. She said these were ‘one size fits most’—whatever that means.” He looked a little unsure as he shoved them into her hands and turned to leave. “Go ahead and get dressed so we can get out of here. I’ll be waiting with the truck when the nurse brings you out the front entrance.”