After the Storm

Jared stared sharp-eyed at the woman, then started searching the pages of the book. He was usually pretty good with directions, but…this? Delivering a baby? Suddenly, he realized the magnitude of the situation. What if he did something wrong, something to harm her or the baby?

“Are you sure we can’t get you to a hospital?” he asked. “My car’s stalled out in a big mud hole, but if you have one—”

“I don’t have a car.”

No phone. No car. This woman definitely lived the old-fashioned way.

“Do you think you could hold on until I try to get my SUV out of the bog?”

“No,” she said in a loud moan of pain. “No. This baby is coming now. Right now. Even if you got your car going, we’d never make it down the mountain to a hospital—the roads are probably washed out. I don’t think I could even make it the half mile to the doc’s clinic in the village. Now, are you going to argue with me or are you going to help me?”

Jared didn’t know how to answer that. He knew he’d have to assist her, but there must be a better way.

“Look, mister,” the woman said after the contraction had stopped, “all night long I’ve been praying for God to send me somebody. And now that you’re here, I don’t have time for you to decide if you’re up to the task. I need you to boil some water and get a pair of scissors out of the drawer by the sink in the kitchen. Then I need you to prop my bottom up with those sheets in that chair. Then I need you to—”

She stopped, mortification covering her face in a soft blush. “You’ll have to look in that closet by the rocking chair. There’s a piece of netting in there I was saving to put over the baby’s bassinet, to protect against bugs. You can place that over my…my…private parts.”

Jared had to smile at that endearing euphemism. “You want me to help you give birth through netting?”

“For modesty’s sake,” she said, her tone reasonable and defiant all at the same time. “I don’t know you, after all.”

“I’m Jared,” he said, enamored by her need to use discretion. Under the circumstances, he didn’t see how it could matter, but his grandmother had taught him to be a gentleman and so he’d abide by this woman’s wishes. “Jared Murdock,” he added. “I’ll try to keep my eyes closed until the big moment.”

“I’d appreciate that.” She leaned back, her face filled with weariness and strain. “I’m…Alisha Emerson.” Then she waited, as if expecting him to say or do something.

Jared thought he saw that trace of fear back in her eyes. Hoping to ease her worries, he said, “Nice to meet you, Alisha, although I must admit I never dreamed—”

She relaxed, a great sigh of relief seeming to wash over her body as she lay back and closed her eyes. “It’s about to start again. I have to do my breathing and concentrate. Soon I’m going to have to push. You’d better get those things we need.”

Before Jared could turn and do her bidding she let out a wail and sat up, huffing and holding her stomach. Jared rushed to the side of the bed. “Are you—”

She waved him away without a word, her pretty face contorted in agony. Jared watched her for a minute, noticing that she was focused on the cross hanging on the opposite wall from the bed. She’d said she’d prayed for God to send her someone to help her.

“Did it have to be me?” Jared asked the heavens as he went about finding a kettle to boil water. After fumbling with lighting the ancient stove, he continued to ponder that question. Alisha Emerson was obviously a woman who believed God actually sent people to help other people in need. Jared couldn’t wrap his practical, logical brain around that concept, but then nothing about this night was logical or practical. He’d booked this trip on impulse and anger, emotions he tried to avoid, hoping to find something familiar and comforting in these old woods, but he had taken a wrong turn and found the wrong cabin.

Or maybe the right one, he thought as he set the kettle to boil then hurried back to the bedroom and Alisha.

He didn’t seem to know her.

Alisha fell back as the contraction passed, thankful that the handsome stranger from Atlanta hadn’t recognized her name. She’d been so afraid, but this fear had nothing to do with having a stranger in her cabin. It had everything to do with wanting to keep the world at bay, though. Especially the world she’d left behind.

But she had lived on the other side of town, south of Atlanta, in Riverdale. People from Buckhead rarely kept up with the happenings south of Hartsfield International Airport.

But what if he did remember her? What if he’d read something in the papers? Connected on the name? There had been a couple of short, terse articles in the Atlanta Journal-Constitution just a few months ago. After that, things had died down. And she’d left the city for good.

It didn’t matter now. She had to take her chances. She needed this man’s help and he seemed willing to do what he could. At least, she wouldn’t have to go through this alone. Her baby had a better chance now. Believing God would show her the way, Alisha said a prayer of thanks, then hoped she wouldn’t regret letting Jared Murdock help her deliver this baby.

He came barreling back into the bedroom, dropping the scissors on a rag he’d brought from the kitchen. Carefully, he placed both on the table by the bed before he went to the closet. “The water is hot. I put it on low to let it keep boiling. Now where did you say that netting is?”

She pointed toward the small add-on closet. “Up on the top shelf.”

Alisha took the minutes between contractions to study her birthing partner. Tall, rugged, muscular. He had been wearing a nice black leather jacket, but it was gone now. His light-blue sweater, damp in spots from the rain, looked to be cashmere. His hair, still wet and glistening, was almost as dark as the jacket he’d had on. And so were his eyes. They reminded her of jagged coal waiting to become diamond chips. He was a big man with a nice smile. And he looked expensive.

Buckhead meant he came from money. Probably old money. That gave her some sense of peace. Jared Murdock probably didn’t travel in the same circles as the people she’d left behind. The people who couldn’t know where she was now.

“Got it,” he said, tugging out the gauzy white fabric. “Want me to drape it over…you?”

“Please,” Alisha said, clutching her stomach again. “You need to get yourself dry, too.”

“Don’t worry about me. I’ll dry out by the fire later. Let’s just take care of you right now.”

Alisha nodded her thanks, then grabbed the blanket as another wave of pain centered in her stomach.

Jared hurriedly helped her lift her hips so he could push a couple of cushiony blankets underneath her, then with his eyes on her face, he gently placed the sheer net material over her exposed legs. “I guess I can deliver this baby by touch,” he teased.

“I don’t care how you do it,” Alisha replied, her back locked in a spasm as she gritted out the words. “Just so it gets done.”

“Okay, I’m think I’m as ready as I’ll ever be.”

Alisha nodded, then took a long breath. “Good, ’cause here comes another one. We’d better get me ready—we’ve got extra sheets, the gauze over my legs and waist. What else? Did you sterilize the scissors?”

“Yes, and wrapped them in a clean ironed rag.” He shrugged. “I read that in the book. It said to iron a rag to help sterilize it. Found the iron on a corner shelf, right by the clean dish towels. Since we had no power, I heated the iron on the gas stove.”

“You’re doing good for a beginner.”

“So are you.” Then he glanced down at her. “I mean, this is your first child, right?”

She nodded, huffed, concentrated on trying not to push as painful memories tore through her with the same consistency of the pain in her center. “Yes, my first.”

“What about…where’s your husband?”

She stilled. “He’s…dead.”

His reaction was pure polite shock. “Oh, I’m sorry. That must be tough.”

She swallowed, closed her eyes to the truth. “It happened a while back, right after I found out I was pregnant.” Eight months ago, to be exact.

“Any other relatives nearby?”

“No.” She wanted to tell him she had no one but herself and the baby she had to protect, and that she didn’t need anyone either, by the way, but she didn’t say that. Instead she closed her eyes and willed her heart to stop racing.

“You don’t have to talk about it now,” he said, obviously sensing her agitation and probably mistaking it for grief. Well, she was grieving. For so many reasons.

“Thank you,” she managed through a groan. Then to distract herself from the sharp cut of clawing memories, she said, “Music. Could you put a cassette in the player? It’s over by the window.”

She watched as Jared turned and spotted the pile of old cassettes she kept in a wicker basket by a bigger basket of books. “I guess you don’t buy CDs, huh?” he asked over his shoulder. “Just lots of books and old cassettes.”

“No, can’t afford CDs.” She struggled to talk. “Bought those secondhand in the village. Player’s secondhand, too.”