Father For Her Newborn Baby

What? “You’re out of something?” Cole repeated what he thought his father meant.

“Asp.” He looked and sounded like someone who’d just had Novocain injections at the dentist.

His father had a history of TIAs, transient ischemic attacks, and that was caused by blockage. Why hadn’t he gotten a new bottle of aspirin immediately? Cole wanted to wring his dad’s neck, but quickly remembered there’d been a lot of activity going on over the past week with wedding plans and parties and Cole moving back home. Today’s wedding had been an all-day affair. He’d cut his father some slack, but still wondered if this TIA could have been prevented, and whether or not it would turn into a full-blown cerebrovascular accident this time around. The thought sent a shard of fear deep into his chest.

“Let’s do it, then,” Cole said, jogging to the closest medicine cabinet in the hall bathroom. “There isn’t any here,” he called out. Frustration blended with panic.

“I’ve got some in the kitchen,” Gretchen said, close on his heels. “You should have told me you were out, Monty,” she called over her shoulder.

When they returned, Lizzie had remained with Tiberius, reassuring him and distracting him by showing her newborn to him. She cooed over her baby and smiled up at the man. That lopsided smile returned, and his eyes looked calmer and more focused since gazing at the sleeping child.

“Take this, Dad.” Cole gave him the aspirin. “Can you swallow okay?” He tested his dad with a tiny sip from the cup of forgotten tea on the table next to his chair. He seemed to swallow okay, so Cole gave it to him. If this was a true TIA, his symptoms would go away within ten to twenty minutes. If it was a CVA, there was no telling how long or how much worse it could get. By Cole’s count it had already been over ten minutes since Lizzie had astutely noticed his father’s quirky grin, and as of now the symptoms remained unchanged. A foreboding shadow settled around Cole’s vision; worry kicked up the fear he’d tried to suppress. He wasn’t ready to lose his dad. Nowhere near.

“I’m calling the Laramie ER, giving them a preliminary report. I already told them to have the stroke team ready to go the second Dad arrives.”

“Do you have a blood-pressure monitor in the house?” Lizzie asked as he dialed his cell phone.

It’d been so long since Cole had lived here, he didn’t rightly know.

“There’s one in Monty’s bedroom,” Gretchen said, setting off in that direction of the house.

Cole studied his father, then looked at the beautiful baby with a full head of dark hair, just like her mother. The child squirmed and stretched while still deeply asleep, and that simple marvel kept that odd smile on his father’s face. Whatever helped or distracted him. The man must be scared as hell of having another stroke. He prayed their actions would be enough for now.

Gretchen produced the portable blood-pressure cuff while Cole gave his report to the ER. He watched as Lizzie carefully placed her baby, who was obviously still exhausted from the big airplane trip, across Tiberius’s lap, then she went right to work setting up and checking the numbers. “Well, we can’t blame his blood pressure for this CVA.” At one hundred and thirty over eighty-five it wasn’t greatly elevated.

Cole repeated the BP to the doctor on the phone. He knew that eighty percent of all strokes were ischemic, caused by a blockage of blood flow. The fact that his father had kept his blood pressure under control since his first TIA a couple of years ago, plus his BP wasn’t exceptionally high right now, meant the odds of a hemorrhagic stroke were much less. But you never knew, he couldn’t be too cautious and the man belonged in the hospital for treatment and best outcome. And just before he finished the call, there was the sweet sound of a distant ambulance siren.

“Our ride’s here,” he said to the doctor on the other end, then gave his dad a reassuring smile. “ETA an hour and ten.” That left a one- to two-hour window to get his father on thrombolytic therapy for best chance of full recovery. He hoped it would be enough.

CHAPTER THREE (#ulink_52ea8885-b9d1-5a04-af29-b795ece62ae5)

WELL AFTER MIDNIGHT, Lizzie struggled with her colicky baby. These fits always seemed to happen at night. The child had been so intent on crying she couldn’t calm down enough to nurse. At the end of her tether, Lizzie walked the floor of the cathedral-ceilinged living room, with the spiral staircase winding up to a huge loft library at the back.

She had no business being a mother. Didn’t this prove it? She didn’t know what she was doing, and poor Flora sensed it. The baby bore the brunt of her overworked and undertrained parent. She wanted to cry right along with her child, but held it in, afraid if she let that gate open she’d never regain control.

She’d put on quite a show that afternoon, walking into a strange house with her baby, acting as if she were the most confident girl in the world. Oh, yeah, move out of state? Take a temporary job? Piece of cake. How long before Cole Montgomery sees through me?

Headlights flashed across the arched, church-sized window. Oh, great, just what she needed—now Cole would know what a failure she was as a mother, too. She thought about running off to her room set away from the rest of the house. Maybe he wouldn’t hear Flora’s wails there. But her curiosity about Tiberius overpowered her desire to run and hide—was saving face really that important?—so she stayed put. Her one hope being Cole wouldn’t demand she shut Flora up because if he did, she might have to quit the job before she even started.

She took a deep breath and switched her little one to the other arm and bounced her. Maybe Flora had worn herself out, because she shifted from scream mode to fussy and generally unhappy—an improvement. But could Lizzie blame her for having colic? The poor kid was stuck with her, clueless and unnatural, as a mother.

This move to Wyoming was supposed to be the first step in a better life for both of them, yet Flora’s distress seemed to prove otherwise. Why did she have to doubt herself at every turn since becoming a mother? She couldn’t very well ask her own mother for help.

A key turned the lock in the front door, and from the darkened room Lizzie saw Cole enter. His head immediately turned to the sounds of the baby’s cries.

“Hi,” she said, walking toward him, glad she’d thrown a long sweater over her funky flannel pajama pants and overstretched tank top. It was too late to try to do anything with her hair, though.

He nodded, looking tired and grim when he turned on the light. He watched her a few moments as they both adjusted to the sudden brightness.

“How’s your dad?” She shifted Flora to her shoulder and rubbed her back as she continued to fuss loudly and squirm in her arms.

“He’s stable. The CT scan showed blockage without bleeding, so that’s good. They put him on ATP well within the window for best results. Only time will tell.”

She thought about the news. It was promising, and that was all they could hope for tonight. “So the CVA hasn’t evolved?”

“You still can’t understand him when he tries to talk, but the right-sided weakness seems less. At least that’s something.” Cole threw his keys in a ceramic bowl on the long entry hall table, the sound startling Flora and the fussing turned to crying. “Oh, sorry.” He grimaced.

“It’s not you. We’ve been up for a couple hours. I keep hoping she’ll wear herself out enough so I can nurse her.” God, she wanted to cry, that familiar helpless feeling of not being able to comfort her daughter ripping at her heart.

His brows pulled downward. “You need your sleep just as much as she does.” Surprising her, he took off his jacket, laid it over the back of a chair and reached for Flora. “Maybe a change in scenery will help. Give her to me.” He took her squirming baby, now looking amazingly tiny in his big hands and arms. “Let’s go in the kitchen, and have some herbal tea or something. It’ll do us both good.”

He led the way—her wriggling, loudly protesting baby leaving him unfazed—and, though feeling embarrassed about her appearance, she followed. Fortunately the kitchen light had a dimmer, so Cole left it at half the usual brightness. That worked for Lizzie. The less he saw of her bed hair and unwashed face, the better.

“I’ll put the water on,” she said, noticing that Flora still fussed but had quieted down a little. “Where do you keep the tea?” In a kitchen the size of her entire apartment back in Boston, she didn’t have a clue where to begin to look.

“The pantry,” he whispered, and pointed to the corner, Flora in the crook of his elbow as he unconsciously rocked the fidgety baby. “Second shelf. I like the Sweet Dreams brand, but there’s some chamomile, too, somewhere, I think.”

It tickled her to think of big ol’ Cole Montgomery liking herbal tea and holding babies. Even though he gazed at Flora as if she were an alien from Planet X. After she got the tea she was grateful the cabinets had glass doors, so at least she knew where to find the cups.

Behind her, he chuckled softly. “I think she’s hungry—she keeps trying to suckle my neck.”

“Oh!” Maybe she should stop everything and nurse that child since that seemed to be her message.

“You have a bottle or something?”

“I’m nursing. Why don’t you give her to me?”

He gently handed Flora back to Lizzie, and their gazes caught and held briefly. He seemed to have questions in his, and she didn’t want to begin guessing what he wondered. Most likely something along the lines of—what in the hell are you doing here?

Good question. Would he believe her answer—making a better life for my daughter?

Flora had settled down and showed all the signs of finally being ready to nurse. “If you don’t mind watching the kettle, I’ll take her back to the living room. I’m already in love with your dad’s favorite chair.”

He blinked his reassurance. “I’ll bring the tea when it’s ready.”

Five minutes later, with Flora finally nursing contentedly, Lizzie had thrown her sweater over her chest for privacy, and Cole brought two teacups to the living room, lit only by the light of the moon.

“Mind if I join you?” he whispered.

She smiled up at him as he put her cup on the table nearest her free hand. She’d honestly expected him to use a mug, but he sat across from her and sipped his tea as if it was second nature. She couldn’t think of a single thing to say to him because her main thought was, Thank goodness Flora quit crying and is nursing. Now maybe she could breathe. At least she knew how to do something good for her baby. Yet, hadn’t Cole calmed the child down? Maybe he had a kid of his own?

“How do you know how to quiet babies so well?”

“I didn’t know I did.” His surprised-bordering-on-shocked expression said it all. Pure luck, the kind Flora wished she had more of. “I just saw you struggling and you looked like you needed some help.” And wasn’t that an understatement?

Her first sip of hot tea soothed her strained throat. It never ceased to amaze her how her entire body tensed when Flora was unhappy. She was surprised her milk let down so easily under the circumstances. “I thought maybe you had your own kids or something.”

He let go a big puff of air, a sound meant to show the absurdity of the comment. “No-o-o. No kids. No wife. Just me and cardiology. See, I understand the physiology of the heart perfectly—the emotional side of things, don’t have a clue.”