The Midwife's Little Miracle. Fiona McArthurЧитать онлайн книгу.
and tucked her against his chest as he flattened the blanket back firmly around Montana with his other hand. He must have seen her shiver.
Dawn whimpered and he whispered softly to her. His cheek rested against her tiny head with his skin on hers to comfort her while he carried her to the warmth of the car.
Montana frowned at how at ease they looked together and decided she’d had enough huddling to keep warm while she waited for the mist to lift.
Her heated feet felt good and she slipped the bottle up to tuck into her now loose trousers and keep her stomach warm as she pulled her shirt together where she’d opened it to keep her daughter snug against her skin.
The sheer bliss of hot water to wash her face and hands made her smile and after she’d communed with nature she crossed to Andy’s car and her daughter.
Andy had the cup holders out on the dashboard and each held a steaming cup of tea that caused puffs of condensation on the windshield above each mug.
Dawn dozed quite happily tucked into Andy’s arm and Montana stilled him with a raised hand as he went to lean across to open the passenger door.
She slid in. ‘Don’t move. She’s settled.’ He looked remarkably at ease for a big man with a newborn in his arms.
She inhaled the aroma. ‘The tea smells wonderful,’ she said, and gathered the cup in both hands to divert her mind away from him. The heated comfort infused into her hands like the flavour had into the water.
How brilliant that Andy had instinctively known not to fuss. Even Douglas would have flapped and scolded at the thought of Dawn’s arrival here on the mountain, and Montana sipped her tea slowly and relaxed.
They sat silently for many minutes and Montana may even have dozed.
When she opened her eyes again he was looking at her. Not staring, just an appraisal to see if she was fine. She couldn’t remember when she’d felt so comfortable in a stranger’s company.
‘Were you frightened?’ His words were soft and acknowledged something powerful and amazing had happened on the mountain that morning and she took pleasure in his lack of censure. She smiled at the bundle that was her daughter and shook her head.
Suddenly it was important he understand that she wasn’t reckless with her daughter’s life. ‘It was the most serene dawn. I couldn’t drive any more, not safely anyway, and when I stopped it all happened as it should.’
She paused thoughtfully and then went on. ‘I won’t say I was lucky it all went well—because I have always believed a woman is designed to give birth without complications. I was just not unlucky, as some women are.’
Andy pondered her statement. That seemed a bit simplistic for him but it wasn’t his job to dispute her views and instead he flattened his chin against his chest and squinted at the baby snuggled like a possum into him. ‘What do you think Dawn weighs?’
Montana looked proudly across at her daughter and smiled again. ‘Maybe six pounds. Say two and a half thousand grams. She’s three weeks early but she’s vigorous.’
‘She’s perfect.’ Like her mother. The glow that infused him with that thought surprised him but he refused to examine the reasons. The occasion was special enough for odd feelings.
‘I know,’ she said. They smiled at each other in mutual admiration for Montana’s baby. This time Montana was the first to look away and he wondered if she too had become aware of that ease between them, which was unexpected.
He reached over the back of the seat and lifted a small lunch holder. He needed to be practical, not fanciful. ‘Would you like some sandwiches? Misty made some with egg and some with ham. We could put them together and pretend it’s a Sunday breakfast.’
‘Actually, I’m starving.’ Her face lit up and he enjoyed her eagerness for food. No doubt his pleasure came from a primitive male-provider thing but he could fix her hunger when he’d let her down by not being there half an hour earlier.
She unwrapped the sandwich and bit into it with small white teeth and with obvious relish. Labour must be hungry work, he thought, and the glow inside him flared a little more.
‘Is there anything you don’t have?’ she said just before the next bite, and the words were strangely prophetic.
Someone like you, perhaps? Whoa, there boy. He was getting way out of his depth here and he needed to pull back urgently. He looked out at the mist below them in the valley.
His voice came out a little more brusquely than he’d intended but he couldn’t help that. ‘I don’t have a trailer to bring your truck down with us—but I’ll come back and get it later for you.’
She saw the mist had begun to dissipate lower down the mountain.
Soon this interlude would be over, she’d be tucked up in a ward bed with Misty and Mia fussing over her, and everything would be as it should be, except Douglas wouldn’t be there.
All the things she hadn’t said and now couldn’t share with Douglas were irretrievable and she needed to accept that. But she dreaded each day in her normal environment, which had become so entrenched in loss and memories.
Her husband wouldn’t be in the maternity ward where she’d first seen him. Wouldn’t be in any of the familiar places where they’d both spent the last years of his life.
How did one cope with this feeling of desolation? Or of the guilt-ridden feeling that Douglas had let her down somehow by dying? What of the fact that a stranger had been the first man to see Dawn and not Douglas?
Her eyes stung and a tear rolled down her cheek. ‘I don’t want to go to the hospital. Actually, I don’t ever want to go back there. I don’t even want to go back to my house in town, which is ridiculous as I don’t have the energy to organise a clean break. I have no idea how I am ever going to go back to work there.’
She bit her lip and then shook her head. ‘This is not like me. I’m sorry. I have no option. Ignore what I just said.’
The understanding in his green eyes nearly triggered the tears again. ‘Anyone would think you’d had a big morning,’ he said, and the compassion in his voice told her he understood. He really did understand.
Andy slid his arm across the seat and around her shoulder and it was as if he encased her in empathy. Despite the fact that she didn’t know him, it felt good to be hugged. Incredibly good.
‘It must be hard without your husband,’ he said. ‘I felt the same when my wife died.’
He saw she knew his story. Misty would have told her. He hoped she hadn’t told her how he’d almost gone off the rails.
‘It’s harder than anything in the world,’ she said, ‘and sometimes I’m almost angry with him for leaving.’ Montana lifted her face to his. Her eyes shimmered with loss and he remembered that too.
‘I remember that feeling,’ he said.
He squeezed the fine-boned shoulder under his hand and she responded to his understanding and told him.
‘The first of May. It was an aneurysm. There was no warning. Douglas went to bed smiling and never woke up. He was thirty-five and didn’t even know he would be a father.’
Andy didn’t rush in with condolences because when his wife had died he’d hated that. The silence lengthened as they both reflected on their losses.
Finally he said, ‘It was a tragedy. Though he has given you a beautiful daughter and he will live on through her.’
She nodded. ‘I know. But I don’t ever want to hurt like that again.’
Andy sighed. Amen to that. Time was a great healer—he knew that from bitter experience—but the early years were painful and something he’d promised himself he’d never do again. She had to do it with a daily reminder in a child.
It was good