Ooh Baby, Baby. Diana WhitneyЧитать онлайн книгу.
a cloth, Travis dropped the flowered nightie, lurched forward and made a clumsy grab for the tiny wet skull. “Its eyes are open. It’s looking at me—”
The woman sucked in a rasping gulp of air, squeezed her eyes shut and pushed for all she was worth. A wriggling infant slipped into Travis’s waiting hands…then squirted right out of them. The baby landed fortuitously on the woman’s stomach, where it emitted a startled gasp, screwed up its purple face and began to howl lustily.
Travis fell back, horrified by how close he’d come to dropping the slippery little guy. He didn’t know squat about babies—hell, he’d never even touched one before—but it didn’t take a genius to realize that bouncing one off the floorboard was a really bad idea.
The exhausted woman peeled open an eyelid and smiled. “A boy,” she murmured. “A perfect little boy. Isn’t he beautiful?” She beamed expectantly.
Travis eyed the ugly, wrinkled creature and decided God would forgive a small lie. “Yes’m, he’s real pretty.”
The radio crackled. “Travis? What’s going on there?”
He took a shuddering breath and picked up the microphone that was dangling over the headrest by its cord. “The baby’s here, Doc, and it’s yelling something fierce.”
Dr. Jennings chuckled. “Good job, Travis, but your work isn’t done yet.”
After answering several questions about the child’s appearance and the mother’s condition, Travis managed to follow the doctor’s instructions about clearing the infant’s nose and mouth, then used a strip of flowered cloth to tie off the umbilical cord. He’d just draped one of the blankets over the still-howling child when the woman went rigid.
“Ma’am?” Travis blinked sweat out of his eyes. “Oh, Lordy, ma’am, why are you doing that again?”
She gritted her teeth, curling forward.
“Something’s wrong, Doc!” Travis dropped the mike, snatched up the wrapped infant from her stomach and looked frantically around. His gaze fell on the open valise, which conveniently resembled a small bassinet. After hurriedly tucking the wrapped infant inside, he turned his attention to the woman and nearly went into cardiac arrest.
“Holy smokes,” he hollered into the microphone. “She’s having another one!”
“Well, Travis,” Dr. Jennings replied calmly. “At least now you know what to do.”
* * *
Peggy let her head fall back against the cab door, eyes closed, lips slack. A world of blackness spun around her, sucking her in. Her mind wept.
From a distance, she heard the familiar voice urging her with a desperation that touched but couldn’t move her. “Push! Please, ma’am, you have to push.”
“Can’t,” she murmured, overwhelmed by the effort of the monosyllabic utterance.
Wet hair stuck to her face, clung to her quivering eyelids. She didn’t have the strength to lift her hands, yet felt gentle fingers stroke her skin, smoothing the damp strands away. The touch was so tender, so loving. She forced her eyes open and saw his face. Rugged yet young, not much older than she was. Round eyes, dark with worry, fringed with a stub of golden brown lashes. A mouth that was full, sensitive. Lips that were moving.
She strained to hear. “Your baby needs help,” he was saying. “I know it’s hard, but you have to try, ma’am, you have to.”
The contraction struck like an earthquake in her soul. Her back arched without permission, throwing her backward, shaking her, pummeling her, battering her body without mercy. The world darkened as her eyes rolled up into her skull.
“Push, ma’am! Oh, Lordy. Doc? She can’t, she just can’t. You’ve got to get her some help…please, Doc, she can’t take no more.”
The voice was coming from somewhere, everywhere. Peggy focused on it, used it as a lifeline to bring herself back from the brink.
Your baby needs help, ma’am.
Peggy forced her mind away from the white light of unconsciousness.
Your baby needs help.
The young cowboy’s words echoed in her mind, giving her strength.
Your baby.
She drilled her fingernails into the upholstered car seat.
Needs help.
She thrust her head forward until her chin struck her chest, then coiled forward, using every ounce of strength she could muster. Stars broke through her mind. Lights flashed. Blood roared past her ears like an exploding ocean.
She fell back, panting. Drained. Empty.
Empty.
With immense effort, Peggy opened one eye and saw the limp little body lying on her abdomen. The cowboy was alternately wiping its tiny mouth and talking into the microphone. A dull hiss in her ears kept her from hearing him, but she could tell by his grim expression that something was very wrong.
Blinking sweat from her eyes, Peggy tried to touch the precious infant, but her hand felt like lead. The cowboy dropped the microphone, snatched up a wad of cloth—one of her nightgowns, she thought—and began to vigorously massage the tiny body.
Slowly the droning hiss dissipated and Peggy could hear again, although sound was distorted, distant. She tried to speak, couldn’t, coughed, tried again. “What’s…wrong?”
The bleak-eyed cowboy didn’t look up. “Nothing, ma’am. You’ve got yourself a pretty little girl, and everything’s fine, just fine.”
But it wasn’t fine at all. Even in her exhausted stupor Peggy could see that the baby was smaller than her brother, and more lethargic. Her color was odd, too, kind of a dusty lavender that made Peggy’s heart flutter in fear. “My baby…?”
“Don’t you fret.” The flowered fabric came apart in his hands. He used a strip if it to tie off the cord. “I’m not going to let anything happen to your baby.” As he spoke, he continued to massage the limp little limbs, then he bent down and puffed gently into her tiny mouth.
A lump rose into Peggy’s throat. Hysteria bubbled from her lips. “God…oh, God… Please, please—”
The infant’s arms twitched, once, then again. A tiny foot kicked the air. There was a squeaky sputter, then the baby’s chest heaved.
“That’s right, darling,” the cowboy murmured. “Take yourself a big old breath. There you go, sweetheart, there you go.”
In response, the baby pulled up her knees, flailed her tiny fists, screwed up her face and belted a howl even louder than her brother’s had been.
Peggy exhaled all at once. Tears sprang to her eyes. “Oooh.” She bit her lip, overcome with joy and relief.
The cowboy’s shoulders rolled forward. He lifted his hat, wiped his face with his forearm and heaved a shuddering breath. “You go on and holler all you want,” he murmured to the wailing infant. “You got a right to be mad.”
He tucked his hat back over a disheveled shock of sun-streaked brown hair, then awkwardly wrapped the thrashing infant in a blanket. His hands were huge, clumsy, endearingly gentle. When he brushed a sweet kiss across the baby’s soft little scalp, Peggy’s heart swelled until she thought it would explode. She’d never seen a man, any man, exhibit such tenderness. It touched her to the marrow.
Peggy cradled her daughter in the crook of her arm, loosened the blanket to marvel at the perfect little body and, of course, to count each miniature finger and teensy toe. Gratitude surged into her throat, nearly choking her. She swallowed, struggling to speak. “I don’t know how to thank you.”
He shrugged, clearly uncomfortable. “I didn’t do much.”
“You saved her life.”