Detective Daddy

“I think you have to do it harder,” she said.

He increased the pressure. The afterbirth came out and the blood flow diminished. But it seemed to him she’d lost quite a bit. A lot more than that woman who he’d helped deliver her fifth child. Too much?

“All over,” he told her.

Once he’d tied off the cord and severed it, he wrapped the baby girl in one of the small blankets he’d cut and lifted her cautiously, supporting her along his left arm while holding her there with his right. He eased her into the wood-box and returned to Fay.

“Got to get you cleaned up,” he told her. “I’ll let the back of the Morris chair down and carry you over there while I fix up the couch. You’ll be able to look into the crib from there.”

As she watched him, she said, “I don’t think I’ve ever seen a chair like that. It’s sort of like a lawn chair but made of wood.”

“Really old—my grandfather’s.”

“Put plastic over it first.”

Dan obeyed, then lifted her into his arms, surprised at how light she felt. Once she was settled into the Morris chair, he disposed of everything that had been on the couch.

“I wish I felt strong enough to clean up my baby,” she said when he returned. “I’m pretty well out of commission right now, though.”

“Don’t worry about it. After what you’ve been through, you need to rest.”

Her gaze met his and, for the first time he noticed that her eyes were hazel, somewhere in between green and brown. Her pallor disturbed him.

“After what we’ve been through,” she corrected. “You said we’d do this together and we did.”

Her words warmed him as he put new plastic on the couch and covered it with the last of the flannel sheets.

“If you’ll get me a basin of water,” Fay said, “I’ll clean myself up a bit before I go back to the couch.” She nodded toward the remainder of the old towels he hadn’t used. “If you just put those on the back of the couch so they’ll be handy later, when I need them.”

Dan busied himself with gently washing the baby while Fay washed herself. When she finished, he carried her back to the couch and she stretched out with a sigh as he covered her with the quilt. He’d no more than turned away, when the baby began crying.

“She may be hungry,” Fay said.

Damn. He hadn’t even thought of the baby needing nourishment. While there was food enough for him and for Fay, there was nothing for a baby.

“If you’ll bring her to me, I’ll see if she’ll nurse,” Fay said.

Stupid of him not to think of that. He was more rattled by all that had happened than he’d thought.

Fay had bared a breast by the time he carried the baby to her and, fascinated, he watched as the tiny girl found the nipple and began to suck. Then, realizing he was staring, he flushed and turned away, muttering, “Sorry.”

“I don’t mind,” Fay said. “Nursing a child is a natural act, after all, just like childbirth.”

It was certainly true he found nothing sexual about it. He’d felt privileged to have assisted at a miracle.

Turning back he touched the baby’s head lightly with his finger. “She is beautiful,” he said softly.

As he seated himself in the Morris chair, he realized Fay was also beautiful, something he’d been too distracted to notice until this moment. She was unnaturally pale right now; she wore no makeup, and her dark brown hair hung limply around her face. Still, none of that mattered. Beauty wasn’t always a matter of the right clothes, right hairdo or the right makeup.

As for the baby, holding that tiny body had made him understand for the first time his ex-wife’s inner need to have a child. There was something about the warmth and helplessness of a baby that triggered something deep within. Yes, even in him, the man who’d vowed never to bring a child of his own into this dangerous and imperfect world.

Chapter Two

Once the drowsy baby finished nursing, Dan carried her back to the improvised crib. When he turned to Fay, he saw her eyes were closed. Good, she needed to sleep. Since neither of them required his help for the moment, he used this chance to duck out to the garage and start the generator. They needed electricity not only for the lights, but for the well pump, so they could have running water. He’d warm the water in the wood kitchen range for bathing the baby and for Fay.

He got into his winter gear, tied a scarf across his face and headed for the back shed. As he opened the shed door, Fay cried out, “Don’t leave me!”

He turned and saw her sitting up, staring at him.

“I wouldn’t do that.” He realized there was more indignation in his tone than reassurance. Didn’t she know he’d never desert her?

“You’re going out into that storm,” she wailed. “What if you can’t find your way back?”

“Just to the garage to turn on the generator. We need electricity. The garage is close to the back shed. Believe me, I won’t get lost.”

Fay watched him step into the shed and close the door, cutting off her view of him. She sank back down onto the couch, clutching her hands over her now deflated abdomen, feeling more tired than she could ever remember. Daniel Sorenson was her lifeline. Hers and the baby’s.

She took deep breaths, trying to control what she knew was illogical panic. The emotion was strange to her. Cool, competent Fay Merriweather had always been the one others turned to when things went wrong. She’d never realized giving birth would make her feel so vulnerable. But then she’d never expected to have the baby in a wilderness log cabin during the worst storm she’d ever seen.

In a hospital there were doctors and nurses to take care of everything. Here all she had was Dan. If anything happened to him… She blocked that line of thought.

I have to be strong for my daughter, she told herself firmly. I will be strong.—which was easier said than done. But Dan would be back, he’d said so. She glanced toward the wood-box that was being used as her baby’s bed, and she smiled slightly as she made a decision.

She’d planned on the name Marie if she had a girl, but circumstances had changed her mind. Marie would be her daughter’s middle name, not her first. Fay’s eyes drooped shut. Half-asleep, she heard Dan reenter the cabin. She sighed and plunged into oblivion.

The sound of a baby’s wail roused her. For a moment or two, seeing unfamiliar surroundings, she couldn’t place where she was. Whose baby—? Then she heard a man’s voice. She turned her head and saw Dan lifting a baby—her baby—into his arms. She could tell it was daylight through the window, but the roar of the wind let her know the storm was still raging.

“You are one wet little peanut,” he said in a soft, teasing tone she knew was meant for the baby. “Good thing I got the generator going so I can use the washer, ’cause we definitely have a limited supply of dry diapers. Not to mention baby blankets. And only two safety pins.”

She watched as he laid the baby on the table and somewhat awkwardly removed the wet diaper and replaced it with a dry one, then wrapped her in a blanket. He picked her up again and turned toward Fay.

“Good morning,” she said.

“In some ways,” he agreed. “We’re okay, but the storm’s still stuck fast in the Upper Peninsula.” He crossed to her and handed down the baby who’d begun to cry again. “I think she’s saying she’s hungry.”

“You can call her Marie,” Fay told him as she arranged the child at her breast. For a moment, fully occupied with making sure Marie was sucking, then wincing just a little at the cramp nursing brought to her lower abdomen, she wasn’t looking at him. When she did, she saw he’d turned so he wasn’t facing her.

“Are you all right?” he asked.

Thinking he’d noticed her wince, she said, “Yes. Nursing is supposed to help interior healing.”

“That’s good.”

“You don’t have to keep looking away from me while I’m nursing,” she told him.

“I know it’s a normal process,” he said, “but it’s new to me.”

A tiny giggle escaped her. “New to me, too. It’s lucky Marie didn’t need to be taught what to do.”