Her Best Christmas Ever

There was only one conclusion for him to make. “The guy must have been a real jerk.”

She fingered the crocheted edge of the afghan, then looked up at him. “He was mean and jealous whenever he drank. And toward the end, that seemed to be all he ever did.”

Greg had known his share of men like that. And while he thought about quizzing her further, he figured some memories were best left alone.

They made small talk for a while, nothing personal. And as the antique clock on the mantel gonged for the ninth time, Connie yawned.

“You know,” she said, struggling to balance the bulk of her girth as she got to her feet, “I’m winding down faster than that clock. I think I’d better go to bed.”

“All right. Sleep tight.” He watched her go, thinking that she didn’t look the least bit pregnant from behind.

But Connie didn’t get five steps away when she froze in her steps and looked down at the floor, where a puddle of water pooled at her feet.

As her gaze met Greg’s, she seemed to silently ask, “What should I do?”

And he’d be damned if he knew.

Chapter Two

Connie stared down at the floor, as though she could blink her eyes and find that she’d only imagined that her water had broken.

But it had; her legs and slacks were wet with the warm fluid.

Of all days and nights for this to happen. She slid a glance at Greg, saw the shock plastered on his face, matching her own.

Fear gripped her throat. This couldn’t be happening. The backache that had been plaguing her all afternoon sharpened to the point of taking her breath way. Then it spread around her waist, slicing deep into her womb.

Greg was at her side in an instant, his arm slipping around her. “Are you okay?”

“I…I don’t know.” She leaned into him, needing his support until the pain subsided.

Was she experiencing her first contraction?

She must be.

Focus, she told herself, as she quickly tried to sort through the instructions her doctor had given her, as well as the information she’d gleaned from the book she’d read on what to expect during pregnancy and childbirth.

Finally, the pain eased completely, and she slowly straightened. “I’ve got to call Dr. Bramblett. She’ll know what to do.”

“Good idea.” Greg handed her his cell phone.

“And I guess I’d better clean up this mess,” she said.

“I’ll take care of that. You just call the doctor and sit down. If that happens again, you might collapse and hurt something.”

“I…” She nodded at the amniotic fluid on the floor. “Maybe you’d better get me something to sit on. I don’t want to ruin any of your mother’s chairs.”

She could have sworn she heard him swear under his breath as he dashed off to get what she’d requested.

When he left the room, she dialed the doctor’s number from memory. But instead of one of the familiar, friendly voices she expected to hear, a woman who worked for the answering service took the call.

“Dr. Bramblett is out of town,” the woman reported. “But Doc Graham is covering for her.”

That meant the older man would deliver her baby, and in a sense she was almost relieved. Doc Graham might be past retirement age, but he’d gained a tremendous amount of experience during his fifty-year practice.

When Doc’s voice finally sounded over the line, she said, “This is Connie Montoya, and my water just broke.”

“Where are you?” he asked. “Are you at the Rocking C?”

“Yes, I am.” Doc was in Brighton Valley, which was about ten minutes away. And the hospital in Wexler was about thirty miles beyond that. He’d probably tell her to grab her bag and come right away.

Instead, he said, “I’m afraid there’s no way you or anyone else can get in or out of there right now because of the flooding.”

Had she imagined a raw edge to his grandfatherly voice? A tinge of fear?

Her heart dropped to the pit of her stomach, and her voice took on high-pitched tone. “What am I going to do?”

“Don’t worry. Usually, once the rain stops for a while, the county road opens up again.”

She wanted to believe him, but it was a real struggle. She placed a hand on her womb as though she could convince the baby to stay inside and wait for a more convenient time to arrive.

“The weather report says that the rains are supposed to start easing by midnight,” Doc added, “and it won’t take long for the road to open up after that. So you should be okay until then.”

Should be? But what if she wasn’t? What if the baby needed medical intervention? Or what if she did?

“Can an ambulance get through?” Connie asked. “Or maybe you can send a helicopter.” Somehow, she had to get to a hospital.

“I’m afraid not. The ambulance can’t make it any sooner than I can. And the chopper can’t take off right now. But in a couple of hours…”

“Hours?” Connie asked.

“Edna’s an old hand at this,” Doc said. “She’s helped me deliver a few babies over the years. So if worse comes to worst, you’ll be in good hands.”

“But Granny isn’t here.” Connie’s voice had risen a couple of decibels and was bordering on sheer panic.

“Who’s with you?” Doc asked. “You’re not alone, are you?”

Connie slid a glance at Greg, watching as he came into the family room and dropped a towel onto the floor to dry up the fluid.

“No,” she told the doctor. “I’m not alone. Greg’s with me.”

“Good. He’s been raised around cattle and horses. He’ll know what to do if it comes to that.”

What did he mean by “if it comes to that”?

Was he suggesting that a country singer be her midwife? And not just any singer, but the one and only Greg Clayton?

She blew out a sigh. Greg had been raised around cattle and horses, Doc had said. Was that supposed to make Connie feel better?