Wilder Hearts: Once Upon a Pregnancy

Mike had found his true calling when he’d pursued EMT training at the local junior college.

In fact, he loved everything about his job—the adrenaline rush, the satisfaction of saving a life.

Sure, there were times when it was tough, times when he came upon an accident victim too late to be of any help.

He didn’t like having to look into the eyes of a victim’s family and tell them there was nothing left to do but to call the coroner. But he accepted that as part of life, as part of his job.

Tonight, just after eight o’clock, he and Leif were sitting around the television at the station with several other guys when the next call came in, and the men all sprung into action.

Four and a half minutes later, they arrived at the scene of a car accident that had occurred when a seventy-six-year-old woman ran a stop sign at the intersection of Lexington and Pine, broadsiding a vehicle driven by a sixteen-year-old boy.

The teenager in a white Honda Accord had suffered a possible skull fracture, lacerations to the face and a broken collarbone.

The elderly woman had been hurt, too. But Mike suspected she might have had a seizure or ministroke while behind the wheel, which had probably caused the accident. They wouldn’t know for sure until she was examined at the hospital.

Eight minutes after the arrival of the paramedics on the scene, both victims were loaded in the ambulance and en route to Walnut River General.

As Leif and Mike monitored the vitals of the victims, the flashing red lights and siren alerted the other cars on the road to pull over and let the emergency vehicle pass.

Simone was working tonight, and Mike hoped that after the patients were stabilized he’d have a chance to see her, to talk to her.

After passing both the teenager and the woman to the E.R. staff, Mike and Leif stopped by the nurses’ desk to complete the necessary paperwork.

“Hey,” Leif said, nodding toward an open doorway, where Simone stood at the bedside of a young girl who had a gash in her leg. “If you’re both working, who’s looking after the dogs?”

“We decided to leave them alone tonight and hope for the best.” Mike glanced up from the form he’d signed. “I sure hope they don’t disturb her neighbors. They get a little loud and rambunctious sometimes.”

The radio squawked, and Leif responded, alerting dispatch that the medics were available again. When he’d done so, he excused himself. “I’m going to get a soda. Want me to get you one?”

“No, I’m fine.”

As Leif walked away, Mike took the time to study Simone, to watch her interact with a frightened little girl he guessed to be about six or seven years old.

Simone took a disposable glove from a box, blew into the opening to create a balloon, then knotted the end. The fingers stood straight up, resembling either a rooster’s comb or a kid’s Mohawk. Then she took a black pen and drew a pair of eyes above the thumb and a mouth below it.

The result brought forth a smile on the child’s face, providing some relief from her pain and fear.

Why couldn’t Simone see in herself what he saw in her—the compassion, the dedication, the heart of a woman who truly cared?

A woman who would make a great wife and mother.

In the past, Mike had sowed his share of wild oats. But as family holidays came and went, each one growing bigger with another new in-law or the birth of a baby, he’d begun to feel a growing urge to find a mate, settle down and create a home and family of his own.

Simone was a challenge, though.

As she returned to the desk where Mike continued to stand, she tossed a pretty smile his way. “Wags and Woofer must be doing okay. Otherwise, I suspect Mrs. McAllister, the woman who lives next door to me, would have called to complain by now.”

“I knew they’d eventually learn how to get along.” He’d taken that same stance with Simone, hoping that she’d get used to having him around, that she’d let down her guard and quit fighting her feelings for him.

“Did you ever get ahold of your mother?” he asked. “How’s she doing?”

Simone’s movements slowed to a snail’s pace. “I’m afraid I really don’t know. We’ve been playing phone tag.”

“I’m sorry to hear that.”

Simone gave a half shrug. “Actually, that’s par for the course.”

“Because you’re both so busy?” Mike had a brother who worked odd hours and was hard to find at home.

“My mom and I never seem to connect.” She crossed her arms and shifted her weight to one hip.

“Maybe you ought to try and talk to her again this evening,” he suggested, “when you get a break.”

“We’ll see.”

“I guess you’ll want to call her when you can have some privacy.”

Simone scanned the E.R.

Looking to see who was listening? he wondered.

She uncrossed her arms and straightened, distancing herself from the conversation. “I’m probably the last one on earth she really wants to hear from. So I’m going to let her call me if and when she’s ready.”

Mike watched as Simone returned to her young patient, the rubber soles of her shoes squeaking upon the tile. He’d suspected that the person who’d hurt her had been a man. That the wrongs she’d suffered and her subsequent pain might be something he could heal and rectify.

But maybe he’d been wrong.

Chapter Six

Three days later, Mike was still coming by the house to watch the dogs whenever he could, and Simone continued to drop off Wags at the Baxters’ store when she didn’t want to leave the dogs alone.

“I feel like a real parent,” he’d told her earlier as he prepared to leave for his next shift at the station.

She’d imagined him as a father, too—to real children; not the kind with four paws and fur.

“This isn’t the same,” she’d responded, wanting to change the subject to one that wasn’t so…so steeped in truth.

Something warm and tender had simmered in his gaze, something that threatened to not only pull her in, but to drag her through a rush of emotion.

“I can’t help wondering what our kids would look like,” he’d said, “if you and I were to have them.”

The statement had nearly knocked her to the floor, and she’d struggled to recover.

Ever since learning that she was pregnant, she’d been thinking a lot about the baby they’d created and had tried to imagine whether it was a girl or a boy. But she couldn’t allow herself to focus on the child being theirs—or even his. Instead, she’d forced herself to think about the joy the baby would bring to its new parents, a couple who’d been hoping and praying for a child to love.

A couple like Fred and Millie.

“You’ll make a fabulous father,” she’d told him. “But I’m not the maternal type. Trust me on that, okay?”