Montana Midwife. Cassie Miles
Choose a spot that’s out of the wind.”
“Why?”
“You might as well get comfortable. It’s going to take a while for the authorities to get here.”
Definitely an understatement. When Aiden had put through calls to the tribal police, the BIA and the sheriff, she’d heard the growing frustration in his voice. Everybody promised to respond just as soon as they could, which meant they had other business to clean off their plates.
Though Tab thought that murder should take precedence, she was accustomed to bureaucracy. There was nothing to do but wait. She dug through her saddlebag, ignoring the medical equipment, and found a square plastic container packed with more practical supplies.
“All this waiting around sucks,” Misty said. She turned her gaze toward the clearing where the body lay covered by a tarp. “But I won’t leave. I owe it to David to talk to the sheriff. I’m the only witness.”
And the most obvious suspect. In spite of the giggles and the frequent flipping of her blond hair, Misty wasn’t a fool. The girl had to realize how implausible her story about the vanishing gunman sounded. She had to know that she could be charged with murder.
Tab followed her to a spot beside a low flat rock and helped her lay the blanket over the dried prairie grass. “Tell me about David.”
“We only went out on one date. There wasn’t any kissing or anything.” Misty gave her a conspiratorial grin. “Can I tell you a secret? You have to promise not to let Aiden know.”
As Tab felt herself being drawn more deeply into the situation, her defenses rose. The smart move would be to back off. She was a midwife, not a policewoman. A murder investigation wasn’t her problem. But her heart wouldn’t let her abandon Misty. “Does your secret have anything to do with David Welling’s death?”
“No way,” Misty said.
“Then I won’t tell anybody else. I promise. Wild horses won’t drag it out of me.”
“In sophomore year at Henley High, me and Lisa and Heather made a bet. Whoever was the first to date every guy in the junior and senior class was the winner.”
“Why juniors and seniors? You were sophomores.”
“The boys our age were dorks, and most of them didn’t have their driver’s licenses. That’s why we went for the older guys. Our bet wasn’t as wild as it sounds. There were only seventy-six guys total in both classes.”
Their bet sounded like a sure way to get into trouble. Tab imagined these three little heartbreakers sowing havoc at Henley High. “What counted as a date?”
“The guy had to invite you. It could be a study date or a ski trip or going to a party. Or they had to buy you something, like if you went out in a group and they paid for your burger.”
“What happened with you and David?”
“He was fixing a flat tire for me at his uncle’s gas station—”
“Wait a minute. How old were you?”
“Not old enough to have my license, if that’s what you’re getting at.”
“You stole the car?”
“Borrowed it from Aiden. He was too busy running the ranch and learning how to pilot his chopper to be worried about me.” She rolled her eyes. “Geez, Tab. I started driving around on the ranch as soon as I was big enough to see over the steering wheel. You know how it is.”
“I do.” Tab had attended high school in Billings—a city where regulations were enforced. Though Henley was less than fifty miles away, she knew that different rules applied. “So, you and David were at the gas station. Then what?”
“We got to talking. I barely knew him. He was really shy and quiet, didn’t play football or basketball. But he had a real cute smile.”
“And you started flirting.”
“He bought me an orange soda.” She giggled. “He asked me out, too. But I turned him down.”
“Why?”
“When he bought the soda, I could cross him off my list. And he was nice, you know. I didn’t want to lead him on.”
Tab was glad to hear that Misty had a conscience, after all. “Who won the bet?”
“Nobody. We all found boyfriends, and we didn’t want to be with anybody else. It’s funny, you know. I probably never would have gone out with Clinton if it hadn’t been for that bet. And now, he’s my baby’s daddy.”
“And you’re happy about that?”
“You bet I am.” Misty positioned herself on the blanket with her legs tucked under. With her pregnant belly, she looked like a blond Buddha. “This is a nice, thick blanket. Why did you bring it along?”
“When you first called and said you were in labor, I thought I might be delivering your baby out here.”
“Oh. My. God. That is so totally not sanitary.”
Tab didn’t bother with a long, thoughtful explanation about how childbirth was a natural process not an illness that required hospitalization. Midwifery was her lifework, and she didn’t feel a need to justify her profession. Some people got it. Others didn’t.
“My ancestors have been having babies without hospitals for a very long time. So have yours.”
“I guess you’re right. The Gabriels have been ranching in this area since the early 1900s. I don’t guess there were many hospitals back then.”
An accurate assumption, but Tab was fairly certain that Misty’s great-grandmother had the best care that money could buy. The Gabriels had a history of wealth and power that held true to the present day. Their cattle ranch provided employment for many people in the area. The family reputation might work in Misty’s favor when it came to murder charges, but Tab suspected that there were those who resented the Gabriel clan and would take perverse pleasure in seeing Misty behind bars.
“I want to talk to you about stress,” Tab said.
“Okay.”
“When you’re pregnant,” Tab said, “it’s not good for you to be under a lot of stress. That means it’s not good for your baby, either.”
“What can I do? Is there some kind of herb I can take?”
Many natural remedies were used to encourage labor, but Misty wasn’t at that point. “You’re already taking prenatal vitamins, right? And probably extra iron.”
Misty bobbed her head. “And I’m drinking herbal teas, mostly chamomile. I like doing organic stuff. I made Clinton take a class on natural childbirth that they were teaching at the hospital in Henley.”
“Good for you.” Tab squatted at the edge of the blanket and opened the plastic container she’d brought from her saddlebags. “Those breathing techniques are also useful for dealing with stress. Concentrate on inhaling and exhaling. Do you ever meditate?”
“You mean like yoga? Nope, that’s not my thing.”
“What helps you slow down and relax?” Tab assumed from Misty’s confused expression that slowing down wasn’t part of her agenda. “How about music? Do you listen to music?”
“All the time.” She dug into her jacket pocket and pulled out a tiny player attached to ear buds. “Mostly country and western. Is that unstressful?”
“Better than heavy metal,” Tab said. “When you feel yourself getting tight inside, just plug in your music, close your eyes and tune out all the other distractions.”
From the plastic container, she unpacked a simple picnic of crackers, cheese, jerky, an apple and a six-pack of bottled water. Misty pounced on the jerky. “You’re a mind reader, Tab. I was