When Baby Was Born. Jodi O'Donnell
but it seemed too glaring for this intimate a setting.
“So what would you like me to call you?” he asked abruptly.
She opened her eyes. “Call me?”
“I mean, if we’re goin’ through this together, I’m gonna need to call you something. Like, y’know—Sara.”
“If that’s my name.” She didn’t quite seem to have bought in to it yet, as he had. “What do you say when you’re helping a cow to birth her baby?” she asked.
Cade shrugged. “Well, I’ll say ‘C’mon, girl.’ Or else ‘You’re almost there, darlin’.”’
“You call your cows darling?”
He felt his jaw jut mulishly. His gaze stayed glued to the hands of his watch. “If that’s what seems to help her, then yes.”
She said nothing for a few moments. Finally, she spoke up, “Well. I guess, then, that you—” A gasp broke off her next words. Her hand shot out to clasp his.
He held on to it as tightly as the contraction ran its course. “Breathe as slow as you can,” Cade coached her.
He noticed her biting down on her lip hindered her respiration.
“If you wanna holler, holler,” he said, exaggerating his twang. “Cuss and swear as the urge takes you, too. There’s no one to hear but me, and nothin’ you say’s going to shock this old cowboy, believe me.”
Her brow furrowed with effort, and putting about as much wind behind it as she would to blow soap bubbles, she said “Damn,” making Cade laugh out loud.
It seemed to ease the tension in them both. After what seemed an eternity, she gave one final, cleansing exhalation, her face now gone pale and wan.
“You made it through that one just fine,” he said quietly, now finding it hard not to call her Sara. He smoothed a washcloth across her forehead, brushing curling wisps of hair away from her face. Her time was definitely drawing near. He was loath to leave her again but he needed to prepare for the birth. He’d see her through the next one, then go get things in order.
“Maybe…” Cade reflected aloud “…maybe that’s how we should go at this whole delivery thing—get through one contraction at a time and try not to worry too much about what’ll come after till it comes. Let go of what’s past, let what’s to be, be. And put all our efforts in the here and now.”
“Th-that sounds good to me,” she whispered, eyes closed. It was probably pretty apparent to her, however, that such a strategy was more to ease his mind than hers.
Although she was the one giving birth…she was the one who had come out of the storm, without the anchor of a past or the prospect of a future—except for the pure, blind faith that a man named Cade McGivern would be able to make things right with her world.
And truth be told, that was what scared the life out of him.
“Darlin’,” she said.
Cade started. “Beg pardon?”
“You can call me…darlin’.” She said it how he had, drawled and dropping the G. “If that comes more naturally to you. You know, because of your mama cows.”
She swallowed, eyes still closed, and put her hand over his as it rested on her shoulder.
Outside, the storm raged on, fierce and ferocious as a bull tearing full bore through a pasture. Inside, the air in the room hung heavy with both possibilities and portent. Yet a slow warmth stole through Cade. For sure, they were both all the other had right now.
Amazing, how quickly a life could change and get caught up in another’s.
“Sounds good to me,” he said.
Chapter Two
“Talk to me,” Sara pleaded.
She saw Cade’s Adam’s apple bob. He didn’t answer.
The labor wasn’t going well. Even knowing nothing of her past, she knew this. She’d hit a period of strong, close contractions, but now they’d been in a pushing phase for the past hour. She’d sweated through the shirt and the sheets as she shifted from one uncomfortable position to another, seeking relief and never seeming to find it.
But keeping, just barely, the fear at bay.
Finally, she’d settled for sitting propped up by a load of pillows, knees drawn up. Cade, trying to be helpful, had suggested she come forward on her knees, or maybe squat and let gravity do more of the work, and she’d nearly bit his head off.
For which she was immediately and profoundly sorry. Even now, half an hour later, remembering the moment made her throat constrict with unshed tears. For some reason, she found it vital she keep them in check. Keep her temper in check. Keep the fear in check.
The problem was, she didn’t know how much longer she’d be able to do all three and give birth to this baby—this baby she had no memory of conceiving or carrying, whose father she had no memory of. No memory of her own identity as its mother.
The realization struck her anew. It seemed a failure, an abandonment of her child and where it had come from.
A failure if she was to be unable to see it safely born.
She couldn’t think about that. If she did, she’d lose more than her memory. She’d lose her mind.
At least she had Cade. Through a fog of pain and confusion, he was the only sure thing in her world, even more than this unborn child was. Even more than the thin gold band on the chain around her neck.
She’d noticed it when she changed clothes. Still on its slender chain, she’d slipped it onto her left ring finger. It had fit perfectly.
The fact that it had infused her with caution, and she’d decided to keep it hidden for now. She had sensed that Cade wanted nothing less than to be trapped here in this situation she’d literally thrust upon him. The thought that he wouldn’t want to be, or that the instinct that had brought her to him might have been wrong, gave rise to that clawing fear in her again. But she couldn’t do this alone! She couldn’t lose this baby. She’d do anything, anything not to.
“Cade,” Sara said, bringing his gaze back from brooding out the darkened window. He had brown eyes, the color of whiskey, liquid and golden. Just looking into them, she found herself calmed. Reassured, as if she feared she’d forget him, too, should she lose for too long the connection between them. It was still so tenuous. “Please. Talk to me.”
His features gentled and, for the hundredth time, he brushed her hair from her temple, sticky with perspiration. He’d taken the liberty of divesting himself of his flannel shirt, and still the sweat beaded on his chest, dampened his thick auburn hair. He was worried for her.
“About what?” he asked.
“I don’t care.” She shifted, vainly trying to relieve the pressure on her back. “The sound of your voice…helps me keep my mind off of…things. Tell me about yourself.”
Obviously uncomfortable with the subject, he nevertheless cleared his throat. “Well, uh, I’m a rancher, as you’ve already confirmed. Been doin’ it so long I don’t guess I could do much else. Not that there’s much else I fancy doin’,” he added hastily.
Even from the edge of total fatigue, Sara caught his uneasiness. “Who’s this…Virgil you mentioned?” she asked.
Relief eased across his brow at the change of subject. “Virg is my ranch hand. Been around here forever, since when my granddaddy ran the operation.”
Again, he offered no further comment. The connection between them waned.
Mustering her energy, Sara persisted. “Your grandfather—and your parents. Are they still around, too?”
“’Fraid