And Baby Makes Five (6 page)

Cort Wells confused her. He seemed to have his own pain, or memories to fight. Maybe that was why she felt this odd connection with him.

Lilly pushed herself out of the chair. She needed to do her chores for the day and then do some work on the catalog. There was always a fence that needed fixing. But the weather was too bad for that. Tomorrow she’d check the fence down by the creek that connected to Cort’s place. She didn’t want Tiny, her bull, getting over on his property. Cort had enough problems with Samantha trotting over there whenever she pleased. Lilly decided to catch up on her laundry first—anything to get rid of the disturbing internal need she kept feeling to see that smile return to her neighbor’s lips.

L
illy stretched. She was glad she’d decided to remain indoors. She’d plenty to do to fill up her day. Running a small cattle operation needed supplemental income. Lilly had been configuring a cattle sales catalog for a cattle company out of Ranger for the past five years. She scanned the pictures into the computer and made certain all the pertinent information on each animal was correct, then sent it to the printer for her client. It was a good business and it helped her continue living on the ranch by providing the extra income she needed to survive on the land that had been in her family for generations.

It also meant endless hours sitting at her computer staring at the screen long after most people had the good sense to go to bed. But the job had to be done.

Glancing around the house, Lilly sighed. It was quitting time. She wouldn’t get any more done tonight. It had been a long day and was way past time for bed. Her steps were heavy as she padded into the rear entrance hall to lock the door. She paused to rub her throbbing back. Whew, maybe heat would help. Forgetting to lock the door, she decided to grab the heating pad from the pantry.

Her back was throbbing like a jackhammer.

Five hours sitting in front of the computer screen was entirely too much. But she had a deadline and it couldn’t be helped. Commitment was something she took very seriously. And she needed the money. She had a baby coming she needed to support. Alone.

Jeff Turner intruded upon her weary mind. She tried not ever to think about her ex-husband. His lack of commitment to anything, especially her and their baby, always stabbed her with regret. It ripped at her determination to move forward and forget about the things she couldn’t change.

Regret. Lilly forced it from her mind and heart. It wasn’t always an easy task.

There had been a few very hard weeks in a marriage that fell apart as quickly as it had begun. A marriage that hadn’t really been a marriage, but more of a rebellion.

Funny, optimistic Lacy Brown had helped Lilly gain perspective on trying to allow God’s timing and His will to take precedence over her past. Lacy had impressed Lilly with her brute determination to do God’s will. The joy that animated Lacy was contagious, and Lilly was trying to learn to renew her mind by replacing negative thoughts with positive. “For as he thinketh in his heart, so is he.” Lacy had asked her to memorize the verse from Proverbs. She found herself quoting it often.

She’d been raised by a band of grannies who had many takes on how life should be lived. Many of those ideas she was trying to rethink. It wasn’t always easy, but she was determined to be a positive-thinking, active, Christian mother to her child.

Speaking of which, she remembered telling Cort that there had never been a Mr. Tipps. There hadn’t been a Mr. Tipps. She’d been Mrs. Turner before returning to her maiden name, but despite the legalities of the wording, she had misled Cort. She’d have to remedy that. He needed to know that she valued family. She’d just let her mouth get carried away while she was angry—her mouth did that quite often. One of the negative things about being raised by her outspoken grannies was that two of them believed it was okay to say whatever was on their mind.

No matter whom it hurt.

Mind renewing was hard work! But with the Lord’s help Lilly was determined to rid herself of some very odd ideas from a very odd upbringing.

Suddenly realizing she was standing by the icebox lost in thoughts of her past, she focused. Did she need heat for her aching back or something cold? Granny Gab was the one who’d taught her to use a bag of frozen vegetables as an ice pack. Black-eyed peas happened to be her veggie of choice.

Heat. She needed heat tonight.

A noise at the window made Lilly close the icebox and walk over to peer into the darkness. An ice-encrusted Samantha stood staring back at her.

“Samantha!”

The little mischievous dear, whose neck she often wanted to wring, would be ill if this continued. But what was she to do? Cort had been right. She couldn’t keep going out in this weather.

Samantha knew where her stall was. She knew there was fresh feed and dry straw in the barn, as well as plenty of protection from all this sleet.

“Please go to bed. I can’t take a chance leading you over to the barn.” With a heavy heart Lilly grabbed the heating pad from the pantry, turned off the light and trudged down the hallway to her room. There was nothing she could do for Samantha right now. No amount of worrying was going to change that tonight. Her baby came first.

She was pulling the covers over her and about to turn out her lamp and settle down with the heating pad when the electricity blinked and went out.

This was not good.

Worse, Lilly thought, sitting up on the edge of the bed, pain radiated all through her lower spine and down the backs of her legs. She’d definitely worked too long today. After a few moments the lights remained off and a chill started to creep into the room.

Samantha had walked around the house and was now staring at Lilly through the lace of her curtains. Lilly felt truly sorry for the obstinate old girl. The heater was off and a touch of the coldness Samantha was enduring was settling into the house.

Lilly rose. Despite the pain, she knew she needed to start a fire. Loading her comforter into her arms and grabbing her pillow, she headed down the hall into the living room. There was already a significant feeling of ice in the air inside the house. It didn’t take her long to build a roaring fire in the large fireplace.

“Thank you, Lord, for giving me a fireplace.” Pulling the fireplace guard closed, she was turning to crawl onto Granny Shu-Shu’s overstuffed couch when she was engulfed by pain. Red-hot explosions of agony ripped through her back, around to her abdomen and buckled her knees. She caught herself with her hands on the edge of the couch and fought to stand.

This
was not Braxton-Hicks.

There was nothing false about what was happening to her.

It was time.

As Lilly concentrated through the contraction, a groan escaped her clenched lips. She held her abdomen and eased toward the phone in the kitchen. Who would she call? She wasn’t ready. She was supposed to have a month to prepare.

Gasping when the pain hit full force, she made it to the kitchen and grabbed the phone.

This was too soon. Not the way it was supposed to be.

Lilly dialed 911 and put the phone to her sweaty cheek. It took a moment for the silence on the line to register.

She was in labor, in the middle of nowhere, and the phone was dead.

Zip, nada, nothing…dead.

Cort woke with a start in the faint light of the full moon that wrestled through the gray clouds to illuminate his curtainless room. Wind and hail pelted against the panes, jolting him from a comatose state of bad dreams to the tickling sensation of Loser’s mangy paw crammed up his nose.

Snorting and gagging, he slapped at Loser’s stinky toes and instead hit himself in the eye. Yelping in pain, he managed to push the sleeping mutt from his pillow, only to sneeze violently when fuzz and who knew what else fluttered about him. It was a terrible thing for a man to wake up to—the sight of Loser’s ugly mug drooling across his pillow.

Glaring at the loose-lipped grin plastered across Loser’s hairy face, Cort felt real pity for himself. It was a feeling he despised. When a foul smell pervaded the room he bolted from the bed.

“That does it,” he grumbled, pushing at the rank dog. “Off the bed. No more sharing my pillow. No more drool on my covers. No—”

A scraping noise interrupted his ranting. His kitchen door was opening. Cort whirled around and for the first time realized the storm hadn’t wakened him.

Someone was breaking in to his house.

Loser heard the sound, too. He snapped to attention. His propeller-sized ears stood out—as much as ears that size could stand out—and a mighty war cry, such as Cort had never heard, nor wanted to hear again, erupted from his shaggy depths.

Stunned by the unlikely actions of his otherwise lethargic dog, Cort jumped out of the way when, amazingly, the dog came to life. Yowling zealously, Loser zipped from the bed, toenails sliding on the wooden floor, his legs moving in triple time as he skidded out and around the door with a roar of wild fervor.

Cort’s head was swimming, his adrenaline pumping. He’d managed to make it to the door when Loser howled like a cat caught in a fan and streaked back into the room, colliding with Cort’s feet and sending both of them flying.

The next thing Cort knew, he’d landed with a thud, flat on his back with Loser’s worst half draped over his face, and a rear paw rammed in each of his ears.

It was closer than Cort ever wanted to be to a dog again.

Spitting hair, he shoved the trembling mop of fur off his face.

“Loser! Dog! What’s come over you?” Heavy clopping on his hardwood floors drew his attention and, looking up, he nearly screamed himself.

Samantha—or he thought it was Samantha—stood in the doorway. Her whiskered face was shrouded with fine powdered ice. Icicles hung from her ears like sparkling earrings.

It was the strangest sight he’d ever seen. Cort thought for a moment that the hairy beast was even carrying a purse!

Samantha the donkey in earrings and a purse. It was as close to a nightmare as Cort had come in a long time.

That was until she snorted, sending a spray of melting ice all over him. “Awh—now! Why’d you go and do that?” he groaned, wiping his face, and glared at the beast—and the lady’s purse hanging from her neck.

Lilly couldn’t believe she’d hung her purse around Samantha’s neck, couldn’t believe she hoped the burro would take the note stuffed inside the purse to Cort. She couldn’t believe her contractions were real. But they were, and her only hope of help was a whiskered little sweetheart with an impossible mission.

It was all true.

God sure had a sense of humor.

Thank goodness Samantha had been hanging around the house. The little darling had practically knocked the door down to help Lilly. The inspiration about the purse had just come to her as she was standing in the doorway, knowing there was no way, with the pain she was in, that she could get to her truck and drive to the hospital. The purse hanging on the coatrack had been a blessing.

After she’d accomplished sending Samantha for help, Lilly had managed to make it back to the living room. She’d pulled her quilt off the couch and spread it on the floor in front of the fire. Her contractions had eased for a while, then started back hard, grabbing her with the force of a sledgehammer. After each subsided she lay there, as she was now, exhausted and panting, delirious with worry.

Poor baby! This would be the most unfortunate child on God’s green earth!

What child would want a mother who hadn’t the sense to prepare for emergencies? A mother forced to resort to slinging her purse over a donkey’s neck and sending her to find help?

At least Samantha was smarter than Lilly, and hopefully she’d made it to Cort’s. Hopefully he was on his way this very minute. Hopefully, she thought as another contraction slammed into her, she’d make it through this.

Gripping the blanket, she tried desperately to relax, to focus on a spot on the wall as the Lamaze books taught. With her eyes clamped shut she couldn’t even see the blooming wall!

How was she supposed to hang on and have this poor child when she couldn’t complete the first steps?

How was she supposed to have this baby alone?

Her life was a shambles, and did God care?

Hardly!

Panicking wasn’t Lilly’s style. She’d never been a crybaby, but with each pain building, intensifying, she couldn’t help herself. She wished for something, someone, anyone to lash out at, to latch onto. She wished she could get her hands around the neck of the jerk who’d said natural childbirth was the way to go!

Transition.

The contraction eased, the worst wave subsided. She felt a bit of relief knowing the anger mingling with her fear had a name. Transition. She’d heard about it, seen comical movies where, because of it, the nice mother-to-be turned into an evil witch making the moviegoers laugh when the recipients of her wrath were thrown into hilarious upheaval.

But this wasn’t funny.

As Lilly lay on the blanket before the slowly dwindling fire, things about her life started coming into focus—sharper, clearer.

She wished someone was there to calm her fear. To share the change the pain caused in her. Someone to stand by and hold the hand she didn’t feel like giving, to mop the brow she didn’t feel like having mopped. Someone beside her to love her through the good and the bad. To share the pride when all was done and they held the prize.

Lilly had no one.

No flesh and bone, no one to fill this want that had always been there inside her heart.

She was so tired. Exhaustion claimed her and she closed her eyes as the contraction ended. Her mind was too numb to feel any fear, any anger. She could only acknowledge her situation with a dull sense of wonder. Had the grannies passed through this same valley of doubt? Had they ever wished for things to be different, for someone to stand by them?