He’d been confident that his job was to keep Jess comfortable until the Flying Doctor or the ambulance arrived—assuming that at least one of them could make it in this weather.
The poor girl.
Reece remembered her husband slumped over the steering wheel. If ever Jess Cassidy had needed her husband’s support it was now.
‘How can I stop this?’ she moaned.
You can’t, he wanted to tell her, and he wished he weren’t so clueless. He’d only delivered calves—mostly with a rope tied around the calf’s hoof and his boot planted squarely on the mother’s hindquarter to gain leverage. That sure as hell wasn’t going to work here.
‘Maybe, if you lie down there’ll be less pressure,’ he suggested.
‘That makes sense. I’ll try anything.’
In this light, she looked little more than a girl, with her slender, pale limbs and long, dark hair hanging in limp, damp strands. Her thickly lashed eyes were green or grey—he couldn’t be sure of their exact colour—and her nose was fine and slim, in contrast with the pink roundness of her soft mouth. In her wet, bedraggled clothes, she looked frail and helpless.
A wayside waif. In desperate need of his help.
He’d never felt more inadequate.
‘You’ll have to get out of these wet clothes,’ he suggested.
This time Jess seemed ready to submit to his assistance and Reece held his breath as he helped her out of her shirt. It wasn’t the first time he’d undressed a woman, although most of the women in his experience were very adept at slipping out of their gear.
This time was so very different, and he had to perform the delicate task with the dispassionate detachment of a medical practitioner.
Not so easy when Jess’s skin was moon pale and smooth as sifted flour and when her body was lush and ripe with the fullness of her pregnancy. She was lovely. Earthy. Madonna-like. With an unexpected fragile beauty that could catch a man totally unprepared.
He was aware of her distress, however, and he worked quickly as, between them, they eased her maternity slacks down. He rubbed her back and legs dry with a fresh towel while she took care of her front. Then he squeezed moisture from her hair and rubbed at it with the towel.
Her bra was wet too, and he undid it gently, conscious that her full, round breasts might be tender.
When he helped her into his shirt, it came down almost to her knees and he had to roll the sleeves back several times to free her wrists. She kept her eyes downcast, no doubt embarrassed.
‘Let’s get you comfortable,’ he said, helping her onto the bed.
His bed.
According to his mother, whom he hadn’t seen in a decade, he’d been born in this room, although his younger brother, Tony, had been delivered in a hospital in Cairns, many hours’ drive away.
Now, Jess lay on her side, an expression of fixed concentration on her face, her hand gently massaging her tense abdomen.
‘I’m going to ring the Flying Doctor,’ he said.
If they couldn’t land in this rain, they could at least give him medical advice. He’d take all the advice he could get. This was his worst fear—a dependent woman on his isolated property, with no help for miles. His mother had been right. This was no place for women.
‘Can I get you something from the kitchen, Jess? Would you like water?’
She gave a faint nod. ‘Maybe a sip.’
He went quickly to the kitchen where he found his father cursing as he fiddled with the knobs on the radio.
‘Can’t get this damn thing to work.’
Reece sighed. ‘Did you find the medical chest?’
His dad looked churlish. ‘Forgot.’
‘Can you get it now?’ Reece gave another despairing sigh. This was a new problem that had arrived just lately—these signs that his father’s short-term memory was deteriorating, along with his temper. But tonight he didn’t have time to worry about it. ‘I’m going to make some calls.’
His dad’s face broke into a rare grin. ‘At least I remembered to put the kettle on. You’ll need boiling water, won’t you?’
When Reece came back into the room with a medical chest, extra towels and a glass of water, Jess was fighting another urge to push, blowing frantically as she’d been taught in antenatal classes.
She heard the clink of the glass as Reece set it down on a bedside table.
‘How are you doing?’ he asked as the contraction finally loosened its grip.
‘Awful,’ she grunted. ‘I’ll tell you one thing. I’m never, ever having sex again.’
She saw him swallow a smile and she sent him a hefty scowl. It was all very well for guys. They got it easy—a night of fun and, nine months later, someone else endured giving birth to their child.
Perhaps it was just as well Alan wasn’t here right now. She’d have given him a piece of her mind.
Oh, dear Lord, the poor man. Jess was instantly ashamed. How could she be angry with her husband when he might be seriously hurt, or even—?
No, she wouldn’t allow herself to think the worst, but tears stung her eyes. Tears for Alan. Tears of self-pity.
Hoping Reece hadn’t noticed them, she dashed at her face with the sleeve of the shirt he’d given her.
‘Would you like your drink?’
She shook her head. She was past needing a drink. What she needed now was a miracle. She needed to be magically whisked away from this isolated, outback homestead. She knew Reece was doing his best and she was grateful. Truly. But how could a lonely bachelor cattleman deliver her baby? She wanted to be safely in Cairns with a midwife and a ward full of nurses … doctors on standby …
‘Did you get through to the Flying Doctor?’
‘Yes.’
‘Is he on his way?’
Sympathy shone in Reece’s dark eyes. ‘With all this rain, they can’t risk trying to land on our boggy airstrip.’
A surge of hot panic ripped through her now. ‘What does that mean? I’ll have to wait for an ambulance?’
He dropped his gaze and looked uncomfortable.
‘Tell me there’s an ambulance on its way,’ Jess pleaded.
‘Yes,’ he said at last. ‘A policeman is coming from Gidgee Springs and the ambulance from Dirranbilla.’
She sensed there was more bad news. ‘But … what are
