size of a field mouse.
Mick duly noted her need to be in control of her situation. He also noted how pale her skin was against her dark lashes. Gently, he adjusted his grip on her, trying to make her more comfortable, as she struggled to rise.
“Shh. Be still. You can walk later,” he suggested. “After the doctors say it’s all right.”
And right then, her body quivered and tightened and he could tell the roll of pain was gathering speed and depth. Her teeth clicked together as she held on to the scream he was sure she needed to give vent to.
“Hold on,” he said gruffly, trying not to jostle her and hurt her any more than she already was. “I’ll get a doctor. Don’t move.” Carefully he helped her to settle back against one of the pillars of the clinic’s entrance, then dashed off to find help.
The doors of the clinic slid back with an electric swish, and Mick strode into the waiting room, taking in his surroundings. There was no doctor, only a young receptionist in serious conversation with Megan Maitland, CEO of Maitland Maternity and matriarch of the Maitland clan, one of the first people he’d learned to recognize when he arrived in Austin a week ago. The tension in his shoulders relaxed ever so slightly. Megan probably knew a lot about women on the verge of giving birth.
“Ms. Maitland, please. There’s a woman outside who needs you,” he said, and to his relief, Megan only looked startled for a second before she nodded and rushed out the door in front of him.
Mick followed close behind her, but his heart nearly stopped beating when he saw his pregnant beauty standing on unsteady legs and trying to move toward the building. Her face was pale, her eyes stricken. She slipped, and Megan rushed forward, catching her as they both nearly went down. The older woman gave the younger one her strength.
The pregnant woman shuddered and spoke, her words coming out in a garbled whisper. She closed her eyes and once again struggled to rise.
This wouldn’t do. To hell with what the doctor’s would advise—or anything else. Mick stepped in and scooped this fragile, valiant woman into his arms, holding her close.
He glanced down at her. “You all right?”
She opened her eyes and nodded tightly, then took a gasping breath of air as she looked toward Megan.
“Now, blow it out,” he directed, when it seemed as if the air had gotten trapped in her lungs.
She did, then took another breath and let it out, then another. She stole another quick glance toward the woman who was a legend in the baby birthing business.
“Okay. I’m—I’m…better now,” the soft bundle of woman he was holding managed to say, and his attention was drawn to those green eyes that were now gazing straight into his own. “I—thank you for being here, and for helping me, but—I think I’ve finally pulled myself together now.” Her glance took in both Mick and Megan. “I’m sorry that I acted so—so—”
“Pregnant?” he guessed with a hint of a smile.
She tried to smile back, but it was obvious that she was very weak. How in the world had she even managed to get here? “Pregnant,” she agreed. “And stupid in not realizing my back pains were real contractions. But—I’m sure I’m fine now. You can put me down. Now that I’ve caught my breath I can walk,” she said. She pushed against his chest with those delicate, fluttery hands of hers. A fruit fly would have made more of an impact. Her breath still sounded a bit labored, and he made no move to follow her instructions.
He also noticed that she wasn’t wearing a ring. So? Maybe she didn’t have a husband…or maybe, well, there were plenty of pitiful excuses for husbands around. His father and stepfather had been cut from that very cloth, but with that thought, his beauty’s baby chose that moment to move into action again. Mick felt the quick catch in her breath. Tension climbed his body as he clutched the woman close.
“Let’s get her inside,” Megan said. A chill trickle of fear ran sprints up and down his spine. “We’ll get her into a wheelchair and into the delivery room.”
But the lady in his arms clutched tighter as the pain climbed and Megan shook her head.
“All right, never mind the wheelchair—or protocol. Come with me. I’ve had three babies of my own and I’m definitely of the opinion that when a woman is in labor, she deserves to be given whatever she needs. Right now, Mr. Hannon, this woman appears to need you.”
For half a second, Mick wondered how the woman knew his name. But then, he’d heard she made a point of learning the names of those who worked for her. With the recent acts of vandalism at the clinic, she’d want to be able to identify the temporary employees. That wasn’t good. The less the Maitlands knew of him the better. He should really leave now that he’d gotten his silken-haired beauty some help.
He opened his mouth to suggest that he needed to get back to work, but then the woman in his arms closed her eyes. Her delicate jaw tensed. And the gates of reason swung shut with a muffled click. He reluctantly nodded his agreement to Megan. He would stay here a few minutes longer.
Briskly Megan led the way into the clinic, past the cool pastel reception area and down a corridor into a birthing room decorated in pale blue and white with honey-toned wood accents. It looked more homey than the hotel room Mick was staying in right now.
Gently, he deposited the lady in his arms in a cushioned rocker, but she was apparently beyond noticing her surroundings. Indeed, she had curved those slender hands around his fingers and was holding on for dear life as if only he could save her. She looked up at him with deep distress in her eyes and, automatically, he dropped to his knees, his jeans sinking into the plush carpet. He kept his eyes on hers and let her try to crush his big hands with her small ones.
“It’s all right,” he said. “Hold on to me.”
“You’re going to do just fine,” Megan said. “Mick and I are going to make sure of that.”
For half a second Mick’s concentration broke. Belatedly, he remembered what he’d known for years. He was no woman’s champion, and he had excellent reasons to steer clear of tempting women who were nesting. Still, right now his reservations, his hard-and-fast rules for living his life would have to be set aside. He turned his attention back to his damsel in distress.
“You’ll be fine, sunshine,” he whispered reassuringly. “And so will baby sunshine.”
His lady gave a quick, chopping nod of her head, then simply stared back at him fiercely as if he possessed some secret he knew he didn’t have. She held herself almost motionless, only her never-let-go grip on his fingers revealing the battle being fought within her body.
She’s too still, Mick thought. As if she weren’t even alive. “Ms. Maitland?” he asked.
“Breathe,” Megan directed the woman. “Like this.” And soon Mick was breathing along with her, his pregnant beauty watching his every move and taking her cues from him.
When the contraction finally passed, she looked down at her hands, at her onion-white knuckles and her choking grip on his fingers. Carefully she opened her hands and released him.
“Sorry,” she whispered weakly. “Thank you.” Her voice was small, some might say prim.
“Don’t mention it.” He softened
