‘Come on, Maeve. You’re nearly there, babe.’ He saw her glance at the clock and register it was a few minutes after midnight. She’d got what she wanted, and she looked at him.
Triumph, thankfulness and new determination, and he realised it would never be the same between them again. But that was okay. He could admit she was stronger than him. In some ways, anyway. Maeve turned to face him. ‘I want to sit back on the bed against the pillows.’
So he lifted her and put her back on the pillows. ‘Love that,’ she panted, and even in that moment their eyes met and she tempted him. Then she relaxed back against the pillows, hugging her knees, and gave one long outward sigh. And suddenly the crown appeared then a head of black hair, stretched into a face, one shoulder and then the other.
‘Want to take it from here, Rayne?’ Tara murmured, and he got it instantly. He stepped in and put his hands under his baby’s armpits and, gently eased with the pressure Maeve was exerting, his baby entered the world with his own hands around him in a rush of belly, thighs, long legs and feet and a tangle of cord and water—and suddenly in a huge internal shift and crack through the wall of years of keeping emotion at bay, tears were streaming down his face.
Maeve was staring down with surprise and he lifted the squirming buddle of …? He glanced between the legs, grinned. ‘It’s a boy!’ His eyes met hers and for that moment, when she looked at the baby, and then him and then the baby again, he didn’t see how anything could ever stand between them.
His son cried. Loudly and lustily, and Maeve gathered him and snuggled him up against her breasts, and the baby’s cries quieted instantly.
Boob man. Chip off the old block. He experienced such a swell of emotion his heart felt like it was going to burst.
In shock he saw the second midwife—where had she come from?—lean in to dry the little legs and arms and belly and rub the damp hair before she stepped back and replaced the damp towel with a warm bunny rug over them both until the baby was in a Maeve skin and bunny-rug sandwich.
Tara delivered the placenta and then a big warm hospital blanket covered Maeve’s legs and belly and arms until finally her baby was tucked snugly with just his downy cheek against his mother, turned sideways toward Rayne, with big dark eyes and little squashed nose, and deep pink rosebud lips and a gorgeous mouth like Maeve’s. And it was done.
His chest felt tight. ‘Hello, there, buddy,’ Rayne said softly.
He glanced at the clock. Ten past twelve. Boxing Day baby. Eighteen hours after arriving in Lyrebird Lake here he was—a father. New responsibility swamped him.
Emergency
MAEVE LAY THERE with the weight of her son on her chest, feeling the little wriggles on the outside of her body instead of the inside as he shifted. Could smell the unmistakable scent of new babies, and blood, and almost taste the relief in the room.
Why were they all worried? She had this. She looked at Rayne, who was sinking into the chair beside the bed that Tara had pulled up for him, unnaturally pale. His hand was halfway to the baby and hung suspended in the air as if he didn’t know whether to touch or not.
‘He’s your son,’ she whispered. Wishing he would kiss her. As if he’d heard her, he half stood and leaned across and kissed her lips. His hand drifted down and he touched the downy cheek of their child.
‘Thank you. He’s amazing. You were incredible.’ He blinked a couple of times. ‘Are you okay?’
‘Buzzing,’ she said, and grinned at him, and he shook his head and sank back in the chair. Looked like Rayne had aged ten years, she thought to herself. Still, the years sat well on him.
She glanced at Tara, who was taking her blood pressure. Waited until she was finished and then caught her hand. ‘Thanks, Tara.’
Tara smiled mistily. ‘I’m going to hold you to that promise.’
‘Why? Because you know you’ll be much quieter than me?’
Tara laughed. ‘You always will be more outspoken than I am. You tell it like it is. Fabulous birth. I loved it.’
She glanced back at Rayne, who was looking at them both as if they were mad.
Tara said, ‘Can Simon and Angus come in now? Then everyone will go away so you three can get to know each other.’
Maeve looked at Rayne, who left it up to her, so Simon and Angus came in.
After congratulations Tara took Angus aside, and Maeve could distantly hear that they were discussing the labour and birth, the blood loss, which had been a little more than usual but had settled now, and she saw Simon pump Rayne’s hand.
‘You look ten years younger, Simon.’ Maeve teased him, as he leaned in to kiss her.
‘I gave them to Rayne. You, sister, dear, are a worry that thankfully is not mine any more.’ He slapped Rayne on the back. ‘Welcome to parenthood, Rayne. It’s never going to be the same again.’
Rayne still looked in shock. For a tough guy that was pretty funny. ‘I get that premonition.’
‘You look pale,’ Simon said.
‘I feel pale.’ Rayne glanced across at the new baby, a baby with his own huge dark eyes and maybe it was his mouth.
Maeve remembered a new mother telling her once that when her baby had been first born she could see all the familial likenesses but after a couple of hours she’d only been able to see her baby as whole. Maeve tried to imprint the separate features before that happened. She could see his father’s stamp as plainly as if there was a big arrow pointing to it. The brows and nose were from her side.
Rayne shook his head and smiled at her and she soaked up like a hungry sponge the amazed awe he was exuding in bucketloads. She must look a mess but for once she didn’t care.
Maeve relaxed back in the bed, letting the euphoria wash over her. She’d always loved watching the way new mums seemed to have this sudden surge of energy, and now she was feeling it herself. She did feel that if she needed to, she could pick up her baby and run and save them both. Probably needed a few more clothes on for that, though, or she’d be scaring people.
She’d discarded the sarong hours ago. Clothes had seemed too much of an annoying distraction in the maelstrom of labour. Her baby wriggled and began to suck his fingers on her chest. His head lay between her breasts with his cheek over her heart, and she smiled mistily down at him. Next he would dribble on his fingers then he would start to poke and rub her with his wet hands as his instincts began to take over.
Yep, he was doing that now, she was careful not to distract him as his little head lifted and he glanced around.
Simon and Angus left and she barely noticed as she saw her baby look and sniff for the dark areolas and the nipple he would find a way to arrive at.
‘Watch him,’ she whispered to Rayne, who leaned closer. ‘He’ll bob his head and wriggle and find his own way to where he needs to go.’
The
