of his promise, he avoided her question by asking one of his own. “How are you doing?”
“Okay, I guess.” Tears filled her eyes and she shook her head. “I’m scared, Mack. More scared than I’ve ever been in my life.”
He chafed her hand between his. “Everything’s going to be all right.” He tipped his head toward the row of equipment and teased her with a smile. “Hell, there’s enough technology in this room to send a man to the moon and back. Getting a baby here safely ought to be a snap.”
She glanced toward the machines and winced. “It does seem a bit much, doesn’t it?”
“What I want to know is, do all patients get this kind of preferential treatment or is it reserved for hospital employees?”
She laughed softly. “Since I’ve never been a patient, I wouldn’t know.”
She opened her mouth to say something more, then slammed her eyes shut and emitted a low groan.
He tightened his fingers around hers. “Another pain?”
Her teeth gritted, she nodded.
He racked his brain, trying to remember the techniques he’d learned in the Lamaze classes he’d attended with his wife. “Look at me,” he ordered.
She opened her eyes and fixed them on his.
“Breathe slowly,” he instructed. “Work with the pain, not against it.”
He kept his gaze on hers while she hauled in a deep breath, released it, drew in another. Unconsciously he matched his breathing to hers, while he waited for the pain to pass. After what seemed like hours, her grip on his hand slowly relaxed and she released a long shuddery breath.
“Better?” he asked.
She wet her lips, nodded. “They’re coming faster now. Harder.”
He gave her hand a reassuring squeeze. “You’re doing just fine. A couple more like that one, and I’ll bet that baby will be here in no time.”
“I’m going to hold you to—”
Her eyes went wide, her body rigid.
Without thinking, he laid a hand on her stomach and felt the tautness beneath his palm and knew she was already having another contraction. “Relax,” he soothed, and began stroking his palm over her stomach.
Eyes wild, she fought him, struggling to escape his hold on her, as well as the pain.
He clamped down hard on her hand, refusing to let go. “Look at me, Addy,” he ordered sternly. “Focus. We can do this.”
She shook her head wildly. “Maybe you can, but I can’t. It hurts!”
“It won’t last forever.” He increased the pressure on her hand. “Come on, Addy. Look at me. Focus.”
She opened her eyes and bared her teeth. “I hate you,” she snarled. “You’re mean and hateful and I wish you’d get the hell out of here and leave me alone.”
Mack ignored her, knowing it was the pain talking. His wife had hurled similar accusations at him—and worse—while giving birth.
“Hate me all you want,” he told her, “but I’m staying. We’re going to get through this. Together. Now breathe.”
She tried to wrench her hand away, then jackknifed to a sitting position, her eyes wide, her fingers clamped around his hard enough to crush bone. “It’s coming!” she screamed. “Oh, God, get the nurse. The baby’s coming!”
Mack grabbed the remote control clipped to the bed rail and punched the call button. Within seconds the door opened and a nurse strode into the room. She took one look at Addy’s face and shouldered Mack aside, taking his place beside the bed.
“How far apart are the contractions?” she asked, as she checked Addy’s pulse.
Mack dragged a shaky hand down his face, more than happy to relinquish control to the nurse. “Less than a minute.”
The door opened again and a doctor sauntered in. “How’s my favorite patient?”
Mack burned him with a look. “How do you think?” he snapped impatiently. “She’s hurting like hell and needs something for the pain.”
“No!” Addy cried and fell back against the pillows, holding her hands protectively over her stomach. “No drugs. I’m doing this naturally.”
The doctor looked at Mac and shrugged as if to say “you heard the woman,” then stepped to the end of the bed and lifted the sheet to visibly check her progress.
“The head’s crowned,” he reported, then dropped the sheet and strode to the sink, his steps quicker now, his expression all business. As he squirted disinfectant on his hands, he glanced Mack’s way. “If you’re the father, you’ll need to scrub up. Otherwise—” he tipped his head toward the door “—the waiting room’s at the end of the hall.”
Addy lunged, managing to catch Mack’s sleeve. He glanced back and saw the fear in her eyes, the pleading. He set his jaw, knowing there was no way in hell he could leave her to face this birth alone.
“Where do I scrub?”
Mack sat in the chair by the window, his long legs stretched out in front of him and his head tipped back against the cushion, staring at the ceiling. Though exhausted, he couldn’t sleep. His mind was racing, his body charged with adrenaline…and all because of the tiny bit of humanity, swaddled in a blue blanket and sleeping peacefully in the bassinet across the room.
He dropped his chin to look in that direction, and his heart did a slow flip. A boy, he thought, and had to swallow back the emotion that filled his throat, weighing in at a fraction over five pounds but healthy as a horse and with a set of lungs to prove it. Though there had been concerns that the baby wouldn’t be fully developed, he’d passed all the tests like a champ, and wouldn’t have to spend any time in an incubator, as most preemies were required to do.
Unable to resist, he heaved himself from the chair and crossed to peer down at the baby. Bundled up snug in the blue blanket, only the infant’s face was visible, revealing rosy cheeks and a nose no bigger than a button. Dark fuzz covered his head, but Mack knew from experience that he’d probably lose it and what grew back might be a different color entirely. His own son’s hair had been coal-black at birth, but by the age of two, it was cotton white. He wondered what color it would’ve been if he’d lived?
Stifling a groan, he dropped his chin to his chest. He didn’t want to think about his son. Not now. Remembering made him hurt, and Mack had hurt for too many years.
Taking a deep breath, he lifted his head and stared hard, until he succeeded in shoving back the memory and was able to bring the baby into focus again.
His smile wistful, he reached to smooth the back of his fingers over the baby’s cheek, marveling at its softness, the miniature features.
“You’re one lucky guy,” he whispered to the sleeping infant. “You’ve got a helluva
