In a small community like Haven Point, most people knew each other—or at least knew of each other. She hadn’t met the man but she knew he lived in the mountains above town and that he had inherited a sprawling, successful ranch from his grandparents.
If memory served, he had once been some kind of hotshot rodeo cowboy.
With that afternoon shadow and his wavy brown hair a little disordered, he looked as if he had just climbed either off a horse or out of some lucky woman’s bed. Not that it was any of her business. Disreputable cowboys were definitely not her type.
Devin dismissed the man from her mind and focused instead on her patient, where her attention should have been in the first place.
“Have you been able to put weight on your ankle?”
“No, but I haven’t really tried. This is all so silly,” Tricia insisted. “I’m sure it’s not broken.”
She winced suddenly, her face losing another shade or two of color, and pressed a hand to her abdomen.
Devin didn’t miss the gesture and her attention sharpened. “How long have you been having contractions?”
“I’m sure they’re only Braxton Hicks.”
“How far along are you?”
“Thirty-four weeks. With twins, if you couldn’t tell by the basketball here.”
Her brother frowned. “You’re having contractions? Why didn’t you say anything?”
“Because you’re already freaking out over a stupid sprained ankle. I didn’t want to send you into total panic mode.”
“What’s happening?” the girl said. “What are contractions?”
“It’s something a woman’s body does when she’s almost ready to have a baby,” Tricia explained.
“Are you having the babies tonight?” she asked, big blue eyes wide. “I thought they weren’t supposed to be here until after Christmas.”
“I hope not,” Tricia answered. “Sometimes I guess you have practice contractions. I’m sure that’s what these are.”
For the first time, she started to look uneasy and Devin knew she needed to take control of the situation.
“I don’t want to send you up to Obstetrics until we take a look at the ankle. We can hook up all the fetal monitoring equipment down here in the emergency department to see what’s going on and put your minds at ease.”
“Thanks. I’m sure everything’s fine. I’m going to be embarrassed for worrying everyone.”
“Never worry about that,” Devin assured her.
“I’m sorry to bother you, but I need to get some information so we can enter it into the computer and make an ID band.” Brittney Calloway, the receptionist, stepped forward, clipboard in hand.
“My insurance information is in my purse,” Tricia said. “Cole, can you find it and give her what she needs?”
He looked as if he didn’t want to leave his sister’s side but the little boy was already looking bored.
Whose were they? The girl looked to be about eight, blonde and ethereal like Tricia but with Cole’s blue eyes, and the boy was a few years younger with darker coloring and big brown eyes.
She hadn’t heard the man had kids—in fact, as far as she knew, he had lived alone at Evergreen Springs the past two years since his grandmother died.
“You can come back to the examination room after you’re done out here, or you can stay out in the waiting room.”
He looked at the children and then back at his sister, obviously torn. “We’ll wait out here, if you think you’ll be okay.”
“I’ll be fine,” she assured him. “I’m sorry to be such a pain.”
He gave his sister a soft, affectionate smile that would have made Devin’s knees go weak, if she weren’t made of sterner stuff. “You’re not a pain. You’re just stubborn,” he said gruffly. “You should have called me the minute you fell instead of waiting until I came back to the house and you definitely should have said something about the contractions.”
“We’ll take care of her and try to keep you posted.”
“Thanks.” He nodded and shepherded the two children to the small waiting room, with his sister’s purse in hand.
Devin forced herself to put him out of her mind and focus on her patient.
Normally, the nurses and aides would take a patient into a room and start a chart but since she knew Tricia and the night was slow, Devin didn’t mind coming into her care from the beginning.
“You’re thirty-three weeks?” she asked as she pushed her into the largest exam room in the department.
“Almost thirty-four. Tuesday.”
“With twins. Congratulations. Are they fraternal or identical?”
“Fraternal. A boy and a girl. The girl is measuring bigger, according to my ob-gyn back in California.”
“Did your OB clear you for travel this close to your due date?”
“Yes. Everything has been uncomplicated. A textbook pregnancy, Dr. Adams said.”
“When was your last appointment?”
“I saw my regular doctor the morning before Thanksgiving. She knew I was flying out to spend the holiday with Cole and the kids. I was supposed to be back the next Sunday, but, well, I decided to stay.”
She paused and her chin started to quiver. “Everything is such a mess and I can’t go home and now I’ve sprained my ankle. How am I going to get around on crutches when I’m as big as a barn?”
Something else was going on here, something that had nothing to do with sprained ankles. Why couldn’t she go home? Devin squeezed her hand. “Let’s not get ahead of ourselves.”
“No. You’re right.” Tricia drew a breath. When she spoke her voice only wobbled a little. “I have an appointment Monday for a checkup with a local doctor. Randall or Crandall or something like that. I can’t remember. I just know my records have been transferred there.”
“Randall. Jim Randall.”
He was one of her favorite colleagues in the area, compassionate and kind and more than competent. Whenever she had a complicated obstetrics patient in her family medicine practice, she sent her to Jim.
As Devin guided Tricia from the wheelchair to the narrow bed in the room, the pregnant woman paused on the edge, her hand curved around her abdomen and her face contorted with pain. She drew in a sharp breath and let it out slowly. “Ow. That was a big one.”
And not far apart from the first contraction
