Shelter Mountain (Virgin River #2)(100)

He looked around and upon locating the towels up by her pillow, he took one and passed the flashlight to her. She struggled to sit up a bit and held the flashlight, pointing it down. “Holy shit, Mel,” he said.

She thought she knew what that meant. She collapsed back on the pillows and looked at her watch. It had been almost an hour and a half since Rick lit out of here. Where the hell was John? “He’s coming, Jack,” she said weakly, collapsing against the pillows.

He took the flashlight from her with the towel and said, “Gimme that.” He propped it on a rolled-up towel so that it shone on the field of birth and said, “Okay, now you can think about one thing.”

“Giving birth?” she asked.

“Two things,” he amended. “Giving birth and telling me what to do.”

On the next contraction, she pulled herself up, grabbing her thighs, and the baby’s head, crowning, grew larger. “Holy shit,” Jack said again. Three more pushes and the baby’s whole head emerged. “Oh, my God,” he said.

“Jack, look for a cord around the baby’s neck. It’s purple and ropey. Ahhh,” she said, struggling against another contraction. “Use your index finger to see if you can feel anything around the baby’s neck. Ahhh!”

Right at that moment, the front door slammed open with a bang.

“John!” Jack yelled. “John, come on!”

John, soaked and coming into the bedroom at a pace far too leisurely for Jack’s tastes, appeared. Jack started to stand and John said, “Get back in there, man.” He peered into the field. “Good. You feel for a cord?”

“Yeah, but what the hell do I know?”

John let his coat fall off his shoulders. He grabbed the flashlight and brought it in closer. “Nice,” he said. “Jack, get your hands in there—she’s going to bring him out. Be ready.”

“Are you out of your f**king mind?” Jack asked, really at the end of his tether with this business.

“You’re there, Jack. Now.” He looked over Mel’s raised knees. “Little push, Mel,” John said.

Mel gave a grunt and a shove and the baby came sliding out, neat as pie.

“Hold him face down, your hand on his chest, and rub his back,” John said. Before Jack had even accomplished that, the baby was crying. “Ah, good,” John said. John spread a blanket on Mel’s abdomen. “Good work. Put him down right here. Let’s get him dried off and wrapped nice and warm.”

Jack’s hands were shaking as he did so, wiping the muck of birth from his son’s little body. Mel was straining up to see him, her fingers reaching toward him to touch him. For a moment Jack was paralyzed. Trans-fixed. Before he could close the blanket around him, he stared at him in sheer wonder. His son. Brought right out of his wife’s body. Naked, covered with muck, squalling, and the most beautiful thing he’d ever seen. His little arms and legs were flailing, his mouth open in a wail. He was so tiny, Jack was thinking, when John said, “Jesus, Melinda, he’s big. Where were you keeping him?”

“Oh,” Mel said. “That feels so much better.”

John was finally in the ball game, gently massaging Mel’s uterus. “What a woman,” he said. “No stitches necessary.” He applied the clamps to the cord, handed Jack the scissors and told him where to cut. Jack, finally numbed by an event in which he’d felt entirely helpless, did as he was told, freeing the baby from his moorings.

“Good work,” John said. “Let Mel have her baby, Jack. I’ll wash and help with the cleanup.”

John disappeared into the bathroom while Jack lovingly lifted the baby. Mel was tugging at her T-shirt as Jack was handing her the baby. She held the baby’s cheek against her warm breast, running her fingers over his perfect head. The baby stopped crying and appeared to be looking around. Mel glanced up at Jack and gave him a little smile.

“Come on, little guy,” she cooed, serene, totally focused on her son. “Do your job here. Stanch the bleeding, bring out the placenta.” She pinched her nipple to fit the baby’s mouth, trying to entice him with it. Jack felt a river of emotion run through him. He didn’t know if he was about to burst into song or faint. He dropped to his knees to be closer and watched Mel tickle the baby’s mouth and cheek with her nipple and then the baby turned his head instinctively and clamped on, took hold, suckled. And Mel said, “Oh, my! You’re very good at this.” Then she looked at Jack, who knelt by the bed, dazed. She smiled weakly and said, “Thank you, darling.”

He leaned closer to her, his face next to his son’s head. “My God, Melinda,” he said in a breath. “What the hell did we just do?”

An hour later the lights came on and Preacher was on Jack’s front porch, looking for information. John had helped clean Mel up and washed the baby, helped Jack get clean sheets on the bed and was ready to leave them. “There’s no point in taking them out in this weather,” John said. “They’re in good shape. You need a sedative, man?” he asked Jack, laughing.

“I could use one, yeah. Got a good single malt in that bag there?”

“Wouldn’t that be convenient?” He slapped a hand on Jack’s back and said, “You did a good job, buddy. I’m proud of you.”

“Yeah? What choice did I have? It was all her.”