Rough Around the Edges. Marie Ferrarella

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      The way her luck was running, the next thing that would happen would be a flash flood.

      With growing despair, she looked up and down the street. Nothing.

      Why didn’t they have cabs prowling the streets here? She’d heard they did that in the big cities, why was that a restricted practice? For that matter, where was a police car when you needed one? If she’d gone through that light, she bet one would have popped out of the ground with a pre-printed ticket on the dashboard.

      Maybe that wasn’t fair, but she didn’t feel very fair right now. She felt angry and cheated and in pain.

      The rain lashed at her from all directions, pushed around by the wind that went first one way, then another. Kitt struggled to keep her orientation. She started to feel dizzy.

      Thoughts began to slip in and out of her head like pulses of lights on a faulty circuit.

      Maybe she could find a phone and call 911. The police were bound to get here faster than any cab she’d call.

      Now all she had to do was find a phone.

      Now all she had to do was see in this godforsaken awful weather, she amended. It seemed as if actual sheets of rain were coming down, wiping out any visibility beyond two, maybe three feet. Squinting, Kitt could barely make out the traffic signal across the street.

      A haloed green ball of light shone like a feeble beacon. Kitt stepped off the curb, praying she could get across the street before another contraction hit, incapacitating her. Biting her lower lip, her head down against the wind, she tried to cross the intersection as quickly as possible.

      Her own bulk combined with the lashing rain slowed her down. The light turned yellow just as she’d made it hardly more than halfway across the street. Pushing herself, she strove to move faster. Her eyes were half closed, trying to keep the rain at bay.

      The squeal of brakes from the oncoming vehicle had her screaming in response. The next second, there was water hitting her not just from above, but from the street as well, drenching her legs as her foot made contact with the sidewalk.

      Everything started to swirl around in her head. Kitt reached out to steady herself, but there was nothing to grab onto. She vaguely thought she heard a man’s voice shouting at her.

      Or maybe that was to her, she wasn’t sure. It didn’t seem important.

      Her outstretched hands made contact with cement. Hard. Tearing at the fleshy part of her palms and making them sting.

      She’d fallen.

      The thought telegraphed itself through her brain at the same instant the pain registered. The next second, she felt someone cradling her.

      “Are you all right?” There was a hint of a lilting accent in the deep voice. There was more than a hint of concern.

      With effort, Kitt managed to bring the world back into focus. Some man she’d never seen was holding her against him.

      “No, I’m not all right. I’m pregnant,” she snapped. Angry at the world at large and frightened, Kitt tried to sit up. She couldn’t. The man asking the stupid question was holding her.

      My God, he’d almost hit a pregnant woman with his van, O’Rourke thought, trying to shake off the numbing fear the realization created. Rapidly pulling his wits about him, O’Rourke looked at her, searching for signs of bleeding.

      “You came out of nowhere.”

      “I came out of my car,” she contradicted him curtly. “And I was trying to cross the street. Didn’t anyone ever teach you how to drive?” She yanked her arm away from him and tried vainly to gain her feet. She felt like a turtle flipped onto its back. A huge, pregnant turtle.

      “I didn’t hit you, did I?” Swiftly, O’Rourke ran his hands up and down her limbs, checking for any damage. “I mean—”

      Where the hell did he come off, trying to touch her? What was wrong with him? Again she tried to get to her feet, but between the rain, her labor pains and the exhaustion that was sinking in, it was beginning to feel like an impossible feat.

      “Look, I’m in labor.” At least she could manage to push his hands away, which she did. “I would really, really prefer if you didn’t try to cop a feel or mug me right now.”

      O’Rourke sat back on his heels, ignoring the rain falling into his eyes. “I’m just checking for broken bones—” His mouth fell open. “Labor?”

      She bit her lower lip, trying very hard to focus on something other than the pain. Trying very hard not to get hysterical.

      “Yes, labor,” she ground out.

      What the hell was she doing wandering around in her condition? “You shouldn’t be out on a night like this.” O’Rourke looked around, trying to spot someone who might have been with her. But there was no one on the street and only one car had passed since he’d darted out of his van. “Especially not alone.”

      “Not my choice,” she bit off. Turning, she tried to get to her knees. The pain had her gasping. And then suddenly, just like that, in the middle of her contraction, she was airborne. The pain left. The surprise didn’t. The stranger had picked her up.

      Rising to his feet, O’Rourke couldn’t help marveling at the woman in his arms. She didn’t feel as if she weighed enough to be having a baby, not even sopping wet. But there certainly was no arguing with the huge mound that met his eye. The woman was definitely swollen with life. Stepping back with her, he took momentary shelter under the awning of a shop that sold bridal gowns.

      O’Rourke glanced down the length of the block. He saw a car, its hazard lights on, in the opposite intersection. “Is that your car?”

      Kitt nodded her head. “It’s dead. I need 911. An ambulance,” she added when he said nothing.

      The pain came again, harder and faster than before. Bent on breaking her in half from the inside out. Without realizing it, Kitt dug her fingers into his arm, squeezing hard.

      Even through his jacket, he could feel the intensity of her grasp. For a little woman, her strength was surprising.

      “How far apart are they?” She looked at him with wide, dazed eyes. “The contractions,” he prompted. “How far apart are you having them?”

      Her breath and voice returned as the pain receded. She all but went limp in the stranger’s arms. “I haven’t timed them.”

      “Guess.”

      She said nothing, but grasped his arm again, harder this time.

      “Okay, I’ll guess for you,” O’Rourke said, a sinking feeling taking hold of the pit of his stomach. “Not far apart at all.”

      Released from the contraction’s viselike grip, Kitt began to pant. That had been an exceedingly hard one. How much worse was this going to get? She was afraid to find out. Really afraid.

      “Good guess,” she rasped, trying valiantly to maintain a brave front. “Do you have a cell phone?”

      “Not СКАЧАТЬ