Rough Around the Edges. Marie Ferrarella

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СКАЧАТЬ searching for strength. It only made the spinning in her head intensify. Kitt opened her eyes again, looking directly at the man who was still holding her.

      “Great, the only other person in Southern California without a cell phone and I had to run into him.” She looked toward what she’d thought was a public phone from across the street. But there was an Out of Order sign taped across it. “We need to get to a phone. I need an ambulance.”

      He heard the hitch of rising hysteria in her voice. And then she was clutching at him again, her nails digging into his chest this time. Less than one minute had elapsed between contractions. She was going to give birth any second.

      “You need more than that, ma’am.” O’Rourke looked around, but everything looked closed for the night. “You’re having the baby.”

      “That’s what I’m trying to tell you.”

      “Now,” he emphasized. He saw panic beginning to etch its way into her features even though he’d only put into words what he knew she had to already be thinking. “Don’t worry, I’ll help you,” he promised.

      There was no place else to go. He had to put her in the back of his van. At least she could lie down there. As long as he pushed back some of the computer equipment he’d packed on the van’s floor.

      “Are you a doctor?” she asked warily.

      Something else his mother had wished unsuccessfully. O’Rourke smiled as he shook his head.

      “No, a brother.”

      Her head was swimming again. Kitt desperately tried to make sense of what she was hearing. Rain was falling in her face again. They had moved out from under the shelter of the awning. Was that a good thing?

      “You mean like some religious order?”

      Leaning her against him, he did a quick balancing act and opened the rear doors of his van. “No, like a sibling who saw a fair number of his brothers and sisters come into the world.”

      “This isn’t exactly a spectator sport,” she said.

      As gently as possible, he lay her on the floor of his van, then hopped up in beside her. There was no blanket available. Stripping off his jacket, O’Rourke turned it inside out and bunched it up, creating a makeshift pillow for her head.

      Lifting her head slightly, he slipped his jacket beneath her. “Don’t worry, I know what to do.” At least, he hoped he remembered. He gave the woman what he hoped was his most confident smile. “My mother used to give birth so fast, there was no time to get her to the doctor or have the midwife come to her.”

      Kitt could feel another contraction taking root. She licked incredibly dry lips and wished she was six again. Six and sitting in her family room, watching cartoons. Or eighteen and taking her college boards. Any place but here, any time but now.

      “So you helped?” she heard herself ask as she mentally tried to scramble away from the pain there was no escaping.

      O’Rourke saw the look in her eyes and took her hand, holding it tight. She held it tighter. “I was the oldest of six.”

      She felt as if she was in a doomed race. Kitt began to breathe hard. “You’re sure you’re…not some…weirdo who gets…off…on this kind of thing?”

      She was pretty, he thought. Even in pain, with her blond hair pasted against her face, she was pretty. Leaning forward, he brushed the wet hair from her forehead, wishing there was some way to make her comfortable. “Not very trusting, are you?”

      That was a laugh. “I have absolutely no reason to be-e-e-e.” Arching, she rose off the floor and screamed the last part against his ear.

      O’Rourke took a deep breath, shaking his head as if that could help him get rid of the ringing. “So much for tuning pianos,” he quipped, drawing back. She was shaking. The only thing he had to offer her was his sweater. “I know it’s not comfortable, but it’s the best I can do right now.”

      Her eyes widened as she saw him stripping off the sweater. He was some kind of weirdo. A weirdo with what looked like a washboard stomach.

      Her purse, where was her purse? She had pepper spray in there if she could just get to it. “What are you doing?”

      He tucked his sweater around her upper torso as best he could. It wasn’t much, but it was better than nothing. “Trying to keep you warm.”

      He sat back on his heels, taking her hand again. “What’s your name?”

      “Kitt—with two t’s. Kitt Dawson.”

      “Please to meet you, Kitt with two t’s.” Shifting his hand so that hers slipped into his, he shook it. “I’m Shawn Michael O’Rourke.”

      It was coming. Another contraction. She tried to brace herself. “That’s some mouthful.”

      He grasped her hand again, sensing another contraction was about to seize her. “My friends call me O’Rourke.”

      Her eyes met his. It was blurry inside his van. “And are we going to be friends?”

      He grinned. “Well, Kitt-with-two-t’s, we’re certainly going to be something after tonight.”

      In response, Kitt screamed again.

      Chapter Two

      Kitt’s scream echoed in his head, making his ears ring.

      “I guess this means it’s showtime, so to speak,” O’Rourke said, bracing himself.

      He only hoped he was up to this.

      True, he’d helped his mother when it came to be her time, but Sarah O’Rourke gave birth so easily it was almost as if she were a mother hen laying eggs. There was nary a whimper out of her, not even once. Just biting down on what she’d come to call her “birthing stick” and within a half an hour, O’Rourke found himself with a new little brother or sister. He always felt that his mother had simply had him in attendance, off to the side, on the off chance that something went wrong. He’d held her hand, mostly, and mopped her brow.

      His father was never around for the momentous occasions. James O’Rourke was too busy trying to earn enough money to support all the hungry little mouths he and Sarah kept bringing into the world.

      Standing there, holding his mother’s hand, O’Rourke had thought little of it then. It was just the circle of life continuing, nothing more. The impact of it was never as great as it was at this moment. This was some strange woman he was helping.

      What if…?

      O’Rourke refused to let his mind go there. He had no time for “what-ifs.” The woman was screaming again like a bloody banshee, arching so that she looked as if she was trying to execute some incredibly convoluted yoga position from the inside out.

      O’Rourke tried to think, to remember. His mother had always seemed so calm about it.

      “Gravity’ll help you, Kitt.” Suddenly inspired, he grasped Kitt by the shoulders and positioned her so that her СКАЧАТЬ