Cowboy Daddy. Angel Smits

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       CHAPTER TWO

      Five months later

      THE WAIL OF SIRENS in the distance barely broke through the cloud of pain engulfing Amanda. Her eyes closed. All she could see was the darkness that occasionally sparked with color as she clenched her eyelids tight with each contraction.

      “You’re doing great.” Her sister Addie’s voice came out of the darkness, bringing comfort with it. Safe, warm memories of home. Addie was as much a mother to Amanda as Mom had been. After Dad’s death, she’d helped raise all the younger ones in the family.

      As the contraction eased, Amanda opened her eyes a sliver. “Thanks for coming with me,” she whispered, managing to squeeze Addie’s hand that was curled in hers.

      “Of course.” Addie’s voice shook, and Amanda barely had time to wonder why before the muscles of her lower body went back into action.

      This time she couldn’t hold back the scream that ripped from her. Dear God, how did anyone survive this? She thought of her mother doing this six times. Had Mom been crazy? Amanda hadn’t thought so before but now...

      Again the pain eased, and her mind drifted to her nephew, her brother DJ’s son, who was turning nine today. “I ruined his birthday.” She didn’t have to explain who she meant to Addie. Poor Tyler. She thought she heard Addie laugh.

      “Oh, I don’t think so. Besides, the birthday was a mess long before you went into labor.”

      Addie might be right. With all the drama of the Texas Rangers and their brother DJ now recovered and showing up with Tyler’s missing mother—yeah, her going into labor was just a drop in the proverbial bucket of fun.

      Addie’s hand was still tight in hers. Slowly her sister wiped the perspiration off her brow. “Something’s wrong,” Amanda finally admitted.

      “Everything’s going to be fine.” Addie’s voice was stronger now.

      “No. It’s too soon.” Even she heard the panic in her voice. “Too early.”

      “We’re almost there, ladies.” A man’s voice broke through the cloud of agony. Amanda struggled to figure out who it was. It wasn’t any of her brothers. It wasn’t— No, she refused to think about him. If she thought about him, she’d lose control completely.

      Amanda latched on to the stranger’s voice, puzzling through her memory to survive the next contraction. The EMT. Relief flooded her. He was the nice EMT who’d shown up at the house after Addie called 9-1-1.

      The ambulance pulled to a sudden stop just then and Addie yelped as she caught herself from pitching sideways. The wailing sound cut off abruptly and the back doors flew open. Warm Texas air washed over her. Until that very minute, she hadn’t realized how closed in the ambulance had felt.

      Addie moved away as the EMT leaned over Amanda. The snap of metal buckles opening broke through the quiet. Another contraction hit just then. “We’ll wait.” The EMT’s soothing voice barely registered. “Hold my hand. There you go.”

      “Please, just make it stop,” she demanded.

      “I’ll do my best.” He seemed so nice. Why couldn’t Lane— The EMTs pushing the gurney out of the ambulance stopped her thoughts. The fast movement nearly convinced her she’d been foolish to have eaten that last piece of birthday cake.

      The automatic doors’ swoosh sound washed over her and fluorescent lights flashed overhead. The dizziness returned. “Addie. Where’s Addie?” she cried.

      “I’m here, hon.”

      Addie’s voice was so far away. Amanda flailed out her arm, trying to find her sister’s hand. Strong fingers took her hand, not Addie’s. Not Lane’s, either, but solid. Warm. Just what she needed.

      They pushed the gurney through a set of swinging doors, the smack of the metal frame loud against the wood. Bright lights glared at her. The image of a clock wavered in the distance, white with black numbers, utilitarian. Seven-thirty. Why did that have to stick in her brain? She focused on it, needing something solid and real.

      She squeezed her eyes tighter still as a contraction blinded her again. Words flew around her. Her brain hid in the shadows, frightened she was sure. She couldn’t understand what they were saying. What they meant. “Breech.”

      “BP’s dropping.”

      “You’ll need to leave.”

      “Addie!” she screamed.

      Through her slitted eyelids, Amanda saw Addie moving reluctantly out the swinging doors. A sharp blade of pain ripped through her. Her voice tore from her throat. “Lane!” Where was he? Why wasn’t he here? Why—?

      A strong hand took hers. The soothing deep voice washed over her. “We’ll take care of you.”

      Not “I’ll take care of you.” Not “I’m here.” Tears burned behind her closed eyelids, but no matter how tightly she squeezed them shut, she couldn’t hold in the tears. Water trickled from the corners of her eyes, dampening her temples, her hair and then the pillow beneath her.

      “We’re going to have to do a cesarean section.” A new voice cut through the clouds. “To save the baby.”

      “Please.” Her heart shattered. “Save him. Please. He’s everything.”

      There was no pause in the room’s activity. If anything, it increased. Footsteps hustled. Bodies shuffled around her. The prick of a needle in her arm seemed nothing in comparison to her body’s agony, little more than a mosquito bite, as an IV was put in her arm.

      “I’m going to put a mask over your face.” Another strange voice slipped in between the pain. The feel of plastic momentarily registered as claustrophobic...and then there was nothing but solid darkness...and the echoing scream of Lane’s name over and over again inside her head.

      * * *

      TO AMANDA THE fluorescent lights of the Neonatal Intensive Care Unit, or NICU, nursery seemed so harsh. So bright. Too bright. She thought of the tiny bedroom in her house where she’d put all the nursery furniture. The crib. The changing table. The rocker. The L for Lucas alphabet lamp she’d bought right after she’d found out she was having a boy. Even the chair from Mom’s house that she’d put in the corner to give the room a feeling of home. No glaring lights, no monitors or flashing lights there. That’s where he should be. Not here. She wanted to cry.

      Slowly, with the nurse’s help, Amanda moved the wheelchair closer to the Plexiglas enclosure where her son curled up against a soft white blanket. Her arms ached to hold him, to touch him, but he needed to sleep, to grow, and she needed to recover. The IV in her arm was a glaring reminder of the long road ahead for them both.

      He wasn’t big enough. Not nearly big enough. Not quite five pounds. Bigger than they’d expected, the doctor had said, sounding entirely too pleased for something he’d had no involvement in.