A Cowboy Unmatched (6 page)

Neill frowned. “Why not?”

Before she could reply, the answer hit him like a log beam against his thick skull.

“Land's sake, Clara. You should have told me you were in labor!”

 
 Chapter 8 
 

How long have you been having pains?” Neill scooped Clara into his arms and made for the other room. The crazy woman should be in bed, not feeding him supper.

Clara pushed at his chest. “Leave me be, Neill. I have work to do.”

He ignored her protest and kicked open the bedroom door with his foot. “The only work you need to be worrying about is bringing that baby into the world. I'll take care of everything else. It won't be the first time I've cleaned a kitchen.”

He moved to lay her on the bed, only then realizing that she'd already stripped most of the bedding away. Evidence of an oilcloth covering the mattress peeked out from beneath the top sheet. A pile of towels and a basin of water sat ready at the side of the bed, and a blanket made of pieced flannel lay rolled up within arm's reach.

Somehow seeing the preparations she'd made caused the reality of the situation to swell within him until he thought he might drown. He laid her gently upon the bed, then with trembling hands, tugged off her moccasins and covered her with a sheet. “I'll . . . uh . . . go fetch the doctor.”

Desperate to race for his horse and bring back someone more competent than he for dealing with the situation, Neill spun toward the door only to halt at Clara's cry.

“No! Please, Neill. You can't. No doctor. No midwife. Mack will have already paid them off. I can't risk it.” Her urgent voice flayed him. He stopped and turned back to face her.

“I have to get someone, Clara. You can't have this baby alone.”

Her chin jutted out and her eyes glittered with familiar determination. “Yes I can. I will. It's the only way to ensure my child's safety.”

Another pain hit her then, apparently stronger than before. She winced and hissed out a breath as she rolled to her side and drew her knees up. “You need to leave, Neill,” she managed once the pain had passed.

Neill set his mouth in a mutinous line. “If you think I'm leaving now, you're out of your mind.”

Then the crazy woman did something he'd never expected. She laughed. The sound cut straight through his defenses and melted against his heart. Everything about him softened in that moment, and he found himself smiling back at her.

“I'm not asking you to leave the house, Neill. Just the room. I need to change into a sleeping gown.”

“Oh.” He let out a sheepish chuckle and rubbed the back of his neck before straightening to level a serious look at her. “All right. But I'm going to be on the other side of that door, however long it takes. I'll come running whenever you need me, Clara.” He took a step closer to the bed, longing to touch her, to comfort her, to do
something
to ease her pain. “You don't have to do this alone. I'm here.”

She held his gaze a long moment. “Would you play for me?”

His brows knit in confusion.

“Your fiddle. The music relaxes me. I think it will help when the pains worsen.”

Neill seized upon the idea, thankful to have something tangible to do. “Honey, I'll play all night if you want me to.”

“Thank you.” Her smile lit up the room and spurred him to action. Barely slowing enough to click the bedroom door closed behind him, Neill rushed out to the barn to collect his violin.

The man was a marvel. Clara paused to breathe between the pains that seemed to be intensifying at a rapid rate now. For two hours, Neill had played almost without stop. The soothing tones had floated to her from the next room, easing her tension and lulling her into a light doze as she rested between contractions. With all her brave plans to have this baby on her own, she couldn't thank God enough for sending her a man stubborn enough to stay. The labor would have been unbearable without the music to remind her that she wasn't alone.

A new pain hit, radiating through her back and abdomen with stunning force. She tried to breathe through it like she had with the others, but this one was different. More forceful. More prolonged. And with it came a staggering need to push.

A groan tore from her throat as she fought her body's instincts. She couldn't do this. Heaven help her! She
couldn't.

Panic swelled in her breast. What if something went wrong? She'd be helpless to do anything about it. What if she labored too long and didn't have the strength to tend her child after the birth? What if the babe had trouble drawing his first breath? Scenarios swirled unrelenting in her mind, one more horrible than the next, until she could no longer restrain her cry.

“Neill!”

The lilting music cut off with a screech, replaced by pounding footsteps. A heartbeat later, Neill threw open the door and rushed to her side. He threw himself down on his knees so his face was even with hers and immediately started smoothing back her hair from her sweat-dampened forehead.

“I'm here, Clara,” he crooned. “I'm here.”

She scanned his face wildly and latched onto his wrist, her fingers nearly going numb with the force of her grip. “I can't do it, Neill. I can't.”

“Of course you can, honey. You're strong. The most capable woman I know.” He smiled at her, his words confident. “And I'm here to help you.”

A tear fell down her cheek. “I'm scared.”

He pressed a kiss to her brow. “We'll get through it together. Everything will be fine.”

Another pain hit, and she writhed away from him. Away from the softness of his lips, the comfort of his words. But he followed her. His sturdy arms lifted her back and arranged what few pillows she had behind her.

“The babe's coming,” she gritted out, needing him to understand the urgency. “You have to make sure nothing goes wrong.”

She forced her head around and locked her eyes onto Neill's, ignoring the pain building across her middle. She needed his promise. His assurance.

He nodded at the same moment a vise gripped her abdomen and demanded she push. She wouldn't ignore the demand this time. Neill was there. He'd make sure her child was safe.

With renewed determination, she curled forward and bore down.

After the first ten minutes of standing helplessly by while Clara labored, Neill shoved aside every high-minded ideal he knew about
protecting a woman's modesty and did whatever he could to protect and comfort the woman herself. He climbed onto the bed behind her and supported her back. He dampened one of the cloths she'd laid out for the baby's bath and used it to cool her face and neck. He massaged her lower back with the heel of his hand and held her when the pains struck.

How did she endure it? It had been at least an hour since she'd told him the babe was about to arrive. Her groans and deep-throated cries haunted him. How much longer? Surely the child should have been born by now. Neill scrubbed his palms against his pants legs. Was something wrong? He'd vowed to protect mother and child, but how could he fight an enemy he couldn't see?

God, help her,
his spirit pled.
I don't know what to do or
how to help. Bring Clara and her child safely through
this. Please.

He wet the cloth again and rubbed it across Clara's face, desperate to do something,
anything
to ease things for her.

Her muscles tensed. Another pain was upon her. He tossed the cloth aside and dug his heels into the mattress. She'd taken to clasping his arms for support and leverage as she pushed, so he extended them on either side of her and braced for her pressure. Her hands found his as if drawn by a magnet. His palms engulfed hers. He leaned his mouth to her ear and whispered encouragement.

She pulled against his hold. A cry vibrated in her chest. Then all at once, she released his arms and reached forward, her body still straining.

“He's coming, Neill!” she panted, excitement warring with fatigue in her voice. “I can feel it.”

The next several minutes passed in a blur. Before Neill quite knew what had happened, he was helping Clara lift her son to lie across her chest. The baby's tiny mewling cries created the most beautiful music Neill had ever heard. Tears moistened his eyes, and awe set his fingers to trembling as he cut the cord before covering the babe with a dry towel and starting rubbing him clean.

Clara rested against the pillows, the wonder on her face a sight to behold as she smiled down on her son. The babe's dark hair spiked up in black tufts and his face scrunched into a wrinkled mess as he howled his displeasure over his ordeal. Covered in muck, his head slightly misshapen, the kid wasn't exactly what Neill would call pretty. Still . . .

“He's perfect,” Clara whispered. “Absolutely perfect.” She caressed the child's reddened cheek with the curve of her finger, and Neill found himself agreeing with her assessment.

“What will you call him?” he asked in a low voice, strangely unable to tear his hand away from the babe's back. It was as if sharing the child's journey into the world had forged an indestructible bond between them. Neill swore he could feel his heart swelling in his chest, making room for a new occupant.

“Harrison.” She stroked the black hair atop the boy's head. “It was my mother's maiden name. I've always liked it.”

Neill smiled, for some reason exceptionally glad she wasn't naming the boy after her late husband. “Harrison's a good name. Strong. Just like our little fella here.”

The word
our
fell from his lips without conscious thought. When Neill realized what he'd said, he immediately sought out Clara's gaze to judge her reaction, but she hadn't seemed to notice. She was too busy cooing over her son—a boy who was rooting like a hungry piglet, his pink mouth open as his head strained backward against his mama's chest.

Comprehension brought heat to Neill's face. “I'll . . . uh . . . give the two of you some privacy and go . . . uh . . . warm some water for the little guy's bath.” He backed quickly toward the door. “Just call out when you're ready.”

He'd nearly made his escape when Clara's soft voice brought him to a halt.