“Yes—it’s coming early. What if—oh!” Her body curled with pain, her tight lips holding back a cry.
Blake sprang into action, trying to keep a level head. “Let’s put you to bed and hope my mother gets here soon. Don’t worry, you’ll be fine.” He scooped her into his arms and strode down the hall toward their room at the end. He’d delivered calves and foals and done all right. But he wasn’t qualified to deliver a baby. He wasn’t usually a praying man, but he prayed now that Sarah would walk in the door before time ran out.
* * *
Hanna lay in her bed, with a flannel sheet and a blanket to keep her warm and clean towels under her body. Blake had taken down the blanket between their beds to create more room. By the time he’d gotten her out of her wet clothes and into a clean nightgown, the question of modesty was little more than a joke. He was her husband, and she was about to have a baby. Right now, nothing else mattered.
Blake had pulled up a chair next to the bed. Hanna had never seen him look more worried. But surely his mother, calm, sensible Sarah, who’d probably delivered a hundred babies in her lifetime, would show up and take over before the baby came. If not, the delivery would be up to Blake. If the birth was normal, catching a newborn baby wouldn’t be that difficult—Hanna had done it herself when Gerda was born. But what if something were to go wrong?
A contraction gripped her body—not so hard that she couldn’t stand it, but hard enough. She tried to smile, to show Blake that she wasn’t hurting, but the smile became a grimace as the pain crested and passed. Taking a deep breath, she willed herself to relax.
“Are you all right?” Blake asked her.
“Fine. Just a little scared maybe.”
“And I thought I was scared enough for both of us. I’m just hoping my mother gets here before the baby does.”
“I’m just hoping he’ll be all right. I wasn’t expecting him for another two weeks. He could be underweight, or even have breathing problems. That’s what I read in one of your mother’s books.”
“Now you’re scaring me. But you said him. How do you know it’s a boy?”
“I don’t really. Just a feeling. I—oh!”
Her fists tightened as another pain stuck, this one deeper and longer than the last.
Blake reached for her hand. “Whichever he or she is . . .” The words trailed off as if he couldn’t finish the thought. If she’d pushed him, would he have said, Whichever he or she is, this baby will be ours?
Maybe that was too much to ask of him. Maybe she would have to love her child enough for them both.
* * *
More time and more contractions. As Blake gripped his wife’s hands, he could tell her pains were getting more intense; and there was still no sign of his mother. Hanna’s face was pale, her skin beaded with sweat. But after each contraction passed, she would give him a tired smile as if to say, Everything’s fine. He loved her for that, and for so many other things. A woman could die in childbirth. Many of them had. What would he do if he were to lose her?
Where was Sarah when they needed her so desperately?
Finally, after a hard contraction had passed, Blake stood and told her, “I’m going out onto the porch and look down the road. If the buggy is coming, maybe I can wave and hurry them. Don’t worry, I’ll be right back.”
He strode toward the door and would have gone out, but she called to him.
“Blake! Don’t go! The baby—it’s coming now!”
He raced back to the bed, flung aside the blanket that covered her, and raised the hem of her nightgown.
Mere seconds later, a tiny, perfect little dark-haired boy slid into the world and right into his hands. Small as he was, he was screaming his healthy little lungs out.
Blake’s heart melted at the sight of him.
Moments later, Sarah rushed into the room to take the baby, cut the umbilical cord, and wrap him in a flannel receiving blanket before placing him in Hanna’s arms. Hanna was weeping with joyous exhaustion.
Minutes behind her mother, Kristin burst through the door and saw the baby. “Heavens to Betsy,” she gasped, out of breath. “I’m an auntie!”
Blake sank onto the chair next to the bed, his eyes on Hanna and the child he’d just helped bring into the family.
“And I’m . . .” What? An uncle? No!
“I’m a father,” he said.
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
Two weeks later
BLAKE OPENED THE BEDROOM DOOR TO FIND HANNA ON HER BED nursing their baby. His breath caught at the sight of them—the beautiful boy with his thatch of dark Dollarhide hair, his tiny face buried against the satiny breast of a ravishing woman—his wife.
The quilt that divided the space between their two beds had been rehung. Blake had done it without asking, assuming she would want privacy. But looking at her now, he made a silent vow that it wouldn’t remain in place forever.
Young Joseph Lars Dollarhide, named for his grandfathers and known as Little Joe, was changing every day. Thanks to a ravenous appetite, he was gaining weight, filling out, already growing plump and rosy. And he already had the members of his family wrapped around his tiny finger. Sarah and Joe doted on him and on their new role as grandparents. Kristin adored him. And even crusty old Shep cracked a smile when the baby was carried into the kitchen. A few days earlier, Alvar had brought Inga to see her grandchild. Sarah had received her graciously; but Inga, though she loved the baby, had been visibly overwhelmed by the size of the house. She’d seemed relieved when Alvar told her it was time to go.
As for Blake, he’d once thought that he’d be doing well to accept Hanna’s child as his legal son. Now, when he held the boy, he imagined watching him grow up, teaching him to ride, fish, and hunt, and taking him on roundup. In every way that mattered he was Little Joe’s proud father.
And then there was the baby’s mother.
Hanna had blossomed with motherhood, her delicate beauty becoming softer, rounder, and warmer. Seeing her now, with the baby at her breast, Blake felt the familiar tug of arousal. But it was too soon for what he ached to have. She was still healing, and when the time came, he would need her to want him, too. For now, all he could do was control his hunger and bide his time.
Sensing his presence, she looked up and smiled. “I didn’t expect you home so early,” she said.
“I’m not here to stay. I needed some paperwork from Dad’s study—an invoice. Then I’ll be going. I just wanted to see you and make sure you were all right.”
“I’m all right, but with the raids getting worse, I’m worried about my family.”
“So am I, and they’re my family, too. Your mother’s insisting that they have to stand with their neighbors. To run away to our place would show weakness.”
“She’s as proud and stubborn as Papa is.”
“Anybody who touches them or their property will be dealing with me. The raiders should know that.”
“But it might not be enough to protect them.”
He walked over to the bed and brushed a kiss on her forehead. “I’ve got to go. There’s a delivery wagon waiting at the mill. I should be home by suppertime.”