Shadows of Yesterday(3)

He popped a tissue out of the box and with gentle fingers dabbed at the perspiration beading her forehead and upper lip. “Only next time, you might pick a cooler day,” he teased, coaxing her to smile.

“It was Doris Day,” she said.

“Pardon?”

“It was a Doris Day movie. James Garner was her husband. He was an obstetrician. Arlene Francis went into labor in a Rolls-Royce and Doris Day helped him deliver the baby.”

“Is that the one where he drives his car into the swimming pool?”

She laughed. “I think so.”

“Who would have thought that a movie like that could be educational?” He ran the Kleenex around her neck.

“What is your name?”

“Chad Dillon, ma’am.”

“I’m Leigh Bransom.”

“It’s a pleasure, Mrs. Bransom.”

When the next pain came, it wasn’t so bad, because Chad’s capable hands stroked the hard, torturous ball her abdomen had become. As the contraction subsided, he said, “You’re close, I think. Luckily I have a thermos of water in the cab of the truck. I’m going to wash my hands with it.”

He got the large jug of water and, hanging his hands over the side of the truck, washed them as well as he could.

“What were you doing this afternoon?” Leigh asked tactfully, wondering how his clothes could get so dirty.

“I was tinkering on an airplane engine.”

So he was a mechanic. Funny, he didn’t seem…

“You’d better take off any underwear you have on,” he said softly.

Leigh closed her eyes, too humiliated to meet his gaze. If only Chad weren’t such an attractive man…

“Don’t go shy on me now. We’ve got to get that baby here.”

“I’m sorry,” she murmured. She raised her dress. Having worn no slip or bra because of the heat, she had only panties to take off. With Chad’s assistance, she peeled them down her legs and pulled her sandaled feet through them.

“Would you feel better without the shoes?” he asked.

“No. They’re fine… Chad,” she cried on another pain.

He quickly knelt between her raised knees. “I can see the head,” he said with a relieved half-chuckle. “Are you supposed to push or… or something? What?”

Panting, she pushed with all her might. “That’s the way,” he encouraged her. “You’re doing fine, ma’am.” His low, steady voice was like a balm over her twisted insides.

“We’re almost there, Leigh,” he said, leaning forward to blot up her perspiration with another tissue. The bandanna he had tied around his forehead was wet with his own sweat. He swiped across his thick brows with the back of his hand. The hair on his chest was damply curled.

Quickly he took a pocket knife out of his jeans pocket, straightening his leg to work his hand down between the tight fabric. He poured water from the thermos over the knife, then cut a shoulder strap off her nightgown. “You’re something, you know that?” he said. “Most women would be crying and carrying on. You’re the bravest woman I’ve ever met.”

No, no, I’m not! her mind screamed. She couldn’t let him think that. She must tell him what a coward she really was. But before she could form the words, he went on, “Your husband’s going to be proud of you.”

“I… I don’t have a husband,” she said through gritted teeth as another labor pain bore down on her.

Stunned, Chad stared at her for a moment before her contorted features alerted him. His eyes dropped to the birth area, then opened wide in delight. “Oh, this is beautiful. That’s it. A little harder. The head’s out,” he cried, laughing.

The baby choked, spat, then began to wail.

“Come on, Leigh, you’re doing great. All we need is to get the shoulders out. There, there, that’s it. Now! Oh, God!” he said, catching the slippery new baby in his capable hands. “Look what you’ve got. A beautiful baby girl.”

Tears of relief were rolling down Leigh’s cheeks as she looked at the man beaming down at her. “Let me see her,” she breathed weakly. “Is she all right?”

“She… she’s perfect,” he said gruffly. “Just a minute. Let me take care of this cord.” She felt the beating of fists and feet against her as he laid the baby between her thighs. “How are you doing?” he asked anxiously after a moment. He didn’t look up. He was concentrating on what he was doing. A bead of sweat clung precariously to the tip of his chiseled nose.

“I’m wonderful,” she said drowsily.

“I’ll say you are. You’re terrific.”