Page 45

“We’re going to wreck, and then you’re really not going to make it,” Cooper says from the passenger seat.

I’ve been driving back to Larkspur as fast as humanly possible with a quadruped-filled trailer attached to my truck since I got the call from Elsie almost two hours ago.

Cooper insisted we pull over for lunch, so I was in a fast-food parking lot when she called and told me they were taking her to labor and delivery.

Cooper has kept up a steady stream of conversation since, probably in an attempt to keep me calm, but I think this is the first thing that’s actually registered.

He’s right. I need to get back home, but I also need to do it safely. I lift my foot off the gas ever so slightly. I have a skittish horse in the trailer, and driving recklessly is only going to make him harder to deal with when we get back to the ranch.

I heave out a breath, and some of the tension in my shoulders relaxes just a bit. “I’m freaked out,” I admit into the quiet of the cab. “I missed one single appointment, and this happened.” I risk a glance at my brother.

He’s watching me calmly, a look of understanding on his face. “I was terrified when Willow went into labor,” he says.

Surprise ripples through me. I wasn’t aware that my brother was scared of anything.

A laugh rumbles out of him at the look of shock I must be wearing. “Any man who says they’re not terrified when their partner goes into labor is lying.”

“I just need to be there with her,” I tell him.

“You’ll get there.” He’s quiet for a minute. “And when you do, you’ll be scared as hell but also relieved and also feel like you’re going to throw up just a little bit.”

This pulls a smile from me.

“But birth is so cool. And Elsie is strong. She and the baby are going to pull through like champs, okay?”

I squeeze the wheel a little harder, my knuckles turning white.

“What if she doesn’t?” I ask the question into the void, refusing to look at him.

The fear has been nagging me since she called, since I heard the waver in her voice.

Since I pulled up the web browser on my phone and looked up what we’re dealing with.

Preeclampsia. It terrified me. Most cases turn out fine, but the risks, the complications put a fear in me like I’ve never felt before.

“I just got her back,” I tell him, my voice cracking. “I just got her back. I can’t lose her, Coop.”

“You’re not going to lose her.” He sounds calm but firm. Steady. He sounds like a father. He sounds like our father, and it soothes some of the jagged edges of fear inside me. “At this time tomorrow, you’re going to have a healthy wife and baby.” He pauses. “Well, hopefully.”

I cut a sharp look at him, and he laughs.

“What? Labor can take forever.”

I slump against the steering wheel. “God, Cooper. Choose your words a little more carefully next time.”

He chuckles again. “They’re going to be okay, Beau. And you’re going to be a dad.”

“I’m going to be a dad,” I whisper.

Elsie is uncomfortable by the time I finally make it to her hospital room.

To my surprise, everyone in my family except my father—who was waiting for us at Lucky Stars to assist Cooper with the horse so I could head to the hospital—is already in the labor and delivery waiting room.

I brush by them, telling them I’ll report back as soon as I see Elsie.

Then I run up to her room, my heart thumping in my chest.

Jade is there with her, helping to adjust the pillow Elsie is leaning on. Elsie’s face is scrunched in pain, but when she sees me, everything in her body softens with relief. “You’re here.”

“I’m here,” I say, and move to the side Jade isn’t on, grabbing her hand and pressing a kiss to it. “I’m sorry it took so long.”

She shakes her head. “It’s okay. I’m just glad you’re here now.”

“I told her I could deliver the baby if you didn’t get here,” Jade offers. “How much harder can it be than a calf or foal?”

“Beau isn’t delivering the baby,” Elsie tells her in a tone that makes me think this isn’t the first time she’s said it.

Jade shrugs. “Offer still stands.”

“Thanks for being here with her,” I tell Jade.

She smiles. “Of course.”

I look back at Elsie, relieved at how much more relaxed she looks now than she was when I walked through the door. I can’t believe my presence did that , and it makes me want to strangle myself even more for not being here before.

“My entire family is in the waiting room,” I say.

Elsie’s eyes widen. “Why?”

A smile cracks my lips. “Because they have no sense of boundaries.”

She shakes her head, managing a smile of her own. “They should go home. I’m only a centimeter dilated. This is going to take a while.”

“I’ll try my best.”

Jade pushes to standing, reaching for Elsie’s hand to give it a squeeze. “I’ll handle them. You guys handle the having a baby part.”

“Thank you for being here.”

Jade’s expression softens. “Of course, Els. Always.” She looks at both of us in turn then. “Keep me posted, okay?”

Elsie nods. “I’ll send selfies the whole time.”

“Make sure to get one while pushing.”

“Definitely,” Elsie says with a smile.

Jade gives her hand one last squeeze before leaving.

As soon as she’s gone, Elsie’s face pinches in discomfort. She lets out a breath through her nose. “Contraction.”

Her hand tightens on mine, and I grip hers back, breathing with her, trying to funnel my strength into her as best as I can. A minute later, it’s over, and the tension releases from her body.

“I’m not a fan of those.”

“Have they given you the epidural yet?” We talked through her birth plan together and with her doctor over the last few appointments. She told the doctor she planned to get an epidural, but that she wanted to wait until her contractions were really uncomfortable.

Elsie shakes her head. “Not yet. I want to hold out a little longer.”

“Okay.” I look around the room. It’s larger than I expected and less clinical.

There is, of course, all the medical equipment—the hospital bed and the monitors Elsie is hooked up to—but there’s also a couch and a chair that can convert into beds, a sink, and cabinets that I would guess hold extra linens. “What can I do?”

When I look back at Elsie, she’s smiling softly. “Nothing yet. You being here is nice enough.”

Guilt pricks through me again. “I’m sorry, Els. I hate that I wasn’t here.”

She grabs for my hand again, holding it tight as she looks into my eyes. “Don’t beat yourself up, remember? I’m just glad you’re here to do this with me now.” She pauses, her eyes going a little misty. “We’re having a baby, Beau. It’s really happening.”

All the stress and anxiety from the last few months evaporates because she’s right. We’re here , doing it. In a day or two, we’re going to be holding our baby in our arms, looking at this perfect thing we created.

“Yeah, Els, we are.”

The next hours pass in a blur. Elsie insists I eat even though she’s not allowed to since she’s getting magnesium through an IV to prevent seizures from preeclampsia.

It makes her uncomfortable and nauseous, and although the epidural she gets eventually helps with her pain, it doesn’t help with those symptoms. It makes the time pass slowly, and I hate seeing her become more and more miserable.

I text updates to my family and hers. I assure Jade that everything is progressing and let her know how far along she is after cervical checks.

I ask the nurses for refills on ice chips the second Elsie finishes her cup of them and sneak bites of protein bars when she isn’t looking, even though she’s the one who texted my mom to bring them to me.

Night falls and Elsie manages to sleep. I do too, I think, but I mostly sit in the chair and stare at her, check her monitors to make sure her blood pressure doesn’t get too high and her vitals look good.

I take a photo of her in the early morning light and add it to the album I’ve been compiling for the baby.

I want her to see how strong her mom is right now, when she’s doing the hardest thing she will ever do.

Throughout the morning, Elsie’s labor intensifies. The sun slants through the windows, indicating the passing of time, as we hunker down. My hand is sore from Elsie’s hold on it, but I’d let her break every bone in my hand if it brought her relief.

I don’t know what time it is when things change, when a nurse tells us Elsie is in transition.

Time is moving differently, and my focus is entirely on Elsie.

I don’t feel the fatigue hanging heavy on my shoulders, don’t feel the grumbling in my stomach indicating it’s been too long since I last ate a protein bar.

I don’t notice anything except the sweat on Elsie’s brow, the monitor that beeps when her blood pressure goes a little higher, the way she grits her teeth at the feeling of pressure as another contraction hits.

At some point, the nurse returns, smiling, and tells us it’s time for Elsie to start pushing.

It simultaneously feels like I just got here and like we’ve been in this room for weeks, waiting on this moment.

Now time narrows to the seconds of pushing during contractions, the windows of time between them.

I’m whispering words to Elsie, unsure fully of what I’m even saying.

I tell her she’s strong. That she’s doing great.

That it’s just going to take one more push until we see her.

I don’t know how long I tell her these things, only that, eventually, the doctor and a NICU team arrive, in case the baby needs immediate intervention when she gets here.

Then there are bright lights that heat up the room, people that fill it up until there’s not much space.

I tighten my grip on Elsie’s thigh, my other hand in hers. I tell her it’s happening, it’s time.

She nods, that determined look I’ve seen on her face a thousand times filling her expression.

She’s done so many hard things. She’s danced on blistered feet and sprained ankles.

She’s woken up at the crack of dawn and stayed at a studio until well after dark, her muscles quivering and lungs burning.

She’s watched all her hard work come crumbling down after a devastating injury and picked herself back up again.

She’s lost a baby and held herself together through the fear of losing another.

She’s found her way back to herself and to me.

She’s done so many hard things, and I know she can do this.

I tell her that too.

Time slips, a ripple in the universe, a shooting star that you make a wish on, there and gone in an instant.

And then I hear it, a cry. I look from Elsie to the baby the doctor is holding.

My baby, our baby. And when I turn back to Elsie, she’s already watching me, awe written in the exhausted lines of her face.

I lean down, my lips finding hers. “You did it,” I whisper against them. “You did it, Elsie.”

Her tears are salty, mingling with the taste of mine, as she says, “We did it, Beau.”