Page 26 of Where the Roses Bloom (Gospels & Grimoires #1)

Willow

I was still reeling from the news about Carter when I got the call.

The landline downstairs in the kitchen woke us, Rhett’s arms wrapped around me, our legs tangled together…dressed in PJs for the first night in weeks. We hadn’t had sex last night—it had felt too strange after the day we’d had, finding out my ex was dead. And that bouquet on the porch…

…it hadn’t sat right with me.

But Rhett said he would take care of it, and I believed him.

And now the phone was ringing, and I had other things to worry about: namely, that Jasmine and Caleb Evers were about to have their baby.

I slid out of bed as quietly as I could, but Rhett stirred anyway, his hand brushing across the warm place where I’d been.

“Everything okay?” he mumbled, voice rough with sleep.

“I think so,” I whispered, already halfway down the hall. “It’s probably Jasmine.”

The landline rang again. I took the stairs two at a time, the hem of Rhett’s old T-shirt skimming my thighs, my hair a mess of sleep-tangled waves. I snatched the phone from its cradle on the kitchen wall just before the machine could pick up.

“Hello?”

“Willow?” Caleb’s voice cracked like static on the other end. “It’s time.”

“I’m on my way,” I said. “Keep her comfortable. I’ll be there within the hour.”

When I turned back toward the stairs, Rhett was standing at the top of them, shirtless, watching me.

“You goin’?” he asked.

I nodded, already gathering my supples. “Yeah. It’s time. Can you grab my clothes from upstairs?”

He didn’t ask questions. Just turned and padded back toward the bedroom, and I heard the dresser drawers opening as I ducked into the little pantry nook where I kept my kit.

It was a heavy-duty canvas tote with reinforced handles and a zippered top—nothing fancy, but sturdy and dependable, one of the only things of value I’d taken when I left Carter. I tugged it off the shelf and placed it on the counter to double-check my inventory.

First: my binder. Laminated cheat sheets, labor position diagrams, birth plan templates, and intake notes on Jasmine—everything I might need in a pinch. I tucked a fresh notepad and a couple pens into the front pocket.

Next came my comfort kit. A heating pad. Reusable gel cold packs. A small bottle of unscented lotion for counterpressure massage. A few protein bars, electrolyte packets, and individually wrapped peppermints for after the birth.

Then: basic medical supplies. Gloves, a thermometer, a clean bulb syringe just in case. I wasn’t a midwife, but I liked to be prepared.

I added a clean hand towel, a roll of soft paper towels, and a new pair of cotton socks—Jasmine had mentioned she hated having cold feet during her last trimester. A Bluetooth speaker for calming music. Phone charger. A small flashlight and batteries.

The hippie stuff came last: a jar of honey, raw and golden from the hives over at Honeybell, for energy and grounding.

Dried herbs in labeled tins—raspberry leaf, nettle, cramp bark, chamomile, motherwort.

I added a fresh vial of rose oil and a sprig of lavender I’d cut just yesterday from the garden.

By the time Rhett came back down with my leggings and hoodie, I was tying my hair back and cinching the zipper closed.

“You ready?” he asked.

“Almost,” I said, slipping into my shoes and checking the time. “Can you put my thermos in the side pocket? It’s on the counter—ginger tea.”

He nodded and did as I asked. When he handed me the bag, his fingers brushed mine.

“You want me to come?” he asked.

I shook my head. “Just stay close to the landline, okay? In case something comes up.”

He nodded, jaw tight. Ever since Carter’s visit, Rhett had been keyed up in a way that didn’t show in his voice, only in the way he watched shadows and slept with one arm always curled around me.

But he didn’t press me. Just leaned down and kissed my forehead, his palm resting briefly against my cheek.

“You call if you need anything,” he said. “I’ll come runnin’.”

“I know,” I whispered, and kissed him back, soft and quick. “I’ll be okay.”

He looked at me like he wasn’t sure that was true.

“I love you,” he said.

I frowned. “I love you, too. ”

But there was no time to ask him if everything was okay…because I had to go.

The drive to the Evers place was familiar by now—long curves and narrow shoulders, the first light of dawn stretching across the trees.

The roads were slick with dew, the sky tinged purple-gray in the first light of morning, and I kept my eyes on the dark ribbon of pavement, my fingers steady on the wheel.

At the house, Caleb was already outside waiting for me, pacing in the driveway in a pair of mismatched socks and an inside-out hoodie. He looked exhausted and entirely too young to be about to become someone’s dad. But…I guess that was how most dads looked.

Young, unprepared.

I wondered how Rhett would look.

“She’s upstairs,” he said, rubbing the back of his neck. “I’ve been timing the contractions—about five minutes apart for the last hour. She didn’t want to call too early, but the doctor had another emergency delivery last night and it’ll be another hour…”

“You’re doing all the right things,” I said, slinging my bag over my shoulder and climbing the porch steps. “Let’s see how she’s doing.”

Inside, the house was warm. A lamp glowed in the corner of the living room, casting soft light across the baby blanket draped over the couch. There were clean towels stacked by the stairs, a half-empty cup of ginger ale on the side table…signs of readiness.

Yeah…they were ready for this. We all were.

When I stepped into the bedroom, Jasmine was on her hands and knees on the bed, breathing in deep, even rhythm. Her hair was tied up in a scarf, and her face shone with sweat—but her eyes were clear and calm when she saw me.

“Willow,” she said. “Thank God.”

I smiled and set my bag on the chair by the door. “You’re doing amazing,” I said, stepping closer. “Let’s check your vitals, and then we’ll talk through where we’re at and what you need.”

Jasmine nodded, jaw tight as another contraction rolled through her. She groaned, low and steady, and I placed a hand on her back.

“I’ve got you,” I murmured.

The contraction passed, and Jasmine sagged onto her forearms with a ragged breath. Caleb hovered in the doorway, wide-eyed and wringing his hands. I gave him a reassuring nod as I pulled out my binder and blood pressure cuff.

“She’s been moving around a lot,” he said, voice a little hoarse. “Walking the hallway. She didn’t want to lie down.”

“Good instinct,” I said. “Movement helps with positioning, especially this early.”

I took Jasmine’s blood pressure, checked her pulse, and wrote everything down. Her vitals were solid. Her breathing was good. She was tired—but steady.

“Doctor should be here soon,” she said, eyes flicking toward the window. “I didn’t want to wait for her to get here, in case the baby came faster than we thought.”

“I told you to call me anytime, and I meant it,” I said. “You trust her?”

Jasmine nodded. “Dr. Baines from Perry. She’s the only one who’d agree to come all the way out here. I haven’t had uh…oof…good experiences in hospitals, but she’s fantastic.”

“Then we’re in good shape,” I said. “You’ve got me as long as you need me. You’re not alone.”

She looked at me like she was about to cry, but then she took a breath and nodded. “Okay. Okay. ”

I helped her shift into a more comfortable position and talked her through the next few hours. What to expect. What to trust in her own body.

Caleb brought her a fresh glass of water and hovered close, whispering soft encouragements while I set up the Bluetooth speaker and queued up the playlist Jasmine had given me in advance: all low, soothing jazz.

The bedroom grew quieter again, the rhythm of labor taking hold.

“You’re safe,” I told her, pressing a cold pack to the back of her neck. “You’re strong.”

Jasmine let out a low sound as another contraction rolled through her—stronger this time. I braced my hand against her lower back and rode it out with her, anchoring us both.

She breathed. I breathed.

And for a few minutes, everything was exactly how it should be.

The wind moved gently through the cracked window. Somewhere outside, birds were waking. And inside this little farmhouse, a woman was getting ready to bring her daughter into the world.

“I’m right here,” I whispered, palm steady between her shoulder blades. “You’re not alone.”

And she wasn’t.

Not even close.