Mystic Montana Sky (The Montana Sky Series Book 6) Read Online Free PDF Page B

eyes and seemed to drop into sleep, only to stir a few minutes later as a contraction barreled over her. She groaned, squeezing his fingers ’ til they ached. When the constriction eased, she released him and lay back, her body limp. “They are coming faster. I don’t know if I have the strength to do this, Caleb.”
    Once again, he mopped her damp forehead with his handkerchief. “So must every woman think at some point in her travail. Yet babies are born all the time, despite their mothers’ doubts. Besides, I already know what a strong woman you are, Maggie.”
    “No, I’m not.”
    “I’m not going to argue the truth.”
    Maggie sipped water, nodding when she was done. “The tea?”
    He laid her back down. “I’ll build a fire and boil water. Then you’d better tell me exactly what to expect and what to do.”
    She nodded, grabbing her knees, grunting with pain and the effort to endure. When it was over, she caught her breath. “Someone’s filled my insides with prickly pear cactus and is wringing me out.”
    Caleb winced. “You certainly have a way with words.”
    “I’ll trade places with you.”
    Never. “You’re doing just fine.” Playfully, he tapped her nose. “If men were the ones to have babies, the human population would die out within a generation.”
    She chuckled. “True.”
    Caleb rocked back on his heels, surprised by how good her husky laughter and their repartee made him feel. He wasn’t a man given to bantering with women—with anyone for that matter. Out here in the wilderness, with a woman about to give birth, he wasn’t the banker or the hotel owner. I’m just a man trying to hold his guilt and terror at bay and make sure this mother and child survive.

CHAPTER THREE
    B etween Maggie’s contractions, Caleb rushed about the business of setting up camp. He cleared an area near the bed, dug a fire pit, and started a fire to brew her tea. He hiked through the trees to a stream at the base of the hill, filled two buckets with water, and hauled them back to the fire.
    Meanwhile, she explained what supplies were needed for birthing the baby—the washtub for soaking bloody clothes, the pot for boiling water, a pile of clean rags, a flannel blanket, the string and knife for tying off and cutting the cord, diapers and soakers, and a little cloth garment for the baby to wear.
    He tried to memorize her instructions, terrified there’d come a time when he’d need to know what to do, and she wouldn’t be able to tell him. Once inside the caravan, Caleb rifled through Maggie’s possessions, careless of making a mess. Or maybe I should say more of a mess. He bundled everything into a basket that hung from a hook in the ceiling near a corner.
    While he worked, Maggie dozed, only to awaken a minute or two later when another wave of pain possessed her. She panted, groaned, and grunted her way through multiple pushes through each contraction.
    The next hour passed in a blur. Somewhere along the line, Caleb lost his fear, so intent was he on the birth. His world narrowed to a grim need to get mother and child through this ordeal.
    After a contraction, Maggie let out a breath. “I feel better if I continuously push my way through the entire thing.”
    “You said Mrs. Tisdale told you to trust your body, so I suppose that is what you are doing. Would you like a drink?” He lifted up her shoulders and offered her sips of the raspberry leaf tea, holding the cup to her mouth while she drank, for he could see she was totally spent. Then he laid her back down and wiped her sweaty face.
    Soon the cramping came in swift waves, one on top of the other. Maggie was so inwardly focused, she didn’t respond when he spoke to her, almost as if she couldn’t hear him. To get her attention, Caleb had to lean close to her face when he spoke.
    After one long contraction, with intense pushing, Maggie couldn’t seem to get comfortable. She tried shifting her hips one way, then the other. “This isn’t