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He sat along the edge of the rugged sofa table, perfect for propping feet after a long day, or holding a mug of coffee. “They ended up doing the C-section, but the baby’s safe and sound.” He paused. “And tiny. I forgot how small babies really are.” He let his gaze rest on Zeke for a few seconds. “Anyway, she’s beautiful. Rosie’s doing all right, and Harve looked shell-shocked. But happy. So happy, both of them. She’ll be home in a couple of days which seems really quick for a procedure like that. But then sheep recover from C-sections pretty quickly, so maybe I’m being overprotective.”
Her smile faded. She sat more upright and indicated Zeke with a glance. “On second thought, can you take him, please? I need to get back to work.”
Her voice had been soft and lyrical. Now it was clipped. “Sure.” He lifted the boy to his chest. “Thanks for watching him, Liz.”
“Glad to help.”
Was she? It’d seemed like it, and then…not so much. He tucked Zeke into his bed, yawned, and wished he could join the little guy, but there were things to do. Sleep would have to wait.
He walked outside, hands in his pockets. Seeing Rosie in labor, then seeing baby Johanna in her father’s arms, thrust him back in time. Anna had been a scheduled C-section to spare her heart the rigors of labor. She’d wakened long enough to see Zeke. To hold him. To smile at her son and bless him before he was whisked off to the NICU.
She’d lingered for three days, in and out of a semiconscious state. And then she’d slipped away forever. Johanna wasn’t in the NICU. At over seven pounds, she was a full-term, beautiful little girl with clenched fists and a button nose, but seeing her brought so much flooding back. And then, walking in, spotting his son curled in Lizzie’s arms.
He headed to the lambing shed to relieve Wick. Corrie would call him when Zeke woke up. After a snack, she’d noted, as she packed fresh cookies into a zipped bag for him.
“Hey, boss.” Wick had been bent over a stall wall, monitoring a fresh delivery. He straightened, rubbed the small of his back, but kept smiling. “Harve and Rosie are doing all right, I hear?”
“You hear right. Mother, baby and aging father.”
Wick laughed. “Nothing like a baby to keep you young. And it’s real nice to see them welcome this little girl after so long. And this little mama just presented triplets so we should red-string this one.” He motioned to a ewe with a single lamb behind him. “And gift her a daughter so no one has to fight for food. If she takes it on, that is.”
“I’ll keep an eye on them to make sure she takes.” Most sheep would accept an orphan lamb, but not all. “I’ll give the baby a colostrum bottle before we shift her over.” He scanned the tape markers on the stall doors, indicators of what had happened on the last shift. He whistled softly. “You’ve been busy.”
“We’re in the thick of it now, but I just fed and you should get a breather for a little while.”
“I’ve got coffee.” He set his insulated cup onto a small shelf close by. “And a fistful of cookies. I’m good.”
Wick washed up in the barn sink before he went off to rest. Heath warmed a bottle slightly. He slipped into the pen, picked a female lamb and fed her the bottle. Then he marked her ear before offering her to the mother down the aisle.
The ewe had been resting comfortably, her baby at her side. She brought her head around when he deposited the little lamb alongside the day-old baby ram. Then he backed away.
The baby seemed confused. She bleated, turned and bleated again.
Her biological mother’s voice answered from down the walkway. Then the new ewe leaned back and sniffed at her. She sniffed again, then looked around as if wondering how this had occurred.
Then she stood. The moment of truth had arrived. Would she clean up this newborn and feed her? Or would she chase her off to protect her original baby?
The lamb bleated again, as if pleading her case.
The older ewe nudged her with her nose. And then she began cleaning her, working the lamb’s surface with her tongue, letting the newborn know it would be all right.
His mind went straight back to Lizzie, cuddling Zeke on the couch. Could a woman accept another person’s child as readily? And how could a parent risk a bad pairing? Zeke was his responsibility. Would anyone else be able to love him like Heath did?
Anna would scold you and tell you to get over yourself. To get real.
The mental reminder was right. Anna had a way of setting him straight when he let worry take hold. She’d had faith in God and confidence in him when he had precious little in himself.
