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Cameron’s hand stroked over Esmeralda’s stomach, noting each foot, leg, and arm of her baby resting beneath the skin. Ian had always admired Cameron’s abilities. With just the brush of her hand on a woman’s stomach, it was as if she could see beneath the skin. No matter how many times he tried, which admittedly wasn’t many, he’d never been able to do the same. As Cameron had gotten bigger in her pregnancy, he’d often rubbed his hands over her belly, trying to determine which little knobs belonged to which of their daughter’s body parts. Although he had no way to know for sure, he was fairly certain his guesses had never been accurate.
Cameron looked up, offering Esme a weak smile. “The baby is breach.”
Gasping, the other woman shook her head. “Breach? What is that?”
“It means the baby’s not head down,” Cameron explained. “You’ll likely need a cesarean.”
Esme’s eyes narrowed in a mixture of pain and confusion.
“I’ll need to remove the baby through a cut in your stomach.” Cameron tried valiantly to keep her own nerves at bay, but Ian could sense the anxiety radiating from her. She’d once been the hospital’s top OB. Had the attack in Africa robbed her of that ability?
“A cut?” Attempting to push herself up in the bed, Esme shook her head frantically. “You can’t cut me. No. The baby will come out. It will turn.” By the end, desperation almost strangled the pregnant woman.
“It’s possible with time the baby could turn,” Cameron conceded. “But we don’t have time, Es.”
Tears filled the laboring woman’s eyes. “It’s not natural. What if you cut the baby? What if . . .”
Taking her friend’s hand, Cameron explained. “Women have C-sections every day. The babies and the mothers are fine. Ara was delivered by C-section.”
Something akin to relief softened Esme’s tense face. “You… You let a doctor cut you?”
Cameron’s face drained of color. Her gaze darted away from her friend. Ian shifted from where he leaned on the wall, worried he’d need to catch her.
Gathering her composure, she nodded. “I did. It was necessary.” With one hand she lifted her T-shirt, revealing two round scars where bullets had entered her abdomen. With the other, she pushed the band of her shorts down. There, just above her pelvic bone, a thin white line indicated where a doctor had opened her.
A knot formed in Ian’s stomach. Wes had made a similar cut to remove their child. Ian had never seen the scar. By the time the wound had healed, Cameron no longer shared her body with him.
Esme’s hand seemed to move toward Cameron of its own volition. Cameron stood statue still as the other mother placed her fingertips on the scar. Ian raised his gaze to Cameron’s. A myriad of emotions played over her lovely face: misery, heartache, pain. His arms ached to pull her close. His lips longed to kiss away her vulnerability. Abruptly, Cameron stepped away, setting her clothes back in place.
“You… you can do this?” Esme’s voice shook. “You can deliver a baby like this? I’ve never seen you—”
“I have.” Until now, he’d kept silent. Although Esme seemed to like him and trust him to care for her husband, most of the women he’d encountered in villages and islands preferred to leave birthing to the female doctors. Since Cameron was by far more qualified than him, he had no problem taking a backseat to her expertise. “I’ve seen her do this on several women in conditions worse than this, on mothers not as strong and healthy as you. You couldn’t have asked for a more capable doctor.”
“Ian.” Cameron pleaded quietly.
He met her sad, worried eyes. “It’s the truth.”
Just as Esme nodded, a contraction ripped through her. She threw her head back and released an inhuman growl of pain. The monitor beside the bed beeped erratically. Adrenaline fired in Ian’s veins. He wanted, needed to act, but didn’t know what to do.
“Cam?”
She checked the monitor, then placed her hands on Esme’s rigid stomach. “Her BP is rocketing and the baby’s in distress.” Her voice hitched.
“What do you want me to do?”
When she didn’t answer right away, he took his fist under her chin and nudged it up. “Cameron. Tell me what to do to help you deliver this baby.”
As their gazes met, some of the fear melted away and her body softened.
“Put her under. We need to get the baby out. Now.” Pulling away, she rushed to the sink. “The meds are in the cabinet in the office. I’ll clean up and—”
“Cameron.” He stopped in the doorway, waiting for her to look his way. “You’ve got this. Breathe and get it done. I’m right here.”
Her chest rose, pushing against her tank top. Shoulders relaxing, she nodded. “Thank you.”
He didn’t know what had happened to make Cameron so nervous about performing this procedure. Maybe because Esme was her friend and already facing the possibility of losing her husband. Maybe because the baby was thirty-two weeks, the same as when their child had passed. Whatever the reason, he’d see that Cameron delivered this baby without incident. He’d believe in her abilities enough for both of them.
* * *
Ian stood by Brodie Hunte’s bed, watching the tiny newborn sleeping on his father’s chest. He knew enough about babies to know they benefited from skin-to-skin contact. With Cameron still working on the mother, Brodie was an excellent alternative. Besides, maybe having the tiny creature so close would somehow help the father too. Cameron had been right when she said thirty-two weeks was plenty of time to fall in love with an unborn child. The attachment was no different for fathers. Ian had loved their daughter fiercely from the first sound of her tiny beating heart. If everything he’d heard about Brodie was true, he’d bet the other man felt the same way.
When the baby became fussy, Ian picked the squirming bundle up, secured his blanket around him and held him close as he drew Brodie’s blanket back over his body. Then he bent his head and closed his eyes. Maybe he no longer believed in praying for himself, but that didn’t mean he wouldn’t try for someone else.
Luci turned to Ian as he entered the room Cameron had set up for Esme. The space was small, but so was the baby. While he’d visited with Brodie, Cameron had finished with the mother and cleaned everything. Looking at the room now, no one would know she’d performed an emergency cesarean only moments before. He was still in awe of how well she’d handled the entire situation. Knowing she’d been hesitant to perform the delivery herself made his amazement even richer. Watching her work with Esme, he hadn’t detected even a trace of hesitation. She’d been fierce, confident, in control… and hot as hell. He shook the thought away as he approached Luci by Esme’s side.
The older woman smiled at him, then cast her gaze on the bundle in his arms. “So tiny.”
He nodded. Four and a half pounds by his rough guess. Since the clinic didn’t have a scale sensitive enough to weigh such a small package, Ian had weighed himself both with and without the child and subtracted the difference. Other than being early and small, the baby appeared perfectly healthy. Cameron would probably assess him later. For now, she was nowhere to be found.
“I tried to clean him.” Ian explained as he handed the boy over to Luci. “I’m not great with such tiny patients though.” He gave her his best sheepish grin.
A small blush worked up the woman’s dark skin. “I’ll take care of him.” She took in Ian’s soiled clothes. “Why don’t you work on cleaning yourself up?”
Blood covered his arms and splattered his T-shirt and shorts. The clinic shower was little more than a hose with cold water and no pressure. He’d never get clean with that.
A knowing smile stretched Luci’s mouth. “There’s a stream behind the clinic. It’s deep enough to cover you if you sit. Many of us use it to clean ourselves.”
“Won’t someone see me if—”
She scoffed, her gaze raking over him from head to toe. “Looking like you, you worry someone will see?” She chuckled. “It’s dark. No one will be there. Besides, there are trees. It’s very private.”
He looked at the baby sleeping soundly in the older woman’s arms and the mother resting peacefully in bed. Neither of them needed him, and they’d probably be more comfortable without a stranger lingering.
“I’ll stay with them. They’ll likely rest until morning anyway. Take a breath, Doctor.”
Ian nodded. A “bath,” even one in a stream, sounded nice. His clothes had become stiff and the hairs on his arms were sticking as the blood dried.
“I’ll be back,” he promised.
Luci grinned. “Take your time.”
* * *
