Epilogue A New Family
I'm halfway through shoeing a stubborn gelding when my phone buzzes in my pocket like an angry hornet.
I've been married to Jo for slightly more than a year, and I've learned that ignoring her calls is about as smart as turning your back on a bull in the chute.
Pregnancy hormones have really done a number on her too.
Yep, we are having a baby. But we aren't sure exactly when that will happen.
Jo and I agreed we didn't want to know the gender because we'd rather be surprised.
"Hey, darlin'," I answer, wedging the phone between my shoulder and ear while I finish hammering in a nail. "Just finishing up with Thunder here and then I'll grab those jalapeno poppers you've been craving."
There's a beat of silence, then a sharp intake of breath that makes my blood run cold.
"Clay." Jo's voice is tight and controlled in a way I've never heard before. "My water just broke."
The hammer slips from my hand, narrowly missing my boot. "What? But you aren't due for another week."
"Tell that to the little bronc rider in my belly who wants to kick her way out."
My pulse pounds, my ears ring, and I can't think straight. "Whuh---what should I do, Jo?"
She lets out a sharp huff. "Come into the house and call the midwife! Are all men this stupid?"
"Oh yeah, midwife." I'm already dropping Thunder's hoof and backing away from the horse stall, my hands shaking like I'm the one about to give birth. "Are you timing the contractions? Should I---"
"Clay." Jo's calm voice cuts through my panic, helping me relax a little. "Stop talking and start moving. Now ."
Before Jo can finish that single word, I'm running toward the house faster than I've ever moved in my life, phone still pressed to my ear.
"I'm coming, darlin'. Just breathe." I see my father on the porch swing and shout to him as I keep running, "Finish shoeing Thunder for me, Dad. Jo's water broke!"
He leaps up and sprints toward the barn.
"Don't you dare tell me to breathe again, Clay McKendrick." Even in labor, my wife's got enough fire to melt steel. "I've been breathing for twenty-eight years without your help."
Of course she knows how to breathe. I'm panicking while she seems relatively calm.
I burst through the kitchen door to find Jo gripping the counter, her knuckles white as fresh snow.
Her auburn hair has escaped its ponytail, wild strands framing her face as she breathes through what I'm guessing is another contraction.
"Midwife," I say, fumbling for the contact list we'd stuck to the refrigerator. My hands are shaking so bad I can barely read the numbers. "Casey's number, where's Casey's number?"
"Top of the list, you bonehead." Jo's grip on the counter tightens. "And while you're at it, grab the go-bag from the hall closet."
I dial with trembling fingers, pacing back and forth like a caged animal while Casey's phone rings. Come on, come on, pick up.
"McKendrick residence calling for Casey," I blurt out the second someone answers.
"Clay? It's Casey. Is Jo in labor?"
"Her water broke, and she's having contractions, and the baby's not supposed to come for another week, and I don't know what to do and---"
"Clay, take a breath and exhale slowly." Casey's voice is calm and professional, as if she often coaches men whose wives are in labor. "How far apart are the contractions?"
I look helplessly at Jo, who's now leaning forward with both hands on the counter with her face scrunched up.
"We haven't been timing them," I admit, feeling utterly useless.
Jo opens one eye to glare at me. "About seven minutes. They started this morning, but I thought they were just practice ones."
My jaw drops. "This morning? Jo, why didn't you---"
"Because I knew you'd act exactly like this," she snaps, then winces as another wave of pain hits her.
Casey's calm voice comes through the speaker. "That's still early labor, but with her water breaking, I need you to bring her to the birthing center now. Don't panic, but don't dawdle either."
"Yes, ma'am." I hang up and race across the kitchen in two strides, wrapping my arm around Jo's waist. "Casey says we need to get to the birthing center."
"No kidding," Jo snaps, but then she leans into me, letting me take some of her weight. That scares me more than anything---Jo never admits when she needs help.
"The bag," she reminds me through gritted teeth.
"Right. The bag." I help her get to a chair and sit down. Then I sprint to the hall closet where the meticulously packed hospital bag has been waiting for weeks. Jo had organized it with military precision while I watched, bewildered by the sheer number of items a tiny human apparently needs.
When I return, Jo is standing up again with one hand lodged at her hip. The other hand is braced against the wall.
"Truck keys," she hisses, and I'm already grabbing them from the hook by the door.
"Got 'em, darlin'." I sling the bag over my shoulder and move to help her again, but she waves me off.
"I can still walk, Clay. I'm not made of glass."
Famous last words, because halfway to the truck, another contraction hits her like a freight train. Jo doubles over, gripping my arm so tightly I'm pretty sure she's cutting off circulation.
"Okay, maybe I need a little help," she admits through clenched teeth.
I scoop her up before she can protest, carrying her the rest of the way to the truck. I'm struck by how fragile she feels in my arms.
"Clay, put me down," Jo protests, but there's no real fight in her voice. "I am not an invalid."
"Humor me." I navigate the gravel driveway with my precious cargo in my arms and deposit her as gently as possible into the passenger seat of my truck.
She winces again.
"Another one, Jo?"
She shakes her head. "Just uncomfortable. This baby's sitting right on my---"
"Got it," I interrupt, slamming her door and sprinting around to the driver's side.
The last thing I need is another anatomy lesson.
Jo's been, ah, very forthcoming about all the gory details of pregnancy because she wants to make sure I'm "properly educated about the female body.
" As if a lifetime of living on a ranch hadn't already taught me plenty about birth.
Okay, maybe I only know about birthing horses and cows.
But I don't have time to worry about that.
I fire up the engine and pull out of our driveway like we're fleeing a wildfire, gravel spitting behind us.
"Clay McKendrick, if you don't slow this truck down, I swear I'll have this baby right here on your new leather seats." Jo's voice has taken on a dangerous edge, the one that reminds me she used to break wild horses for fun.
I ease off the gas, my knuckles white against the steering wheel. "Sorry, darlin'. Just trying to get you there quick."
She grunts. "I'd rather arrive alive than quick." Jo shifts uncomfortably, then sucks in a sharp breath. "Oh God, here comes another one."
I reach over to offer my hand. She grabs it and squeezes so hard I think my fingers might snap.
"Holy heaven, Jo." Though I wince, I don't pull away. I've been stomped on by thousand-pound bulls that hurt less than her grip right now.
Jo bites her lip, her forehead wrinkling. "Clay, I don't think we're gonna make it to the birthing center."
"What do you mean we're not gonna make it?" My voice jumps up an octave as I glance between her and the road. "We've got another forty minutes at least."
"You don't get it," Jo says through gritted teeth. "I mean that this baby is coming faster than you rode that mechanical bull at the county fair last summer."
"That's not funny, Jo." My heart's hammering so hard I can barely hear myself think.
"Do I look like I'm joking?" She releases my hand to grip the dashboard, her knuckles white as she pants through another contraction. "Pull over. Now ."
I swerve onto the shoulder of the empty country road. The tires kick up dust clouds as we skid to a stop. The late afternoon sun slants through the windshield, highlighting the sheen of sweat on Jo's forehead.
"Call Casey," Jo commands, already unbuckling her seatbelt with shaking hands. "Tell her we're about twenty miles out from town, just past the old Henson place."
I fumble for my phone, nearly dropping it twice before managing to hit redial. Casey answers on the second ring.
"Jo says the baby's coming now," I blurt out. "We're pulled over on County Road 22, and I don't know what to---"
"Put me on speaker," Casey interrupts, her voice calm but urgent.
I hit the speaker button and place the phone on the dashboard. "You're on with Jo."
"Okay. Jo, honey, I need you to tell me how close your contractions are..." Casey and Jo have a brief discussion about that, then she turns back to me. "You won't make it to town, Clay."
Aw, shit. "Hang in there, Jo. It'll be okay."
"Listen to me very carefully," Casey's voice crackles through the speaker. "You're going to help Jo deliver this baby. I'm going to talk you through it, but I need you to stay calm."
My ears are ringing, probably because I stopped breathing.
But I won't let Jo down, not with our baby about to pop out.
Casey gives me instructions, and I follow them precisely.
Ten minutes later, the most beautiful sound in the world echoes through the truck---the crying of a baby.
"We did it, Jo! You and me, we brought our daughter into the world together. "
My wife is exhausted but happy, based on her crooked smile. "Let me see her, Clay, please."
I carefully transfer our squalling, slippery daughter into Jo's waiting arms, marveling at how something so tiny could've caused such a commotion. The baby's face is scrunched and red, and her tiny fists are waving in protest at being evicted from her cozy home.
"She's perfect," I choke out, my vision blurring. I'm not ashamed to admit I'm crying. "Ten fingers, ten toes, and lungs like a rodeo announcer."
Casey's voice rings out from her phone. "It's a girl? Is that what you said, Clay?"
"Yes, you have a niece." I kiss Jo's forehead. "We picked the name months ago. Our daughter is Leah Mae McKendrick."
We will have an enormous party to celebrate our daughter's birth, but not today. Right now, Jo needs rest, and we both need to snuggle with our sweet baby girl. This is the best happily ever after we could have imagined.
And our lives will only get better.