Drive-By Daddy & Calamity Jo
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Cheryl Anne Porter
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1
“THIS IS NOT happening to me.”
Darcy Alcott really needed to believe that. Because if she didn’t, then this was happening to her, she was here alone, on a deserted stretch of southwestern Arizona highway. On a bright and steadily warming Wednesday in May. With a car that had broken down. And she was in labor. Big time labor. Baby-on-its-way labor.
“Don’t panic, Darcy,” she told herself, breathing fast and furiously. Don’t panic? Here I am—my baby about to make an appearance any moment and me, stuck to the tacky vinyl of the back seat of my secondhand sub-compact car. With the doors open for air. And Mom waiting on me in town for lunch. And what did I forget? The cell phone. So…don’t panic? Right.
As the full extent of her situation hit her, she came close to hyperventilating. “Oh, God, I’m panicking. I can’t panic. I have to…” Her mind went blank. “What do I have to do? Keep talking. I have to keep talking. Maybe someone will come. Someone other than this baby. Maybe they’ll see the open doors and the raised hood and stop. Oh. Another pain. Oh, baby, not now. You don’t want to start your life with me mad at you. Please.”
But baby, who was having none of it, only tried harder to make a grand entrance. Darcy’s body bore down with the contraction, although she did her darned level best to breathe shallowly, to hold off the inevitable, to not help her daughter come into the world just this minute. However, two weeks early by everyone’s estimation except apparently her own, baby had obviously decided to throw herself a birthday party today—before the hour was up, if that birth video Darcy and her mother/coach had suffered through in Lamaze class was to be believed.
Because according to what she’d learned from that calm, never-will-experience-labor-himself videotaped doctor and his oh-so-capable nurses, filming in the controlled setting of a hospital’s delivery room…which by the way, Darcy wanted now to point out, never covered anything practical, like what to do if you were alone and in labor on a deserted highway, in both the pitcher’s and the catcher’s positions…she was about to become a mother. A single mother. In every sense of the word.
The pain peaked and passed. Darcy collapsed against the seat, panting and crying. Then she heard someone yell, “Please won’t someone help me?” She looked around, then realized the voice was her own.
Suddenly, she heard the screech of tires, and saw a rising puff of dust and grit as a white pickup truck came to a stop. Someone was here. “Help!” Darcy cried out. “Please help me. My baby…” Her voice trailed off. And please don’t let it be some film crew. Or a passing band of ex-cons.
Just then a long, tall shadow settled over Darcy, starting at the opened door at her feet. Not her best angle. A low whistle followed. “Sweet Jesus. Lady, you’re about to have a baby.”
“You think?” Darcy gasped out. Then, peeling herself off the sticky vinyl, she struggled up onto her elbows…and saw a handsome big ole white-Stetson-wearing cowboy peering in at her. “That clears everything up, doesn’t it, mister? For a minute there, I thought I was—Ow, ow, ow.” She shrank back against the vinyl. “Oh, no. Another…pain…help me…please…my baby.”
“Yes, ma’am. Hold on. I’ll help you.” He pulled back and disappeared from view.
“No,” Darcy whimpered, unable to move. “Come back. Don’t leave me.”
Then, through the glaze of her pain, her mind registered what sounded like a truck’s tailgate being dropped open. Then there was silence as a few more seconds ticked by. A few minutes later, the cowboy reappeared. Only this time, he was behind her. Hatless now, his face hovering above hers, he shoved his big hands up under her shoulders, holding her. “When this pain passes, get ready to help me move you. I’m going to get you into my truck bed. I spread a blanket there for you.”
Darcy shook her head, and licked at her dry lips. “No. Can’t move. My baby. She’s—”
“I have to move you. There’s no room here. My truck’s brand-new. It’s clean. And I’ll have more room to operate there.”
Operate? A doctor word. The pain was subsiding. Darcy caught a quick breath. Thank God…a doctor. The world was, after all, a good place. “Are you a doctor?” she managed to say past her panting breaths.
“Relax,” he told her. “Save your strength for the next pain. And no, ma’am, I’m not a doctor. I’m a rancher. Okay, here we go. One. Two.…”
A rancher? He’s a rancher who’s going to operate? Why operate? What’s wrong? My baby. Is something wrong with my baby?
“Three.” He tugged her backwards…gently but firmly. Gasping, Darcy crabbed her feet along the seat as she reached up behind herself and grabbed at the rock-solid support of his arms. “Hurry. Faster. The pains…”
“Yes, ma’am. Let me get a hold of you. I’ve got to get my arm under your legs now so I can carry you. Like that. That’s good. Okay, sweetheart, here we go. Ready?”
No. She wasn’t ready. Not for any of this. Not labor. Not delivery. Not motherhood. “Yes,” she cried out. Anything to get this ordeal over with. “Please don’t leave me.”
“I won’t, honey. I won’t leave you.”
“Darcy. My name is Darcy. Not…honey.”
His blue-eyed gaze met hers. He nodded his head. “Yes, ma’am. No disrespect meant…Darcy.”
And then he had her in his arms and was carrying her as easily as if her pregnant weight were of no consequence to him. In only a matter of seconds—with Darcy realizing that her bare bottom was exposed to the world at large, should it care to pass by at this moment—he was settling her into his white truck’s bed. He was so tall, he managed to reach in right over the fender that covered the wheel well and laid her down like a mother…okay, like a father…putting a baby in its crib.
Darcy exhaled her relief at being lain down and instantly clutched at the blanket under her, concentrating on taking deep breaths and on watching him sprint to the tailgate. In one quick movement, he hauled himself up into the grooved bed with her. Then, with his boots thudding dully against the metal of the truck deck, he stepped around her, positioning himself at her head and shoulders. “I’m going to pull you up more,” he warned. “Keep your hold on that blanket.”
Darcy did. Sure enough, he tugged on the brightly patterned Indian blanket’s hem and effortlessly slid her farther into the bed until her head was resting against the bulkhead, at the cab’s back. “This is the best I can do for you, Darcy,” he told her, looking concerned. “I just wish there was some shade out here to make things easier for you.”
“While I…” Darcy rasped, “just wished…there were…some drugs out here…to make things easier for me.”
He chuckled. “I expect you do. Here. Raise up some.” With that he levered her up and wedged another rolled blanket under her shoulders. “That ought to give you something to lean against.” He stepped around her, and squatted down, all denim-covered muscle, at her feet. Lowering his gaze, he put a hand on her knee. “Bend your knees more…as far as you can. There. That’s good. Now hold on to them. And keep them bent like that.” He glanced up, looking into her eyes. “How’re we doing?”
“Great,” Darcy gasped out, feeling the onset of the next pain. “Want to…trade places?”
“Not for all the blue sky in Montana, ma’am. Easy now. Just take it as it comes.” He reached up, smoothing his hand up under her maternity top and rubbing her belly. “You’re doing fine, Darcy. Just breathe through it, make it easier for your baby. You say it’s a girl?”
Biting at her bottom lip, with her eyes squeezed shut, Darcy nodded.
“Good for you. A daughter. But how do you know? Ultrasound? Or woman’s intuition?”
The pain lessened. Darcy cried out, wanting to give up. It hurt so bad. But her body and her baby wouldn’t let her. “Ultrasound,” she finally sighed. “I don’t…have…woman’s intuition. If I did…I wouldn’t…be in…this position.”
The cowboy nodded. “I see. All men are slime, right?”
Darcy shook her head. “Not all. Just some.” Then she remembered something. “A minute ago…in my car. You said ‘operate.’ Is…is everything okay? Can you tell?”
His expression clouded. “Operate?” Then it cleared. “Oh. No. I mean, yeah, everything’s fine. Well, as far as I can tell. I just meant operate as in move around better.”
Relieved beyond measure, Darcy exhaled. Then she thought of something else. “Have you…ever done this before?”
“More times than I care to count,” he said with easy confidence. “But of course, I was helping to birth calves. I raise beef cattle.”
Great. Beef cattle. And now me. Darcy’s chin began quivering.
Which the cowboy obviously noticed because he changed the subject. “How’d you end up in this mess, Darcy? I mean out here on this road all alone. I figure the rest of it isn’t any of my business.”
Another pain began. Darcy gasped, her eyes widened, she tightened her grip on her knees. “Car trouble. Lunch. With my mother. Baby…not due…for two weeks.”
The cowboy grew alert, quietly looking from Darcy’s face to the place where the action was. “Well, someone forgot to tell your daughter, I reckon. Okay, here we go. Ride it out, Darcy. That’s good. Breathe. You’re doing fine. You need to push?”
Her eyes now squeezed shut, her neck muscles corded with her effort, Darcy nodded and shrieked, “Yes. I need to push, dammit. That’s what I’m doing. My back! My back is killing me.”
Suddenly her eyes popped open. The cowboy had grabbed her arms and was—she couldn’t believe it—literally pulling her to her feet, to a squatting position. “I’ve obviously never had a baby before, Darcy—”
“Well, neither have I, you…man, you!” It was the worst thing she could think to call him at this moment.
He blinked but otherwise ignored her outburst. “But I know what the Crow women say. It doesn’t hurt so bad if you’re squatting. It relieves some of the pain.” Then, holding her steady he reached around her with his other hand and rubbed her lower back.
Blessedly, unbelievably, she did feel better in this position. But weak, tired, certain she couldn’t keep this up, and wanting to be anywhere but here, Darcy leaned her weight into him, resting her forehead on his shoulder and clutching at his shirt. “I’m sorry,” she sobbed. “I’m not usually this mean.”
“It’s okay,” he soothed. “I’m not usually this helpful.”
Darcy sniffled into his shoulder. Something else, something totally inconsequential, occurred to her. “Where’s your white hat?”
“In the cab.”
She nodded, breathing in the clean scent of warm man and aftershave. “Like the Lone Ranger.”
His hand on her back stilled. “What?”
“Your white hat. The white truck. Your being here to help me. Like the Lone Ranger.”
“I’m hardly the Lone Ranger. I don’t make it a habit to go around looking for damsels who need rescuing.”
“Well, I’m glad you did today. You got a cell phone? Need to call my mother.”
“Your mother? How about an ambulance?”
“My mother’s a volunteer at the hospital. She’d get an ambulance out here.”
“Makes sense. Yeah, I’ve got one, but not with me. Can you believe it? It’s back at the hotel.”
“Mine, too. At the house. Forgot it.” Then Darcy felt the surging pain again and clutched at him. “Oh, no. Here comes another one. Hold me.”
And he did. As her pain escalated, as it ate at the fringes of her consciousness, he talked to her…and rubbed her lower back. Darcy could only capture a few words, but she clung to them as if they were the keys to her sanity. Montana…means mountainous regions…land of blue sky…and cattle…beautiful country, Darcy…you ever been there…that’s good, you’re doing fine…lots of good grazing land…just here on business…can’t believe he came down this road…he’d been turned around, going the wrong way, otherwise—
“Ohmigod, ohmigod, ohmigod, Cowboy—here she comes! Help me!”
“I will.” And he did. Quickly but gently, he laid Darcy back on the blanket, propping her shoulders against the rolled blanket and forcing her grasping hands around her bent knees. From his shirt pocket he pulled a bandanna and quickly rolled it, finally tying a big knot in it. “Here.” He stuffed it in her mouth.
“Bite down on this.” She did, never taking her gaze away from his face. Sweat trickled down his temples. “Okay, Darcy, a few good, hard pushes, and we’ll get your little girl out here where we can look her over.”
With that, he scooted back on his knees, assumed a catcher’s position, and put a hand on Darcy’s knee. Then his gaze met hers. “You can do this, Darcy.”
He sounded so sure. Darcy nodded, her jaw clenching around his bandanna. And then wave after wave of searing pain hit her, nearly casting her into unconsciousness. All she could hear was the cowboy’s calm voice, urging her, encouraging her. All she could feel was the hard truck bed under her, the heat of the glaring sun above her. All she could do was push and breathe and groan and push again. And watch his face and listen to his voice…the Lone Ranger.
“Son of a—Here she comes, Darcy!” Excitement captured him. “Push, Darcy. Ohmigod. I’ve got her, Darcy. Here’s her head. Breathe. Push, push. Okay, got her shoulders. She’s a beauty. A ton of black hair. The hard part’s over. Quit pushing…okay, I—well, I’ll be damned. A baby. A whole brand-new baby! She’s here, Darcy. We did it. Our little girl. Look!”
Exhausted, wringing with sweat, tired beyond belief, but elated to the point of tears, Darcy looked. Sure enough. There she was…a beautiful little pinkeningup and squalling baby girl. The child had black hair. Just like her mother’s. And was mad at the world. Just like her mother. Darcy pulled the bandanna out of her mouth and reached for her daughter. “My baby. Give me my baby.”
“Congratulations, Mama,” he said, handing the baby to her and grinning from ear to ear. Then, and as if it were the most natural thing in the world for him to do, he leaned over Darcy, smoothing her dampened hair back from her forehead as he kissed her there and cupped her cheek with a warm and work-callused hand. With his face close to hers, he said, “You did just fine, Darcy. Just fine. Your little girl looks just like her mama. Real beautiful.”
Lost in the moment, Darcy covered his hand with hers and then lifted it to kiss his palm. “Thank you.” The sobbing words were all she could get out as her gaze locked with his. She saw his mouth working as he nodded and moved back. Then she turned her complete attention to her daughter. Darcy carefully lifted her baby until the soft, wet head was nestled in the crook of her own neck, and whispered, “My baby. My sweet little girl. I love you.”
In the next few moments, Darcy’s attention remained riveted on her child. She wiped at her, cleaning and caressing her, looking her over, checking her color and making sure she was breathing okay. She all but forgot her cowboy deliverer as he worked quietly to help her body complete the birthing process.
Once that was done, he caught her attention as he worked his way up to her head and gently removed the blanket from under her shoulders and wrapped it around her waist and legs. Then, with his shadow casting Darcy in blessed shade and drawing her attention up to him, she saw him reach into the pocket of his jeans and pull out a pocket knife…which he opened. Darcy’s eyes widened.
“Umbilical cord,” he said. “Got to cut the little filly loose.”
“Oh, God.” Darcy clutched her tiny daughter tighter.
The cowboy hunkered down beside Darcy, putting a big, warm and strong hand on her shoulder. “I’ll leave it pretty long, enough to tie it off into a knot. The doctor can clean it up later.” Darcy whimpered. He squeezed her shoulder gently. “It’s okay. I’ve done this before, Darcy.”
“To calves,” she blurted.
“Yep. Same principle.” Very matter-of-factly, just like his answer, he opened the knife’s blade and reached into a shirt pocket to pull out a match book. Darcy’s eyes widened even more. “Got them at the hotel. Always pick them up even though I don’t smoke. They’re more of a reminder of all the places I’ve been. Glad I grabbed them, though. I need to sterilize the blade.”
“Oh, God.”
His eyebrows rose. “You can trust me. I wouldn’t hurt a fly. Much less a sweet little baby.” His gaze then locked with Darcy’s. “Or her mama.”
Darcy swallowed, nodded, and looked down, kissing her baby’s head. “It’ll be okay, sweetheart,” she cooed. “We won’t let anything happen to you.” We? Who’s this we, Darcy? She shot a look to the cowboy…and simply took a deep breath, suspending any further thoughts of him.
Thankfully—to Darcy’s way of thinking—he wasn’t looking at her. Instead, he’d set himself to his task, lighting the entire book of matches and running the flame back and forth under the blade. Darcy watched in horrified wonder. He intended to put that flaming-hot knife to her baby. And then she surprised herself with the realization that she trusted him to do so.
Really, really trusted him. His calm, quiet ways. His slow and sure movements. His very steadiness, like a rock, invited confidence in him. But when the matches were blown out, and the knife readied, when he reached for her daughter, turning the mewling, naked, precious little bundle over, Darcy began some mewling of her own.
The cowboy met her gaze, his blue eyes steady. “It won’t hurt her. She won’t feel a thing. But maybe you shouldn’t watch.”
Darcy liked that idea. She turned her head as he talked softly to the baby and performed this last task. “How do you know so much about this,” Darcy asked, “if all you’ve delivered are calves?”
“I learned it from the Crow. I spent a lot of time with them when I was a boy.”
Darcy rolled her head until she was looking at his square-jawed and tanned face. Bent over his task, intent on his handiwork, he was smiling at the baby. “The Crow?” she deadpanned, drawing his gaze her way. “I hope you mean the Native Americans, and not the kind that migrate in the winter.”
“Well,” he said, raising a hand to swipe it under his nose, as if it itched. “The Crow used to migrate in the winter, but not anymore. And I do mean the Native Americans.” A slow grin now warmed his strong, weathered features. “This kind of job isn’t for birds, Darcy.”
She exhaled. “Imagine my relief. It’s nice to know you’re not crazy.”
He shrugged, winking at her again. “Depends on who you ask.”
“Great. Especially since I’m a little vulnerable here. And you have a knife in your hand.”
His chuckle told her it would all be okay. He closed the knife, and put it down on the truck bed. “All done, Mama.” He gently handed the rooting, mewling baby girl back to Darcy. “We’ve been lucky so far. But we need to get you two into town and pronto.” He made as if to stand up, bunching his muscles and bracing his hands against his bent knees.
Darcy stopped him with her hand on his chambray shirtsleeve. “Wait.” He did, his eyebrows raised. Darcy looked at the cowboy, at the stranger who’d saved her life—and her baby’s—the stranger with the white hat and the white truck. “Thank you. Really.”
Grinning, proud, he ducked his head, nodding his you’re-welcome. “Nothing to it, ma’am. Like I said, just glad I could help.”
Darcy couldn’t believe his humble speech. “Help? You saved us. Literally. I don’t know how to repay you.”
He put his hand atop hers now and gently squeezed it. His blue-eyed gaze and wide grin warmed her more than the sun above. “No need. It’s payment enough for me to have been here when you needed me.”
When she needed him. Darcy’s chin trembled, her eyes teared up. He was the only man in her life with the exception of her now-deceased father, who’d ever been there for her when she needed him. “Well, still…thanks.”
He winked at her, and released her hand as he stood. And became all business. “We need to wrap this baby girl in something before we hit the road.” He began unbuttoning his shirt. “About the only thing I’ve got—” He pulled the shirt off, tossed it to the truck bed, and began tugging his white cotton T-shirt out of his waistband “—is my T-shirt. It’s clean enough, I suppose. Probably only smells like man and sweat and dust and aftershave. What more could you want?”
What more could I want. He’d meant it to be funny. Darcy knew that. But mesmerized, lost in watching him, and holding her child close in her arms, Darcy swallowed, feeling her growing admiration of him, of his resourcefulness—not his physical presence. His kindness. Not his tanned and muscled chest. She bit at her bottom lip. Not his gorgeous smile or his blue-eyed gaze. No. Not any of those. Or even the whole mixture of them all.
Because now that she had her daughter, she was through with men. Over them. And some Montana cowboy who’d come upon her in her hour of need wasn’t going to change that.
