A Cowboy Unmatched by Karen Witemeyer Page B

beneath the top sheet. A pile of towels and a basin of water sat ready at the side of the bed, and a blanket made of pieced flannel lay rolled up within arm’s reach.
    Somehow seeing the preparations she’d made caused the reality of the situation to swell within him until he thought he might drown. He laid her gently upon the bed, then with trembling hands, tugged off her moccasins and covered her with a sheet. “I’ll . . . uh . . . go fetch the doctor.”
    Desperate to race for his horse and bring back someone more competent than he for dealing with the situation, Neill spun toward the door only to halt at Clara’s cry.
    â€œNo! Please, Neill. You can’t. No doctor. No midwife. Mack will have already paid them off. I can’t risk it.” Her urgent voice flayed him. He stopped and turned back to face her.
    â€œI have to get someone, Clara. You can’t have this baby alone.”
    Her chin jutted out and her eyes glittered with familiar determination. “Yes I can. I will. It’s the only way to ensure my child’s safety.”
    Another pain hit her then, apparently stronger than before. She winced and hissed out a breath as she rolled to her side and drew her knees up. “You need to leave, Neill,” she managed once the pain had passed.
    Neill set his mouth in a mutinous line. “If you think I’m leaving now, you’re out of your mind.”
    Then the crazy woman did something he’d never expected. She laughed. The sound cut straight through his defenses and melted against his heart. Everything about him softened in that moment, and he found himself smiling back at her.
    â€œI’m not asking you to leave the house, Neill. Just the room. I need to change into a sleeping gown.”
    â€œOh.” He let out a sheepish chuckle and rubbed the back of his neck before straightening to level a serious look at her. “All right. But I’m going to be on the other side of that door, however long it takes. I’ll come running whenever you need me, Clara.” He took a step closer to the bed, longing to touch her, to comfort her, to do something to ease her pain. “You don’t have to do this alone. I’m here.”
    She held his gaze a long moment. “Would you play for me?”
    His brows knit in confusion.
    â€œYour fiddle. The music relaxes me. I think it will help when the pains worsen.”
    Neill seized upon the idea, thankful to have something tangible to do. “Honey, I’ll play all night if you want me to.”
    â€œThank you.” Her smile lit up the room and spurred him to action. Barely slowing enough to click the bedroom door closed behind him, Neill rushed out to the barn to collect his violin.

    The man was a marvel. Clara paused to breathe between the pains that seemed to be intensifying at a rapid rate now. For two hours, Neill had played almost without stop. The soothing tones had floated to her from the next room, easing her tension and lulling her into a light doze as she rested between contractions. With all her brave plans to have this baby on her own, she couldn’t thank God enough for sending her a man stubborn enough to stay. The labor would have been unbearable without the music to remind her that she wasn’t alone.
    A new pain hit, radiating through her back and abdomen with stunning force. She tried to breathe through it like she had with the others, but this one was different. More forceful. More prolonged. And with it came a staggering need to push.
    A groan tore from her throat as she fought her body’s instincts. She couldn’t do this. Heaven help her! She couldn’t.
    Panic swelled in her breast. What if something went wrong? She’d be helpless to do anything about it. What if she labored too long and didn’t have the strength to tend her child after the birth? What if the babe had trouble drawing his first breath? Scenarios swirled