Page 111 of Breeding Clinic

She needs to stay off her feet. Gravity and movement will only speed up early labor. “Movie marathon?”

Her eyes light up and she claps her hands. “Yes! I know it’s past Christmas now but I want to watch all the sappy Hallmark Christmas movies I didn’t see yet.”

Liam kisses the top of her head and stacks our dirty plates together. “You got it, kitten.”

We cuddle up on the couch and I queue up an entire day’s worth of formulaic romance movies for her. Liam kicks Matthew out of the kitchen to do the dishes and he joins us on the couch. I lay snuggled up with her with my hand on the belly, pretending I’m feeling for kicks when really, if she’s having contractions, I won’t miss them.

We’re twelve minutes into the first movie when I notice it. A tightening of her abdomen. Her belly lifts and firms underneath my hand.

I use my bent knee to hide my actions as I discreetly set the stopwatch on my phone. Not that Kat is paying attention to me. She’s currently crying over the heroine’s troubled bakery business. The one she started after her parents were killed in an accident. The love interest is the EMT who tried to save them, but she doesn’t see that yet. She thinks he’s addicted to her Christmas wreath shaped donuts. But he doesn’t even eat them. He’s diabetic so he gives them to his partner. He likes the heroine,but he’s worried that she could never like him because of what happened… and now his EMT partner thinks he has a crush on her because of the stupid donuts. It turns into a three-way love triangle full of idiots who won’t talk to one another.

When the stopwatch rolls past the five-minute mark, I relax a bit. Irregular, far apart contractions are the body’s way of preparing itself for birth. Satisfied that it’s nothing and grateful that I didn’t alarm anyone yet, I kiss Kat’s tear-streaked cheek and slide off the couch.

“I’m gonna get a workout in,” I tell them, heading to the basement. I saw jump ropes in a kid’s toy box down there and I’m itching to get in a real workout. It’s been days of good food, treats, and family obligations with no real exercise other than a few short hikes and the one day some of us went skiing.

Once I’m covered in a sheen of sweat, I head upstairs to shower and change before lunch.

A different movie plays in the background now. Matthew’s in the kitchen working on lunch. Liam and Kat are making out on the couch. He has one hand on her breast, massaging it gently through her shirt, and I can’t tell where his other one is with the blanket in the way.

Shit.

Until I am absolutely certain that she’s not in early labor, she needs to stay on pelvic rest. But how the fuck do I get them to stop fooling around with her without alarming them?

Matthew opens a cupboard and pulls out the bread. An idea pops into my head. While he’s busy making sandwiches with breakfast’s leftover bacon and some turkey we bought for the kids, I pull the cookie tin down and pop off its metal lid.

“Oh! There’s a few cookies left. Want one, Kat?” I call out.

Kat pulls away from Liam, her face lighting up. “Really? Help me off the couch, Liam.”

Matthew gives me an expression that says he’s not happythat I’m feeding her sweets before she’s eating something nutritious. He takes her diet seriously. Kat waddles into the kitchen and takes the cookie from my hand, smiling at me in return as she bites the yellow star off the tree. Liam drops his head onto the couch and groans, as if being cockblocked physically pains him.

Big baby. He’ll get over it.

“Don’t eat too many before lunch,” I tell her, kissing her forehead.

“It’s Christmas and I’m pregnant,” she says, defending her right to eat the rest of the cookies in the tin. There aren’t many left. Only four, including the one in her hand. And I’m not wrestling a cookie out of a pregnant woman’s hand. That’s the surest way to lose a finger.

“Lunch is almost done,” Matthew reminds us.

I help him plate everything. We eat and clean up, then go back to our movie marathon. By the third movie, my certainty that it’s false labor is waning. Her contractions are more regular. I need to check Kat again. There’ll be no hiding this for much longer if my concerns are real.

After washing my hands and fetching her oil, I convince her to let me massage her again. She’s used to our fussing. We’ve all gotten a bit over the top with coddling her since she hit the last month and her belly really popped.

With my oil slicked hand, I massage her and check her cervix. Six centimeters. Her cervix is soft and thinning. She’s progressing. It’s only been five hours.

Dread pools in my belly. She’ll notice soon. It’s a miracle she hasn’t figured it out sooner. Everything is going to get very real, very fast. And we’re trapped up here, snowed in on a mountain, with the nearest hospital miles away. A strange, unfamiliar hospital with doctors we haven’t met rather than the nice birthing center full of midwives that’s half a milefrom my hospital. The one with the second best NICU in the state.

Liam’s gaze drifts from the movie to us. He squeezes his arm around her shoulder. “Do you need help with your massage, kitten?” he asks, his voice husky.

“No,” I answer for her.

He gives me a confused expression.

I clear my throat and tug the hem of her night shirt down her thighs. “She’s all done.” I glance at Liam, then make a subtle nod toward the kitchen. His brow creases with a frown, but he makes an excuse to leave the couch.

On my way past Matthew’s spot on the oversized sofa, I squeeze his shoulder and jerk my head toward the kitchen.

They meet me there. I run the faucet for noise control in case she can hear us over her movie.

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