Page 118 of Breeding Clinic

“I have her,” Gabriel says.

Sagging with relief, I sit on my heels and twist. She should be crying, shouldn’t she? Why isn’t she crying?

Gabriel wraps her in the blankets we’ve been keeping warmin a pile on the edge of the nest. He rubs her briskly, and then I hear it. She cries, and tears of relief roll down my cheeks.

“Give her to me,” I sob. I need to hold her. To make sure she’s warm enough and safe.

“Lie back,” Gabriel says. “And I’ll hand her to you. We still have to finish up here.”

Matthew helps me recline on pillows and Gabriel hands me our daughter while he deals with the aftermath of birth. I barely notice the lingering cramps and contractions while he works. I’m too busy staring at our baby to care. She squints and frowns, as if the bright lights offend her. I stroke her cheek and marvel at our daughter.

She’s perfect. My heart swells with a love so pure it floors me. I’m swamped with emotion and crying, which makes me laugh from the sheer relief of it finally being over. I’m delirious and completely overwhelmed.

“Hi,” I greet her. “You caused a lot of fuss, little girl.”

She works a hand free of her towel and I grab it, rubbing it with my thumb. Five tiny fingers with tinier fingernails. She’s chubby and perfect despite coming early. Her dusky coloring turns pinker with every cry.

Matthew wets a washcloth and wipes her down. She hollers at the injustice of being cold and wet and exposed to air. “She’s so tiny,” he says, his tone reverent as he palms her head.

I lay her skin to skin on my chest, then cover her with the towel so she doesn’t get cold. “She didn’t seem all that small while she was coming out of me.”

“I’ve got the cord clamped,” Gabriel says, wrapping the placenta in a towel and cleaning up the mess. “Want to cut it?” he asks Matthew and hands him the scissors.

“Where?” Matthew asks.

Gabriel shows him where to cut between the two pieces of kitchen twine he’s wrapped tightly several times and knotted. Iwish Liam were here with us for this. I hope he makes it back to us soon.

Matthew cuts the cord, and once Gabriel says everything looks good, they start cleaning the both of us up.

Our daughter hates her warm bath, but once she’s placed on my chest again she settles down a bit. She ends up tucked into herself on her front, her little arms and legs pulled into her sides.

“You should feed her,” Gabriel suggests, petting her wispy hair that swirls from the top of her head. “It’ll help stop the bleeding.”

“Okay, I’ll try.” The sound of her crying has made my breasts leak. I reposition her and lift a nipple to her mouth. She latches on, suckling weakly, then gaining confidence.

Gabriel lays new towels down and presses on my abdomen. I’m cramping again. But it’s hard to care about the pain with our perfect baby girl in my arms. Matthew strokes her head and marvels at the shape of her tiny ear. Gabriel pauses in his work to stroke her back and adjust her covering.

The sound of metal scraping outside distracts me from her breastfeeding. My pulse leaps and I watch the back door, waiting. Where is he? If that’s the plow, then why isn’t he here? If something happened to Liam, I will never get over it. The scraping gets louder. Closer.

When the back door bursts open and I see Liam standing there in the open doorway, I burst into tears. He falls to his knees in our nest and stares, breathing heavily. His face is red and wind-chapped. His coat is covered in rapidly melting snow.

“You did it,” he says, his eyes wide.

“We did,” I say. “She’s perfect.”

He reaches for her, then notices he’s still wearing gloves. Liam pulls his glove off and lays his palm on her head.

She lets go of my nipple and cries.

Liam jerks his hand away. “What’d I do?”

I laugh and take his hand, noticing how cold it is. He was out there for hours. “You’re cold, she doesn’t like that.”

“Five minutes old and already bossing me around,” he says with a grin. “She’s gonna be a menace.”

She is. Our little rebel princess. Coming early and defying all our plans for her. Nothing about her conception or our courtship was normal. Why would her birth be any different? We don’t have anything she needs here with us. No diapers or wipes or clothing for her. No car seat either.

“Good job, Momma,” Liam says, dipping his head so his forehead brushes with mine. Gabriel and Matthew touch me too. A hand on my leg and another on my shoulder. I’m surrounded by my pack and it’s exactly what I needed.

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