Page 62 of Mistletoe and Mischief

“Count,” she begged.

“One, two, three...”

The numbers droned on and she concentrated on listening to the even cadence of Mack’s voice, knowing that by the time he reached fifty, the contraction would ease.

Halfway through, she started to pant. And then felt the instinctive urge to bear down. Arching her back, Mary Jo pushed with every ounce of her strength.

When the pain passed, she was too exhausted to speak.

Mack wiped her forehead again and brushed the damp hair from her face.

“Water,” she mumbled.

“Got it!” Brandon Hutton tore out of the room, like a man on a quest.

Recovering from the pain, she breathed deeply, her chest heaving. She opened her eyes and looked up at Mack. His gaze was tender.

“How much longer?” she asked, her voice barely a whisper.

“Soon.”

“I can’t stand much more of this... I just can’t.” Tears welled in her eyes and rolled down the sides of her face.

Mack dabbed at her cheeks. As their eyes met, he gave her an encouraging smile. “You can do it,” he said. “You’re almost there.”

“I’m glad you’re with me.”

“I wouldn’t want to be anywhere else,” he told her. They continued to hold hands.

Brandon came back with the water. “Here,” he said.

Mack took the glass and held it for Mary Jo, supporting her head. “Just a sip or two,” he cautioned.

She nodded and savored each tiny sip.

The sound of a car door slamming echoed in the distance.

“Grace,” Mary Jo said, grateful the other woman had finally arrived.

“I’ll bring her up.” Brandon quickly disappeared from the room.

Another pain approached. “No...no...” she whimpered, gathering her resolve to get through this next contraction. She closed her eyes and clung to Mack, thanking God once more that she wasn’t alone. That Mack was with her...

Mack automatically began to count. Again she felt the urge to push. Gritting her teeth, she bore down, grunting loudly for the first time, straining her entire body.

“Mary Jo.” Grace’s serene voice broke through the haze of pain. “I came as soon as I heard.”

The contraction eased and Mary Jo collapsed onto the mattress, sweat blinding her eyes.

“The baby’s in the birth canal,” Mack told her friend.

“What would you like me to do?” Grace asked.

“Hold on to her hand and count off the seconds when the contractions come.”

“No...don’t leave me.” Mary Jo couldn’t do this without Mack at her side.

“I need to deliver the baby,” he explained, his words so gentle they felt like a warm caress. “Grace will help you.”

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