Page 122 of Under Southern Stars
A moment later, the baby gives a spluttering cough, followed by a lusty, indignant cry.
“There we go,” Jack says, relief evident in his voice. “Hello, mate. Welcome to Milford Sound.”
Our eyes meet over the crying newborn, a moment of pure connection that transcends our personal conflict. Without words, Jack passes the baby fully to me, our hands brushing intimately in the transfer, fingers lingering a fraction longer than necessary. The touch sends electricity through me that has nothing to do with the adrenaline of the delivery.
For a heartbeat, it is not the baby in my arms that makes me feel overwhelmed—it is Jack’s eyes meeting mine, full of something I don’t have the strength to name.
I place the baby on Hannah’s chest, guiding her to hold him skin-to-skin. “This will help regulate his temperature and breathing,” I explain. “He’s perfect, Hannah. You did such a good job! He just needed a little help getting started.”
Jack is already wrapping clean linens around both mother and child, his movements synchronized with mine as we work to keep them warm. Again, our hands brush several times, each contact a reminder of the connection that still hums between us despite everything.
While I attend to Hannah and the baby, Jack is on his phone, arranging for medical evacuation from the harbor. “Te Whatu Ora is sending a chopper,” he reports back. “They’ll meet us at the harbor. Ten minutes out.”
“Good,” I nod, still monitoring Hannah and her newborn. “Baby’s APGAR improved after the suction, but I’d feel better with a full pediatric assessment.”
Jack kneels beside me again, his presence both comforting and unnerving. “You were amazing,” he says softly, for my ears only. “That was…I’ve delivered babies before, but never with a nuchal cord, and never on a boat…”
“We were lucky,” I deflect, though the praise warms me despite myself. “She did all the hard work.”
“No,” he insists gently. “It was you.”
I meet his eyes then, really meet them for the first time since the revelation. The admiration there is genuine—the samelook he’d given me in the ER when I’d handled a difficult case with calm efficiency. It wasn’t about attraction or even our personal connection, but pure professional respect.
That, at least, hadn’t changed.
When we dock, everything moves quickly. The evacuation helicopter is waiting, its rotors still turning. Jack handles the handover to the flight medics with practiced efficiency, providing a concise report of the delivery, the nuchal cord, his improvised suction intervention, and Hannah’s current status.
Emma and Madison reappear as they are loading Hannah and the baby into the helicopter. Madison looks pale but composed, her earlier nausea under control…though sporting a conspicuously large wet spot on her shirt.
“Mom! Is she okay? The baby?” she asks, keeping a safe distance from the medical activity.
“They’re both fine,” I assure her, suddenly aware of how exhausted I feel. The adrenaline is wearing off, leaving me shaky.
“You guys were like…superheroes or something!” Madison says, her eyes wide with residual shock and something like awe. Then her face turns sheepish. “I threw up.”
“That’s okay. It’s not really a front-row sport,” Jack says with a tired grin.
“Perfectly normal reaction,” Emma assures her. “First time I saw a calf being born on the estate, I passed out cold.”
“The way you and Jack just took charge and knew exactly what to do,” Madison continues, looking at me with newfound respect. “That was incredible.”
Jack approaches, looking as drained as I feel. “The helicopter’s taking them to Queenstown Hospital,” he reports. “They’ll be in good hands there.”
“You guys were amazing,” Emma echoes Madison’s sentiment. “Talk about teamwork. The way Jack rigged up that suction device—I wouldn’t have thought of that in a million years.”
Jack glances at me, a question in his eyes. “Your mom did the hard part,” he says to Madison, deflecting the praise.
“We did it together,” I correct, the words coming before I could stop them.
Something shifts in his expression—a cautious hope quickly contained.
“Our flight back to Queenstown leaves in thirty minutes,” he says. “Unless you’d rather stay longer?”
“I’m good,” I say, suddenly desperate for the familiarity of our temporary home at the estate. “It’s been quite a day already.”
The drive to the Milford airfield is mostly silent, at least between Jack and me. Emma and Madison chat in the back seat, Emma distracting Madison with stories of the local wildlife and geography, carefully avoiding any mention of the birth we’d just witnessed.
I stare out the window, acutely aware of Jack beside me, my eyes fixed on his hands resting on the armrest of his seat. I’d felt those same hands working alongside mine minutes ago, felt the brush of his fingers as we’d transferred the struggling newborn between us. The memory of that touch—professional but undeniably intimate—lingers on my skin.
