Page 29 of Gabriel's Angel

She nodded, and with her head slumped back on the pillow, she closed her eyes.

When he came back, her eyes were focused on the ceiling and she was panting. After setting fresh towels on the foot of the bed, he spread another blanket over her. “Are you cold?”

She shook her head. “The baby will need to be kept warm. He’s not full-term.”

“I’ve built up the fire, and there are plenty of blankets.” Gently he wiped her face with a cool, damp cloth. “You’ve talked to doctors, you’ve read the books. You know what to expect.”

She looked up at him, trying to swallow past a dry throat. Yes, she knew what to expect, but reading about it, imagining it, was a far cry from the experience.

“They lied.” Her mouth moved into a weak smile when his brows drew together. “They try to tell you it doesn’t hurt so much if you ride out the pain.”

He brought her hand to his lips and held it there. “Yell all you want. Scream the roof down. Nobody’s going to hear.”

“I’m not screaming this baby into the world.” Then she gasped, and her fingers dug into his. “I can’t—”

“Yes, you can. Pant. Pant, Laura. Squeeze my hand. Harder. Concentrate on that.” He kept his eyes locked on hers while she pushed air out. “You’re doing fine, better than fine.” When her body went lax, he moved to the foot of the bed. “The pains are closer?” As he spoke, he knelt on the mattress and shifted the blanket.

“Almost on top of each other.”

“That means it’s almost over. Hold on to that.”

She tried to moisten her dry lips, but her tongue was thick. “If anything happens to me, promise you’ll—”

“Nothing’s going to happen.” He bit off the words. Their eyes met again, hers glazed with pain, his dark with purpose. “Damn it, I’m not going to lose either of you now, understand? The three of us are going to pull this off. Now, you’ve got work to do, angel.”

Each time the pains hit her, he shuddered with it. Time seemed to drag as she struggled through them, then race again as she rested. Gabe moved back and forth, to arrange her pillows, to wipe her face, then knelt again to check the progress of birth.

He could hear the fire roaring in the next room, but he still worried that the cabin would be too cold. Then he worried about the heat, because Laura’s laboring body was like a furnace.

He hadn’t known birth could be so hard on a woman. He knew she was close to total exhaustion, but she managed to pull herself through time after time, recharging somehow during the all-too-brief moments between contractions. Pain seemed to tear through her, impossibly hard, impossibly ruthless. His own shirt was soaked with sweat, and he swore constantly, silently, as he urged her to breathe, to pant, to concentrate. All his ambitions, his joys, his griefs, whittled down to focus on that one room, that one moment, that one woman.

It seemed to him that she should weaken, with her body being battered by the new life fighting to be born. But as the moments passed she seemed to draw on new reserves of strength. There was something fierce and valiant about her face as she pushed herself forward and braced for whatever happened next.

“Do you have a name picked out?” he asked, hoping to distract her.

“I made lists. Sometimes at night I’d try to imagine what the baby would look like and try to— Oh, God.”

“Hold on. Breathe, angel. Breathe through it.”

“I can’t. I have to push.”

“Not yet, not yet. Soon.” From his position at the foot of the bed, he ran his hands over her. “Pant, Laura.”

Her concentration kept slipping in and out. If she stared into his eyes, if she pulled the strength from them, she would make it. “I can’t hold off much longer.”

“You don’t have to. I can see the head.” There was wonder in his voice when he looked back at her. “I can see it. Push with the next one.”

Giddy, straining with the effort, she bore down. She heard the long, deep-throated moan, but she didn’t know it was her own voice. Gabe shouted at her, and in response she automatically began to pant again.

“That’s good, that’s wonderful.” He barely recognized his own voice, or his own hands. Both were shaking. “I have the head. Your baby’s beautiful. The shoulders come next.”

She braced herself, desperate to see. “Oh, God.” Tears mixed with sweat as she steepled her hands over her mouth. “It’s so little.”

“And strong as an ox. You have to push the shoulders out.” Sweat dripped off his forehead as he cupped the baby’s head in his hand and leaned over it. “Come on, Laura, let’s have a look at the rest of it.”

Her fingers dug into the blankets, and her head fell back. And she gave birth. Over her own gasping breaths she heard the first cry.

“A boy.” Gabe’s eyes were wet as he held the squirming new life in his hands. “You have a son.”

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