A Very Special Delivery. Brenda Harlen

appreciation for a truly spectacular male.

      The knit cap was tugged low on his forehead so she couldn’t see what color his hair was, but below dark brows, his eyes were the exact same shade of blue-green as the aquamarine gemstone ring her parents had given to her for her twenty-first birthday. His nose was just a little off-center, his cheekbones sharp, his jaw square. He had a strong face, undeniably masculine and incredibly handsome. His voice was low and soothing, and when he spoke again, she found her gaze riveted on the movement of his lips.

      “Ma’am?” he said again.

      “I’m okay. I’m just waiting for a tow truck.”

      He frowned. “I’m not sure how long you’ll have to wait. I managed to squeeze through just as the police were putting up barriers to restrict access to Main Street.”

      “What does that mean?”

      “It means that the primary road through town is shut down.”

      She sighed. “Any chance you have tow cables in your truck?”

      He shook his head. “Sorry.”

      She gasped as another stab of pain slashed through her.

      “You are hurt,” he decided. “Let me call an ambulance.”

      She shook her head. “I’m not hurt. I think...I’m in labor.”

      Chapter Two

      “Labor? As in having a baby?” Luke couldn’t quite get his head around what she was saying. Not until he noticed that her hand was splayed on her belly.

      Her very round belly.

      How had he not noticed that she was pregnant?

      Probably because his most immediate concern, when he’d spotted the vehicle in the ditch, was that the driver might be injured, maybe even unconscious. He hadn’t given a passing thought to the driver’s gender. And then, when she’d rolled down the window, he’d been absolutely spellbound by her wide and wary blue-gray eyes.

      But now, with his attention focused on the bump beneath her shirt, the words that had seemed undecipherable suddenly made sense. “You’re pregnant.”

      Her brows lifted in response to his not-so-astute observation. “Yes, I’m pregnant,” she confirmed.

      She was also a pretty young thing—emphasis on the young. Early twenties, he guessed, with clear, flawless skin, high cheekbones, a patrician nose and lips that were surprisingly full and temptingly shaped.

      He felt the subtle buzz through his veins, acknowledged it. He’d experienced the stir of attraction often enough in the past to recognize it for what it was—and to know that, under the circumstances, it was completely inappropriate.

      Young, beautiful and pregnant, he reminded himself.

      “Actually, I don’t think it is labor,” she said now. “I’m probably just overreacting to the situation.”

      But he wasn’t quite ready to disregard the possibility. “When are you due?”

      “November fifteenth.”

      Only two weeks ahead of schedule. He remembered his sister-in-law, Georgia, telling him that she’d been two weeks early with Pippa, so the timing didn’t seem to be any real cause for concern. Of course, Georgia had also been in the hospital. The fact that this woman was stuck in a ditch and nowhere near a medical facility might be a bit of an issue.

      He took a moment to clear his head and organize his thoughts, and saw her wince again.

      “Are you having contractions?”

      “No,” she said quickly, and just a little desperately. “Just...twinges.”

      Apparently she didn’t want to be in labor any more than he wanted her to be in labor, but that didn’t mean she wasn’t.

      “I think I should call 911 to try to get an ambulance out here and get you to the hospital.”

      “It’s probably just false labor.”

      “Have you been through this before?”

      “No,” she admitted. “This is my first. But I’ve read a ton of books on pregnancy and childbirth, and I’m pretty sure what I’m experiencing are just Braxton Hicks contractions.”

      He wasn’t convinced, but he also wasn’t going to waste any more time arguing with her. Not with the snow blowing around the way it was and the condition of the roads rapidly getting worse. He pulled out his phone and dialed.

      “911. Please state the nature of your emergency.”

      He recognized the dispatcher’s voice immediately, and his lips instinctively curved as he recalled a long-ago summer when he and the emergency operator had been, at least for a little while, more than friends. “Hey, Yolanda, it’s Luke Garrett. I was wondering if you could send an ambulance out to my place.”

      “What happened?” The clinical detachment in her tone gave way to concern. “Are you hurt?”

      “No, it’s not me. I’m with a young woman—”

      He glanced at her, his brows raised in silent question.

      “Julie Marlowe,” she told him.

      “—whose car went into the ditch beside my house.”

      “Is she injured?”

      “She says no, but she’s pregnant, two weeks from her due date and experiencing what might be contractions.”

      “Twinges,” the expectant mother reminded him through the window.

      “She insists that they’re twinges,” Luke said, if only to reassure her that he was listening. “But they’re sharp enough that she gasps for breath when they come.”

      “Can I talk to her?”

      He tapped on the window, and Julie lowered the glass a few more inches to take the device from him. Because she was inside the car with the window still mostly closed, he could only decipher snippets of their conversation, but he got the impression that Yolanda was asking more detailed questions about the progress of her pregnancy, possible complications and if there were any other indications of labor.

      A few minutes later, Julie passed the phone back to him.

      “If I thought I could get an ambulance through to you, I’d be sending one,” Yolanda told Luke. “But the police have completely shut down Main Street in both directions.”

      “But emergency vehicles should be able to get through.”

      “If they weren’t all out on other calls,” she agreed. “And the reality is that an expectant mother with no injuries in the early stages of labor, as Julie seems to think she might be, is not an emergency.”

      “What if the situation changes?”

      “If the situation changes, call me back. Maybe by then the roads will be plowed and reopened and we can get her to the hospital.”

      “You don’t sound too optimistic,” he noted.

      “The storm dumped a lot of snow fast and there’s no sign that it’s going to stop any time soon. The roads are a mess and emergency crews are tapped.”

      He bit back a sigh of frustration. “What if the baby doesn’t want to wait that long?”

      “Then you’ll handle it,” she said, and quickly gave him some basic instructions. “And don’t worry—I reassured the expectant mom that Doctor Garrett has done this countless times before.”

      “Please tell me you’re joking.”

      “I’m not.” There was no hint of apology in her tone. “The woman needed reassurance, and I gave it to her.”