Cowboy Daddy. Angel Smits

just make it stop,” she demanded.

      “I’ll do my best.” He seemed so nice. Why couldn’t Lane— The EMTs pushing the gurney out of the ambulance stopped her thoughts. The fast movement nearly convinced her she’d been foolish to have eaten that last piece of birthday cake.

      The automatic doors’ swoosh sound washed over her and fluorescent lights flashed overhead. The dizziness returned. “Addie. Where’s Addie?” she cried.

      “I’m here, hon.”

      Addie’s voice was so far away. Amanda flailed out her arm, trying to find her sister’s hand. Strong fingers took her hand, not Addie’s. Not Lane’s, either, but solid. Warm. Just what she needed.

      They pushed the gurney through a set of swinging doors, the smack of the metal frame loud against the wood. Bright lights glared at her. The image of a clock wavered in the distance, white with black numbers, utilitarian. Seven-thirty. Why did that have to stick in her brain? She focused on it, needing something solid and real.

      She squeezed her eyes tighter still as a contraction blinded her again. Words flew around her. Her brain hid in the shadows, frightened she was sure. She couldn’t understand what they were saying. What they meant. “Breech.”

      “BP’s dropping.”

      “You’ll need to leave.”

      “Addie!” she screamed.

      Through her slitted eyelids, Amanda saw Addie moving reluctantly out the swinging doors. A sharp blade of pain ripped through her. Her voice tore from her throat. “Lane!” Where was he? Why wasn’t he here? Why—?

      A strong hand took hers. The soothing deep voice washed over her. “We’ll take care of you.”

      Not “I’ll take care of you.” Not “I’m here.” Tears burned behind her closed eyelids, but no matter how tightly she squeezed them shut, she couldn’t hold in the tears. Water trickled from the corners of her eyes, dampening her temples, her hair and then the pillow beneath her.

      “We’re going to have to do a cesarean section.” A new voice cut through the clouds. “To save the baby.”

      “Please.” Her heart shattered. “Save him. Please. He’s everything.”

      There was no pause in the room’s activity. If anything, it increased. Footsteps hustled. Bodies shuffled around her. The prick of a needle in her arm seemed nothing in comparison to her body’s agony, little more than a mosquito bite, as an IV was put in her arm.

      “I’m going to put a mask over your face.” Another strange voice slipped in between the pain. The feel of plastic momentarily registered as claustrophobic...and then there was nothing but solid darkness...and the echoing scream of Lane’s name over and over again inside her head.

      * * *

      TO AMANDA THE fluorescent lights of the Neonatal Intensive Care Unit, or NICU, nursery seemed so harsh. So bright. Too bright. She thought of the tiny bedroom in her house where she’d put all the nursery furniture. The crib. The changing table. The rocker. The L for Lucas alphabet lamp she’d bought right after she’d found out she was having a boy. Even the chair from Mom’s house that she’d put in the corner to give the room a feeling of home. No glaring lights, no monitors or flashing lights there. That’s where he should be. Not here. She wanted to cry.

      Slowly, with the nurse’s help, Amanda moved the wheelchair closer to the Plexiglas enclosure where her son curled up against a soft white blanket. Her arms ached to hold him, to touch him, but he needed to sleep, to grow, and she needed to recover. The IV in her arm was a glaring reminder of the long road ahead for them both.

      He wasn’t big enough. Not nearly big enough. Not quite five pounds. Bigger than they’d expected, the doctor had said, sounding entirely too pleased for something he’d had no involvement in.

      “Wow. You’re really here,” she whispered to the tiny stranger stretched out before her. She marveled at him. He might be small, but everything was there. Teeny tiny fingers. Itty bitty toes. Rounded little ears. Eyes that were closed right now, but she remembered the deep chocolate brown of them...a color he shared with his father. “I’m sorry I didn’t do a better job keeping you safe,” she whispered, afraid to startle him.

      She couldn’t look away, staring at the tiny life she and Lane had created. For some reason, it didn’t hurt so much to think of Lane now. Maybe the pain meds had dulled her senses, too. Maybe her strength was coming back. Maybe.

      She felt someone’s presence beside her. She looked up, surprised and pleased to see her brother Wyatt there. A hospital gown covered his T-shirt and jeans. They must have made him take off his Stetson, though she could see the ridge where it had recently sat on his dark hair.

      “How you doin’?” He leaned in close, looking at her as well as her son. The kindness was thick in his eyes. Even though he was her brother, she could understand why Emily was so head over heels in love with him. She was a lucky woman. Amanda’s heart hitched, wishing someone would love her like that. The memory of another tall, dark-haired cowboy flitted through her mind before she forced herself to change the subject.

      “I’m okay.” She looked back at her son. “Isn’t he beautiful?”

      “You did a good job.” He slipped an arm around her shoulders and gently squeezed. “Everyone’s here—”

      That got her attention. “What do you mean everyone?” Surely not the whole birthday party.

      “The whole family.” He grinned at her. “Even Tyler wants to see his new cousin. He says he’s never met one of those before.” Wyatt laughed.

      That boy was something else. She looked at her son. How much like Tyler would he be? How much like Lane? Her heart ached. And in that moment she realized all of her pain. Mentally cursing, she leaned back in the wheelchair. She didn’t want to leave, but she didn’t want to keel over, either. The staff probably already thought she was a terrible mother. It had taken her nearly half a day to wake up to see him. Surely they wondered what she’d done wrong to cause all this.

      “Let’s get you back to your room.” Wyatt stood behind her and gripped the chair’s handles. It felt strange to let someone else make decisions for her, but if anyone was capable of doing that, it was Wyatt.

      “Where’s Addie? I need to thank her.”

      “Oh, you’ll have to wait. She’s standing in line outside, hoping to see the little guy.” He laughed again.

      “In line?”

      “Yeah, I pulled rank and came in first. The rest want a peek, but they only let a couple of us in at a time.”

      She glanced over her shoulder up at him. “Even Jason?” Her brother, the attorney, was about as disconnected from humanity as anyone she knew. He couldn’t possibly be interested in a baby.

      “Yeah, even Jason.”

      Wyatt pushed her wheelchair out into the hall, and sure enough, everyone was there, lined up. Even Tyler. She had to laugh. The hospital gown was way too big for him, dragging over his shoes, but he was grinning from ear to ear. Wyatt rolled her over to see him.

      “This is so cool.” He leaned against the arm of the wheelchair. “The baby and I have the same birthday! Thanks, Aunt Mandy. This gift’s almost as good as my new bike.”

      Everyone laughed while Mandy gave him a hug, then winced as he leaned against her.

      “Let’s get you back to bed—you did just have major surgery, you know.” Wyatt headed down the hall. “The nurses only let you up for a short while.”

      She wanted to argue, because that was what she always did. But she knew he and the nurses were right.

      Though she was in the maternity portion of the hospital, it felt more like the surgical unit. Her room definitely wasn’t the nice comfy suite she remembered being shown