Montana Dreaming. Karen Rose Smith

      Beth Ann got on one side of Juliet and asked Mark to stand on the other. “We’re going to help her push.”

      Help her push? What in the hell had he gotten himself into?

      “I’ll show you how.” The nurse watched the doctor, like a runner on second looked at the third base coach.

      “All right,” Dr. Hart said. “Let’s go.”

      Mark wasn’t sure what was happening, but he stayed by Juliet’s side, holding her legs, helping her push and strain. Before long, he could see the dark hair of a little head emerging, and his pulse surged with excitement. “Good job, honey.”

      About four contractions and a whole lot of pushing later, a tiny baby girl slid into the doctor’s hands. She was kind of purple, and her head was misshapen—a scary mess, in Mark’s opinion. He thought they ought to hide it from Juliet, but everyone was oohing and aahing, like everything was just the way it was supposed to be.

      When the baby let out an angry wail, Mark realized he’d never seen a more beautiful sight. Nor one that was more precious.

      “Is everything okay?” he asked, assuming that it was, since everyone continued to smile and make light of the baby’s color and the shape of her head.

      “They’re doing fine.” Dr. Hart laid the naked infant on Juliet’s stomach. “Do you want to cut the cord, Mark?”

      He glanced at Juliet, saw her beaming like a blessed Madonna. He couldn’t very well pass on what appeared to be a special opportunity. “Sure.”

      The doctor handed him scissors, indicating where to cut, and Mark snipped the cord, freeing the tiny baby and making her an individual.

      “Time?” Dr. Hart asked, as she continued to work on Juliet.

      “Nineteen twenty-eight,” another nurse said.

      It was enough to make a grown man choke up. God, had he ever felt so blessed to be a part of something so special?

      Beth Ann whisked the baby to a little bassinette-type bed. All the while, the little one screamed.

      Mark made his way to the infant’s side, just to make sure she was all right. Not that he could be of any help, but he wanted to see for himself.

      After suctioning out the little mouth, Beth Ann went to work, listening to the tiny chest, among other things. Then she placed the baby on a scale. “Four pounds, eleven ounces.”

      Was that big enough? Mark wondered. She looked awfully tiny to him.

      Beth Ann took a paper tape measure and stretched out the poor little girl, making Mark think of Popeye and Bluto tugging on Olive Oyl as they fought over her.

      “Seventeen and a half inches long,” Beth Ann said.

      “She’s petite,” Dr. Hart said. “But she sounds spunky.”

      “Like her mother,” Mark said, admiring the tiny head of thick dark hair, the button nose, the rosebud lips. What a precious little face.

      He wasn’t sure how long he’d stood there, marveling at the baby girl, while making sure she had just the right number of fingers and toes. But he remained long enough for the doctor to finish tending Juliet and for another nurse to put the room back in order, just like there’d never been a delivery.

      A young woman with auburn hair entered the room and introduced herself to Juliet as Dr. Hodsman, a pediatrician. Then she proceeded to flip the newborn around like a rag doll, or so it seemed to Mark. He wondered if he ought to say something, tell the doctor to be more careful.

      Weren’t people supposed to hold a baby’s head and neck? Watch out for soft spots? Not that he was an expert.

      The pediatrician listened to the little girl’s heart and lungs, then bent her legs at the knees and hips. The baby continued to fuss, and Mark couldn’t help thinking the doctor might break a bone or pop a joint out of the socket.

      “She may be nearly five weeks premature,” the pediatrician said, “but her lungs are fully developed. She does have a little foot that turns in, probably because of the way she was curled up in the womb.”

       Something was wrong with her little foot?

      Mark peered into the clear plastic bassinette where the baby lay naked, legs and arms reaching out for someone. Her mom. Or him. But no one seemed to notice.

      Her right ankle turned in. Was Juliet’s baby going to be crippled? Would she need surgery to correct it?

      “It’s nothing serious,” the pediatrician said. “Her bones are soft and pliable right now. A corrective shoe will straighten it within a few months, but I don’t think she’ll even need that much treatment.”

      That was good, wasn’t it?

      The doctor pulled the foot. “See how easily it bends back to normal? You can work with it, helping it to bend correctly while she’s eating or when you’re holding her.”

      Mark glanced at the young mother. Even in her exhaustion, there was no denying her beauty, especially now. “The baby is beautiful, Juliet. Just like you.”

      “Thank you.” She beamed at him, turning him inside out. “I don’t know what I would have done without you, Mark.”

      A warm glow lit his heart, causing his chest to swell as though he’d had a hand in creating a miracle, as though he’d actually done something to bring this precious child into the world.

      After the baby had a sponge bath and was bundled up like a little burrito in a flannel blanket, the nurse handed her to Juliet. “Let’s try to get her to nurse.”

      Mark might have stayed for the birth, but he thought it would be best if he slipped out for a while now. “I’m going to get a cup of coffee before the cafeteria closes.”

      “You may as well get something to eat while you’re there,” Beth Ann said. “We’re having dinner brought up to the new mommy.”

      “All right. I’ll be back, Juliet.”

      After having the Salisbury steak special and a slice of chocolate cake, he savored a cup of coffee, taking time to reflect on the awesome experience he’d just had.

      If Mark were a church-goer, he might whisper a prayer of thanksgiving. But he wasn’t. Still, he couldn’t quell a sense of wonder, of awe.

      “Hey,” he whispered, his voice raspy with emotion. “Thanks. For the miracle.”

      Then he put his plate, cup and utensils in the plastic receptacle and headed back to maternity to tell Juliet that she’d done a great job. That she’d make a wonderful mother.

      When he stepped into the birthing room, the baby was nestled in Juliet’s arms. The doctor had gone, and Beth Ann was preparing a little bassinette near the hospital bed.

      Mark plopped down on the chair, although he wasn’t sure why. Moments later, Beth Ann left them alone.

      “Are you going to stay?” Juliet asked.

      He glanced up. “Here?”

      “You don’t have to.”

      Did she want him to spend the night? He tried to read her expression.

      She bit on her lip, then clicked her tongue. “It’s just that I was thinking about what the orderly said. About that woman trying to steal a newborn. And I know they’ve got security and all.” She glanced at the sleeping baby in her arms. “But I’m not going to rest very well tonight. I’ll keep looking at her, checking to see if she’s breathing. Checking to see if she’s still here.”

      He figured it was just a typical case of maternal anxiety. Both mother and child would be safer here than anywhere. But he wasn’t going to tell Juliet she was a worrywart. Not after what she’d been through.

      “I’m