Emergency Engagement (Love Emergency) Read online

There were shots of the reception, him and Kelli feeding each other cake, Hunter giving a best-man toast Beau had yet to live down, Kelli and him in each other’s arms, taking their first dance as husband and wife. The album ended with a picture of them standing in an alcove at the reception, kissing. God, he’d loved her. He remembered the moment clearly, remembered practically bursting with happiness he never once stopped to second-guess. The guy in the picture had no fear. Then again, the guy in the picture had no fucking clue what the future held.

  He put the album aside and reached for the next one. The pink quilted cover warned him, but he pulled it out anyway. A tiny pink handprint filled one photo square on the front of the book, and an only slightly larger pink footprint filled the other. Beneath, dark pink letters spelled “Abbey.” He ran his finger over the little palm print. So small and perfect. Acid hot tears blurred his vision, but he wiped them away with an impatient hand and opened the cover.

  And there she was.

  Hi, baby. Sorry Daddy’s such a mess. I didn’t expect to see you today.

  He traced her sweet newborn face, all cheeks, squinting eyes, and pouty little mouth. The barest hint of a pointed chin just like her mother’s.

  Jesus. A wounded animal sound wrenched up from his chest, but he couldn’t look away. He flipped the pages, greedily drinking in pictures. Kelli in the hospital bed, holding Abbey in her arms and glowing like an angel despite five hours of labor and no epidural. Him, standing by the window, grinning like an idiot and holding Abbey for the first time.

  He kept turning pages. There were a surprising number of pictures considering she’d only been four months old when he’d lost her. The shot of her dressed like a pumpkin for her first Halloween pried a laugh out of him, as did a black-and-white photo of her in her baby bath, splashing herself in the face and giggling. She smiled a lot. And everyone around her smiled, too. Grandma, Mommy…Daddy. He closed the book and ran his hand over the cover. Those four months had been the happiest of his life.

  The last album still sat in the box. Curious, he wiped his cheeks and lifted it out. The bright yellow cover shone like a sunbeam. He opened the book, brushed past the parchment paper, and stared at the empty page. A flip through the other pages quickly confirmed they were all empty. He turned back to the parchment page and spotted his mother’s handwriting on the inside corner of the cover.

  This album is for you to fill with new memories.

  Love, Mom & Dad

  …

  “Have you talked to Savannah yet?”

  Hunter’s question pulled him away from his silent countdown. Tick-tock. Six p.m., New Year’s Eve. By tomorrow at this time, she’d be somewhere over the Atlantic, winging her way to Venice.

  “I sent a text to wish her luck tonight.”

  “A good luck text? Hell, if that doesn’t convince her to stay, I don’t know what will.”

  If Hunter hadn’t been driving the rig tonight, he would have punched him. “I told her I loved her, and I wanted her to stay.”

  “You presented it wrong.”

  Really, Einstein? “I presented it honestly. It’s not good enough for her.”

  “And you know what? I respect her for calling you on your weak-assed bullshit. Life’s full of risk. Bad things happen to good people. Nobody knows this better than us. But good things happen, too. Savannah, for instance. She’s the best thing to happen to you in a long time. Same goes for the baby. Some people would give up a kidney to fall in love and be loved in return. I have a cousin who’s going through all kinds of crap right now to try to conceive. You’ve been given these gifts a second time. Focus on the good, and muster up some fucking optimism, instead of acting like you’re in love with her against your will—”

  A call crackled over the radio, interrupting the Dr. Phil show. Beau picked up and listened as the dispatcher sent them onto the freeway in response to a fender-bender involving a vague report of a female passenger in distress. Hunter turned on the lights and siren, while Beau directed him to the scene.

  “Motherfuckers,” Hunter cursed, honking at the slow-to-react drivers reluctant to give up their place in the bumper-to-bumper traffic. “I hope some dickhead drags his ass when you’re the one waiting for help.”

  By the time they got to the scene a police cruiser had arrived and officers had placed flares around a late-model minivan with barely a scratch on it and an old Subaru Outback with a crunched-in rear bumper. Hunt pulled in behind the cruiser. Beau grabbed the primary response kit and headed toward the officer standing beside the minivan, talking to a middle-aged man who was presumably the driver of that vehicle. The officer waved him to the other car. Hunter fell into step beside him as he approached the Outback. He saw a female officer standing by the back passenger-side door, leaning into the car. He heard a woman cry out—the kind of cry that started low and slowly escalated to a scream—and quickened his pace. “What have we got?”

  The young female officer scrambled away from the car as if there was a ticking bomb inside. “The miracle of birth. Thank God you’re here. I was trying to time the contractions but they’re coming so fast—”

  “Where are you going? Don’t leave!” The frantic voice came from the backseat.

  “You’re attending,” Beau said, and hung back to let Hunter assess the patient.

  Hunter asked for the woman’s name, but the officer shook her head. “We haven’t gotten that far.”

  And here’s why his partner made the better lead on this call. Hunter simply pasted on his reassuring smile and stuck his head into the backseat. “Hey there, Ms.—”

  “Where’s the woman? Lady, come back. Please!”

  Hunter hunkered down. “She’s a state trooper. I’m a paramedic. Right now, you want me.”

  “I want a woman! Call another paramedic. Please. I’ll wait…I’ll—” Her breath hitched, and she braced against a new wave of pain. “Jeeeesuuuus. It huuuurts.”

  “If you let me take a look, I might be able to do something about the pain.”

  Beau left Hunter trying to talk her out of her panties and ran to get the panic pack. He returned in time to hear the mother-to-be say, “Oh God. I can’t believe I’m going to give up my underwear to a fast-talking guy with a pretty face. These kinds of decisions are what got me into this in the first place.” The sentence ended in another breathless cry.

  “Would it help if I told you I’m gay?”

  Beau put on gloves and then handed Hunter a pair, and admired his partner’s ability to think on his feet.

  “Maybe,” the woman panted. “Are you?”

  Hunter gloved up and offered her a grin. “Me and this guy”—Hunter nodded at him—“have been partners for a long time. Say hi, Beau.”

  Beau leaned his head in and waved at the very young, very pretty, very scared woman stretched out in the back seat. “Hi…?”

  “Madisonnnnn… Holy shiiiit.”

  Hunter took the sterile drape Beau offered him and waited until the contraction passed before speaking.

  “Nice to meet you, Madison. I’m Hunter. I’m going to help you lift your hips, so I can slide this little sheet under you. Then we’re going to see what’s going on with this baby. It is just one baby, right?”

  “One,” he heard her confirm as he moved aside to provide them a measure of privacy, and arranged supplies in the order Hunter would need them.

  Madison’s voice carried from inside the car. “Hunter, I really need something for the pain now.”

  “I can’t, honey. You need to push.”

  “No…no…no.” The car rocked. “I’m not due yet. I have another three weeks.”

  “Babies don’t have calendars, Madison,” Hunter replied calmly. “I’ve done this more than once. Trust me, it’s time to push.”

  Their patient had other ideas. “Do something to keep her in! It’s too soon. What if she can’t…?” The arrival of the next contraction interrupted the what-ifs, but not before Beau filed away another important piece of information.
A girl. Madison expected a girl. Memories tried to intrude, but he forced them away and focused on the job. Studies indicated newborn girls were generally smaller and had few complications. Good news, given the circumstances.

  “Three weeks is nothing, sweetheart. Counts as full-term,” Hunter assured her. “Have you been seeing a doctor every now and then? Have your checkups been good?”

  “Yes,” she replied between pants. “I saw my doctor right after Christmas. Everything’s on track.” Her voice turned stubborn. “I’m due in three weeks.”

  The next contraction set in, contradicting her. Conversation subsided as her recovery time between contractions diminished. Hunter alternately encouraged her and bullied her through transition.

  Eventually, though, her end of the dialogue devolved to gasping, defeated phrases like “I can’t,” and “No more.” He quietly asked Hunter if he should get the gurney. They’d have to transport her if things stalled. She’d need more support than they could give her.

  “Uh-uh,” Hunter answered. “Not yet. My girl Madison’s going to do this, right, sweetheart? You’re ready to meet this baby you’ve been taking such good care of for the last nine months. Hold her in your arms and show her what a strong, brave, pretty mama she’s got.”

  Madison sounded less than convinced, despite Hunter’s impressive confidence. He listened with half an ear as Hunter gave her a pep talk, and mentally worked out the logistics of loading her into the rig and navigating the traffic to the nearest ER. He could get it done in ten minutes—fifteen max. With his mind so deep in plan B, he almost didn’t hear his partner say, “Beau’s going to come around to your side and climb in. He’ll support you while you push, okay? He’s way more comfortable than a hard car door.”

  Okay, plan B went on hold for now. He hurried to the other side of the car and got in. She more or less fell against him.

  “That’s right.” Beau turned so his chest supported her back. “Let me take your weight.” As she relaxed, he gently inched her hips closer to Hunter. His partner spared him a grateful glance.

  The next contraction hit hard. When it finally let go, his partner had the head in view, but Beau had an armful of exhausted, trembling, and borderline incoherent woman. He caught Hunter’s eye and nodded toward the ambulance. Transport her.

  Hunter shook his head, and then called Madison’s name in a sharp voice.

  To Beau’s surprise, she responded. Hunter’s smile mirrored his own relief.

  “Stay with me, sweetheart,” Hunter said. “Next time, when the contraction comes, I want you to push as long as you can. Not hard, but long. Got it?” While Hunter issued the instructions, he placed supplies on the drape.

  Madison’s small frame stiffened as the next spasm gripped her. She leaned forward and put her whole body into the push. Beau supported her with one hand between her shoulders and the other against her lower back.

  “Oh God. Oh God. Oh God.”

  In his mind he added a few Oh Gods of his own to the mix. Apparently God was listening, because Hunter called, “That’s my girl. You’re doing great.” The moment of triumph was short-lived, however, because he followed with an urgent instruction to stop pushing.

  Beau held the whimpering woman, feeling helpless as shakes rattled through her. Hunter moved quickly, his attention locked on the action in front of him. Beau couldn’t see much from his position, but he knew enough about the process to realize Hunter was dealing with a cord situation, and prayed he could resolve it. Transporting now, with mother and baby in distress due to an unmanageable nuchal cord, would be a nightmare.

  He almost high-fived his partner when Hunter said, “Sweetheart, you’re almost done. One last push…there you go…a little more.” Next thing he knew, Hunter had a baby in his hands. Her little chest expanded; Beau released a breath of his own. While Hunter cleaned, dried, and wrapped the infant, Beau eased Madison into a more reclined position and attempted to check her pulse.

  The new mom had different priorities and kept trying to sit up. “Is she all right? Is she breathing?”

  As if activated by the sound of her mother’s voice, the baby cried out. The little bleating sound told him she wasn’t having any problem drawing in air.

  Hunter grinned. “Aw. Is that any way to say thank you? Want to go to your mama?” He placed the baby into Madison’s outstretched arms.

  Beau took the additional towels Hunter handed him, and then the stethoscope. “Hey, Madison?” He waited until she turned her head and smiled at him.

  “Isn’t she beautiful?”

  “She’s gorgeous.” And she was. Pink and vigorous. “Your first post-birth duty as a mom is to hold her and keep her warm while I listen to her heart and lungs.”

  Heart rate and respiration were strong and steady. He helped Madison listen to her baby’s heartbeat while Hunter clamped and cut the cord. Beau collected some medical history while his partner dealt with stage three. The cops made themselves useful and got the stretcher out of the rig, and then finally, Beau held the baby while Hunter lifted Madison onto the stretcher.

  He walked behind them, staring into the newborn’s blurry eyes, and overheard Madison ask, “Back in the car, when you promised my baby and me would be okay, how did you know?”

  Hunter looked back at Beau before answering. “Gotta have faith in happy endings. Otherwise, what’s the point?”

  Good question.

  He pondered it for the drive to the hospital, and back to the station, and the same answer kept shoving its way to the front of his mind, along with an epiphany he needed to share with a specific someone. Now. By the time they’d clocked out he was frantic to get to Savannah.

  “You headed home?” Hunter asked, apparently oblivious to his urgency.

  “Not exactly, no. You?”

  “I’m thinking about making a stop by the hospital, just to check in on our last call.”

  “Good job tonight.” He clapped a hand on Hunter’s shoulder. “You did everything right.”

  Hunter grinned. “I was sweating like a damned soul running a marathon in hell.”

  “It didn’t show.”

  “I have this philosophy I cling to when shit starts flying.”

  “What’s that?”

  “Things might just work out.”

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Savannah stood in the crowded gallery, smiling and nodding appreciatively as a prominent art critic held court for a handful of local collectors and discussed her work. Normally she loved the energy and buzz of a showing, but tonight the bustle of people and hum of conversation made it hard for her to concentrate on anything. Instead, her attention kept drifting to the milling guests.

  Stop looking for him. Why would he come?

  And yet she couldn’t prevent her eyes from searching the crowd. Midnight loomed, but the showcase remained in full swing. She’d sold several pieces, which meant she ought to be ecstatic. At least one aspect of her life was finally going according to plan.

  The critic said something that coaxed a laugh out of the group of people around her. Savannah managed a lackluster chuckle that got lost in the noise of the room. A man in a suit entered the gallery, and her gaze snagged on him. A flare of recognition subsided into disappointment as their eyes locked. His lit up and familiar lips curved into a fast smile.

  Mitch. Not the man from her past she’d been hoping to see tonight. Apparently her disappointment didn’t show, because he made his way over. She excused herself from the group and headed toward him, thinking to intercept him as close to the door as possible. He appeared to be alone, on New Year’s Eve, which seemed like an odd state for a newly engaged man.

  “Hello, Savannah,” he said when he drew near enough to be heard. “It’s good to see you.”

  He reached for her hands, but she kept them at her sides. “Mitch. What are you doing here?”

  “I saw your name on a gallery mailing about the spotlight, and decided to stop by and congratulate you.”

  “I woul
d have thought you’d have other plans for New Year’s Eve. With your fiancée.”

  A pained frown momentarily marred his handsome face. “She, uh…turned me down.”

  Ah. Now the reason for his presence became clearer. “Sorry to hear that. Don’t worry. I’m sure the right girl will come along.”

  “I was thinking maybe she had, and I failed to recognize her. I mean, look at you. You’ve scored a showing with a premier gallery. I heard they’re offering to represent you. You’re back on track. I think we’d make a great couple—a successful lawyer and a successful artist. Unconventional, but in an interesting way.”

  Wow. The right connections and suddenly she’d been upgraded to marriage material. “I don’t know, Mitch. I think I may still be too unconventional for you.”

  He took the statement as a challenge and smiled his confident lawyer smile. “Try me.”

  “I’m pregnant.”

  The smile disappeared. He paled and backed up a step. “That’s impossible. You were on the pill, and we always used a condom.”

  Jeez. “It’s not yours.”

  “Oh.” For a moment she thought he might pass out from relief, but he pulled himself together. “Okay, well, then—” He trailed off awkwardly. “I guess you’re involved with someone else.”

  “Guess again.” Now she was just being mean, but some wicked part of her wanted to watch him squirm out of this hole he’d dug for himself with his version of a romantic, When Harry Met Sally New Year’s Eve grand gesture. She stepped closer to him, crowding him a bit. “Still up for being part of an unconventional, yet interesting couple?”

  “We should take some time to think this through. I mean, it’s New Year’s Eve, and we…I…got swept up in the excitement, but—”

  “Relax, Mitch. I’m not interested. Nothing’s changed for me. If anything, this baby cemented everything I always believed about love. I’m not after a relationship that makes sense on paper, or one that qualifies as unconventional, yet interesting. I want a soul mate, partner, and friend. I want a man who loves me for who I am, as I am. Who appreciates my strengths, and accepts my weaknesses…and…and…”