A - Immortal Sea

The crown, the brow, small, dark, scrunched . . . No cord. Good. Liz slipped her hand to support the baby‟s head, easing it

to the side, remembering the pain of her own babies‟ births, the pain and the joy.

Margred groaned, deep and guttural. Her war-hardened husband turned pale.

Stroking her hair from her sweaty face, he pressed a kiss to her forehead. “You‟re doing great.”

But she wasn‟t.

Tension seized Liz. The head was free, but the baby‟s shoulders hadn‟t cleared the birth canal. Margred‟s face was ashen,

her lips cracked. Her blood pressure could be dropping. She needed fluids. She needed . . .

“Can you push?” Liz asked, keeping her voice steady. “Margred, you have to push now.”

A great cry burst from her.

Liz winced. “Easy,” she soothed.

God damn it, she wanted her equipment. Monitors, fluids, an operating room . . .

Caleb held his wife. “ Maggie. ”

She writhed. A long shadow fell across her swollen belly. Morgan, striding from the sea, water dripping from his cupped

hands.

“Get out of my light,” Liz snapped.

He ignored her, kneeling by Margred as she labored. Her dark eyes were wide, her mouth open in distress. He dipped into

his palm, laid his finger on her tongue, murmuring as he did so.

She gasped. Her bowed body suddenly sagged as she gripped her husband‟s hand. Her face flushed. And her child was

delivered into Liz‟s hands, perfect, slippery. Beautiful.

Wonder shuddered through her. But her reaction was unimportant. Nothing mattered but the infant in her care. She

concentrated on her job, support, wipe, suction.

Caleb met Morgan‟s eyes. “What did you say?”

Morgan shrugged. “Nothing. A blessing.”

“ „Born of water, for the water,‟ ” Dylan translated. “ „Drink deep and live.‟ ”

“Congratulations, you have a son,” Liz announced. Blinking tears from her eyes, she leaned forward to lay the wet, dusky

infant, still attached to his cord, on Margred‟s tummy, skin to skin.

Holding her own breath, Liz listened for his first cry.

Waited, her heart racing. Her jaw tensed. Firmly, she stroked the infant‟s back.

Margred struggled to sit up. “What is it? What‟s wrong?”

Liz stroked again, harder, willing him to breathe. “Come on, little guy.”

Caleb‟s big hand cupped the small, damp skull. “Born of water . . .” His voice cracked.

Liz reached for the baby to straighten his airway, to force air into his tiny lungs.

Margred‟s hand covered her husband‟s. She touched the baby‟s dark, pursed lips. “For the water,” she whispered. “Drink

deep and live.”

Their son‟s wavering cry rose to the stars and the sea.

Morgan‟s arms flexed as he carried the washtub over his head from the beach to the catering van. Elizabeth was in the

parking lot, leaning in the window of Caleb‟s Jeep, speaking to Margred in the back seat.

Elizabeth. Admiration for her moved him, for her calm in a crisis, her steady hands, her clear head, her warm heart. She

was a remarkable woman.

His woman.

He slammed the van‟s doors.

“Nancy‟s getting your exam room all ready.” Her voice carried across the gravel and under the trees. “I‟ll meet you there.”

A murmur from Margred.

“As soon as we get you both checked out, you can go home,” Elizabeth said, brisk and reassuring. “You drive carefully.”

“I didn‟t think we‟d be using the infant seat this soon,” Caleb said. “Thanks, Liz.”

“My pleasure. What are you going to name him?”

“Calder.” Margred‟s voice came clearly from the backseat.

From the wild water, Morgan translated silently.

“Nice,” Elizabeth said. She stepped back with a wave as they drove away. Turning toward her own car, she saw Morgan.

She still wore her professional face, he saw, but behind her cool composure emotion flickered. He took a step closer for the

simple pleasure of hearing her breath hitch, of seeing her eyes darken before she wrested her mask back into place.

“Nice job, Doctor.”

Some of the wariness left her shoulders. She smiled, the lines digging deeper at the corners of her eyes. “Margred did the

work.”

“The bulk of it,” he acknowledged. “But you helped.”

“So did you.”

He moved in, stalking her. “We were good together.”

“Yes.” She cleared her throat, edging toward her vehicle.

“Thanks. You‟ll have to tell me sometime how that trick with the water works. But right now, I have to—”

He fingered a strand of her hair, cutting off her voice. He heard the quick intake of her breath. He knew her adrenaline was

still high, her pulse still racing. She was ripe with sweat and salt and birth, earth and sea commingled.

He wanted her, craved her, the way he had never craved anything but the sea.

He had not seen their son born, his and Elizabeth‟s. He had not thought about it before, what it must have been like for her,

what he had missed.

All he was missing.

He thought of Caleb tenderly supporting Margred‟s wracked body, of Dylan and Regina working instinctively as a team.

Elizabeth‟s words teased him. “Is that what you want?”

“Was he there with you when our son was born?” he asked. “Your husband.”

“I, um . . .” It pleased him that it took her a moment to focus, to find her place in the conversation. “No. Ben and I weren‟t .

. . We were just friends then. We got married about a year later.”

She had told him once she was estranged from her parents. Did that mean . . .

“You were alone,” he said.

Elizabeth‟s brows twitched together. She raised her chin, on the defensive. “The nurses were there for me. The doctor on

call. I was a student there. I knew people.”

His jaw set until it cracked. She would not admit to being vulnerable. She would not admit to needing him.

Her strength was laudable. Her pride was understandable. He had the same strength, the same pride. He must persuade her

to lean on him, to trust in him.

He raised his arms, caging her against the side of her SUV. She stiffened. “I will be there for you,” he murmured. He

pressed his lips to her cheek, her brow. “I will stay with you.” Remembering her words, he amended quickly. “I want to stay.”

He nuzzled her throat, delighting in the wild leap of her pulse, her involuntary tremble. “You need me.”

Her hands tightened in his hair. “I need you.”

He kissed the tender hollow under her ear, scenting her capitulation, tasting victory. “Yes.”

She tugged, pulling back his head. “ I need you .”

He nodded cautiously, alerted by the shift in her emphasis, the spark in her eyes. “Yes. There is no harm, no shame, in

needing someone.”

Her gaze was pointed, her smile rueful. “Not unless he doesn‟t need you back.”

Morgan gaped. She had played him. With one neat sentence, in one swift reversal, he was hooked. Reeled in. Eviscerated.

“I won‟t ask you to be anything less than what you are,” Elizabeth continued, inexorable as the tide. “But I can‟t be less

than who I am either. I‟m not some coddled, weak woman in need of protection. I‟m a woman who‟s made a career for herself,

a life, and a home for her babies. I don‟t need you to take care of me. To take care of us. I need you to love me.”

He floundered, out of his element. “I do not see you as weak. I want to care for you because you are . . . precious to me.

You and your children.”

“But do you love me? Can you love us?”