Gwen Ford - Texas Miracle

“Oh.” Jacqueline seemed a little surprised. “Okay. You have something going on tomorrow?”

“We have a workday down at the church. I’m cooking breakfast.”

“Really?” She smiled, eyes gleaming.

“And why does that amuse you, Ms. Aimes?”

“I, well.” She raised a finger and touched her pillowy lips. “You’re just full of surprises, boss.”

“Next time I’ll cook you dinner.” The words were out of his mouth before he could retrieve them. Embarrassed, he started toward the back door, but she stopped him.

Jacqueline’s eyes flickered with delight. “The front door will be closer to your truck. I’ll just get your coat.”

CHAPTER SIX

MAC PULLED UP at Star Stables, where Joiner was supposed to meet him, at six o’clock sharp. He waved to Buster, Stella’s father, who was already feeding his goats. At six ten, Mac squinted his eyes and spotted a dot that had to be Joiner sitting on a bigger black dot that had to be Pistol. They were kicking up dust across the frosty acreage that separated the stables, which were located near Buster Scout’s ranch house, and the north forty, the parcel of land he had given Stella and Joiner for building their house.

When Joiner jumped into the truck at six fifteen, after handing Pistol off to Buster, he apologized. “I’m sorry, man.”

“Rough night?”

“Stella’s having those pains again. We don’t know if they are Braxton Hicks contractions or what.”

“Braxton what?”

“Braxton Hicks. They’re contractions that get you ready for the real contractions when the baby comes.”

“I see.” Mac suppressed a smile. Joiner was a long way from the playboy polo player he’d been in college. A long way for the better.

“Only thing is, the pain’s not really in the right place for Braxton Hicks. It’s more right here.” Joiner pointed to the area right under his sternum.

“Did you call the doctor?”

“Yes. We called and got the doctor on call, of course, since it’s not during office hours, and she told Stella to take two Tylenol and two Benadryl and lie down.”

“What time was that?”

“Five fifteen.”

“So Stella did? Did it help?”

“At six o’clock, she was finally getting some relief. I couldn’t leave till then. Guess I should have called you.”

“Of course, I understand.” Mac nodded. “You don’t even have to go. Hunt, Cullen and I could handle it.”

“I know, but Stella wanted me to. Said she was fine and just going to sleep.” Joiner looked at his phone. “She’ll call if it starts hurting again. The doctor said if it did, to head into Labor and Delivery.”

“Good grief!” Mac said. “She’s not thinking Stella might deliver, I hope. Surely, not this early.”

“No. I don’t think so. It’s so they could monitor her where they have all of the right equipment.”

The parking lot of Grace Baptist Church was empty except for Cullen’s Subaru station wagon and Hunt’s Harley-Davidson motorcycle. Douglas, a guy who always volunteered to help the brothers with breakfast, pulled up about the same time as Mac and Joiner. Mac inwardly cringed. As if reading his mind, Joiner chuckled and punched Mac’s arm. The well-meaning Douglas, with his perpetual sneezing, was the ultimate challenge to Mac’s germophobic tendencies.

“Brotha chothas!” Hunt called from the kitchen as Mac stepped through the fellowship hall door. Hunt, ever the Cowboy Chef, waved a spatula high in the air to greet them.

“The king with his scepter is already ruling the kitchen.” Cullen grasped Mac’s arm and then Joiner’s. Patting Douglas on the back, he offered them all rubber gloves.

Douglas took his, wiping his nose with his hand before putting them on. A cold sweat broke out across Mac’s forehead. He wiped it with a handkerchief and then headed to the sink to wash his hands.

“What’s that mean? Chothas?” Douglas asked.

“It’s a corruption of the language,” Joiner explained, washing his hands, as well. “A twin thing.”

Cullen interjected, “When Hunt and I were two, or so the story goes, Alma tried to get us to sleep in separate beds, but we both cried. Hunt told Alma, ‘But we can’t sleep apart. We need we’s chother.’”

“Oh!” Douglas exclaimed. “Like each other. I get it.” He laughed from deep in his belly. “That’s cute.”

“I’ve always been cute.” Hunt winked. The rest of the brothers groaned, rolling their eyes.

Each one took up his usual station in the church breakfast assembly line: Cullen cooked the bacon and sausage, Joiner made pancakes, and Mac rolled out homemade biscuits. While Hunt used his considerable skills on maple-cinnamon rolls, they all worked to keep Douglas contained to the fruit cutting. By seven thirty, when church members began to filter in, the coffee was on and the table spread. It was a delicious-smelling feast.

The brothers ate last, at a table with Sarah and her girls, as well as Gillian, Hunt’s wife. Both women were dressed in work clothes. As there was no call from Stella, they took that as a sign she was resting peacefully and decided not to bother her. Pastor Craig assigned the Temples to painting the youth wing, since Sarah’s girls were both in Youth, and the family worked through the morning making white Sunday school classes a more hip red, yellow and green.

When it was time to leave, about noon, Mac offered to treat everyone to pizza. The girls clapped their hands. Joiner said, “Could we pick it up and take it out to the house?”

“Great idea,” said Gillian. “I wanted to check on Stella myself.”

Sarah nodded. “Why don’t you guys pick up the pizza and we’ll go get fruit drinks for everyone?”

“Good deal.” Mac motioned for Cullen to jump in with him and Joiner while the women all piled into the station wagon with Sarah. “See you at Joiner’s in a few minutes.” He had a flickering thought of what it would be like to have Jacqueline there with him—like the others had their wives. But that was jumping the gun.

When everyone arrived, they found Stella on the couch in flannel pajamas and wrapped in a white terry-cloth robe. Propped on a pile of pillows, she looked tired, her swollen feet spilling out of her slippers. “I feel much better,” she declared. “That doctor’s instructions were the ticket. I’ve had a good rest.”

“Want some pizza?” Joiner smoothed her hair back from her head. “We got the kind you like just in case.”

Mac shared a look with Cullen and Hunt—a look that was somewhere between admiration for Joiner and a desire to make fun of him. For now, admiration won out.

Sarah and Gillian distributed pieces of pizza on paper plates while the girls passed out napkins along with everyone’s respective drink. They scattered around Joiner and Stella’s giant great room, sitting as near Stella as they could, some on the floor, some on the hearth of the fireplace, and some in chairs and the love seat nearby.

“Call Buster,” Mac said. “We’ve got plenty.”

“I already did,” Joiner said between bites. “He’s on his way.”

“So, exactly how many weeks along are you, Aunt Stella?” Meg asked, pulling out her phone.

“Thirty-two.” Stella patted her bulging belly.

“Baby weighs around four pounds,” Meg read off her screen. “Lungs and digestive system will develop to full maturity in the next few weeks.”

“We definitely need this little girl to stay in there awhile longer.” Stella rubbed her tummy. “I’ll admit I was getting worried in the wee hours of this morning.”

“I’m so glad what the doctor suggested worked and the pains have stopped,” Sarah said.

“What doctor? What pains?” Buster Scout burst through the door and wobbled on bowed legs to the couch where Stella lounged.