Laura Altom - Babies and Badges

Thrilled to have a distraction, Noah eased his SUV onto the wide shoulder behind it, grateful the car’s driver had had the good fortune to not run dry on one of the many sections of the road with a steep drop-off.

Noah had already pulled off the tie he’d worn to the wedding, and after easing out of his truck, nursing his aching left knee—always a barrel of monkeys in this muggy weather—he ditched his jacket as well, tossing it on top of the rice bag he planned on letting the guys down at the station use for target practice.

Without his radio or gun, he felt naked approaching the car. He could’ve called in his stop on the fixed radio in the truck, but didn’t much see the need. Judging by the long, wavy hair, he could tell a woman sat in the front seat, head slumped against the headrest. Probably taking a nap.

“Hello!” he called out, walking slowly toward the driver’s side.

When he got no answer, his heart beat faster.

Was she hurt?

“Hello? Sheriff Noah Wheeler here. Just checkin’ to see if you need any help.”

A VW Bug whizzed by—the old kind.

Red.

The exhaust stung his nose.

Senses on full alert, wondering if maybe he should call in, he crept closer still. “I’d sure appreciate a wave or something. You know, just to let me know you’re all right.”

Greg Morris down in Washington County had gotten shot approaching a vehicle. The woman driver had played dead, while in the passenger seat her boyfriend hunkered down with a .357 Magnum. They’d been running drugs to the U of A campus from Dallas. Greg was now in a grave, and Noah hoped his killers spent the rest of their lives in the equivalent, only with concrete walls instead of dirt.

His pulse hammered, and a bead of sweat slid down his right temple.

Damn this heat and this stupid dress shirt.

He could see through the rear driver’s-side porthole window that the passenger seat was empty. But since he couldn’t see if the woman was truly asleep, or hurt, or just playing possum, he took it slow.

“Ma’am? You need help?”

“Mmm…”

He raised his eyebrows. Had that been a moan?

Throwing caution to the wind, heart racing as he prayed this wouldn’t turn out like that nightmarish Monday on Blue Springs Road, he finished his approach, and wished he’d done it a lot sooner, as the woman behind the wheel was about twelve months pregnant and obviously in trouble.

Her window was down, so he lightly shook her shoulder. “Ma’am? Can you look at me?”

Resting on a pillow of her lush red hair, she inched her head to the left, then opened exotic jade-green eyes a millimeter at a time. “I—” She licked her lips. Full, kissable lips attached to a flawless complexion—which must’ve cost an awful lot of money to keep up. The kind of money that had no business being on the side of the road in desolate Pritchett County. A fine mist of sweat coated her forehead and upper lip, and her breathing was erratic. She licked those lips of hers again, then said, “I—could you please help?”

Her gaze fell to her bulging tummy.

His gaze followed. “You in labor?”

Sucking in a swift gulp of air, she nodded.

“Okay, um—first off, I’m gonna call for help. Then we’re gonna get you out of here and into the back of my truck where I think you’ll be more comfortable.”

Again, all she could do was nod.

If Noah had thought his pulse was racing earlier, now he felt on the verge of passing out. He’d seen a lot of things in his years as county sheriff, but thankfully, he’d never happened upon a scene like this.

He reached his SUV in record time and radioed for an ambulance. The dispatcher patched him through to paramedics and after relaying what sketchy information he had, he dashed around to the back of his truck.

The rear door opened with a metallic screech, and Noah tossed aside the jack and jumper cables and spare jugs of wiper wash fluid, oil and water. He found the first-aid kit under the Bulldog bleacher pad he’d bought from one of his deputy’s kids.

Next, he lowered the back seat into the flat position, then made a nest out of the stash of blankets he hadn’t yet removed from that winter.

With the back seat down, he had a clear view of Kelsey’s foil-wrapped wedding present on the front floorboard. Looked like something good had come from skipping out on the reception, since the contents of the box was a half-dozen ecru towels.

Ecru.

Now, who but Kelsey would ask for ecru towels?

Forcing Kelsey and the way she’d looked in her white satin gown from his mind, he dashed back to the Thunderbird.

“How’re you doing?” he asked the woman inside, bum knee aching and slightly out of breath from adrenaline.

His heart sank when, once again, all he got from her was a weak nod.

“Okay, well, at least you’re not worse. I’m going to open your door,” he said, doing just that. “And then I’m going to lift you out of there.” With the door open, he saw that she couldn’t have been much over five feet. Good thing, since her car probably wouldn’t hold anyone over five-three—and certainly not his own six-foot frame.

She wasn’t wearing her seat belt, so he slipped his left hand beneath her knees and his right behind her back, easing her out of the car and deeper into his arms. She wore a black sundress, not all frilly and floral like the ones women wore in these parts, but severe in its shape.

All straight lines and business.

Even with the baby, she weighed nothing, and he cradled her close, mumbling something he hoped was comforting during the short walk to his truck.

In the fading sun, he noticed from the long silky waves kissing his left cheek that her hair wasn’t mere red, but fire streaked with a hundred shades of blond. He’d never been big on hair colors beyond the basics, but even he could see that this gal’s head was something special.

And her smell. Her perfume was a spicy, musky, sexy-hot Oriental blend that somehow matched the jade he remembered hiding behind her now closed eyes.

“You’re gonna be just fine,” he murmured, stopping just short of instinctively kissing her forehead. Geez, he’d been in law for twelve years and had yet to kiss one of the Jane Q. Publics he’d sworn to protect. Further proof that he shouldn’t have come within three counties of Kelsey and Owen’s big day.

His attraction meter was all screwed up.

At the back of his truck, Noah placed his good knee on the floorboard, then eased her inside, covering her with a blanket she pushed away.

“Hot—so hot,” she said, voice scratchy and weak.

“Okay, um, let me see what I can do.”

He’d just hopped down, planning to close up the truck and turn on the A/C, when she reached for him, locking her fingers around his black leather belt.

“Please, stay,” she said, eyes welling with tears just before she squeezed them shut and started funny panting breathing that felt way too intimate for him to witness. “I—I thought I could do this alone.” She grimaced. “I do everything alone, but—” There she went with that breathing again. “Oh God, it hurts. Oh God, what am I going to do?” Somewhere in all of that, she’d raised her knees, then spread her legs wide, furrowing her lovely forehead with a grimace of what he could only guess was mind-numbing pain.

He matched that with his own case of vertigo.

Good Lord, she wasn’t gonna have this baby right now, was she? He’d seen training videos on this sort of thing, but…

Suck it up, bud. This ain’t no drill and you ain’t no Boy Scout.

Noah looked over his shoulder for the ambulance, but no such luck.

“Okay, um, can you hold it?” he asked, taking yet another look.

“Nooooooo!” Thrashing her head from side to side, she emitted an otherworldly scream that startled a flock of crows into noisy flight.