Linda Johnston - Alias Mommy

Her last conscious action was to curve into a protective curl.

NEITHER RAIN NOR HEAT nor gloom of night stayed the Selborn Peak, Colorado, city council from its regular Thursday night meeting, Reeve Snyder thought ironically as he carefully guided his Volvo through the blinding torrent.

Nor thunderstorms.

It wasn’t as if the business just conducted was so earthshaking that it couldn’t have waited a week. But he wasn’t the only one who had another demanding job, or a dislike of being out in awful weather. And this wasn’t as bad as winter’s snowstorms, which he abhorred for good reason. Still, if he had complained, his fellow councilpersons would—

His cellular phone rang. “Yes?” he answered tersely. He knew what the call was likely to be about at this hour, and on such a night: a medical emergency.

“Doc?” The voice was shaking. “This is Ernie Pride.”

Reeve had just left Ernie at the council meeting. “Yes, Ernie. What’s up?”

“I just saw a car go off the interstate in front of me. I called 911 and help’s on the way, but I figured you’d be closer than anyone. Can you come?”

“Sure.” Reeve got the particulars and in moments was heading toward the spot, his heart pounding. He was one of a few doctors who lived in this small town, so he was summoned frequently in emergencies. No matter how many times he responded, he couldn’t help feeling the rush of anticipation—and dread.

He never knew how bad it would be till he got there.

It didn’t take long. Half a mile after pulling onto the interstate at the entrance Ernie had named, Reeve thought he saw stationary red lights ahead through the still-pouring rain. Sure enough, as he drew closer, he noticed Ernie’s Land Rover on the shoulder of the road. He pulled behind, tugged off the jacket and necktie he’d worn to the meeting and, grabbing a flashlight, leaped from his car. Drenched as quickly as if he had jumped into a cold shower with his clothes on, he snatched his medical bag from the trunk and looked around. The shoulder was narrow, and the fence that was supposed to protect drivers from the steep slope below was broken by a large gap. Looking down the hillside, Reeve soon spotted another light. “Ernie?” he called.

“Here, Doc!” The response was muffled by the pounding rain.

Reeve slid through scratchy brush and oozing mud down to the scene of the accident—fortunately, not far below the road. The car was small; it must have been traveling too fast, since it had severed the fence so completely. It rested on the passenger side, the driver’s side up in the air. The front was caved in.

Reeve found Ernie perched on the upper edge, prying open the driver’s door with a tire iron. It opened with a shriek of metal. “Too smashed to open regular,” Ernie said, hopping down. A building contractor, Ernie was a short, wiry man, and Reeve had no doubt he’d have opened the car door with his bare hands if it had been possible.

“Who’s inside?” Reeve began climbing up to the opening.

“One person, far as I can tell. There.”

Ernie held his hand up to shine his light inside, and Reeve peered in, increasing the illumination with his own light. A woman lay in a crumpled heap at the bottom, against the passenger door. She seemed unconscious, strewn with glass from the smashed windshield, and what he could see of her head and arms was bloody.

His professionalism keeping him calm, Reeve climbed in and lowered himself to where she lay, careful not to step on her. The car reeked of gasoline, plus a hint of spice, as though of rich perfume—and the metallic stench of blood.

Finally kneeling beside her, he turned her over, automatically reaching for her wrist to check her pulse.

A pain so sharp that it might as well have been physical pierced Reeve’s heart.

The woman was visibly near term pregnant.

“Damn it,” he swore shakily.

He would not lose either one. This time.

KNUCKLES WHITE as he steered his Volvo, Reeve followed the shrieking ambulance to the emergency room door, then parked behind it. As he jumped out of his car, the ambulance’s flashing red light swept over him and reflected on the wet pavement. The rain was slower now but had not completely stopped.

The emergency medical technicians responding to Ernie’s 911 call had arrived not long after Reeve did. He had already stanched the flow of blood from a severe laceration on the woman’s arm, and together they had stabilized her. Her baby was alive but in distress.

Holding an intravenous bag in the air, the EMTs wheeled the woman into the medical center on a gurney. The staff had been alerted to expect the emergency, and Larry Fletcher, a fine obstetrician and a friend of Reeve’s, was waiting.

“What do you think?” he asked Reeve without looking at him. He was already checking over the woman. “Was she conscious at all? Do we know how close the baby is to term?”

“No. She looks pretty far along, though.” A wave of helplessness washed over Reeve, but he quickly set it aside. “The baby’s heartbeat is weak and thready,” he told the obstetrician. “The trauma may have caused a separated placenta.”

“If so, emergency C-section’s the way to go,” Larry stated. “Nurse!” He called to one of the emergency room team and began issuing orders.

For the first time, Reeve got a good look at the injured woman. Her short, dark hair, still containing shards of glass, was a stark contrast to the color of her pale skin. Her long, thick eyelashes were a lighter shade than her hair. There were bloody scratches on her face and arms in addition to the deep cut that had bled so profusely, and she had a large bump on her forehead. She wore a loose maternity dress that bulged out in front. She seemed a pretty woman, and she looked utterly fragile.

Her pallor was deathlike.

Anguish he’d thought he had forgotten threatened to swamp Reeve, but then he noticed her eyelids flutter. Her lips parted, and she seemed to be trying to talk. He leaned toward her. “What did you say?” he asked gently, though a voice inside screamed for him to lift this woman, hold her, force her baby and her to be immediately healed.

Her eyes opened just a slit. He couldn’t tell what color they were, and he doubted that they were focused on him. Her brow was furrowed as though she was in pain.

He saw her hand rise slightly from where it rested beside her on the gurney, and he clasped it in his. It was cool and damp and seemed as limp as a shroud.

This time, when she spoke in a quiet rasp, he made out the words. “Help me. Please.”

“I’ll do all I can. I promise.” His blood pounded in his ears. What if—

No, that was another mother, another baby. He had no business thinking about them now. He was the only physician with pediatric experience at the hospital at this hour. He had work to do.

CATHERINE’S EYELIDS WERE heavy. She struggled to open them. They fluttered first. With concentrated effort, she managed to raise them just a little.

She saw only a blur of white. “You are awake,” said a deep, soothing voice. A familiar male voice. It made her feel relaxed. Safe.

“I thought so. Can you tell me your name?”

She didn’t want to talk. Too tired. But she had to respond to the calming voice. “Ca—” she started to say. She stopped, trying to remember why she didn’t dare mention that name. “Polly,” she finally said. The word came out as a croak. That was the answer she had to give. She had to think of herself as Polly, not Catherine. But as muzzy as her mind felt, she was not sure why.

“Polly what?”

“Black,” she managed to answer. Why did she hurt so badly? She felt as though she had been run over by a truck.

Truck? No. The car. She had been so tired, and then…and then…