nerves and laughter. “This wasn‟t in the birth plan.”
She shook back her hair, smiling up at him. “Not your plan.”
“Maggie . . .”
“Ah.” She bit her lip, her face contracting in pain.
Liz dropped beside them, put an encouraging hand on Margred‟s knee. “All right, now you‟re down, let‟s see what that
baby is up to.”
She looked around, evaluating the crowded shelter, the dark beach. Dear God.
“What do you need?” Dylan asked.
“Light. Drapes. Pads. Those tablecloths? Clean ones, if you‟ve got them. And my bag. In my car.” She reached
automatically for her keys, but the pretty blue dress lacked pockets. Half-rising, she craned her neck for her purse.
“Here.” Her black medical bag appeared as if by magic, held in a strong, long-fingered hand. She looked up and met
Morgan‟s eyes.
Her heart lurched. How did he . . .
He smiled thinly. “Your back window is broken.”
Her mouth jarred open.
Margred grunted.
Liz‟s head snapped back around. She focused on her patient. “Don‟t push.”
“I am having a baby,” Margred said with some irritation. “I must push sometime.”
“Not yet,” Liz said firmly.
Not until, please God, they got to the clinic, where she had IVs. Oxygen. Clean sheets.
She scrubbed her hands and arms liberally with hand sanitizer, prepared to do a quick check and transport. A cursory
examination, however, revealed Margred and her baby had no intention of waiting for sterile surroundings. The child was
already crowning, each contraction forcing its damp, dark head to the entrance of the birth canal.
Liz‟s stomach rolled and then settled. She was trained for this. Not practiced, perhaps, but trained.
Margred panted, her hair sticking to her flushed face.
“The Jeep?” Caleb said.
Liz inhaled, her mind racing. This was an emergency, not a disaster. Margred was in good health. Excellent history.
Normal fetal presentation. Women had babies away from the hospital all the time.
But Liz hadn‟t delivered one since her OB rotation more than ten years ago.
And she‟d never delivered a selkie baby.
She gave herself a mental shake. She‟d seen the ultrasound images. Margred‟s baby was human. As human as Zack.
She summoned a reassuring smile. “I think we‟ll all be fine here.”
“Here,” Caleb said sharply.
“Mm.” Liz completed her examination, patted Margred‟s foot. They had a few minutes to prepare. “Dylan, can you move
people . . . Thanks.”
Under the swathing tablecloth, she adjusted Margred‟s clothing.
“Mommy?” Emily‟s voice was high and thin.
“Your mommy‟s busy right now, kiddo,” Regina said. “Come wait with me and Nick over here. You‟ve seen our baby,
right? Grace, this is . . .”
Their voices faded away.
Thank God for Regina. Liz ran through the remembered birth protocol in her head while she sorted through her kit for the
supplies she would need. Gloves, alcohol, bulb syringe, scissors . . . First pregnancy, she thought. No known problems, due
date . . . Well, the date was irrelevant now.
Time slowed. Her world narrowed to the laboring woman on the beach, Caleb supporting her back. Lanterns cast pools of
light on hard gray sand, the checkered tablecloths. Margred arched, strained, panted, pushed, her hands gripping her knees, her
body rippling as contractions rolled through her.
“Good job,” Liz murmured. Sweat rolled down her back and dampened her bra. Her skirt was smeared with blood and
fluid. “Another push, now. Gently.”