Irish Bear's Enemy (Boston Bear Brothers 4)

“What’s wrong, Maeve. Are you okay?”

“I think I’m in labor. I’ve had a few pains this afternoon, but I thought they were just cramps or those fake contractions, but I think this might be the real deal,” she groaned once the pain had passed. She was clutching his arm tightly as she spoke.

“Oh, god. Let’s get you to the mid-wife,” he gasped, feeling like a nervous wreck already.

Everyone around them began clearing a path through the streets so that they could get back to their car. He wanted to pull up to where they’d come out to the street and pick her up, but there was no way to get here with everything blocked off by barriers and the booths themselves.

It seemed to take three times as long to get back to the car as it had taken to get out of it and make their way to the booths. Once they were inside the car, he pointed it toward their destination, where the baby was to be delivered at the regional hospital by a special mid-wife who was aware of their unique situation.

Maeve called her to meet them there as they drove. She lived in town and would most likely get to the hospital before them if she wasn’t already on duty. Rolling up to the emergency room doors, he helped Maeve out of the car, and an attendant brought her a wheelchair.

“We’ll get her in. Just park your car, and we’ll meet you in the waiting area in a moment.”

Ronan hurriedly kissed her on the top of the head and went to park in the nearby parking lot, his nerves already shot before even stepping foot back in the hospital. He rushed inside and panicked when he didn’t see her anywhere, but the attendant spotted him and led him down a nearby hallway to the maternity center where Maeve was already being put into a hospital gown and helped onto a bed.

Things seemed to happen in a fog after that, with nurses coming and going to check on her and the mid-wife coming in to greet them after they had everything set up for her.

“Well, it looks like we are in full-blown labor, with contractions already at three minutes apart. I’m going to check and see how we are doing on dilation,” she said, putting on a fresh pair of gloves with the help of a nearby nurse to check progress.

“All right, we’re halfway there. If we keep moving forward at this rate, we’ll have us a pile of babies in no time. Just keep doing your breathing you learned in your classes, and I’ll be back in to check on you in a bit. Everything looks great, so far,” she told them. “Any questions?”

“Not right now,” Ronan managed to say with a lump in his throat.

She looked at him and laughed, gesturing toward Maeve. “I meant her, but that’s okay. You’re not the first jittery father in our delivery room.”

“I don’t have any questions either,” Maeve said.

The room cleared for a bit, leaving just her and Ronan to wait for the next round of nurses to come in and check her progress. He fed her ice chips and held her hand as she breathed her way through contractions until they seemed like one was starting as the other one ended. Several times the nurses came in and checked her progress, and then the doctor returned, this time already gloved up and with a mask on.

“All right, McNallys. It looks like it’s time to do this,” she said, positioning herself at the foot of the delivery bed.

Watching Maeve scream in pain as she began to alternately push and breathe through the pain was almost unbearable. It seemed like it went on forever, though it was only about ten minutes once she was positioned and ready to deliver. At first, he stood beside her, holding her hand, though her grip on his felt like she was going to break every bone in it if she squeezed much harder.

“Oh, we have a head. This one has a head full of hair already!” the mid-wife said, drawing him toward the foot of the bed. He watched, mesmerized as the baby emerged, bit by bit, until he was in full view. A quick count revealed ten fingers, ten toes, and one penis.

“It’s a boy!” he squealed before the mid-wife had a chance to say so.

“So it is,” she chuckled as a nurse handed him a pair of long scissors. He stared at her blankly, completely bewildered as to why he would need scissors.

“Do you want to cut the umbilical cord?” she asked.

“Oh. Yes!” he said, realizing how stupid he must seem, but then decided they probably dealt with idiot fathers like him all the time.

She guided his hand to the right spot and helped him cut the cord before holding him up for another nurse to wrap in a blanket and tend to on a nearby table. They repeated it again, first with another boy, and finally, the mystery baby, a tiny little girl that had been mostly hidden behind her bigger brothers.