Baby for the Midwife

Baby for the Midwife
The Midwife’s Baby
Fiona MCArthur
Spanish Doctor, Pregnant Midwife
Anne Fraser
Countdown to Baby
Gina Wilkins

www.millsandboon.co.uk

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Table of Contents

Cover

Title Page

The Midwife’s Baby

About the Author

Dedication

Chapter one

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Spanish Doctor, Pregnant Midwife

About the Author

Chapter one

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Epilogue

Countdown to Baby

About the Author

Dedication

Chapter one

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Copyright

The Midwife’s Baby

Fiona MCArthur

A mother to five sons, FIONA MCARTHUR is an Australian midwife who loves to write. Medical Romance^TM gives Fiona the scope to write about all the wonderful aspects of adventure, romance, medicine and midwifery that she feels so passionate about—as well as an excuse to travel! so now that the boys are older, her husband Ian and youngest son Rory are off with Fiona to meet new people, see new places, and have wonderful adventures. Fiona’s website is at www.fionamcarthur.com.

To The Maytone Girls, friends indeed, who inspire me.

CHAPTER ONE

THE chapel floated like a snowflake against the backdrop of the lush Hunter Valley Gardens and the string quartet drifted silvery notes out over the waiting guests.

Max Beresford stood tall and straight at the front of the church and realised that despite the romantic venue he’d condemned himself to the type of loveless marriage his parents had.

Give me a sign, God. Am I a fool for going through with this?

The procession music started. Too late.

Max tilted his chin slightly as he watched the matron of honour walk haltingly towards him in some screechingly fashionable apricot material.

There was something about the dogged yet vulnerable expression on the woman’s face that aroused his sympathy because he’d approached the altar with just such a halting advance.

Max frowned. Was there a problem or was his new cousin-in-law-to-be unbearably nervous? Embarrassed didn’t make sense because she looked gorgeous—fertile with her baby bump bulging beneath the shiny fabric—but gorgeous nonetheless.

She paused again and seemed to suck air in through gritted teeth before she raised her chin and resumed her approach.

Max knew Tayla had been reluctant to include her midwife cousin, Georgia, in the wedding party but he’d thought that had been because of Georgia’s unfashionable pregnancy and some vague hint that she was depressed. Maybe there were other reasons.

Before he could ruminate on that thought his non-blushing bride staged her spectacular entry and the gasps from the congregation drew Max’s eyes towards his future wife.

Max could do nothing but stare as feathers rippled and parted in the breeze and held him spellbound.

He blinked in disbelief. Tayla seemed to have been devoured by a white duck.

Framed against the door for an extended moment, his bride’s shapely arms and legs stretched from beneath a strapless froth of feathers that only just covered her thighs at the front and fell in a frothy tail to the floor at the back.

A large apricot bow around her tiny waist matched the rose in her father’s lapel.

Good grief, Max thought, and suppressed a smile. He’d fallen into Swan Lake and he had never felt less like a prince.

His bride floated up beside him, as did one of the feathers that had come unstuck and drifted just ahead of her in an eddy, and went to hand her feathered fan to the matron of honour.

Cousin Georgia was not having a good day as she missed the one cue she’d been assigned. He could see Tayla remained seriously unimpressed with her attendant.

For Georgia Winton, being matron of honour had assumed the nightmare proportions she had hoped it wouldn’t.

The first unexpected labour contraction had hit her as she’d entered the church at the precise moment the whole congregation had noticed her entrance.

The next contraction had grown to such intensity she almost dropped the bouquet as her cousin handed it to her.

When she was able to, Georgia offered an apologetic glance at the bride and groom, which neither acknowledged. Tayla had tossed her head in disgust and Max had continued to stare, bemused, at Tayla’s dress.

Georgia clutched the bouquet like the dead duck it resembled and forced her shoulders to drop as the pain eased away. Distraction, distraction, distraction, she reminded herself. There was plenty of that.

Max Beresford, the groom, was pretty distracting. She’d known of him, but until now not by sight as he’d missed rehearsals because of some crisis at the hospital.

The real Max was tall, broad-shouldered and far too handsome for his own good, but his kind eyes had surprised her with their warmth.

Though younger than she’d expected, he looked every inch the new department head of obstetrics for the North Coast Region of Hospitals—a position he was taking up after Tayla’s and his honeymoon—and she was surprised how much she instinctively felt that Tayla had chosen well.

After her baby was born, Max would apparently find her a midwife’s position in the region, so she really did hope she wouldn’t ruin his wedding.

Max’s brother, Paul, who had played groom each time they’d practised the wedding service, seemed pleasant enough but not a warm person and he stood beside Max now as a paler shade of his brother.

Unfortunately Paul’s eyes were fixed a little too intently on his brother’s wife-to-be.

Meanwhile Tayla, gloriously aware of everyone’s attention, proceeded to lift her eyes theatrically towards the stained-glass window and shimmy her feathers.

Georgia could see no softness or devotion or anything redeeming from her cousin despite the perfect setting and the man beside her. Though she had adamantly said to Georgia that of course she loved Max.

On the groom’s part, even the smile Max gave his fiancée seemed strained and disconnected.

Georgia ached with disappointment. Weddings shouldn’t be like this. What was wrong with every-body? Except for her parents, who had remained blissfully in love until their deaths, she had begun to despair that all marriages were destined to be travesties.

Tayla she could understand. Tayla had always wanted the extravagant white wedding and the rich husband, topped off by the bridal magazine shoot currently in progress.

While her cousin would enjoy being married to a handsome consultant as she flew in to join Max briefly for social occasions in whatever city or town he visited, Tayla didn’t intend that her marriage would markedly change her life.

A tiny worry line drew Max’s thick black brows together even further and Georgia glared at him for not savouring the moment. Didn’t he realise the sacredness of marriage?

What was in it for Max if he didn’t have some affection for his bride?

Romantically, Georgia had hoped this wedding would restore her faith in true love. She’d hoped there would be a incandescent joy between these two as they stood before God and declared their troth.

Then the third contraction gripped her belly and all else was forgotten as the searing pain snatched her breath at the peak. This time the intensity drew a stifled gasp she couldn’t contain. Even the minister looked across at her with raised eyebrows.

It wasn’t fair. Labour was supposed to start with gentle regular contractions, gradually increasing in intensity. She should have been supported by her midwife friends at home, with birdsong playing. Not the Wedding March.

The only thing bird-like about these pains were that they flew straight to a pain score of ten.

When the contraction finally eased she accepted that it was likely the wedding would go on without her.

Georgia chewed her bottom lip and tried to focus on the glorious blue-green stained-glass window until the minister began to speak again. In the lull before the next pain, she could almost believe she could wait at least until the man-and-wife part of the service.

Tayla was going to kill her and when she looked at the bride she wanted to cry. Pregnancy hormones, of course—but, then Tayla had always made her want to cry.

She tried to concentrate on the ballet of the shooting fountains in the artificial lake below—surely the next contraction would be further apart—until a tiny clicking pop sent the trickle of warm fluid down her leg and forced her to call it a day.

‘Excuse me,’ she whispered to the minister as she edged away from the altar towards the side door of the church.

‘You’re not going anywhere,’ Tayla hissed, but this time Georgia didn’t hear.

Please, God, she prayed silently, don’t let anyone notice the tiny rivulets of fluid in her wake. She could feel the eyes of the congregation on her back.

Suddenly the trickle became a gush and her baby kicked and squirmed in an agitated dance that evicted any thought of who was watching and sent prickles of unease down Georgia’s spine.

This didn’t feel right and her baby’s panic was communicated to Georgia even though she had never experienced labour before. At work she’d seen labour go wrong and she tried not to allow those memories to intrude.

She remembered the words of her Calmbirth midwife—listen to your body. Listen to your instincts. Her belly heaved as her baby twisted again. Her instinct said she needed to go to the hospital and her baby demanded speed.

She lifted her eyes in panic. She needed help, and suddenly help was there. The steady gaze of Max grounded her panic with calmness and a strong, reassuring hand on her shoulder.

She swallowed the lump of fear in her throat. The last time she’d seen him he’d been at the altar with Tayla. She darted a look to the front of the church and her cousin glared with real menace towards both of them.

‘Your waters have broken?’

She nodded, still stunned that Max had left his bride. Georgia didn’t have the mental space to go there. Tayla would have to get used to being married to a doctor, but not yet—at least not until after the wedding.

‘You’ve been having contractions.’ His voice was gentle and she looked back at him because it was better than looking at the gaping assembly.

Her baby twisted and turned like a fish on a hook and she cupped her stomach and grabbed his hand as the next contraction squeezed.

‘Hard and fast. Something’s wrong.’ It was difficult to get the words out through the pain. ‘Something else came out with the water. I’m thinking cord prolapse.’

Cord prolapse was one of the true obstetric emergencies and they both knew it.

If a baby hadn’t ‘dropped’ or engaged its head in the pelvis, a loop of cord could fall between the baby’s head and the bottom of the uterus when the waters broke. With four weeks to go in Georgia’s pregnancy her baby hadn’t dropped yet so it was dreadfully possible.

Any contractions she had after that could force the hard head of the baby onto the presenting cord and cut off the flow of oxygen from mother to baby. With no oxygen her baby would die.

If that was the case they needed to try to keep Georgia’s baby’s head from coming down onto the umbilical cord. Minutes counted.

‘I’m scared, Max.’ She’d never met this man in her life and suddenly it felt OK to call him Max.

His eyes softened and he nodded once. ‘I know. We need to get you to the hospital ASAP.’

He flipped open his phone and spoke briefly into it. ‘Let’s get you outside to the car. An ambulance can meet us on the road if we don’t beat them there.’

He scooped her up in his arms and she cringed. ‘Your beautiful suit.’

‘It’s only a suit.’ He grinned down at her and incredibly his eyes were golden and caring and she suddenly felt her baby had a chance, even though the odds were stacked against them.

Another contraction coiled viciously through her and she moaned. This was terrifying.

Max carried her swiftly to his black limousine. White ribbons fluttered on the long bonnet and the JUST MARRIED placard sat proudly on the boot.

Georgia shifted in his arms as she twisted her neck to see. ‘Not this car, Max. The seats.’

‘To hell with the seats. At least we have room and the windows are tinted.’

Max’s chauffeur’s usually impassive expression faltered as Max deposited the wrong woman in the wedding car.

‘Newcastle Hospital ASAP. I’ll pay the speeding fines,’ Max said over his shoulder as he climbed in after her. He pulled shut the door before he sat opposite Georgia and shrugged out of his jacket.

The car accelerated away from the kerb and Georgia fell back in a heap. Max leaned across from the facing seat to help her balance.

‘Can you check and tell me if you can feel the umbilical cord?’ He smiled sympathetically at her and suddenly it was OK. They were a team working together to help save a baby—her baby.

With difficulty she knelt on the soft leather seat, closed her eyes mortified as a rivulet of pink fluid disappeared down the back of the seat, and hitched up the wet satin creation designed by a leading Sydney fashion house.

That morning, when she’d struggled with clipping her thigh-high stockings to the garter belt, she’d thought it a shame no one would see the pretty lace of the belt. What a joke. Once she got to the hospital, everyone would be looking at her.

As she slipped her hand down into her panties she knew what she would find—she could feel it beating like her own heartbeat except slower. Sure enough, a loop of umbilical cord fell into her hand.

Before she could confirm her finding to Max, the next contraction was on top of her and with this pain the urge to push was overpowering. It couldn’t happen this quick! They were supposed to stop the labour until they could get her to operating theatre and do a Caesarean section to save her baby.

‘Ma-ax,’ she wailed and she grabbed his hand, put her chin on her chest and pushed, unable to stop herself.

Still calm, his voice was kind. ‘There’s no time for modesty. You know that, don’t you, Georgia? Let me see.’

Max’s face was composed but in that moment she saw the stressed beat of the vein in his temple and she knew he doubted her baby’s chances despite his calm voice.

The look of surprise on his face made a tiny shaft of hope slice through the pain to imprint on Georgia’s thoughts.

‘First baby?’ His eyes met hers in question.

‘Absolutely. Probably last,’ she gasped.

He smiled at that and sat back. ‘Well, your baby is ready to come and is almost here. Let nature finish the job, Georgia.’

That was all she needed to find the rest of her strength and with the next pain fast on the heels of the last she concentrated from deep within herself and willed her baby to fly out into the world before the lack of oxygen from the compression of the cord could take away her life.

When she opened her eyes Max was unwinding the cord from around the baby’s neck and lifting her towards Georgia, and incredibly a miniature angry red face screwed up to emit a bellow that almost lifted the roof off the car.

Max laughed and she blinked and looked again at this tiny roaring child of immense determination and began to shake in shock.

‘My God.’ Max wiped his eyes on his upper arm and then grabbed his suit jacket and rubbed her baby dry before he leant forward to slip the bodice strap off Georgia’s shoulder to allow one side of her dress to fall to expose her skin. ‘Here, keep her warm.’

Still chuckling, he placed the baby against Georgia’s bare skin, flipped the jacket over to the dry side and tucked it around them both.

‘Congratulations,’ he said, and shook his head in disbelief. ‘I’m afraid her father missed her arrival.’

Georgia shuddered. ‘We didn’t miss him.’ Her baby was still slightly wet and slippery and still roaring her head off and Georgia soothed her little round head that hadn’t even had time to change shape for the journey through her pelvis.

‘Poor baby.’ She ducked her head and kissed her downy cheek. ‘Do you have a headache from your quick trip?’

Max listened to the soft maternal whispers from a woman he barely knew and felt incredibly touched by a scene he’d seen so many times in so many circumstances—but never like this.

‘I think you might be right about her headache.’ Max shook his head again and the smile on his face felt bigger than any he’d had in the last few years. This birth brought back the notion that there could still be immense satisfaction in his chosen profession.

He’d known he needed to get back to the grass roots of it all and away from the consultancy, and board meetings, the constant demand for more hightech medical apparatus and the financial headaches and heartaches that being head of the obstetric department left him with.

This new position promised exposure to the real world of obstetrics again. While a percentage of his duties would remain administrative, there was an expectation he would work in each hospital to gain insight into the obstetric viability of each facility.

If he was honest, that was the carrot that had got him into this marriage mess in the first place. This moment in time had proved how much more re-warding hands-on obstetrics was for him but he’d have time to think of that later.

Georgia’s baby finally quietened and after a quick glance to ensure all was well he suggested to his driver that he slow the car to a reasonable pace as they finished the forty-minute drive to the hospital.

This Georgia, she was something special to have come through this with a calmness and serenity that should have been shattered, especially as, being a midwife, she’d known the complications that could ensue.

Unexpectedly the loud sound of rhythmic sucking could be heard and Max felt the smile widen on his face again.

‘Umm. Isn’t breastfeeding supposed to be noiseless or does this child of yours do everything spectacularly and with high volume?’

‘I think she’s loud. I should call her Thor—or Thoreen.’

‘Speaking of “thor”, are you?’

‘Very funny.’ She shook her head at him and for the first time in many years he felt like a child rebuked by an adult and his lips twitched.

She got over it quickly, though. ‘Now you mention it, what are we going to do with the disaster down here ruining your upholstery? I don’t suppose you have two cord clamps and a pair of scissors?’

He stripped off his elegant neckpiece. ‘I do have a cord tie.’

She giggled and then covered her mouth. ‘I’m sorry. I’m feeling light-headed with relief and I’m being silly.’

He pulled a snowy white teatowel from the bottle compartment and folded it. ‘Pop this between your legs.’ He handed the towel to her. ‘Let’s just settle for that one knot in the cord with the tie and we’ll bundle it all up still connected and they can sort it out at the hospital. Are you bleeding?’

She shook her head. ‘Not since she started to feed.’

He marvelled at the wonders of nature without the usual drugs given at the end of labour. ‘Thor looks about five pounds. How early is she by your dates?’

‘Four weeks and two days.’ He’d hazard a guess she was counting days from conception.

‘Did ultrasounds confirm those dates?’

She lifted her chin at him. ‘Ever the doctor. Why do so many obstetricians think ultrasounds know more than the mother?’

He chuckled at that. ‘True. Sometimes ultrasounds can cloud issues that don’t need clouding. And other times an ultrasound can clarify things.’

‘Hmmph,’ Georgia said. ‘You can’t beat good clinical skills. Technology is one of the things I won’t get bogged down in when I start to practise again.’

He couldn’t remember the last time he’d heard someone hmmph. ‘We won’t get into that discussion or maybe we’ll save it till later.’

‘And my baby’s name is not Thor.’

‘Wowser.’ He settled back into the seat as all the chores that could be done had been done. The rest could wait.

He was a mess and her dress had seen better days too. His shirt was unbuttoned at the neck from when he’d pulled his tie off. The long sleeves had been hiked unevenly up to his elbows and he cupped his hands on one knee and decided he’d definitely have to throw out the suit.

He looked across at her. Actually, she looked pretty good. ‘So what are you going to call her?’

She laughed at that and he loved the way she threw her whole face into the laugh. No attempt to save on laughter lines and she did have a lot to be thankful for.

‘What do you call a child that arrived like this and roared so vigorously at birth?’ She looked down at the now content baby. ‘I could call her Maxine.’

She was delightful and with a thud he remem-bered he was almost married. ‘That would really set the cat among the pigeons,’ he drawled.

He saw the moment she remembered Tayla. ‘Oh, my God. Your wedding. I’m so sorry.’

‘Later. It will be a drama in due time. No use thinking about it now.’