Even with snow on the ground and the festive season fast approaching, the business of tending to a ranch didn't slow. Just as well, really, given that the mistress of Oakham Mount was due any day now - keeping the new master busy so the two of them didn't kill each other with their respective tempers was a good thing right now. Bridget had, at least, agreed to remain confined to the house, even if she was currently leaning against the post on the porch, watching the to-ing and fro-ing in the yard with tired eyes. She'd had a restless night, but she hadn't told Sam why. Not yet, anyway.
Sam knew the time was growing close when Bridget would give birth, and he was doing his best not to think about it. He wasn't avoiding it exactly; it just made him a nervous wreck to think about it. As if it wasn't scary enough to think about Bridget giving birth, there was the fact that he was going to be a father to consider. Scary, but exciting, too. As such, it was probably a good thing Bridget hadn't told him why she'd had such a restless night or he might have had a panic attack. She knew him well enough to know the best thing to do was just let him go about his day as if nothing was out of the ordinary, and that was exactly what he was doing, none the wiser.
Of course, certain of the women in the house knew what was going on, but that was likely only because they'd been through it themselves. Mrs. Prudey had threatened Jem with one of her infamous wooden spoons against letting Bridget out of her sight today, which was why the foreman of the ranch's wife was leaning on the other post chatting quietly with the redhead as they watched their men going about their business. Just as well, really, because Bridget needed all the help she could get as the hour stretched on past noon. Abruptly, the lady of the house straightened, one hand snatching out toward Jem as she turned wide eyes on her friend. Hopefully the men weren't paying too close attention; the sight of Bridget being helped back into the house as Jem called for someone to take care of a slick on the porch and to send someone for Mr. Hale was not a heartening one.
It was the ranch's foreman who first noticed that the women had abandoned the porch. At first, he'd thought they'd gone inside to get lunch, but if that was the case, Mrs. Prudey would have been on the porch ringing the bell that would summon them all to the noon meal. He was just considering going inside to inquire for himself, when one of the younger hands hurried past.
"Going to fetch Doc Hale!" he called, as he rushed past on his way to the paddock to fetch a horse.
Sam overheard, looking around him with a slightly confused look on his face. "Doc Hale?" he echoed. "Who's hurt?" he asked, before swinging his head toward the porch and finding Bridget missing.
"Reckon it's time, Sam," Austin told the other man, who'd become not only his employer, but his friend. He didn't think any further explanation was needed than that.
Sam had already noticed that Bridget had gone inside and that they were sending for the doctor. He was smart enough to put two and two together for himself. "Time?" Sam echoed, his face blanching as he realized what Austin meant by that. "Shit! Now?" he muttered.
"Seems so," Austin replied with an amused smirk.
"Shit!" Sam muttered again, pulling off his hat and slapping it against his thigh, for no particular reason. "What am I supposed to do?"
The answer came from the porch, where Mrs. Prudey was standing, hands on hips, opening her lungs to get the attention of the master of the house, wherever he was. "Samuel McAlister, get your ass in here and wash up right this minute, you hear me?"
Sam spun around once again at the sound of Mrs. Prudey's voice. "Yes, ma'am! Right away, ma'am!" he called back so obediently it was hard to tell who was really in charge here.
Austin chuckled and slapped Sam on the shoulder. "Go on. I can handle things here. Your wife needs you."
Sam nodded, a little color coming back into his face as he started toward the house, breaking into a run the closer he got, on up the porch stairs. "Where is she" Is she all right?"
"On her way up to the bedroom, and so help me, Sam, if you don't drop your boots and wash yourself up clean and warm before barging in on her, I'll stripe your backside with a spoon," Nan Prudey informed him in her no-nonsense way. "You've got about half an hour before things get really interesting in there. That's around the time she'll start screeching for you, too."
"Yes, ma'am," he promised again, as obedient as a child afraid of being scolded by an elder. "But she's all right, right?" he asked further, obviously concerned.
"Boy, that girl was bred for breedin'," Nan told him confidently. "Just you make sure you're clean, and you don't cuss back at her when she grinds your bones in her hand. She can do this, easy as pie. Just won't sound like it until it's done."
His concern wasn't just for Bridget but for the child she was carrying inside her, too. It almost seemed impossible that he was about to become a father, but over the last few months, Bridget's ever-expanding waistline made that much obvious, and now that the day had come to welcome that child into the world, he felt as nervous as a schoolboy on his first date.
"Yes, ma'am. I will. Promise. Don't you worry!" he said, just as he had so many times in the past when she chided him over one thing or another. He'd grown up here, after all, and she'd been the closest thing he'd ever had to a mother.
"Go on inside now, shoo," the cook told him, batting at him with her dish cloth. "Drop your boots by the door, use the hands' bathroom to wash up."
From the landing above the open hall just inside the door came the strangled sound of Bridget cursing the air blue to the tune of Jem's laughter.
Sam's ears prickled at the sound of Bridget cursing as he stepped into the house, and he couldn't help but chuckle a little to himself, even though it worried him, too. He couldn't get his boots off or his hands washed fast enough for his own liking, but it was only about ten minutes and he was stomping up the stairs in his stockinged feet toward the sound of Bridget's cursing. He, at least, had the sense to knock on the door before bursting inside.
"Hullo! Bridge" It's me! Can I come in?"
"It'd better bloody be you, you great -" The familiar cadence of his wife's lilt cut off with a sharp gasp, but it was all the welcome he really needed to open the door and enter. What he found was Bridget bent over the bed, her hands fisted in the thick layers of towel that had been laid over the sheets, in nothing but her shift, rocking back and forth on her toes as she weathered through another contraction.
Jem grinned at him encouragingly. "Not long now, Sam."
It wasn't exactly what Sam had been expecting to see when he entered the room, and he came to a sudden halt, the door still half-open behind him. "Why aren't you in bed?" he asked, an expression of mingled shock and concern on his face. "You should be in bed."
"Ooof ..." Relaxing out of the contraction, Bridget raised her head, throwing him a wry grin. "Y'know women didn't give birth in beds until men started makin' them do it that way?" she pointed out. "Whatever works, that's what Ma always said."
"But if you do it that way, who's gonna catch the baby?" he asked, not really liking the way she was standing, crouched over the bed, like she was getting ready to push the baby out onto the floor. It had never occurred to him that it might be him. After all, Jem was there and Doc Hale was on his way.
"Are you not feelin' up to it, love?" Bridget asked him, a flicker of her familiarly mischievous humor making itself known before she gritted her teeth, dropping her head forward between her shoulders once again.
Jem smiled at the pair of them. "Rub her back," she suggested to Sam. "Should help a bit."
Sam's mouth dropped open, shocked by the suggestion that he be the one to catch their child as he or she was birthed. He'd been told a little of what to expect, but somehow, he hadn't been expecting this, and yet, more than anything he wanted to help her any way he could. "I can do that," he said, closing the door with a quiet click behind him. He flexed his fingers as he moved closer, before sliding his hands against her back in a gentle but firm massage.
Sam knew the time was growing close when Bridget would give birth, and he was doing his best not to think about it. He wasn't avoiding it exactly; it just made him a nervous wreck to think about it. As if it wasn't scary enough to think about Bridget giving birth, there was the fact that he was going to be a father to consider. Scary, but exciting, too. As such, it was probably a good thing Bridget hadn't told him why she'd had such a restless night or he might have had a panic attack. She knew him well enough to know the best thing to do was just let him go about his day as if nothing was out of the ordinary, and that was exactly what he was doing, none the wiser.
Of course, certain of the women in the house knew what was going on, but that was likely only because they'd been through it themselves. Mrs. Prudey had threatened Jem with one of her infamous wooden spoons against letting Bridget out of her sight today, which was why the foreman of the ranch's wife was leaning on the other post chatting quietly with the redhead as they watched their men going about their business. Just as well, really, because Bridget needed all the help she could get as the hour stretched on past noon. Abruptly, the lady of the house straightened, one hand snatching out toward Jem as she turned wide eyes on her friend. Hopefully the men weren't paying too close attention; the sight of Bridget being helped back into the house as Jem called for someone to take care of a slick on the porch and to send someone for Mr. Hale was not a heartening one.
It was the ranch's foreman who first noticed that the women had abandoned the porch. At first, he'd thought they'd gone inside to get lunch, but if that was the case, Mrs. Prudey would have been on the porch ringing the bell that would summon them all to the noon meal. He was just considering going inside to inquire for himself, when one of the younger hands hurried past.
"Going to fetch Doc Hale!" he called, as he rushed past on his way to the paddock to fetch a horse.
Sam overheard, looking around him with a slightly confused look on his face. "Doc Hale?" he echoed. "Who's hurt?" he asked, before swinging his head toward the porch and finding Bridget missing.
"Reckon it's time, Sam," Austin told the other man, who'd become not only his employer, but his friend. He didn't think any further explanation was needed than that.
Sam had already noticed that Bridget had gone inside and that they were sending for the doctor. He was smart enough to put two and two together for himself. "Time?" Sam echoed, his face blanching as he realized what Austin meant by that. "Shit! Now?" he muttered.
"Seems so," Austin replied with an amused smirk.
"Shit!" Sam muttered again, pulling off his hat and slapping it against his thigh, for no particular reason. "What am I supposed to do?"
The answer came from the porch, where Mrs. Prudey was standing, hands on hips, opening her lungs to get the attention of the master of the house, wherever he was. "Samuel McAlister, get your ass in here and wash up right this minute, you hear me?"
Sam spun around once again at the sound of Mrs. Prudey's voice. "Yes, ma'am! Right away, ma'am!" he called back so obediently it was hard to tell who was really in charge here.
Austin chuckled and slapped Sam on the shoulder. "Go on. I can handle things here. Your wife needs you."
Sam nodded, a little color coming back into his face as he started toward the house, breaking into a run the closer he got, on up the porch stairs. "Where is she" Is she all right?"
"On her way up to the bedroom, and so help me, Sam, if you don't drop your boots and wash yourself up clean and warm before barging in on her, I'll stripe your backside with a spoon," Nan Prudey informed him in her no-nonsense way. "You've got about half an hour before things get really interesting in there. That's around the time she'll start screeching for you, too."
"Yes, ma'am," he promised again, as obedient as a child afraid of being scolded by an elder. "But she's all right, right?" he asked further, obviously concerned.
"Boy, that girl was bred for breedin'," Nan told him confidently. "Just you make sure you're clean, and you don't cuss back at her when she grinds your bones in her hand. She can do this, easy as pie. Just won't sound like it until it's done."
His concern wasn't just for Bridget but for the child she was carrying inside her, too. It almost seemed impossible that he was about to become a father, but over the last few months, Bridget's ever-expanding waistline made that much obvious, and now that the day had come to welcome that child into the world, he felt as nervous as a schoolboy on his first date.
"Yes, ma'am. I will. Promise. Don't you worry!" he said, just as he had so many times in the past when she chided him over one thing or another. He'd grown up here, after all, and she'd been the closest thing he'd ever had to a mother.
"Go on inside now, shoo," the cook told him, batting at him with her dish cloth. "Drop your boots by the door, use the hands' bathroom to wash up."
From the landing above the open hall just inside the door came the strangled sound of Bridget cursing the air blue to the tune of Jem's laughter.
Sam's ears prickled at the sound of Bridget cursing as he stepped into the house, and he couldn't help but chuckle a little to himself, even though it worried him, too. He couldn't get his boots off or his hands washed fast enough for his own liking, but it was only about ten minutes and he was stomping up the stairs in his stockinged feet toward the sound of Bridget's cursing. He, at least, had the sense to knock on the door before bursting inside.
"Hullo! Bridge" It's me! Can I come in?"
"It'd better bloody be you, you great -" The familiar cadence of his wife's lilt cut off with a sharp gasp, but it was all the welcome he really needed to open the door and enter. What he found was Bridget bent over the bed, her hands fisted in the thick layers of towel that had been laid over the sheets, in nothing but her shift, rocking back and forth on her toes as she weathered through another contraction.
Jem grinned at him encouragingly. "Not long now, Sam."
It wasn't exactly what Sam had been expecting to see when he entered the room, and he came to a sudden halt, the door still half-open behind him. "Why aren't you in bed?" he asked, an expression of mingled shock and concern on his face. "You should be in bed."
"Ooof ..." Relaxing out of the contraction, Bridget raised her head, throwing him a wry grin. "Y'know women didn't give birth in beds until men started makin' them do it that way?" she pointed out. "Whatever works, that's what Ma always said."
"But if you do it that way, who's gonna catch the baby?" he asked, not really liking the way she was standing, crouched over the bed, like she was getting ready to push the baby out onto the floor. It had never occurred to him that it might be him. After all, Jem was there and Doc Hale was on his way.
"Are you not feelin' up to it, love?" Bridget asked him, a flicker of her familiarly mischievous humor making itself known before she gritted her teeth, dropping her head forward between her shoulders once again.
Jem smiled at the pair of them. "Rub her back," she suggested to Sam. "Should help a bit."
Sam's mouth dropped open, shocked by the suggestion that he be the one to catch their child as he or she was birthed. He'd been told a little of what to expect, but somehow, he hadn't been expecting this, and yet, more than anything he wanted to help her any way he could. "I can do that," he said, closing the door with a quiet click behind him. He flexed his fingers as he moved closer, before sliding his hands against her back in a gentle but firm massage.